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Summary: In the uneasy calm after tragedy, a simple discovery in a decaying barn spirals into chaotic attempts at normalcy, as the group clings to fleeting moments of humor and humanity. But even laughter echoes differently now, shadowed by grief and the quiet understanding that nothing—not even a shower—comes without risk.
Warnings: Grief Aftermath, References to Death, Crude Humor, Mild Language
Word Count: 1.7k+
Prev. Chapter Next Chapter
Oct 24, 2025, 11:00 AM
The morning after Gabriel died felt wrong in a way none of them could quite explain.
It wasn’t quieter—if anything, the farmhouse creaked and groaned just as much as it had the night before—but something underneath the noise had shifted. The kind of shift you couldn’t point at, couldn’t name, but could feel sitting heavy in your chest like damp air before a storm.
No one went near the basement door.
Not even by accident.
They moved around it instinctively, like it had become part of the structure itself—something dangerous and permanent and better left alone.
Still, morning came anyway.
And with it, the uncomfortable reality that they were still alive.
Which meant they had to keep moving.
Eventually.
Just… not yet.
George was the one who broke first.
Not emotionally. Not dramatically.
Just… practically.
“We should check the surroundings,” he said, standing near one of the windows and peering out at the overgrown field beyond. “Barn, perimeter, anything useful we missed yesterday.”
Max didn’t respond right away. He sat at the table, elbows braced, staring at nothing in particular like he hadn’t fully come back from somewhere else yet.
George glanced over at him. “Max.”
A beat.
Then Max blinked, like surfacing.
“Yeah,” he said, pushing himself up. “Yeah. Barn.”
No one volunteered to join them.
No one stopped them either.
So they went.
The barn stood about fifty yards from the farmhouse, half-hidden behind a crooked fence and a line of dying trees that rattled softly in the breeze. It leaned slightly to one side, roof sagging just enough to be concerning but not enough to have fully given up.
“Charming,” George muttered.
Max nudged the door open with his foot.
It creaked loudly, because of course it did.
They both froze.
Waited.
Nothing lunged at them.
No sudden movement. No guttural noises from the shadows.
Just dust drifting lazily through shafts of pale light.
“Clear,” Max said quietly.
“Clear,” George echoed.
Inside, the barn was mostly empty—old tools scattered across the walls, a broken workbench, a few rusted containers that might have once held something useful. It smelled like mildew and dry rot, layered over something faintly metallic.
George kicked at a loose plank on the ground. “Not exactly a goldmine.”
Max shrugged, already moving deeper inside. “Still worth checking.”
They split up without needing to say it.
Max headed toward the back, scanning shelves and crates, while George drifted toward the side wall where a collapsed ladder leaned awkwardly against a support beam.
“Hey,” George called after a minute.
Max glanced over. “What?”
George pointed toward the far corner. “That wasn’t there yesterday.”
Max followed his gaze.
A shape, partially obscured by shadow.
Round.
Low.
“…That’s a well,” Max said.
George blinked. “Inside the barn?”
Max stepped closer, boots crunching softly on debris. “Looks like it.”
George followed, curiosity overriding caution just enough to be dangerous.
The well was old—stone lining chipped and uneven, a wooden beam overhead with a rusted pulley system that might’ve once worked. The rope hanging from it looked like it would disintegrate if you breathed on it too hard.
Max leaned over slightly, peering into the darkness below.
George immediately grabbed the back of his jacket. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m just looking.”
“You’re going to fall in and die, and I’m not explaining that to the others.”
“I’m not going to—”
The rope creaked.
Both of them froze.
Very slowly, Max straightened.
“…Okay,” he admitted. “That’s fair.”
George exhaled. “Thank you.”
They stood there for a second, staring at the well like it might do something if they looked away.
“Think there’s anything in it?” George asked.
Max shrugged. “Water. Hopefully just water.”
“…Define ‘just water.’”
Max didn’t answer.
Which was answer enough.
By the time they got back to the farmhouse, they had a problem.
A very specific problem.
One that spread faster than infection ever could.
“There’s a well,” George announced.
That was all it took.
“What do you mean, a well?” Alex demanded, already halfway out the door.
“In the barn,” George said.
“Is there water in it?”
“Probably.”
“Define probably—”
“I did not climb inside the well to verify, Alex.”
“You should have.”
“Do you want me dead?”
Within seconds, the entire group had migrated toward the barn like it was the most exciting thing they’d encountered in weeks—which, to be fair, it kind of was.
Even Franco came.
He didn’t say anything, didn’t react outwardly, but he followed.
That was something.
They gathered around the well in a loose, uneven circle, all of them staring down into it like it might reveal the meaning of life if they waited long enough.
“…I can’t see anything,” Ollie said.
“That’s because it’s dark,” Isack replied.
“Thank you, Isack. Very insightful.”
Kimi crouched slightly, squinting. “There’s water.”
“How do you know?” Ollie asked.
“I can hear it.”
They all went quiet.
And then—
Faint.
Distant.
A soft, almost imperceptible drip.
“…Okay, yeah,” Alex admitted. “That’s water.”
“Or something pretending to be water,” Esteban added.
Everyone paused.
“…Why would you say that?” Ollie asked, turning to look at Esteban.
Esteban shrugged. “Just covering all possibilities.”
“Please stop covering possibilities.”
Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re not drinking straight out of it.”
“No one said we were,” Carlos replied.
A beat.
“…We were all thinking it,” Alex admitted.
“Absolutely not,” Lewis said.
“Absolutely yes,” George countered.
“Focus,” Max snapped. “We can use it. Carefully.”
“For what?” Ollie asked.
Max gestured vaguely. “Cleaning. Washing. Something that doesn’t involve drinking it and dying.”
That shifted the energy.
Noticeably.
Because suddenly—
They all realized something.
At the same time.
“…We could shower,” Alex said slowly.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then chaos.
“I CALL FIRST—”
“NO—”
“WE NEED A SYSTEM—”
“There is no system—”
“There is now—”
Within minutes, the barn had turned into a full-scale argument zone.
“Absolutely not, we are not doing a free-for-all,” Carlos said, trying and failing to impose order. “We need a rotation—”
“Rotation?” Ollie repeated. “What is this, a spa?”
“Yes,” Alex cut in. “Exactly that. A very exclusive, extremely limited spa.”
Max stared at them like they had all collectively lost their minds.
Which, to be fair, they had.
“Guys,” he said. “This is not—”
“We haven’t showered in days,” George interrupted.
“…That’s not the point.”
“It is exactly the point.”
Lewis crossed his arms. “We’re doing it. The question is how.”
And just like that—
It became a project.
The setup was… questionable.
At best.
They found a dented metal bucket in the barn, punched holes into the bottom with a screwdriver and a rock (a process that took far longer than anyone wanted to admit), and rigged it up to the old pulley system above the well.
The tarp came from the Suburban—one of the many things they’d shoved in without thinking.
“Privacy,” Alex declared, holding it up like a prize.
“Barely,” Pierre muttered.
“It’s symbolic privacy.”
“That’s not how privacy works.”
“It is now.”
They strung the tarp between two beams, creating a makeshift enclosure that swayed slightly with every gust of wind.
“It’s perfect,” Ollie said.
“It’s a disaster,” Carlos corrected.
“Same thing.”
Max stepped back, looking at the entire contraption with visible skepticism. “This is going to collapse.”
Carlos went first, because he insisted on “testing it for safety,” which everyone immediately called bullshit on but allowed anyway.
The water was cold.
Painfully cold.
His yelp echoed across the barn.
“…Okay, noted,” George said. “It works.”
Carlos emerged a few minutes later, shivering but visibly cleaner, running a hand through his damp hair.
“Next,” Max said.
And then it devolved.
“YOU SAID FIVE MINUTES—”
“I DID FIVE MINUTES—”
“THAT WAS TEN—”
“IT FELT LIKE FIVE—”
“That’s not how time works!”
Ollie burst out of the tarp enclosure, hair dripping, grinning like he’d just had the best experience of his life. “Worth it.”
“You’re banned,” Max said immediately.
“Unfair.”
“Completely fair.”
Kimi went next.
Or tried to.
He paused just outside the tarp, running a hand along his jaw thoughtfully.
“Wait,” Ollie said suddenly.
Kimi blinked. “What?”
“Don’t shave.”
“…What?”
“Don’t shave,” Ollie repeated, more firmly this time. “The stubble suits you.”
There was a beat.
Then another.
Kimi stared at him.
Ollie, realizing what he’d just said, went very still.
“I mean—not that—you can—I just—”
Kimi snorted softly.
Actually snorted.
It caught everyone off guard.
“Noted,” he said simply, before ducking under the tarp.
Ollie turned bright red.
Alex leaned over. “Oh, that was smooth.”
“Shut up,” Ollie muttered.
“Very smooth.”
“I hate you.”
“My little gay protégé.”
“I’m not gay”
George turned to look at Alex, absolutely exasperated. “Quit bothering people and get ready. You’re next after Kimi.”
Alex turned to grab a towel, but not before giving Ollie a wink.
Even Franco eventually took a turn.
No one commented on it.
No one made it a big deal.
But they noticed.
The way he moved slower. The way he didn’t look at anyone as he stepped behind the tarp. The way he stayed just under the five-minute limit, like he didn’t want to take up more space than necessary.
When he came out, his hair was damp, clinging to his forehead.
He still didn’t say anything.
But he looked a little more present.
By the time everyone was done, the barn looked like a war zone.
Water everywhere. Mud churned into the ground. The tarp half-falling off one side.
But—
They were cleaner.
Lighter.
“Alright,” Lewis said, clapping his hands once. “Back to work.”
Groans echoed immediately.
“You said we could rest,” Ollie complained.
“I said we could shower.”
“Same difference.”
“Not even close.”
Reluctantly, they filed back toward the farmhouse, the brief moment of chaos fading into something quieter.
Something steadier.
They moved through the house again, checking rooms, gathering supplies, packing what little they had left into manageable bundles.
All characters and real people depicted are fictionalized for storytelling purposes. No harm or offense is intended. Content may include mature themes—reader discretion advised.
Summary: Isack Hadjar insists—repeatedly, stubbornly, and very loudly—that he does not like Liam Lawson. Unfortunately, everyone around him seems determined to prove him wrong—using his own behavior as evidence.
Pairing(s): Liam Lawson x Isack Hadjar
Warnings: Emotional Repression, Denial of Feelings, Mild Swearing, Yearning Idiots, Team Tension, Post-Argument Pining
Word Count: 1.5k+
Isack doesn’t like Liam Lawson.
This is a fact.
A well-established, frequently stated, aggressively defended fact.
“Don’t like him,” Isack says, arms crossed, leaning back in the Red Bull garage like this is a completely normal conversation to be having at nine in the morning. “Never have.”
Max doesn’t even look up from his phone.
“Right,” he says.
Isack narrows his eyes. “You don’t believe me.”
Max scrolls. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Max hums. “You’ve mentioned him six times in the last ten minutes.”
“I have not.”
“You have.”
“I was making a point.”
