Seraphina's Revenge: A Rebirth In The Apocalypse Novel

Chapter 73: Soldiers Without a Flag

Zubair didn’t trust maps anymore.

What had once been predictable streets and supply routes were now little more than jagged veins running through a dying beast. There were dead bodies in the streets, half eaten corpses were stretched out in the alleyways, their fingers digging into the ground even as their necks were clearly snapped. Cars remained where they stopped, blocking the path as doors were swaying back and forth in the wind. A testament of their owner’s fear as they tried to run for their lives.

The global positioning system was down, cell towers were silent and the majority of satellites hadn’t been in contact in days. It was like everything that had been even remotely connected to Country M had disappeared.

It was like the country itself had disappeared.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t know where he was going.

He knew this city. Or at least, he had memorized its bones before he even stepped foot in it. And while things changed, the streets themselves rarely did.

The industrial zone on the southern fringe was meant for restaurant supplies. Dry bulk goods, grease barrels, protein crates, cooking oil stacked six feet high, and everything that someone could or would possibly need for at least a few months of personal use.

The location was too inconvenient for civilians, and too remote for early looters. Which meant that it was perfect for them.

He gave Lachlan a single nod and the Hummer veered off the main road, tires crunching over salt-stained pavement. Rows of squat warehouses lined the block, fences twisted with rust, snow pushed into black heaps along the curbs.

The second unit pulled in behind them. Elias drove that one, with Alexei in the front seat and Noah in the back.

Zubair didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

They exited the vehicles like clockwork. Formation held. Eyes swept. Boots didn’t shuffle.

The building’s roll-up bay was already unlocked, the padlock snapped like someone had tried to get in—but didn’t finish the job.

Lachlan cleared the corners first. Sera stuck to the rear, watching shadows. She said nothing, but Zubair didn’t miss the way she moved. Not civilian. Not soldier either. Something in-between. Something harder to read. Like she was working on instincts and it just seemed to mesh with theirs.

Inside, the warehouse was a blessing.

Rows of metal shelving stretched to the ceiling, packed with bulk rice, salt, sugar, flour. Five-gallon buckets of soybean oil. Tins of ghee. Crates of dry noodles. Commercial tubs of protein powder and cooking spices lined the rear wall.

Still mostly untouched.

They moved fast.

Zubair broke open a nearby cart with his boot, dragging it forward. "Stack dry first. Priority on calorie-dense."

Lachlan began heaving bulk ramen boxes into the cart without speaking.

Noah hesitated near a crate of baking chocolate. "This stuff’s high-calorie."

Zubair shot him a look. "And melts. Take shelf-stable protein first. If we have room after, fine."

Sera passed by with a crate already loaded, her movements clean and silent. She didn’t waste breath or offer suggestions. She just worked. On one of her trips, she picked up the crate of baking chocolate.

Noah gasped and pointed at her while Zubair simply raised an eyebrow. "I’m a woman," she shrugged. "And chocolate can be lifesaving sometimes."

Lachlan chuckled even as Elias moved with purpose to the far end, slicing open a sealed plastic bag with his boot knife, then hauling two 10kg sacks of white rice onto a dolly.

"Found a sealed dry-goods freezer," he said. "Jasmine rice. Lentils. More oil."

"Take what we can fit into the vehicles," grunted Zubair. "We don’t know if we can make it back here again, so we need to do our best."

It took them thirteen minutes to fill the Hummer and the truck. Zubair had timed it.

On the fourteenth minute, as they secured the final tie-down over the last stack of boxes in the bed of the truck, a low engine hum reached his ears.

He turned first.

A military jeep rounded the corner of the alley, splashed with mud and frost. It stopped twenty feet away. Four soldiers. Country N-issued gear, but the uniforms were already fraying. One man raised a hand, stepping out slowly.

"Don’t shoot," he called. "We’re friendlies."

Zubair didn’t raise his rifle, but he didn’t lower it either.

The soldier squinted as he approached. Young. Maybe late twenties. Dirty helmet. Gloves two sizes too big. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

"Name’s Petty Officer Grayson," he said. "Recon team out of Camp Carrow. We’re running city sweeps—trying to keep the highways clear."

Zubair said nothing.

"Looks like you’ve got a good haul," Grayson added, nodding to the trucks.

"We do," Lachlan said easily, stepping forward. His tone shifted instantly—calm, official, believable and most importantly, friendly. "We’re small-unit extraction. Medical resupply priority. Just trying to make sure our fallback station holds out another few weeks."

Grayson blinked. "Which station?"

Elias offered a faint, knowing smile. "Not something I’m cleared to share."

Grayson nodded like he understood, but his eyes searched the group anyway.

Behind the second truck, Sera stood half-concealed. Not hiding, not quite—but angled just out of clear view. Her hair was tucked into her coat collar. Her arms rested loose at her sides. She didn’t move.

Grayson’s eyes lingered on her.

Zubair’s finger tightened slightly on the rifle.

Grayson didn’t press.

"West side’s getting weird," he said instead. "We were over by the stadium earlier. Something’s off."

"How off?" Elias asked.

"Buildings look stripped, but we didn’t see who did it. Fresh tracks. No noise. Like someone—or something—moved a few hundred people and didn’t leave a trace."

Lachlan frowned. "Any movement?"

"Just birds. Even the ferals are gone. It’s too quiet."

"We’re not headed west," Zubair said curtly.

"Good." Grayson adjusted the strap on his vest. "Stay out of the northern sector altogether. If you’re exfil, stick to the eastern corridor. Last we heard, Country N still holds it."

"Radio?" Elias asked.

Grayson shook his head. "Nothing but static for the past few hours. We’re assuming fallback orders, but no one’s made it official. Our CO wants to pull back, regroup downtown. Maybe someone there still has comms."

"Good luck," Elias said.

"You too."

Grayson gave one last glance toward Sera—then turned.

The soldiers mounted up again and peeled off.

Dust and frost scattered in the wake of their tires.

Zubair waited five full seconds before lowering his rifle.

"Eyes still on us," he muttered.

"Jeep’s gone," Lachlan confirmed. "Didn’t look like a trap."

"Not today," Alexei said. He’d been silent through the entire exchange, but now he climbed into the truck bed and checked the straps again. "But I don’t like that we’re getting attention."

Sera, still half-shadowed, spoke for the first time since they’d arrived. Her voice was low.

"Neither do I."

Zubair didn’t answer. He just climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door. Hard.

This wasn’t a war, not really.

In a war, you knew your enemies and you knew your allies. This... this was something else. This was about survival.

And the fewer flags they waved, the longer they’d stay alive.