Rowan’s POV

"And how do you propose we do that?" Bret asked, his voice tight with fear, eyes wide as the heavy thud of boots echoed outside.

"You have your way. I have mine," I replied calmly, pulling open the kitchen cabinets and scanning their contents.

"This is crazy, Rowan! We’re going to die out there," Bret said, his voice rising with panic.

"No, we’re not." I grabbed a couple of metal canisters, some plastic wrap, and a roll of duct tape from under the sink.

"What are you doing? You know we can’t stand against machine guns!" Bret protested, watching me toss a bottle of vinegar and some baking...