“About how much you don’t like him.”
“Yes.”
Max finally looks up.
“…You talk about people you don’t like that much?”
Isack opens his mouth.
Closes it.
“…He’s just annoying,” he settles on.
Max nods, like that makes perfect sense. “Mm.”
Isack squints. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Max says, going back to his phone, “you should probably go focus on FP3 instead of thinking about him.”
“I’m not thinking about him.”
Max doesn’t respond.
Which is worse.
He’s not thinking about Liam.
He’s just—
Aware.
Of where the VCARB garage is.
Of when Liam walks past.
Of the fact that he hasn’t walked past yet, which is—
Irrelevant.
Completely irrelevant.
Isack pulls his gloves tighter, jaw set.
“Stop hovering,” a voice says behind him.
He turns.
Oscar stands there, calm as ever, like he hasn’t just appeared out of nowhere.
“I’m not hovering,” Isack says.
Oscar glances—not subtly—toward the edge of the garage, where the VCARB side is just barely visible.
Then back at Isack.
“You are,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“You’re waiting.”
“I’m not waiting.”
Oscar tilts his head slightly. “For someone who doesn’t like him, you spend a lot of time checking if he’s around.”
Isack scoffs. “I’m not checking.”
“You looked three times in the last minute.”
Isack freezes.
“…You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not.”
Silence.
Oscar watches him for a second longer.
Then—
“You miss him,” Oscar says, like he’s commenting on the weather.
Isack laughs.
Actually laughs.
“Yeah,” he says flatly. “That’s it. I miss him. That’s why I think he’s insufferable.”
Oscar shrugs. “Both can be true.”
“No, they can’t.”
“They can.”
“They can’t.”
Oscar considers that.
Then nods slowly. “Okay.”
Isack frowns. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Oscar repeats. “You don’t like him.”
“Exactly.”
Oscar glances over his shoulder.
Then back.
“He’s here, by the way.”
Isack’s head snaps up before he can stop himself.
Oscar’s mouth twitches.
“…You’re unbelievable,” Isack mutters.
Oscar just walks away.
FP3 is fine.
Good, even.
Isack puts in clean laps, keeps it tight, doesn’t overpush.
He doesn’t think about Liam.
Not when he sees a flash of blue and white on track.
Not when he hears his name over the radio in the same breath as Liam’s during timing updates.
Not when he catches sight of him climbing out of the car across the paddock afterward.
Not once.
Not at all.
He’s focused.
Professional.
Completely unaffected.
“Mate.”
Arvid is grinning at him like he knows something.
Which, immediately—
Isack doesn’t like.
“What?” Isack says.
Arvid leans against the barrier, casual. “You’ve got a minute?”
“No.”
“Cool,” Arvid says, ignoring that completely. “So—Liam.”
Isack groans. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I don’t—” Isack gestures vaguely. “Why does everyone keep bringing him up?”
Arvid raises an eyebrow. “Because you keep reacting like that.”
“I’m not reacting.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
Arvid smiles, slow and knowing. “You are.”
Isack glares. “Say whatever you came here to say.”
Arvid shrugs. “Just thought you should know he asked about you.”
Isack’s stomach does something deeply unhelpful.
“…Why?”
Arvid watches him carefully.
“Because he cares?” he offers.
Isack scoffs. “Doubt it.”
“Right,” Arvid says. “That’s why he wanted to know how you were settling in. Totally doesn’t care.”
Isack hesitates.
Just for a second.
“…That’s normal,” he says. “We used to be teammates.”
“Yeah,” Arvid agrees easily. “Used to.”
There’s something in the way he says it.
Like he’s waiting.
Isack looks away first.
“…Doesn’t mean anything,” he mutters.
Arvid hums. “Sure.”
Then—
“He still looks for you, you know.”
That—
That makes Isack look back.
“What?”
Arvid shrugs. “In the paddock. Garage. Wherever. Not obvious, but…” He tilts his head. “You notice things like that when you’re around someone a lot.”
Isack’s chest feels tight.
Annoyingly so.
“…You’re making that up.”
“I’m not.”
Silence.
Arvid pushes off the barrier.
“Anyway,” he says lightly. “Good luck in quali.”
Then he leaves.
And Isack is left standing there—
Thinking about things he absolutely does not want to be thinking about.
By the time qualifying rolls around, Isack is irritated.
Not at anything specific.
Just—
In general.
At everyone.
At himself.
At the fact that Liam is currently P-something and that Isack knows that without even checking.
“Still don’t like him?”
Isack doesn’t turn this time.
He recognizes the voice immediately.
Lewis steps up beside him, easy, observant in that way that makes people feel like they’ve already been read.
“Nope,” Isack says.
Lewis hums. “Interesting.”
Isack exhales. “You too?”
“Just curious,” Lewis says. “You’ve got a lot of energy for someone you don’t care about.”
“I don’t care.”
Lewis smiles slightly. “Right.”
Isack presses his lips together.
“You ever notice,” Lewis continues, “how the things we’re loudest about are usually the ones we’re trying hardest to convince ourselves of?”
Isack glares. “That sounds like something you say to be annoying.”
Lewis laughs quietly. “Sometimes.”
A pause.
Then—
“You don’t have to make it complicated,” Lewis adds.
Isack frowns. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
Lewis glances at him.
Kind.
Too kind.
“You miss him,” he says.
Isack looks away.
Doesn’t answer.
Because—
He’s heard that already.
Too many times today.
And it’s starting to sound less like a joke.
He sees Liam properly for the first time that evening.
After quali.
In the paddock.
It’s accidental.
Or—
He tells himself it is.
They round the same corner at the same time.
Almost collide.
Stop short.
And for a second—
It’s just them.
No teammates.
No noise.
No buffer.
Liam looks the same.
Maybe a little more tired.
Maybe a little more careful.
But the same.
“Hey,” Liam says.
Simple.
Easy.
Like nothing’s wrong.
Like everything is.
Isack swallows.
“Hey.”
A beat.
“How’s Red Bull?” Liam asks.
“Fine.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
God, this is painful.
They used to be easy.
Used to be—
Not this.
“You look good out there,” Liam says after a moment.
Isack blinks. “You too.”
Another pause.
Then—
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Liam says.
Straightforward.
No edge.
Just… true.
Isack scoffs automatically. “I haven’t.”
Liam raises an eyebrow.
And yeah—
Okay.
Maybe he has.
“…Busy,” Isack amends.
Liam nods slowly.
“Right.”
That silence again.
Thick.
Heavy.
Familiar in the worst way.
“You could’ve said something,” Liam says.
Isack frowns. “About what?”
“About leaving,” Liam says.
Oh.
That.
Isack looks away.
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
Liam lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath.
“Yeah,” he says. “That tracks.”
Something in Isack’s chest twists.
“That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?” Liam cuts in, still calm but tighter now. “Because from where I was standing, it looked a lot like you just… didn’t care.”
“I did,” Isack says immediately.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
Liam stills.
“…Right,” he says quietly.
Isack exhales, frustrated.
“No, I—” He stops, runs a hand through his hair. “I just didn’t know how to say it.”
“Say what?”
And there it is.
The thing.
The whole thing.
Isack looks at him.
Really looks.
And god—
He’s missed him.
That’s the worst part.
The stupidest part.
“…That I didn’t want it to end like that,” Isack says finally.
Liam’s expression shifts.
Softens.
Just a little.
“It didn’t have to,” he says.
“I know,” Isack mutters. “I just—”
He cuts himself off.
Shakes his head.
“This is stupid.”
Liam huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah.”
A pause.
Then—
“You talk big for someone who cares this much,” Liam says.
Isack freezes.
“…What?”
Liam’s mouth twitches.
“You heard me.”
Isack stares at him.
Because—
Of course.
Of course Liam would be the one to say it.
After a whole day of everyone else circling it.
He exhales slowly.
Then—
“…I don’t like you,” he says.
Liam snorts.
“Sure.”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t.”
“Isack.”
“What?”
Liam steps closer.
Not much.
Just enough.
“You showed up to our garage three times this week,” he says. “You think I didn’t notice?”
Isack’s face heats. “I had reasons.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Liam nods. “I’m sure you did.”
Isack huffs.
Then—
Quieter—
“…I missed you.”
There.
Said.
Finally.
Liam stills.
Completely.
“…Yeah?” he asks.
Isack nods, just once.
“Yeah.”
A beat.
Then—
“Me too,” Liam says.
And just like that—
Everything settles.
Not fixed.
Not perfect.
But—
Right.
Isack lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
All characters and real people depicted are fictionalized for storytelling purposes. No harm or offense is intended. Content may include mature themes—reader discretion advised.
Summary: After a desperate attempt to cross the Black Bridge ends in catastrophe, the group is forced to accept that there is no clean path north—and nowhere in the world is safe from what is coming. Seeking shelter at a remote farmhouse, they barely survive the night before another loss in its flooded basement shatters what remains of their fragile stability.
At first, it was just a shape in the fog—something darker than the rest of the world, something too straight, too deliberate to be natural. The heavy morning mist still hadn’t burned off, clinging low over the riverbanks and swallowing distance whole. What should have been visible from miles away only revealed itself in fragments: a rusted railing here, the skeletal outline of a light post there.
Then, as they crested a shallow incline, it emerged all at once.
The Black Bridge.
Even without the warning, without the dying woman’s voice echoing in their heads, they would’ve known something about it was wrong.
It wasn’t just abandoned.
It was choked.
Cars littered the span in chaotic clusters—some angled sideways like they’d tried to turn around too late, others crushed nose-to-tail in desperate attempts to escape. Doors hung open. Windshields were shattered. A semi truck sat jackknifed across two lanes near the center, its trailer split open like something had clawed its way out.
And between it all—
Movement.
Slow. Unsteady. Endless.
“Infected,” Alex muttered from the back of the Suburban, though no one needed the confirmation.
There were hundreds.
Maybe more.
They wandered between the cars, bumped into one another, dragged themselves along the concrete. Some were caught in loops, pacing the same few feet over and over again. Others leaned against vehicles as if they’d simply stopped mid-escape and never started again.
And below the bridge—
The river churned, swollen and fast from recent storms, its surface broken by debris and something darker that none of them wanted to look at too closely.
Max slowed the Suburban to a stop a safe distance away. Behind him, Lando did the same with the Ram.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then, quietly, through the walkie:
“Well,” Lando said. “That’s… bad.”
“That’s not crossable,” Pierre added flatly.
“No,” Carlos agreed. “Not like this.”
Silence stretched again, heavier this time.
They had come all this way for this.
Lewis leaned forward slightly from the middle row, eyes scanning the structure. “What about underneath?”
Max didn’t respond immediately. His gaze tracked along the side of the bridge, where the concrete supports descended toward the riverbank.
A narrow maintenance path. Steel beams. Structural supports crisscrossing beneath the main span.
Close.
Dangerously close.
“…It’s possible,” Max said finally.
A beat.
“That’s insane,” Charles said.
Max glanced at him. “You have a better idea?”
Charles opened his mouth—then stopped.
