6

The rain has softened, its steady rhythm fading into a light drizzle. Droplets cling to the edges of leaves, glittering in the muted light, while Zoey and I hobble along the cracked asphalt of an abandoned road. The crutch is helping my ankle a lot, but it digs into my armpit more with each step. I’m pretty sure even my palm is getting blisters from the handle.

“I don’t think I can keep going much longer,” I finally admit out loud, my voice breaking the silence.

Zoey spins around to say something, but I wobble, and she doubles back to me. Her blue eyes flicker with concern. “Are you hurting?”

I nod, my hand clenching the handle of the crutch tighter, trying to push back the pain. “Yes.”

“You ankle?” She crouches down to inspect it, her fingertips grazing the brace.

“No, it’s mostly my armpit and my hand. This crutch is helping my ankle, but it’s killing the rest of me.”

She slips out of her pack and unbuttons her shirt.

“Wait, what are you doing?” I ask.

“Helping.”

“By stripping down? I hate it to break it to you, but I’m not the right audience for this.”

“Stop being so difficult.” She slips the tattered blouse off her body and tears it in half. Before I can argue, she stands and wraps it around both the handle and the top of the crutch. “There. That should give you some cushion.”

“Thank you.” I sigh when I sink back onto the crutch. It’s not perfect, but it helps.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Her tone sharpens, but not with anger.

“I didn’t want to slow us down. My goal was to go as far as we could, but I’m at my limit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize.”

I force a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Fine, then. I’m not sorry. Let’s call it refusing to give up.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe.” I glance at the empty stretch of road in either direction. “Do you think there’s somewhere nearby where we can set up camp? Only for a little while to rest.”

Her eyes sweep the area, scanning the roadside and the overgrown brush beyond. Then her gaze sharpens, and she points toward a cluster of cars farther down the road. “There. Some abandoned cars. If one of them works, we can leave in it. If not, you can rest in one while I set up the tent.”

The promise of rest is too tempting to argue. My body screams for relief, but I push forward, following Zoey toward the rusted vehicles. As we near, movement catches my eyes, and I grab Zoey’s arm, pulling her to a stop.

“What is it now?” she asks, glancing me up and down, but the issue isn’t me.

“Rotters,” I answer in a barely audible whisper.

We’re both dead silent and turn our gazes back toward the cars. Through the hazy drizzle, shapes emerge—slow, shuffling figures moving between the cars. A few rotters bump against the vehicles, the metallic clang echoing through the stillness. Each sound draws the others closer, a grim ripple of hunger and instinct.

Zoey lets out a soft breath. “We have to go around.”

I shake my head, frustration welling up. “I can’t handle that terrain, Zoey. Not with this ankle. Maybe if we double back…”

Her jaw tightens, and she glances back down the road we came from. “We can’t double back. If that guy is following us, he’s not far behind. The rotters will slow him down if he gets here, maybe even make him change direction.”

Ahead, a rotter stumbles into a car. The alarm blares to life, shattering the fragile quiet. More rotters converge on the sound, clawing and pounding against the vehicle as if it’s their prey. Some of them even bites at the hood. The noise is deafening, and for a moment, it feels like the whole road is alive with the undead. Which, I guess it technically is.

Then the alarm dies, leaving only the moans of the rotters and the eerie silence that follows.

“Wait, I have an idea.” I glance at Zoey. “Do you trust me?”

Her eyes narrow. “Why does that question scare me?”

“Great. Help me over to that red car at the end.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“It doesn’t need to. Come on.”

Zoey hesitates but moves with me, guiding me toward a faded red sedan parked on the opposite side of the street. The rotters spread out again, shuffling aimlessly along the asphalt. My hand trembles when I reach for the door handle, half expecting the car to be locked, but it clicks open. Reaching inside, I press a button on the dash, and the car’s battery flickers to life.

Zoey leans in beside me, her voice low. “Is there a key?”

“Don’t need one.” I glance at her. “Get ready to move.”

Before she can respond, I crank the radio dial, blasting music through the speakers. The upbeat rhythm jars against the grim scene, and the rotters snap to attention, lurching toward the sound.

“Go,” I hiss, pushing her away from the car.

Zoey grabs my arm and helps me hobble back as fast as we can, despite the pain all throughout my body. Keeping to the edge of the road, we loop around in a wide arc while the rotters crowd the red car. We’re nowhere on their radar right now, which is a relief because now that my knife is gone, we’re critically low on weapons. We’re in no shape to take on a dozen rotters at once.

When I stop to catch my breath, I look back and sway my hips in time with the music. “Man, I miss music.”

“Are you insane? What are you doing?” Zoey hisses out at me.

“Dancing. This is a good song.” I spin in a circle on my good foot. My balance falters, and Zoey catches me before I topple over.

“Yes, you are insane.” She shakes her head, but there’s a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“I prefer to call it not giving up, but okay.”

Zoey laughs, a sound so rare it startles me. She grips my arm and helps me forward again. “You realize we can’t camp here, right? Not with that noise drawing in every rotter for miles. Not to mention, the music will give me a headache if that never shuts off.”

“Yeah, I know. We’ll go a little farther.”

“You sure you can handle it?”

I nod. “I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Not when it comes to survival.” I glance at her. “The only choice is to keep going.”

She squeezes my arm. “I think I’m going to enjoy having you around.”

“Good,” I say, grinning. “You’re stuck with me now. I already stabbed you once, so it’s official.”

Zoey chuckles, but her laughter fades when we crest a hill. Her steps falter, and she stares ahead, wide-eyed. “Holy shit,” she breathes.

I follow her gaze. Below us, a town stretches out, surrounded by a tall chain-link fence. Inside, people move freely—some strolling along the fence, spearing rotters that press against it. Others chatting, laughing, even playing. Children dart around, their laughter drifting on the breeze.

A sight I didn’t think was ever possible again.

“Pinch me. I must be dreaming,” Zoey says.

So I reach over and pinch her arm.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“You told me to.”

“You’re…you’re something.” She shakes her head.

“But no, I don’t think you’re dreaming. This is real, right?” I ask, my voice trembling.

As if on cue, we both let out shaky sobs of relief when the realization dawns on us about what this could mean.

Safety.

Community.

A home.

Wrapping an arm around each other’s waists, we make our way down the hill.

And that’s how we approach this new town. Together.

At the gate, a man greets us with a warm smile. “Welcome to my colony. My name’s Richard.”