Shots and Smiles [i]
Chapter 7[i]
POV: Grey
The room was thick with heat and whispered breaths, shadows flickering from a lone candle guttering on the bedside table. Two girls pressed close, their bodies warm against my skin, every inch alive under my fingertips.
One traced slow, deliberate paths down my chest, her nails barely grazing, sending shivers through muscle and bone. The other's lips brushed along my jawline, soft and demanding, tasting the salt of my skin.
Their hands explored with a hunger that made time slow—fingers tangled in hair, sliding over shoulders, tracing curves with exquisite patience. Every touch was electric, every sigh a promise unfinished.
I caught their eyes, dark and glinting with desire and something fragile—maybe escape, or comfort, or both. Their breath hitched when I shifted, the heat between us growing thicker, tighter.
The world outside didn't exist for a moment.
Until the alarm snapped reality back into place.
Its blaring tone was sharp—violent in the silence that followed.
I sat up without a word. The girls said nothing either.
---
POV: Scarlett
The alarm screamed again, tearing me from sleep. It was early—sky still painted in soft greys, the kind of stillness that felt wrong.
People were already moving, half-dressed, grabbing rifles and boots, pushing sleep off their shoulders.
Outside, the makeshift camp stirred fast—tents flapping, voices hushed and hurried.
We gathered near the center where Lieutenant Colonel Hagan stood, posture rigid, eyes scanning everyone like he was reading hidden thoughts.
"Hostile activity near the perimeter," he announced. "We're not out of danger. This isn't a rest stop—it's a shifting line."
He let the silence hang.
"This is no longer just surviving. We need sharp eyes and steady hands. Anyone with info, speak now."
No one spoke. Even those who knew something kept quiet.
"We need volunteers. Defense. Scouting. Rebuilding. The government can't fix this alone. You all know that now. Be ready. When the next wave comes, we either hold—or fall."
His words hung heavier than the air.
---
POV: Luke
Training started at noon. I watched Grey pick up his rifle like it was just an extension of him. His movements were clean, practiced—but not showy. Like he wasn't trying to prove anything.
Blair was the first to trip over her own feet.
"Okay, so this 'run and aim' thing? Apparently, it's not just a suggestion."
Jonah cracked up. "You're giving new meaning to 'falling with style.'"
Jane grinned. "At least you're consistent."
Blair shot back, brushing dirt off her knees, "You try dodging a grenade with these boots on."
Jonah gave a slow clap. "Bravo. You're one fiery ballerina."
I nudged Grey. "You really hiding a secret career as a sniper?"
He smirked. "Maybe."
Then he hit three targets in a row without missing.
Classic.
---
POV: Blair
Training dragged on. The heat didn't help. My shirt was soaked through, and Jane was two steps ahead of me in every drill.
"Bet you can't keep up with me on the obstacle course," I said.
Jane raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "You're on. Loser carries the other's pack for a day."
Jonah shouted across the field, "Careful, ladies. The floor is lava—and I'm the dragon."
I rolled my eyes. "We'll see about that, flame boy."
He ducked just in time to avoid a flying canteen.
We laughed, and it echoed across the training yard—a sound that didn't belong in a world like this. But maybe that was the point.
---
POV: Scarlett
Lunch was chaotic, but for the first time in days, it felt… light.
Blair leaned in close to Jane, eyes curious. "So, singer to apocalypse warrior—big career change. How'd you get so graceful with a blade?"
Jane smirked. "Years of practice avoiding overbearing parents. You?"
Blair shrugged. "Knife juggling. Mostly ended with bruises and lost fingers."
Jonah laughed. "You're both insane. I used to juggle knives too. Ended up juggling scars instead."
Luke grinned, leaning back against a crate. "Guess we all had our own battles before this one."
Grey sat nearby, quietly sharpening his blade. He didn't say anything, but there was something calm in the way he moved. Purposeful.
Jonah nudged me. "You're too quiet, Scarlett. What's the deal? Scared you'll lose your poker face?"
I shot him a glare. "Maybe I'm just saving my best moves."
He smirked. "Dangerous words. I'm holding you to that."
I didn't smile. But I didn't look away either.
---
POV: Grey
Dinner passed like a dream—half-awake, half-aware. People were getting comfortable again. Too comfortable.
That worried me.
The fire crackled. The radio sputtered.
"Recon missions at dawn. Heavy resistance expected. Stay alert."
No one said anything.
I glanced at Scarlett. Her eyes met mine. No fear, no warmth.
Just understanding.
That was enough.
---
POV: Jonah
That night, the base had settled into a strange calm—too many people in too little space.
And yet, from scattered corners of the makeshift rooms, moans started leaking into the quiet.
Not pain. Not undead.
Just... people.
Guess even the apocalypse couldn't kill the sex drive.
I chuckled to myself.
Luke was nearby, leaning against a stack of supplies with Jane. He heard it too and smirked. "Classic Grey," he muttered when another set of moans echoed—not from the random tents this time, but from the far corner room Grey had gone off to earlier.
"Bet he didn't even say anything to them," Jane added. "Just raised a brow and walked off."
Blair, my sister, snorted and joined in. "Probably said something like 'your room or mine?' and then didn't wait for an answer."
I laughed. "Dude could charm a rock if he wanted."
Scarlett glanced over at us once—expression unreadable—then quietly slipped into her cot and turned away, arms folded under her head.
Sleep took her fast.
I stayed up just a bit longer, listening to the distant rhythm of chaos and comfort blending under one roof.
Funny how even in hell, people find a way to feel alive.
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