Because he didn’t.
None of them did.
Behind them, in the truck, the conversation mirrored itself.
“You’re joking,” Ollie said, staring at the underside of the bridge. “You want to go under that? That’s like—” he gestured vaguely, “—a horror movie.”
Kimi didn’t disagree.
But he also didn’t look away.
“It’s quieter,” he said. “Less visible.”
“Less visible to what?” Ollie shot back. “There are literally hundreds of them above us.”
“And fewer below,” Kimi replied.
That was the problem.
Fewer didn’t mean none.
Liam shifted his weight in the truck bed, eyes locked on the structure. “If it collapses—”
“It hasn’t yet,” Franco interrupted, though his voice lacked conviction.
Isack said nothing.
He was staring at the water.
At the way it moved.
At the way things seemed to drift just beneath the surface.
“No,” Lando said suddenly, louder than before. “No, we’re not doing that.”
Every head in the truck turned toward him.
“That’s suicide,” he continued. “We find another way.”
“There is no other way,” Max’s voice came through the walkie, sharp and immediate. “We turn around, we lose hours. Maybe days. We burn fuel we don’t have.”
“And we die if that thing comes down on us,” Lando shot back.
“Or we die out here,” Max countered. “Pick one.”
The argument hung there, raw and unresolved.
Then—
“We go under,” Lewis said.
Quiet.
Decisive.
Final.
Max didn’t argue.
Neither did Carlos.
And after a moment—
Neither did Lando.
They parked off the road, hidden as best they could behind a cluster of overgrown brush and a collapsed sign.
No engines.
No unnecessary noise.
Everything they didn’t need stayed behind.
Everything they couldn’t afford to lose came with them.
Weapons were checked. Straps tightened. Sleeves pulled down over shaking hands.
“Stay close,” Carlos said. “No sudden movements. No yelling unless you absolutely have to.”
“That’s reassuring,” Ollie muttered.
Kimi bumped his shoulder lightly. “You’ll be fine.”
Ollie gave him a look. “That is statistically unlikely.”
But he stuck close anyway.
They approached the bridge from the side, moving down the sloped embankment toward the supports. The ground was damp, soft underfoot, and more than once someone slipped slightly before catching themselves.
The closer they got, the louder it became.
Not loud in the way of a horde charging.
But constant.
A low, unending chorus of movement and decay filtering down from above. The scrape of shoes on concrete. The hollow thud of bodies bumping into metal. The occasional, wet, choking sound that none of them wanted to identify.
“Don’t look up,” George said quietly.
Of course, that made it impossible not to.
Through the gaps in the structure, they could see them.
Feet.
Legs.
Shadows shifting overhead.
So many of them.
“Jesus,” Alex whispered.
“Keep moving,” Max said.
They reached the first beam.
It was narrower than it looked from a distance.
Of course it was.
Steel, slick with condensation, stretching out beneath the bridge like a thin, unforgiving path. Below it, the river rushed past, fast and cold and full of things they couldn’t see clearly enough.
“Nope,” Ollie said immediately. “No, absolutely not.”
Kimi stepped onto it.
Ollie stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Kimi glanced back. “You coming?”
Ollie hesitated—
Then followed.
Because what else was he going to do?
One by one, they moved onto the beams.
Slow.
Careful.
Every step placed with deliberate precision.
Above them, the infected shifted.
A few sounds changed—subtle, but enough to make everyone freeze.
“Did they hear that?” Isack whispered.
“Keep moving,” Liam murmured.
The beam vibrated faintly under their combined weight.
Or maybe that was just in their heads.
The river below surged louder, the current slamming against the supports with a force that made the entire structure feel… unstable.
Alive, almost.
Wrong.
Halfway to the first support column, Ollie’s foot slipped.
“Shit—”
His arms windmilled for balance, body tipping sideways—
Kimi grabbed him instantly, fingers locking around his sleeve and yanking him back upright.
For a second, they just stood there, breathing hard.
“Okay,” Ollie said faintly. “Okay. That almost—yeah, I almost died.”
“You didn’t,” Kimi said.
“Great. Fantastic. Love that for me.”
Despite everything—
Kimi huffed a quiet laugh.
It was brief.
Fragile.
But it was something.
Behind them, Liam kept a closer eye on Isack, who hadn’t taken his gaze off the water.
“You good?” Liam asked softly.
Isack nodded quickly.
Too quickly.
“Yeah. Fine.”
He wasn’t.
But they didn’t have time for that.
Not here.
Not now.
“Stay with me,” Liam said anyway.
Isack glanced at him, something tight in his expression—
Then nodded again.
“Yeah.”
They kept moving.
Step by step.
Toward the center of the bridge.
Toward something none of them trusted.
And somewhere above them—
Something shifted.
Louder this time.
A metal groan, deep and resonant, echoing through the structure like a warning.
Everyone froze.
“What was that?” Esteban whispered.
No one answered.
Because they all knew.
And none of them wanted to say it out loud.
The sound didn’t stop.
That was the worst part.
It wasn’t just a single groan of stressed metal that faded into silence, something they could pretend hadn’t happened. It lingered—low and aching, vibrating through the beams beneath their feet and up into their bones.
Everyone stood frozen, balanced precariously above the rushing water.
“Keep moving,” Max said, quieter now but more urgent. “Slow. Don’t rush.”
“Don’t rush?” Ollie whispered hoarsely. “The bridge is literally—”
“Move,” Carlos cut in.
That did it.
They moved.
Not faster—if anything, more carefully—but with a tension now that hadn’t been there before. Every step felt like it mattered more. Every shift of weight carried consequence.
Above them, the infected reacted to the vibration.
A few stumbled closer to the edges of the bridge, their uncoordinated movements sending small bits of debris trickling down through the gaps. Dust. Rust flakes. Something wetter that no one wanted to identify.
Isack flinched as something landed on his sleeve.
“Don’t look,” Liam murmured immediately.
Too late.
Isack wiped it off quickly, jaw tightening, breathing starting to come a little too fast.
“Hey,” Liam said softly, adjusting his pace to stay directly beside him. “Stay with me, yeah? Just—focus on your steps.”
“I am,” Isack said, but it came out thin.
They kept moving.
The first support column loomed ahead—thick concrete rising from the river like a temporary promise of stability.
“Once we reach that, we can—” Alex started.
A shout cut him off.
Behind them.
“Wait—!”
It was Franco.
Everyone turned instinctively.
Too fast.
The beam shifted under the sudden, uneven movement.
“Don’t—!” George snapped, but the warning came too late.
Liam’s foot slipped.
It happened in a fraction of a second—one misstep, one patch of slick metal—and suddenly he wasn’t standing anymore.
He dropped.
A sharp intake of breath, a flash of movement—
And then he was hanging.
One hand barely caught the edge of the beam, the other scrambling for purchase as his body swung out over the river below.
“Liam!” Isack’s voice cracked, panic immediate and raw.
The current roared beneath him, loud and violent, close enough that if he fell, there would be no getting him back.
“Don’t move!” Max barked, already shifting carefully back along the beam.
Liam’s grip slipped slightly.
“Fuck—”
His fingers tightened, knuckles going white as he fought to hold on. His boots scraped uselessly against empty air, searching for something that wasn’t there.
“I’ve got you—” someone started—
But they didn’t.
Not yet.
Kimi moved first.
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. He dropped down onto the beam, lowering his center of gravity as he edged closer, one hand braced behind him for balance.
“Kimi—” Ollie’s voice was tight with fear.
“It’s fine,” Kimi said, though it very clearly wasn’t.
He reached Liam.
For a second, it looked impossible—Liam hanging too far down, Kimi stretched too thin—but then Kimi lunged forward just enough to grab his wrist.
“Got you,” Kimi said, breath sharp.
Liam let out a strained laugh that didn’t sound like humor at all. “That’s—great—please don’t drop me.”
“Not planning to.”
“Good—good plan—”
“Shut up and hold on.”
Kimi tightened his grip, bracing his feet harder against the beam. “On three,” he said. “You’re going to kick up, okay?”
Liam nodded once, jaw clenched.
“One—”
Above them, the bridge groaned again.
Louder.
Closer.
“Two—”
The metal beneath their feet vibrated.
“Three.”
Liam kicked.
Kimi pulled.
For one terrifying second, it felt like neither would be enough—
Then Liam’s arm cleared the edge, his chest slamming hard against the beam as Kimi hauled him the rest of the way up.
They collapsed there for half a second, breathing hard, bodies pressed flat against the cold metal.
“Okay,” Ollie said faintly. “Okay, that was—horrible.”
“You’re fine,” Kimi said, though his own breathing was uneven now.
Liam nodded, pushing himself up carefully. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m—”
He stopped.
Because the sound was getting worse.
Not just a groan now.
A crack.
Deep. Splitting. Structural.
Max’s head snapped upward. “We need to go. Now.”
They moved faster.
Careful still—but urgency had taken over now, overriding the slow precision from before. The beam rattled beneath them with every step, the vibrations no longer subtle.
Above, the infected were reacting more noticeably now.
Some were drawn to the edges, clustering where the noise was strongest. A few stumbled too far, slipping between gaps in the broken railing—
And falling.
Bodies hit the water below with heavy splashes, immediately swallowed by the current.
Isack made a strangled sound.
“Don’t look,” Liam said again, more firmly this time.
But Isack had already seen.
The way they moved even after hitting the water.
The way they didn’t stay under.
His breathing hitched sharply.
“Hey—hey, look at me,” Liam said, reaching out, grabbing his sleeve just enough to anchor him. “Focus, okay? We’re almost—”
Another crack split the air.
Louder.
Closer.
The beam dipped.
Actually dipped.
“Go!” Carlos shouted. “Go, go, go!”
That did it.
They ran.
Balance be damned.
Careful steps turned into quick, desperate strides as they bolted back the way they’d come, the support column forgotten, the idea of crossing abandoned completely.
Behind them, something gave.
A section of the bridge above shifted violently, metal screaming as it tore against itself. The infected clustered there stumbled, collapsed into one another—
And then the entire segment dropped.
The sound was deafening.
Concrete and steel crashing down, taking dozens—hundreds—of infected with it as the structure caved inward toward the river.
“Run!” Max shouted unnecessarily.
They were already running.
The beam bucked under their feet, throwing off their balance. Alex nearly went down, caught at the last second by George. Esteban slipped, slamming a knee hard against the metal but forcing himself back up with a gasp.
Behind them, the collapse spread.
Not the entire bridge—but enough.
Enough to make it clear that staying any longer would kill them.
They reached the embankment in a staggered rush, scrambling up the damp slope with shaking hands and slipping boots.
Lando was already at the top, waving them on frantically. “Move, move, move—!”
One by one, they cleared it.
Kimi last.
He didn’t look back until he reached solid ground.
And when he did—
The sight stuck.
A massive section of the bridge had torn away, collapsing into the river below in a twisted mess of metal and concrete. The water churned violently around it, dragging everything down—debris, cars, bodies.
So many bodies.
