45 [45] Reprisal

The playful atmosphere that had filled the room only moments ago instantly dissipated, replaced by a chilling tension that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Andy's words hung in the air, a dread-infused prophecy of the impending storm that was about to hit us.

All eyes shifted towards the barely discernible sound that had disturbed our reverie. It was a low, menacing hum, a cacophony that belied the true horror of what was to come. It was a sound we all knew too well, a chorus we'd heard countless times before. The raiders had found us.

Cassidy was the first to move. Her chair scraped the floor as she shot up, her eyes already scanning the room, instinctively assessing our resources and the possible escape routes.

"Everybody stay calm," I advised, following her lead and standing up. I could see fear beginning to take hold in the room, the comfortable sanctuary we'd enjoyed moments ago now shattered.

Ms. Yan was white-faced but determined, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Hazuki looked terrified, but there was a flicker of defiance in her eyes. And Andy, despite his obvious anger, seemed in control, his gaze intense as he plotted our next move.

"We have to barricade the doors and windows," I stated, taking charge. "We have to make it as difficult as possible for them to get in."

Cassidy was already moving, dragging a heavy workbench towards the garage door. "Andy, help me with this," she called over her shoulder, not missing a beat.

Andy jumped to his feet, rushing over to aid her. Their combined strength slowly moved the hefty workbench, scraping it across the concrete floor until it was barricading the entrance.

Meanwhile, Ms. Yan and I began to block the windows. We used anything we could find; spare parts, stacks of tires, heavy machinery - anything that would delay the raiders' intrusion.

Hazuki, although visibly scared, didn't stand idle. She gathered our meager supplies, stashing them in a safe place should we need to make a hasty retreat.

With our barricades in place, we each grabbed a weapon, preparing ourselves for the inevitable confrontation. The hum was getting louder, growing from a faint drone to a deafening roar that echoed off the garage walls.

And then, silence. A suffocating, all-encompassing silence that seemed to swallow the garage whole. The calm before the storm.

"They're here," Andy whispered, his voice barely audible. The words were unnecessary. We could all feel it; the charged air, the tension rippling through the room.

Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, ready for action. My grip on the AR 15 tightened, my knuckles turning white. I watched the barricaded door, my heart pounding in my chest, my senses sharpened to a razor's edge.

The attack, when it came, was sudden and explosive. The deafening sound of a vehicle ramming into the garage door echoed around us. The barricade shuddered under the impact, but held firm.

"Get ready," I shouted over the din, my voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

This was it. We were under siege. But we were ready. We would fight, and we would survive. We always did.

I watched in grim satisfaction as the first line of Andy's traps triggered, a whirlwind of chaos and destruction ripping through the advancing raiders. The sharp, echoing cracks of gunfire, the sudden bursts of flame, and the guttural screams of the trapped men painted a grotesque, dystopian tableau against the evening sky. But despite the initial losses, the remainder of the marauders were undeterred, pressing on with relentless determination.

As the raiders began to approach the entrance, the garage's defenses came to life in a series of calculated counterattacks. The tripwire at the entrance of the garage, barely visible, was triggered by the raiders, causing the overhead oil drums to tumble down, engulfing the front runners in flames. But the others were quick, they sidestepped the falling drums and continued their advance.

"Fire back!" I roared over the mayhem, shouldering my AR 15 and training it on the attackers. I squeezed the trigger, the weapon bucking in my grip as I laid down a suppressive line of fire, cutting through the ranks of the oncoming thugs.

Next to me, Cassidy was a whirlwind of action. Her MP5 spitting fire, a deadly symphony of precision and power. I saw her gun down one attacker after another, her face a hardened mask of determination.

Andy, armed with a pump-action shotgun, was providing cover fire, each blast from his weapon a percussive shockwave that echoed throughout the garage, adding to the cacophony of the battle.

Ms. Yan, the quietest among us, was wielding her weapon with an icy calm. With every trigger pull, a raider fell, their advance interrupted by her precise aim.

And then there was Hazuki, the girl who had never held a gun before today. She clutched a small handgun, her knuckles white with strain. She aimed it with shaking hands and fired. The bullet went wide, hitting a raider's leg, causing him to fall. It wasn't a kill shot, but it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

Despite our resistance, the raiders kept pushing forward, their numbers overwhelming. But we weren't going down without a fight. As the minutes bled into one another, the echoes of our desperate stand filled the garage, our lives hanging on a knife-edge as we battled to keep the marauders at bay.

The smell of cordite and burning rubber filled the air, mixing with the sweat and fear in an acrid cocktail that clawed at our throats. Every blast of our guns, every hit we took, and every raider we brought down took us closer to survival. Or closer to our end.

But we held the line, refusing to give an inch, our determination to survive driving us forward. We were outnumbered, outgunned, but we weren't out of fight. Not yet. And as long as we had breath in our lungs, we would keep fighting.

Because in this brutal world, we knew all too well that surrender was not an option. We would fight, or we would die. And we weren't ready to die.

Q: What will be your preferred gun in this scenario?