Chapter 709 The Price of Survival

• The door stood ajar. Nadia paused at the threshold, her eyes narrowing. Blood soaked the walls like storm-splattered paint, and on the bed lay a man who'd been hacked into something barely human. Limbs askew. Flesh flayed. The kind of death one didn't give unless they'd got a vendetta—or no gun.
• They moved room by room, aisle by aisle. Every corpse they found told the same story: savagery. Brutal, personal, slow. This wasn't high-caliber execution. This was hands-on, blood-under-the-nails violence.
• Primitive weapons.