The infected that hadn’t fallen still crowded the remaining sections, their movements frantic now, disoriented by the sudden destruction.
It looked like the world breaking.
Like something final.
“Nope,” Ollie said, breathless. “Nope, we are not doing that again. Ever.”
No one disagreed.
Max turned away first. “We’re done here.”
Charles nodded once, pale but steady. “We turn around.”
There it was.
The thing none of them wanted to admit.
“We go through Waco,” Lewis said quietly.
Silence followed.
Because they all knew what that meant.
More risk.
More unknowns.
But there wasn’t another option anymore.
The bridge had made that decision for them.
They ran back to the vehicles.
Adrenaline carried them the rest of the way, shoving aside exhaustion and fear just long enough to get moving again.
Doors slammed.
Engines roared to life.
“Go!” Lando shouted into the walkie, already throwing the truck into gear.
Max didn’t wait.
The Suburban peeled out first, tires spitting gravel as it swung back onto the road. The truck followed close behind—
Too close.
The abandoned cars near the bridge created a bottleneck, forcing them to weave sharply between rusted frames and shattered glass.
“Careful—!” Oscar started.
Too late.
The truck clipped one.
It wasn’t a full collision—just a hard, glancing hit against a half-crushed sedan—but it was enough.
A sharp crack.
A hiss.
“Shit,” Lando muttered, gripping the wheel tighter.
“What was that?” Oscar asked, bracing himself.
“The radiator,” Lando said. “I think—”
The temperature gauge spiked.
Fast.
“Yeah,” he finished grimly. “That’s bad.”
Behind them, the bridge continued to groan and settle, pieces still falling intermittently into the river.
They didn’t slow down.
Not until they were far enough away that the sound faded into the distance.
Only then did Lando ease off the gas slightly.
The truck shuddered.
Coughed.
And then—
Died.
“…No,” Ollie said from the back. “No, no, no—”
Lando tried the ignition again.
Nothing.
“Fuck.”
Ahead, the Suburban slowed, then turned back toward them.
Max already knew.
Of course he did.
They all did.
The truck was done.
Which meant—
“We’re all squeezing in,” Gabriel said, voice hollow.
Ollie let out a hysterical half-laugh. “Oh, that’s going to be fun.”
No one else laughed.
Because there were too many of them.
And not enough space.
And the day wasn’t even close to over.
The Suburban looked smaller the moment they all turned toward it.
It hadn’t changed, not really. Same scratched paint, same dent along the side panel, same worn seats inside. But with the truck dead on the roadside behind them and sixteen people standing in a loose, stunned cluster, it felt… insufficient.
“Right,” Alex said after a long, quiet second. “That’s not going to work.”
“It will,” Max replied flatly.
Alex blinked. “There are sixteen of us.”
“Fifteen seats if we get creative,” Carlos corrected.
“That is not how seats work.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Lewis said.
That ended the argument before it could even start.
Because that was the truth of it.
It always was.
Packing them in took longer than anyone wanted.
Not because they were being careful—if anything, they rushed—but because there were simply too many bodies and not enough space to put them.
“Okay, no, that’s my leg,” Ollie protested as someone shoved past him.
“I know,” Pierre said dully. “It’s still going there.”
“It absolutely is not—”
“It is if you want to leave before nightfall.”
“That’s a threat.”
“It’s a fact.”
In the front, Max had already reclaimed the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel like if he let go for even a second, something else would fall apart. Charles slid into the passenger side with a quiet grunt, carefully angling himself to avoid bumping his bandaged arm.
“Don’t touch it,” he snapped immediately as Max’s elbow brushed too close.
“I didn’t,” Max shot back.
“You almost did.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when I only have one hand left, Max.”
Max went very still for half a second.
Then, quieter, “I know.”
The tension didn’t disappear.
But it shifted.
Behind them, the middle row turned into a negotiation zone.
Carlos climbed in first, pressing himself as far to one side as possible. Lewis followed, then George, who took one look at the available space and let out a low, unimpressed exhale.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Sit,” Carlos said.
“I am sitting. I’m just… overlapping.”
“You’ll survive.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Alex squeezed in next, effectively eliminating any concept of personal space. “We’re going to have to stack,” he said.
“We are not stacking,” George replied.
“We are absolutely stacking.”
In the back row, things were somehow worse.
Pierre slid in first, expression distant, movements mechanical. Esteban followed, wincing slightly as he adjusted his bruised arm. Kimi and Ollie climbed in after them, the two of them immediately pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with no room to move.
“Hi,” Ollie said weakly.
“Hi,” Kimi replied.
“I can’t feel my left arm.”
“That’s probably fine.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“Too late now.”
They made it work.
Barely.
And then came the rest.
Franco hesitated before climbing in, eyes flicking once toward where the truck had been abandoned, like part of him was still stuck there. Then he forced himself forward, squeezing into whatever space remained, silent and distant.
Liam climbed in next, immediately turning to help Isack.
“Come on,” he said gently.
Isack stared at the vehicle for a second too long.
Too many people.
Too little space.
Too many ways something could go wrong.
“I—” he started, then stopped.
Liam didn’t push.
He just reached out, taking Isack’s wrist lightly. “Hey. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
That seemed to cut through it.
Barely.
But enough.
Isack nodded once and let Liam guide him in, the two of them folding into the cramped space together. There wasn’t room to sit normally, so Isack ended up half-leaning into Liam’s side, their legs tangled awkwardly with everyone else’s.
No one commented.
No one had the energy.
Finally, Gabriel climbed in last.
He hesitated at the door, glancing back once at the road, at the direction of the bridge, at the place they’d just barely escaped.
Then he shut the door.
“Everyone in?” Max called.
A chorus of reluctant, overlapping affirmations answered him.
“Define ‘in,’” Ollie muttered.
Max ignored that and started the engine.
The Suburban dipped slightly under the weight.
But it held.
“Seatbelts,” Carlos said automatically.
There was a pause.
Then—
“…That’s funny,” Alex said.
It was uncomfortable immediately.
Not gradually.
Not something they adjusted to over time.
Immediately.
Limbs pressed into limbs. Shoulders jammed together. Someone’s knee digging into someone else’s back. The air inside the vehicle warmed quickly from shared body heat, fogging the windows despite the cold outside.
“This is a nightmare,” Ollie said.
“You’re alive,” Pierre replied flatly.
“Debatable.”
From the front, Charles shifted slightly, wincing. “We need to rotate seats.”
“No,” Max said.
“Yes,” Charles insisted. “Someone tall is going in the middle.”
“I refuse.”
From behind them, George spoke without missing a beat. “Wonderful. I volunteer Max.”
A beat.
Then, despite everything—
A few quiet laughs.
Even Max huffed once, shaking his head. “Not happening.”
“Coward,” Alex muttered.
“Driver,” Max corrected.
“Temporary.”
“Do you want to walk?”
“…Driver.”
The moment passed.
Small.
Brief.
But real.
The farmhouse came into view just as the light began to shift.
Not dark yet.
But heading there.
It sat off the road, partially obscured by overgrown trees and a sagging fence line. From a distance, it looked intact—weathered, but standing.
“Could work,” Carlos said.
“Or it’s already occupied,” Esteban added.
“Everything is,” Lewis replied.
Max slowed the Suburban, eyes scanning the property carefully. No immediate movement. No obvious signs of a horde.
“Let’s check it,” he said.
No one argued.
They couldn’t afford to.
The house creaked when they stepped inside.
Old wood. Settling structure. The kind of sound that might’ve been normal once, before everything meant something else.
“Clear,” Alex called from the main room.
“Upstairs clear,” George added a minute later.
“Kitchen’s fine,” Carlos said.
It was… quiet.
Too quiet.
But safe enough.
For now.
“Basement?” Pierre asked.
There was a pause.
No one liked that word anymore.
Not after the river.
Not after everything.
“I’ll check,” Gabriel said.
Franco’s head snapped up slightly at that, something flickering in his otherwise distant expression.
“I’ll go with you,” Liam added.
Gabriel shook his head. “It’s fine. I’ll just—quick look.”
“Don’t—” Carlos started.
But Gabriel was already moving.
The smell hit first.
Damp.
Rot.
Water.
“Gabriel?” Liam called after him.
No response.
Just the faint creak of steps descending.
And then—
A splash.
Small.
But wrong.
Liam moved immediately, crossing the room in two quick strides and yanking the basement door open.
“Gabriel—?”
What he saw—
Water.
The basement was flooded, murky and still, rising halfway up the stairs. The surface rippled unnaturally, disturbed by something beneath it.
And Gabriel—
Was slipping.
His foot went out from under him on the submerged step, his body pitching forward into the dark water with a sharp gasp.
“Shit—!”
He surfaced for half a second—
Then something grabbed him.
Not visible.
Not clearly.
Just movement.
A force pulling him down.
His hands broke the surface again, clawing at nothing, at air, at the edge of the step—
“Help—!”
The word cut off into a choked scream as he was dragged under.
The water swallowed the sound.
“MOVE!” Liam shouted.
He lunged forward, but strong hands grabbed him from behind—Max, Carlos, someone—yanking him back before he could throw himself in after him.
“There are infected in there!” Carlos snapped.
“We have to—!”
Another splash.
Then—
Nothing.
Just ripples.
Just dark water.
Just silence.
Franco didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t react.
He just stared at the surface like if he looked hard enough, Gabriel would come back up.
He didn’t.
He wouldn’t.
And everyone knew it.
The basement stayed still.
Like it had swallowed him whole.
No one suggested going down there.
No one suggested retrieving the body.
Because they couldn’t.
Because they wouldn’t make it back up.
“Upstairs,” Lewis said quietly. “We stay upstairs.”
It wasn’t comfort.
It wasn’t reassurance.
It was survival.
And it came at a cost.
Franco still hadn’t moved.
Kimi stepped closer slowly, careful, like approaching something fragile. “Franco…”
No response.
Ollie hovered nearby, unsure, eyes flicking between the basement door and Franco’s face.
“Hey,” he tried softly.
Nothing.
It was like something had shut off inside him.
Like the part that reacted had just… stopped.
Across the room, Isack’s breathing had gone uneven again.
Not loud.
But sharp.
Too fast.
Too shallow.
“I—” he started, voice breaking. “I can’t—he just—he was right there—”
Liam was there immediately.
“I’ve got you,” he said, pulling Isack close without hesitation, one hand steady against the back of his neck.
Isack didn’t resist.
Didn’t pull away.
He just grabbed onto Liam like he needed something solid to prove the world hadn’t just disappeared out from under him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Liam murmured, low and firm. “Okay? I’m right here.”
Isack nodded against him, though his hands didn’t loosen.
Not even a little.
Around them, the group stood in the aftermath.
One more gone.
One more loss they couldn’t fix.
One more reminder—
That nowhere was safe.
Not the road.
Not the water.
Not even a house that looked untouched from the outside.
Especially not that.
Outside, the light continued to fade.
And inside—
No one felt like they could breathe properly anymore.
Night settled slowly, like it wasn’t sure it wanted to touch the house either.
