2

The woods are darker than I expected, the thick canopy overhead muting the dying rays of sunlight. I follow the girl—because what else can I do?—limping while the pain in my ankle flares with every uneven step.

The quiet out here is unnerving, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird. I keep waiting for one of these dregs to pop out from behind a tree, but nothing happens. From what this girl told me, it’s enough to hope I never cross paths with one.

We come to a clearing. It’s small, holding only a single tent and a firepit, but there’s a sense of order that makes it feel safe. There’s a ring of wire strung between the trees in a circle around the campsite, metal cans hanging from it like strange ornaments.

The girl sets her bag down and crouches by the fire, coaxing the embers back to life. The flickering light catches in her hair, making it look almost golden.

“So, what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” the girl responds, pulling her long, blonde hair over one shoulder while she rummages through her bag.

“Then what is your name?” I try again.

She hesitates for a moment before giving in. “Zoey.”

“Nice to meet you, Zoey.”

She looks up at me overtop her opened bag. “Do you always meet people like this? Cause a small horde by blasting a stereo, sprain your ankle in the process, and then sit there helplessly and wait for them to save your ass?”

I grin despite myself. “No. Sometimes I just say hi, but you got the royal treatment.”

Her lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile breaking through her guarded expression, making her blue eyes sparkle. It feels like a small victory.

“You got a nice setup here,” I say, glancing around the small campsite. It’s better than I expected. Much better than I’ve ever set up. I had a tent once, before rotters tore through it one night when the fire died down while I was sleeping. But I never thought of rigging cans and wire for an alarm system.

Zoey shrugs, tossing a handful of twigs into the flames. “Thanks. Took some time to figure it out. The cans were easy enough to collect, and I realized they had more use in them than one meal.”

“It’s a lot more than I have,” I admit, sinking onto a flat rock near the fire. I pull off my sock, grimacing at the swollen mess of my ankle. The skin is already turning an angry shade of purple.

Zoey pauses to watch me tend to my ankle. “What do you have?”

“Everything that fits in my bag. A blanket, a single change of clothes, and…well, the food would’ve been nice if it hadn’t spilled everywhere when I fell.”

“That’s not much at all.” She digs into her bag, then pulls out what looks like a rolled piece of cloth. “How have you lasted this long?”

“Running, hiding, and killing rotters here and there.” I shrug. “What else would there be?”

“Well, same, but I at least—nevermind.” She unrolls the cloth, revealing an ankle brace.

My brows lift. “You carry ankle braces with you?”

“Only one. Found it a few weeks ago, and decided it was worth the bag space for emergencies such as this. I think you sprained your ankle, not just twisted it, which is going to take some time to heal. You’ll need to stay off it as much as possible and keep it elevated.”

I look at her with incredulousness. “You know we’re in an apocalypse, right? Staying off it isn’t exactly an option, and time is a luxury we don’t get anymore.”

Zoey leans back on her heels, studying me. “Is there somewhere I can help you get to? Someone waiting for you, like friends or family?”

My throat tightens at the unexpected question. “No,” I manage. “My family…they didn’t make it. Killed by rotters when the outbreak happened. There is no one else.”

This is the first time I’ve spoken the words aloud. I clutch at the compass hidden beneath my shirt. I’ve been wearing it around my neck ever since. It’s the only thing I have left of my dad’s.

“And as for friends,” I let out a strained laugh, “this is already the longest conversation I’ve had with anyone since.”

Zoey’s expression softens, but she doesn’t say anything right away.

Finally, she nods. “Same here. My mom…she didn’t make it past day two. Protected me from a rotter and paid the price. I’ve been on my own since. This is also the longest conversation I’ve had in…”

“Eight-seven days?” I ask.

She laughs. “I guess. I stopped counting a long time ago. Sort of lost the will to keep track of anything.”

“That sounds awful. And lonely.” It’s something I can relate to.

“It is.” She wraps the brace around my ankle, her hands efficient but surprisingly gentle. “I’ve met some pretty shitty people along the way, but you seem alright. I don’t hate you.”

“Wow,” I say, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. It’s not a high bar.” Her smile is so faint I almost miss it.

The fire crackles between us, and neither of us says anything. She checks to make sure the ankle brace is secure.

“Well,” she says, standing and brushing dirt from her knees, “Since I can’t leave without worrying about you dying out here, I guess we’re stuck together for now.”

I shake my head, a mix of gratitude and reluctance twisting inside me. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine. I already made it eighty-seven days in this apocalypse on my own, after all.”

“You only made it this far because I saved your ass. Otherwise you’d be a walking corpse trying to eat a stereo at an abandoned grocery store.”

“Seriously, Zoey. I don’t need any pity.”

“Sure,” she says, tossing another log onto the fire. “But you’re wearing my ankle brace, and I’m not leaving it behind.”

I shake my head. Her kindness is touching. I don’t know why I’m so resistant to accepting her help. Everyone else I’ve come across only ever wanted to keep to themselves. So relying on someone else is something I’m not used to, and I don’t want to get my hopes up only to be let down again.

Giving in and realizing I have no other choice, I sigh. “Alright. I guess we can stick together for a little while. For survival, of course.”

She hands me an apple and a handful of mixed nuts. “For survival.”