The last of the light filtered weakly through the dirty windows, turning everything a dull, washed-out gray before finally giving in to darkness. No one turned on lights—not that there were any working ones left—but even if there had been, they wouldn’t have risked it. Darkness was safer.
Or at least, it felt like it was supposed to be.
They stayed upstairs.
No discussion. No vote. Just an unspoken agreement that no one was going anywhere near the basement again.
The door stayed shut.
Someone—Max, maybe Carlos—had dragged a heavy cabinet in front of it. Not to keep anything out.
To keep something in.
That thought sat with all of them, whether they admitted it or not.
They spread out as best they could across the upper floor, which wasn’t saying much. The house had maybe three rooms that were usable, all of them small, all of them too close together. The floor creaked with every shift of weight, every step, every reminder that the structure beneath them was old and tired and not entirely trustworthy.
Still better than outside.
Still better than the basement.
“Pair up,” Carlos said quietly. “No one alone.”
No one argued.
They didn’t need to be told twice.
Max took the spot closest to the stairwell.
Not sleeping.
Just sitting with his back against the wall, one knee up, something heavy resting across his lap like he expected to need it at any second. His gaze stayed fixed on the hallway, on the door at the end of it, on anything that might move.
Charles sat a few feet away, leaning against the opposite wall. His injured arm was cradled carefully against his chest, the bandage already needing to be redone, though he didn’t have the energy to deal with it now.
“You should sleep,” Charles said after a while.
Max didn’t look at him. “You first.”
Charles huffed quietly. “That’s not how this works.”
“No?” Max replied. “Feels like it is.”
A beat.
Then, softer, almost reluctant: “I’m fine.”
Charles didn’t call him out on it.
Didn’t point out that none of them were fine.
He just shifted slightly, letting his head fall back against the wall, eyes half-closing despite himself.
“Wake me in a few hours,” he murmured.
Max didn’t respond.
In one of the bedrooms, the rest of them tried to make something resembling sleep happen.
It was crowded.
Of course it was.
Bodies packed together on the floor, against walls, wherever there was space to sit or lie down without overlapping too much. Jackets and hoodies became makeshift pillows. Someone found an old blanket in a closet—thin and scratchy, but better than nothing—and it got passed around until it covered as many people as possible.
Ollie ended up wedged between Kimi and Alex, one arm trapped awkwardly under him.
“I can’t feel anything,” he whispered.
“You say that like it’s new,” Alex murmured back.
“I’m serious. If I wake up and it’s gone—”
“It’s still attached,” Kimi said quietly. “I checked.”
“Great. Fantastic. Reassuring.”
A pause.
“…Thanks,” Ollie added, softer this time.
Across the room, Franco sat against the wall, knees drawn up slightly, eyes open.
Unblinking.
He hadn’t spoken since the basement.
Hadn’t reacted.
Hadn’t done anything except exist in the same space as everyone else, like his body had shown up but everything inside it had stayed somewhere else.
Esteban sat near him, close enough to reach if he needed to, but not touching.
Not pushing.
Just… there.
“You should try to rest,” Esteban said quietly.
No response.
Franco didn’t even seem to register that he’d spoken.
Esteban exhaled slowly, glancing away.
There wasn’t anything else he could do.
Not tonight.
On the far side of the room, Isack hadn’t let go of Liam.
Not fully.
Even now, hours later, after the panic had dulled into something quieter but no less heavy, he stayed close—pressed into Liam’s side, one hand loosely gripping the fabric of his sleeve like he needed that point of contact to stay grounded.
Liam didn’t pull away.
Didn’t comment on it.
He just adjusted slightly so Isack could lean more comfortably, one arm draped loosely around his shoulders.
“You should sleep,” Liam murmured.
Isack shook his head against him. “Don’t want to.”
“Yeah,” Liam said. “Me neither.”
They sat like that for a while.
Listening.
To the creaks of the house.
To the quiet, uneven breathing of everyone around them.
To the occasional shift from downstairs—the kind that might’ve just been the water settling.
Or might not have been.
Isack’s grip tightened slightly.
“Liam?”
“Yeah?”
A pause.
“…You won’t—” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “You won’t just disappear, right?”
The question sat there, fragile and heavy and too real.
Liam didn’t hesitate.
“Right,” he said, voice low but certain.
Isack sighed, the faintest laugh audible, though he didn’t lift his head.
“Okay.”
Liam’s hand moved slightly against his shoulder, a small, grounding pressure.
They stayed like that.
Closer than they’d ever been before.
Not rushed.
Not forced.
Just… necessary.
Eventually, exhaustion started to win.
Not fully.
Not peacefully.
But enough that people’s eyes closed, heads dipped, breathing evened out just slightly.
Sleep came in fragments.
In short, restless stretches.
In half-dreams that snapped apart at the smallest sound.
No one slept deeply.
No one slept well.
But they slept.
Max was still awake when the house finally went quiet.
Still watching.
Still listening.
The fog outside had thickened again, pressing against the windows like something alive. The world beyond the glass had disappeared entirely, swallowed whole by gray.
Behind him, he could hear the others.
Shifting.
Breathing.
Existing.
Fewer than before.
Always fewer.
His gaze flicked, just once, toward the door that led downstairs.
All characters and real people depicted are fictionalized for storytelling purposes. No harm or offense is intended. Content may include mature themes—reader discretion advised.
Summary: After a brutal rescue and an even harder choice to let survivors go, the group presses forward, haunted by who they couldn’t save and what it cost them. With tensions rising and hope thinning, they turn toward the ominous promise of the Black Bridge—unsure if it leads to survival, or something far worse.
Warnings: Death (Minor), Graphic Injury (Amputation), Infection, Gore, Emotional Distress, Dark Humor, PTSD/Dissociation, Violence
Word Count: 4.8k+
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Oct 23, 2025, 9:00 AM
Morning came too clean for the kind of world they were living in.
The sky stretched out in a pale, endless blue, the kind that would’ve meant something once—would’ve been commented on, appreciated, maybe even photographed. Now it just felt wrong. Too bright. Too open. Like the world was pretending nothing had happened.
The abandoned roadside store looked even worse in daylight.
What had been shadowy and uncertain in the night was now fully visible—shattered glass glittering across the cracked concrete, shelves half-collapsed and picked through, the doors hanging crooked on bent hinges. The wind pushed through it in slow, hollow breaths, rattling something metallic deeper inside.
It didn’t look like a place people had simply left.
It looked like a place people had fled.
Still, it had given them walls. A roof. A few hours of sleep that hadn’t been constantly interrupted by movement or noise.
That was enough.
“Pairs,” Max said, already moving as he spoke, voice cutting clean through the quiet. “No one alone. Quick in, quick out.”
There were nods, murmured agreements. No arguments.
They were getting better at that.
Kimi ended up with Ollie without either of them really saying anything about it. It just… happened. The kind of quiet decision that didn’t need discussion anymore.
Liam and Isack peeled off toward the back storage area, while Kimi and Ollie headed toward the main aisles, stepping carefully over debris and broken glass.
The smell hit them almost immediately.
Not as bad as the dairy plant.
But close enough to make Ollie’s stomach twist.
“God,” he muttered under his breath, pulling the collar of his hoodie up over his nose. “Why does everywhere smell like something died?”
“Because something probably did,” Kimi replied, matter-of-fact.
“Yeah, thanks. That helps.”
Kimi glanced at him briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You asked.”
Ollie huffed, but there wasn’t much energy behind it.
They moved slowly, scanning shelves more out of habit than hope. Most of what remained was useless—expired, crushed, or already torn open. A few cans here and there, a couple of sealed bottles shoved behind fallen boxes.
Kimi grabbed what he could, passing things to Ollie to stuff into a worn backpack.
For a while, it was just that.
Routine.
Quiet.
Almost normal, in a distant, broken way.
Until Kimi pushed open a half-jammed door near the back hallway.
“I’ll check—” he started.
And then stopped.
There was movement.
Close.
Too close.
Kimi froze, instinct kicking in immediately, his hand tightening around the edge of the door as he leaned just slightly to look inside.
For a split second, his brain tried to process what he was seeing.
It didn’t.
Because it wasn’t what he expected.
At all.
He blinked once.
Twice.
Then immediately stepped back out and pulled the door shut again—quickly, quietly, like he hadn’t seen anything.
Like nothing had happened.
He turned around—
—and nearly walked straight into Ollie.
Ollie’s eyes were wide.
Really wide.
“Oh my—” Ollie choked, clapping a hand over his mouth as if that would physically hold the reaction in. “I did not need to see that.”
Kimi stared at him for half a second.
“You saw that too?” he asked, incredulous.
“I—yes?!” Ollie whisper-shouted, voice cracking slightly. “Did you just—”
“I didn’t even mean to—” Kimi cut in, shaking his head, a disbelieving grin already breaking through despite everything. “I thought something was wrong.”
“Well, something was definitely happening,” Ollie shot back, his voice dropping on the last word like it might somehow make it less real.
That did it.
They both lost it.
Not loud—couldn’t be loud—but the kind of laughter that bursts out anyway, sharp and sudden and impossible to stop once it starts. Kimi doubled over slightly, dragging a hand down his face as he tried—and failed—to contain it, while Ollie leaned back against a shelf, shoulders shaking.
It was ridiculous.
Completely, utterly ridiculous.
In the middle of everything—of the world ending, of running and surviving and barely holding it together—
Franco and Gabriel were making out in a storage closet.
“For fuck’s sake,” Ollie wheezed, wiping at his eyes. “Like—really? Here? Now?”
“I don’t—” Kimi shook his head again, laughing under his breath. “I don’t even know what I expected when I opened that door, but it was not that.”
Ollie let out another strangled laugh. “I thought it was an infected or something!”
“So did I!”
“That is so much worse!”
Kimi snorted. “Is it?”
“Yes!” Ollie insisted, then paused. “Okay—no. But emotionally? Yes.”
That set them off again.
Quieter this time.
But just as real.
For a moment, it felt… lighter.
Not fixed.
Not okay.
But lighter.
Like something inside their chests had loosened just enough to let them breathe properly again.
Ollie dragged in a breath, still smiling faintly as the laughter faded. “We are never making eye contact with them again.”
“Agreed,” Kimi said immediately.
A beat passed.
“…Do we tell anyone?” Ollie asked, lowering his voice instinctively like the walls themselves might hear.
Kimi didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely not.”
“Yeah, no, that stays buried,” Ollie nodded quickly. “Deep. Like—never happened.”
“Exactly.”
Another quiet laugh slipped between them.
Then, like a switch flipping, they both straightened slightly.
Because the world didn’t stay light for long.
It never did.
“Alright,” Kimi said, clearing his throat. “Let’s just—keep going.”
“Yeah,” Ollie agreed.
They moved on.
But the ghost of that moment lingered.
A small, fragile thing.
Something human.
Further back in the store, Liam stood awkwardly near a collapsed jewelry rack, turning a thin gold chain over in his hands.
It wasn’t worth anything anymore.
Not really.
But it was intact.
Clean.
Untouched.
Which made it rare.
Isack hovered a few steps away, watching him with a slight tilt of his head. “You taking that?”
Liam hesitated.
“Uh—” He glanced down at it again. “I mean. It’s not useful, but…”
He trailed off.
Then, before he could overthink it too much, he stepped closer and held it out.
“You should have it,” he said.
Isack blinked. “What?”
“It’d—” Liam stopped, suddenly very aware of how this sounded. “It’d look nice on you. I think.”
Silence.
Brief.
But loud.
Isack stared at him for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering across his expression.
“Oh,” he said finally.
Then, softer: “Okay.”
He reached out, taking the chain carefully, their fingers brushing for just a second longer than needed.
Neither of them pulled away immediately.
“Thanks,” Isack added, quieter now. He turned the chain in his hand before unclasping it, putting it on.
Liam shrugged, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah. No problem.”
The air between them shifted.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
The scream cut through the store like a blade.
Raw.
Sharp.
Completely unfiltered.
Everyone froze.
“What the hell—?!” someone shouted from the front.
Kimi and Ollie were already moving before the echo had even faded, adrenaline slamming back into place as they ran toward the sound.
“Charles!” Max’s voice—angry, panicked—rang out from near the entrance.
They skidded to a stop just short of the scene.
And for a second—
It didn’t make sense.
It didn’t register.
Because the human brain isn’t built to process something like that instantly.
Charles was on the floor.
Half-sitting, half-collapsed against a broken counter.
His face was pale—too pale—and slick with sweat, his breath coming in uneven, shallow pulls.
The hand—his hand—the one that had been cut in the river—
It wasn’t there anymore.
In its place was a jagged, hastily wrapped stump, fabric already darkening as blood soaked through it in uneven patches.
For a moment, no one spoke.
No one moved.
Because the reality of it lagged behind the sight.
Then everything hit at once.
“What the FUCK did you do?!” Max exploded, dropping to his knees in front of him, hands hovering like he didn’t know where to touch without making it worse.
Charles let out a strained, almost hysterical breath that might’ve been a laugh. “I wasn’t—taking chances.”
His voice shook.
Not from regret.
From pain.
From adrenaline.
From something deeper.
“It was getting worse,” he forced out, words tight. “It was spreading.”
“You don’t just—” Max cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes wide with something dangerously close to panic. “You don’t just cut off your own hand!”
Charles met his gaze.
And there was something unsteady there.
But also something terrifyingly certain.
“I do if it means I don’t turn.”
Silence crashed back down.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Because no one could argue with that.
Not really.
Not anymore.
Kimi swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away from the blood, from the reality of it, his pulse hammering in his ears.
Ollie didn’t.
He couldn’t.
He just stood there, staring, his face drained of color.
Because this—
This was new.
A line crossed.
A choice made.
And it changed something.
For all of them.
They left the store faster than planned.
No one said it out loud, but there was a shared understanding: they couldn’t stay there anymore.
Not after that.
Not with the smell of blood thick in the air.
Not with the image of it burned into their heads.
Charles was stabilized as best they could—bandaged tighter, arm secured, pain dulled slightly with what little they had left.
He didn’t complain.
Didn’t speak much at all.
Max stayed close.
Too close.
Like if he looked away, something else would go wrong.
The vehicles were loaded in near silence.
Doors slammed.
Engines turned.
And just like that—
They were moving again.
Heading northeast.
Away from Waco.
Or at least trying to.
No one said it, but the direction felt less like a plan and more like a gamble.
Because everything was now.
They hadn’t been on the road long when someone spotted it.
“Smoke,” George said over the walkie, his voice cutting through the static.
Lando frowned slightly, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Where?”
“Distance. Northeast. Multiple columns.”
Kimi leaned forward slightly from the back seat, squinting through the windshield.
There it was.
Dark streaks against the clear sky.
Too thick to be accidental.
Too many to ignore.
Ollie shifted beside him. “That’s… not good, right?”
“No,” Kimi said quietly. “It’s not.”
The convoy slowed slightly.
Not stopping.
But not pushing forward blindly either.
Because smoke like that only meant one thing now.
And they all knew it.
They didn’t turn toward the smoke immediately.
That was the first decision.
It hung between them in the silence that followed George’s callout, carried in the low static of the walkies and the steady hum of both engines. The Suburban kept a consistent distance ahead, its dark shape cutting through the pale morning light, while the truck followed just behind, tires crunching over uneven asphalt.
No one said “go.”
No one said “don’t.”
But everyone was thinking it.
Lando adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, glancing briefly at Oscar in the passenger seat. Oscar had one arm hooked loosely through the handle above the door, his posture still slightly curled inward despite the warmth of the heater blowing steadily toward him. He looked better than he had the night before—less pale, more present—but there was still a fragility to him that hadn’t been there days ago.
“You seeing it?” Lando asked quietly.
Oscar nodded once, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “Yeah.”
The smoke columns were clearer now.
Thicker.
Darker.
Not just one.
Several.
And they weren’t drifting lazily like something abandoned.
They were active.
Alive.
Something was burning.
“Could be a distraction,” Ollie said from the back, though his voice lacked conviction. “Like—someone trying to pull infected away from somewhere else.”
“Or the opposite,” Kimi replied. “Could be drawing them in.”
“Either way,” Oscar murmured, “it means people.”
That word settled heavily in the space between them.
People.
Alive.
Maybe.
Lando reached for the walkie clipped near the dash. “Max, you seeing this?”
A crackle.
Then: “Yeah,” Max’s voice came through, tight but controlled. “We’re slowing. Not stopping yet.”
“Copy.”
Another pause.
Then Lewis’s voice cut in, clearer, more direct. “We need to decide now. If we’re going to check it out, we don’t circle for ten minutes thinking about it. That’s how you get caught out here.”
Carlos responded almost immediately. “And we don’t just drive straight into something like that either. You remember Austin?”
Silence followed that.
Heavy.
Because everyone did.
The chaos.
The noise.
The way helping had almost gotten them all killed.
“Different situation,” Lewis said, though there was less certainty in it than usual.
“Is it?” Carlos shot back. “Smoke, people in trouble, no clear exit—sounds familiar to me.”
From the truck bed, Franco’s voice crackled through faintly over a third walkie. “Could be a small group. Not a city.”
“Could be a trap,” Alex added from the Suburban.
“Everything’s a trap now,” George muttered, almost to himself.
That didn’t help.
Lando exhaled slowly, eyes flicking between the road and the horizon. “We don’t have to go in. We can just—get close enough to see what’s happening.”
“And then what?” Carlos asked.
No one answered.
Because that was the problem.
Seeing meant choosing.
And choosing meant consequences.
They compromised.
Or something close to it.
The vehicles veered slightly off their original path, angling toward the smoke but keeping distance, weaving through back roads and open stretches where visibility stayed clear. The terrain shifted as they moved—less abandoned highway, more scattered structures, remnants of what had once been a small settlement or outskirts of something larger.
The closer they got, the worse it looked.
Smoke wasn’t just rising now.
It was pouring.
Thick, black plumes clawing into the sky from multiple points, some lower, some spreading wider. The smell hit them next—burning wood, plastic, something chemical underneath it, and something else—
Something they didn’t want to name.
“Jesus,” Ollie whispered.
The road ahead curved slightly, dipping just enough to obscure the full view for a moment.
Then they crested it.
And everything came into focus.
The settlement—if it could still be called that—was collapsing.
Buildings—small houses, makeshift barricades, vehicles shoved together into crude walls—were already overrun. Fire had taken hold in at least three places, flames licking up walls and tearing through anything that could burn. The barricades had been breached in multiple spots.
And the infected—
There were too many.
They moved in waves, spilling through gaps, climbing over obstacles, drawn by sound, by movement, by chaos. Not scattered.
Focused.
Predatory.
People were still inside.
That was the worst part.
You could see them.
Running.
Fighting.
Trying.
“Fuck,” Lando breathed.
Over the walkie, Max didn’t say anything for a long second.
Then: “We’re not going in.”
Relief flickered—
Brief.
Because Lewis’s voice cut through it almost immediately.
“We can’t just leave them.”
Carlos swore under his breath. “We can’t save them either.”
“We can save some,” Lewis insisted. “There—left side, near that collapsed fence—there’s a gap. We could pull a few out.”
“And then what?” Carlos snapped. “We take them with us? Feed them with what? Protect them how?”
“We don’t just—drive away,” Lewis said, and there it was again—that edge, that refusal to let go of something fundamental even as the world demanded it.
In the truck, Kimi felt Ollie shift beside him.
Tense.
Watching.
Waiting.
“Lewis,” Max said finally, voice lower now, controlled in a way that meant he was holding something back. “Look at it.”
“I am.”
“No—you’re not,” Max shot back. “You’re looking at the idea of it. Not what’s actually there.”
A beat.
Then, quieter: “We go in, we don’t come out. Not all of us.”
Silence followed.
Because that was the truth.
And they all knew it.
Another voice—George this time, faint but steady—came through. “There’s too many.”
Then Alex: “Fire’s spreading fast. Wind’s picking up.”
As if to prove it, a section of one of the burning structures collapsed inward with a shower of sparks, sending a fresh wave of smoke rolling outward.
Time was running out.
For them.
For the people inside.
For everyone.
Lewis exhaled sharply over the line.
Then: “One pass.”
Carlos didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
“One pass,” Lewis repeated, firmer. “We don’t stop. We don’t get boxed in. We take whoever can reach the road and we go.”
“And if that turns into ten people?” Carlos demanded.
“It won’t,” Lewis said, though he couldn’t guarantee that.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know we can’t leave without trying.”
That landed.
Because it wasn’t strategy.
It wasn’t logic.
It was something else.
Something older.
Something harder to kill.
Max’s grip tightened on the wheel. Everyone could hear it in the way his voice came back, quieter now.
“…One pass.”
Carlos swore again—but he didn’t argue further.
Because that was the compromise.
And it was a dangerous one.
They moved fast after that.
No more circling.
No more debating.
The Suburban took the lead, angling toward the least congested side of the settlement, while the truck followed close behind, ready to pull out just as quickly as they went in.
“Windows up,” Lando said. “Doors locked. No one opens anything unless we say.”
In the back, Franco and Liam shifted in the truck bed, bracing themselves, while Isack tightened his grip on the side rail, eyes fixed ahead.
Kimi leaned forward slightly, scanning the edges of the road, tracking movement.
“There,” he said suddenly. “Left—two people, near the ditch.”
Lando saw them.
A man and a woman, stumbling, trying to move faster than their bodies allowed.
Behind them—
Movement.
Closing.
“Hold on,” Lando muttered, accelerating.
The truck swerved just enough to line up alongside them.
“Go!” Kimi shouted, already reaching back to yank the rear door open from the inside.
The man grabbed first, hauled up into the bed by Franco and Liam with a burst of desperate strength.
The woman stumbled—
Fell—
“Get her!” Ollie shouted.
Isack leaned out, catching her arm just before the gap widened too much, dragging her up towards the door with a strained grunt as the truck surged forward again.
“Close it!” Lando snapped.
The door slammed shut.
Behind them, the infected hit the space where they’d been seconds too late.
“Two,” Kimi said, breath tight.
“Keep moving,” Max’s voice came through.
They pushed deeper along the outer edge.
Another cluster appeared—three this time, one limping badly.
“Too many,” Carlos warned.
“We can take one more,” Lewis said. “That’s it.”
The Suburban slowed just enough.
George shoved the door open from the inside, reaching out.
“Come on!” he shouted.
One of them made it.
The other two—
Didn’t.
The door slammed.
The Suburban surged forward again.
“Go, go, go!”
They didn’t look back.
They couldn’t.
By the time they cleared the settlement’s edge, the smoke had swallowed most of it.
The road stretched ahead again—empty, quiet, wrong.
Inside the truck, the rescued woman was shaking violently, her breaths coming in ragged, uneven bursts. The man sat hunched forward in the bed, staring at nothing, his hands trembling in his lap.
“Hey,” Ollie said softly, trying to ground her. “You’re okay. You’re out.”
Her eyes snapped to him.
Wild.
Unfocused.
“No,” she rasped. “No, it’s not—it’s not safe—”
“You’re safe enough,” Kimi said gently.
She shook her head frantically. “You don’t understand—”
“Hey,” Ollie cut in, quieter but firmer. “Breathe first. Talk after.”
She tried.
God, she tried.
But something in her had already broken.
“They’re all gone,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Everyone—”
No one interrupted.
Because what was there to say?
Nothing that mattered.
They didn’t stop driving.
Not yet.
Not until the smoke was a distant smear behind them.
Only then did the convoy slow slightly, enough to breathe, enough to process what they’d just done.
What they hadn’t.
Over the walkie, Lewis spoke again, softer now. “We did what we could.”
In the truck, the woman’s breathing had started to hitch.
Wrong.
Too shallow.
Too uneven.
Kimi noticed first, shifting closer. “Hey—stay with us, okay?”
Her eyes found his.
And for a second, they cleared.
Focused.
“You can’t go to Waco,” she said suddenly, gripping his sleeve with surprising strength.
“We’re not,” Ollie said quickly. “We’re heading around—”
“No,” she cut him off, shaking her head weakly. “Not there. Not anywhere near it. It’s worse than you think.”
Kimi exchanged a glance with Ollie.
“We heard,” he said carefully.
She tightened her grip. “There’s a way around.”
“Yeah?” Kimi asked. “Where?”
Her lips parted.
Hesitated.
Then: “The Black Bridge.”
The name hung in the air.
Unfamiliar.
Ominous.
“What is that?” Ollie asked.
“A crossing,” she whispered. “Old. Not on most maps anymore. But it’s still there.”
“Where?” Kimi pressed.
Her strength was fading fast now.
“North… east,” she murmured. “Past the burned fields… you’ll see it…”
Her grip slackened.
Kimi’s chest tightened. “Hey—stay with me.”
Her eyes flickered once more.
Then stilled.
Silence filled the truck.
Heavy.
Final.
Ollie swallowed hard, his voice barely there. “She—”
“I know,” Kimi said quietly.
Over the walkie, Lando’s voice came through, low. “We’ve got… information.”
A pause.
“About a route,” he added.
Max responded after a second. “Send it.”
Kimi looked out at the road ahead.
At the unknown waiting for them.
“…Black Bridge,” he said.
The road didn’t feel the same after they left the settlement.
It wasn’t just the smoke fading behind them in the rearview mirrors, or the way the sky stretched open and empty again, pale blue cut with cold wind. It was quieter in a way that felt wrong, like something had been decided back there—something final—and now the world had settled around it.
They drove for nearly twenty minutes before one of the survivors spoke up.
“Stop here.”
Lando’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel of the truck. “Here?” he echoed, glancing out at the empty stretch of cracked road and low brush. “There’s nothing here.”
“That’s the point,” the man said through the back window, voice rough but steady. He was older than most of them, maybe mid-forties, with a limp that had slowed them down during the escape. “Less noise. Less attention.”
In the Suburban ahead, Max’s voice crackled through the walkie. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve got a drop-off request,” Lando replied, eyes flicking to Oscar beside him. Oscar was awake now, bundled in a blanket, still pale but more alert. He gave a small, uncertain shrug.
There was a pause on the other end, then a quieter, more controlled: “You’re stopping?”
Another voice cut in before Lando could answer—Lewis. “If they want out, we let them out.”
Carlos didn’t say anything, but the silence carried agreement.
Lando exhaled slowly. “Yeah. We’re stopping.”
The truck slowed first, gravel crunching under the tires as he eased it off the road. The Suburban followed, pulling in just ahead, both vehicles idling in the cold morning air. For a moment, no one moved.
The man climbed out of the truck bed, stiff and careful, testing his weight as he landed. The second survivor—a younger woman with a bandage wrapped around her forearm—climbed out of the suburban, eyes darting across the open space like she expected something to come tearing out of it at any second.
“Are you sure about this?” Oscar asked quietly.
The woman nodded immediately. “Safer than staying in a group that size,” she said. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Lando muttered.
It wasn’t even untrue.
Groups drew attention. Noise. Risk. They all knew it.
The man stepped back from the truck, giving a small, almost awkward nod. “You got us out of there,” he said. “That’s more than most would’ve done.”
No one responded right away.
What do you even say to that?
You’re welcome didn’t feel right.
Good luck felt worse.
So Lando just nodded back, jaw tight. “Stay off the main roads,” he said instead. “And—” he hesitated, then added, “if you see smoke again… don’t go toward it.”
The man gave a humorless half-smile. “Wasn’t planning to.”
The woman looked at them one last time, her gaze lingering—on Oscar, on Kimi and Ollie in the back, on the others she didn’t know the names of.
“Don’t die,” she said, blunt and quiet.
Then they turned and started walking.
No dramatic goodbye. No looking back.
Just two figures moving off into the open land until the distance swallowed them.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then, softly, through the walkie:
“Let’s move.”
Max again.
Always forward.
They got back on the road.
The Suburban took the lead this time, its dark frame cutting a steady line through the empty highway. The truck followed close behind, close enough that Lando could see the outline of George’s head in the back window, unmoving, like he hadn’t shifted since they started driving again.
“Feels wrong,” Ollie murmured from the back.
Kimi glanced at him. “What does?”
“Leaving people like that.”
Kimi didn’t answer immediately. He watched the road instead, the way it stretched out ahead of them, endless and uncertain.
“They chose it,” he said finally.
“I know,” Ollie replied. “Doesn’t make it feel better.”
No one argued with that.
Up front, Oscar shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “We can’t save everyone,” he said, voice quiet but firm.
It wasn’t harsh.
Just… tired.
Lando glanced at him briefly, then back to the road. “We barely save anyone.”
Oscar didn’t respond.
Because that was true too.
In the Suburban, the silence sat heavier.
Charles leaned back in the passenger seat, his head tipped against the window, eyes closed. His sleeve was tied off tight where his hand used to be, the fabric darkened despite everything they’d done to stop the bleeding.
Max kept his eyes forward.
He hadn’t said much since the store.
Since the screaming.
Since the moment everything had tipped from bad into something worse.
“You should rest,” Carlos said quietly from the middle row.
“I’m driving,” Max replied.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Max didn’t answer.
Behind them, Lewis watched the road through the side window, his expression distant, unreadable. The events of the morning played over and over in his mind—the fire, the people they couldn’t reach, the ones they left behind.
The one they didn’t.
The woman’s voice still echoed.
The Black Bridge.
It sounded like a warning.
Or a promise.
Or both.
“We’re really doing this?” Alex asked from the back, breaking the silence. “Heading toward something that sounds like it belongs in a horror story?”
“It’s a route,” Lewis said simply.
“Or a trap,” Pierre muttered, his voice flat, detached.
Esteban shifted beside him, wincing slightly as his bruised arm pressed against the seat. “Everything’s a trap now.”
No one argued with that either.
George finally spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “We don’t have better options.”
All eyes drifted, almost unconsciously, to Charles.
To the bandage.
To the cost of their last “option.”
Max’s grip tightened on the wheel.
“No,” he said. “We don’t.”
The land began to change as they drove.
Less debris.
Fewer abandoned cars.
More open stretches of road, broken up by clusters of buildings that looked untouched from a distance—but no one trusted distance anymore.
The wind picked up, rattling loose signs and carrying the faint smell of something burnt, though the smoke itself was long gone.
In the truck bed, Liam adjusted his grip on the side rail, the cold air biting at his face. Beside him, Isack pulled his jacket tighter, the gold chain catching briefly in the light before disappearing again beneath the fabric.
“You okay?” Liam asked over the wind.
Isack nodded. “Yeah.”
A pause.
“…Thanks. For earlier.”
Liam shrugged, a little awkward. “It suits you.”
Isack huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “We’re in the middle of the apocalypse and you’re still—”
“Still what?”
“…this.”
Liam smirked faintly. “Charming?”
“Annoying,” Isack shot back, but there was no heat in it.
For a second, something almost normal passed between them.
Then the truck hit a bump, jolting them both, and the moment slipped away.
Hours passed like that.
Driving.
Watching.
Waiting.
No one said it out loud, but they were all expecting something to go wrong.
It always did.
But for once—
Nothing did.
No hordes.
No sudden ambush.
No desperate radio calls cutting through the static.
Just the road.
Just the wind.
Just the low, constant hum of engines carrying them forward.
All characters and real people depicted are fictionalized for storytelling purposes. No harm or offense is intended. Content may include mature themes—reader discretion advised.
Summary: The season is over, the garage is quiet, and there’s nothing left to hide behind. After one final meeting at the factory, Gabriel Bortoleto and Nico Hülkenberg are forced to confront everything they never said—until silence isn’t an option anymore.
The factory always felt different when it was empty.
Gabi noticed it the moment he stepped out of the meeting room.
Same hallway. Same lights. Same glass walls that had reflected a hundred versions of him over the past year—nervous, exhausted, wired on adrenaline, trying too hard not to be the rookie everyone expected him to be.
But now?
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
The final debrief had run longer than expected—end-of-season summaries, performance reviews, the polite corporate wrapping-up of a year that had felt anything but neat.
People had lingered at first. Handshakes. “See you next year.” Promises to stay in touch that may or may not happen.
And then, slowly—
They left.
One by one.
Until it was just…
This.
Gabi shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, exhaling softly as he walked down the corridor.
December 10th.
Season over.
Rookie year—done.
It should’ve felt bigger.
Instead, it felt like standing at the edge of something and not knowing what came next.
“Thought you’d have left already.”
Gabi didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Still, he did.
Nico leaned against the wall a few meters back, arms crossed, jacket slung over one shoulder like he hadn’t fully committed to leaving either.
He looked the same as always.
Calm.
Put together.
Like nothing ever really got to him.
Gabi swallowed.
“Yeah,” he said. “I was just… heading out.”
Nico nodded once, pushing himself off the wall.
“Good meeting,” he said.
Gabi let out a quiet huff. “Was it?”
Nico’s mouth twitched slightly. “As good as those things get.”
“Right.”
Silence slipped in after that.
Not awkward.
Not exactly.
But not comfortable either.
Not the way it used to be.
Gabi shifted his weight, glancing toward the exit doors at the end of the hall.
“You heading out too?” he asked.
“Eventually.”
Another pause.
God, this was ridiculous.
They had spent an entire season together.
Flights. Briefings. Hours in debrief rooms, talking through every corner, every mistake, every fraction of a second.
And now they couldn’t manage a normal conversation?
Gabi rubbed the back of his neck.
“Feels weird,” he admitted.
Nico tilted his head slightly. “What does?”
“Not having anything else to do,” Gabi said. “No simulator. No travel. No… next race.”
Nico hummed quietly, considering that.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Takes a minute to get used to.”
Gabi glanced at him.
“You’re not used to it yet?”
Nico let out a soft breath through his nose. “You’d think I would be.”
Something in that—
Something tired.
Gabi noticed.
He always did.
That was the problem.
“Guess it’s different this year,” Gabi said, quieter now.
Nico’s gaze flicked to him. “How so?”
Gabi hesitated.
Because this was where it got complicated.
Where it stopped being about racing.
“…I don’t know,” he said finally. “Just is.”
Nico watched him for a second longer than necessary.
Like he was waiting.
For something Gabi wasn’t sure he could give.
“Right,” Nico said eventually.
And just like that—
The moment slipped.
Again.
Gabi exhaled, looking away.
“Anyway,” he said, forcing something lighter into his voice. “I should go.”
Nico nodded.
“Yeah.”
Neither of them moved.
Of course they didn’t.
Gabi let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh.
“This is stupid,” he muttered.
That got Nico’s attention.
“What is?”
“This,” Gabi gestured vaguely between them. “Whatever this is.”
Nico’s expression shifted slightly.
Careful now.
“Just feels like we’re… avoiding something,” Gabi added.
Nico didn’t answer right away.
Didn’t deflect, either.
Which was new.
“…And what do you think that is?” he asked.
Gabi let out a slow breath.
His heart was beating faster now.
Ridiculous.
He’d driven at 300 km/h this year and this was what made him nervous?
“Don’t do that,” Gabi said.
“Do what?”
“Make me say it first.”
Nico’s jaw tightened slightly.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Gabi cut in, softer but firmer. “You always do.”
That landed.
Because it was true.
Nico looked away for a second, something unreadable flickering across his expression.
When he looked back—
It was still there.
Just buried.
“…You’re a rookie,” Nico said, like that explained everything.
Gabi blinked.
“What?”
“You had enough on your plate this year,” Nico continued. “Didn’t need… complications.”
Gabi stared at him.
“Complications?”
Nico exhaled, like he was already regretting this.
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” Gabi said, shaking his head. “Actually, I don’t.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
He could feel it slipping again.
Feel Nico pulling back into something safer, something quieter, something—
Untouchable.
Gabi stepped forward.
Just one step.
But it was enough.
“No,” he said again, quieter now. “You don’t get to do that.”
Nico’s eyes snapped back to him.
“Do what?”
“Decide what I can and can’t handle,” Gabi said. “Without even asking me.”
Nico’s expression hardened slightly.
“That’s not what I was—”
“Then what were you doing?” Gabi pressed.
Silence.
Real silence this time.
Heavy.
Honest.
Nico ran a hand over the back of his neck, something uncharacteristically restless in the movement.
“I was trying,” he said slowly, “to not make things harder for you.”
Gabi frowned.
“You didn’t,” he said.
Nico let out a short, humorless laugh.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s the problem.”
Something in Gabi’s chest tightened.
Because suddenly—
It was very clear they were talking about the same thing.
Had been, the whole time.
“You think this was one-sided?” Gabi asked, voice quieter now.
Nico didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
Gabi shook his head, a disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered.
Nico frowned slightly. “What?”
“You really thought I didn’t notice?” Gabi said.
“Notice what?”
“Everything.”
The word hung there.
Heavy.
Nico’s jaw tightened.
“That’s vague,” he said.
Gabi huffed a laugh.
“Fine,” he said. “You want specifics?”
He stepped closer again.
Close enough now that it felt different.
Not teammates.
Not just that.
“Every time you stayed back in debrief longer than you needed to,” Gabi said. “Every time you checked in after a bad race like it wasn’t part of your job.”
Nico didn’t move.
Didn’t interrupt.
“Every time you looked at me like—” Gabi stopped himself, shaking his head.
“Like what?” Nico asked quietly.
Gabi met his gaze.
Held it.
“Like it wasn’t just about racing.”
That did it.
Something shifted.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
Nico exhaled slowly.
“…And you’re saying it wasn’t,” he said.
“I’m saying it wasn’t,” Gabi confirmed.
Silence.
Then—
A quiet, almost disbelieving breath from Nico.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
Gabi huffed. “Yeah.”
Another pause.
But this one felt different.
Less like avoidance.
More like standing at the edge of something.
Nico looked at him again.
Really looked this time.
“You could’ve said something,” he said.
Gabi blinked.
“I could’ve?” he echoed.
Nico raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’re not exactly subtle.”
Gabi let out a short laugh. “Right. Because you’re so easy to read.”
Nico’s mouth twitched.
“Fair.”
That tension—
It cracked.
Just enough.
Gabi took a breath.
Steadier now.
“So what now?” he asked.
Nico hesitated.
Which, somehow, was more honest than anything else he’d done so far.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Gabi nodded.
“Okay.”
Another pause.
Then—
“We could start with not pretending it didn’t happen,” Gabi offered.
Nico considered that.
Then nodded once.
“Yeah,” he said. “That sounds like a good start.”
Gabi smiled slightly.
Small.
But real.
“Good.”
They stood there for a second longer.
Close.
Not touching.
But not distant anymore, either.
Then Nico shifted.
Just slightly.
Closing the gap.
Not all the way.
But enough.
“You’re going back to Monaco?” he asked.
Gabi nodded. “Tomorrow.”
“Right.”
“And you?”
Nico shrugged lightly. “Germany. For a bit.”
Gabi hummed.
“Okay.”
Another pause.
Then—
“You could come with me,” Nico said.
It slipped out like it surprised him too.
Gabi blinked.
“…What?”
Nico exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“I mean—not right away,” he clarified. “But… if you wanted. After.”
Gabi stared at him for a second.
Then—
He smiled.
Slow.
Soft.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”
Something in Nico’s expression eased.
Not completely.
But enough.
“Okay,” he said.
And just like that—
It felt decided.
Not everything.
Not all at once.
But enough to move forward.
Gabi shifted his weight, glancing toward the exit again.
“I should actually go now,” he said.
“Yeah,” Nico agreed.
Neither of them moved.
Again.
Gabi laughed quietly. “We’re really bad at leaving.”
Nico huffed. “Apparently.”
A beat.
Then—
Gabi stepped forward.
Closed the distance properly this time.
Close enough that there was no room left for doubt.
He hesitated for half a second.
Then leaned in.
The kiss was soft.
Careful.
Like something they’d both been holding back for months and didn’t want to break now that it was finally real.
All characters and real people depicted are fictionalized for storytelling purposes. No harm or offense is intended. Content may include mature themes—reader discretion advised.
Summary: As the group pauses in the dark to patch wounds and catch their breath, quiet moments of care begin to expose deeper fears none of them can ignore. In the aftermath of loss, fragile bonds strengthen—proving that survival isn’t just about staying alive, but holding onto each other when everything else is slipping away.
The vehicles were parked nose-to-nose in the shadow of an abandoned roadside store, the broken signage above them creaking softly whenever the wind shifted. It wasn’t much of a shelter—barely even a stop—but it was the first place since the garage where stopping hadn’t immediately felt like a death sentence. The night had settled fully now, thick and quiet, wrapping around them in a way that felt both protective and suffocating.
No one had the energy to argue about it.
Engines had been cut. Lights kept low. Doors left cracked for quick escape.
And for the first time since the river—since the garage—they were forced to sit with what had happened.
“Alright,” Lewis said after a long stretch of silence, his voice steady in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We need to check injuries. Everyone.”
There were no complaints.
Kimi was already moving, pulling what remained of their medical supplies from a worn bag that had seen better days. The zipper stuck halfway before he forced it open, revealing gauze, antiseptic wipes, tape—less than they’d had before the river. Everything damp at the edges despite their efforts to keep it dry.
“Sit,” Max added, gesturing sharply to the group. “One at a time.”
It turned into something structured out of necessity.
Carlos and Lewis worked on one side near the Suburban, while Kimi and Ollie took the truck’s tailgate, using it as a makeshift station. The metal was still warm from the engine, a small mercy against the creeping cold that had settled into their bones.
Ollie climbed up onto it slowly, wincing as he shifted his weight. The nausea hadn’t fully gone away—not since the dairy plant, not since that smell had lodged itself somewhere deep in his lungs. The river had only made it worse.
“You good?” Kimi asked quietly, already laying out supplies.
Ollie nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”
Kimi didn’t call it out. Just handed him a strip of gauze. “Hold that.”
They worked side by side, falling into a rhythm that didn’t need much talking. Clean, wrap, move on. Hands brushing occasionally, steadying each other without making a thing of it.
Franco came first.
A scrape along his forearm, deeper than it looked under the grime. He hissed when the antiseptic hit, jerking slightly.
“Sorry,” Ollie murmured automatically.
“It’s fine,” Franco said through clenched teeth. “Better than… you know.”
He didn’t finish.
None of them did that anymore.
Isack sat next, quieter, his hands shaking faintly as he tried to keep them still. Kimi noticed immediately, reaching out and steadying his wrist just long enough to help him breathe through it.
“You’re okay,” Kimi said, simple, firm.
Isack nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”
Across from them, voices started to rise.
“Stop moving your hand.”
“I’m not moving it.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally not—Max, I swear to—”
“Charles.”
“I said I’m not—”
“Charles.”
There was a pause.
Then, quieter but no less tense: “You’re making it worse.”
Kimi didn’t look up, but Ollie did, glancing toward the Suburban where Max had Charles’s hand firmly in his grip, trying to clean the cut.
It didn’t look bad.
That was the problem.
It looked manageable. Easy to ignore.
Which made it worse.
“It’s just a cut,” Charles insisted, though his voice had lost some of its edge. “You’re acting like—”
“It’s not just a cut,” Max snapped, sharper than intended. “You were in that water. We don’t know what’s in it.”
A beat of silence followed.
Heavy.
“I know that,” Charles said, quieter now. “I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Max exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair before refocusing. “Just—let me clean it properly.”
Charles didn’t argue again.
But he didn’t relax either.
Ollie looked away, something in his chest tightening at the exchange. It wasn’t really about the cut. None of this was just about anything anymore.
Everything had layers now.
Fear stacked on fear.
Kimi nudged his arm lightly. “Stay with me.”
Ollie blinked, refocusing. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Oscar sat down next, shivering faintly despite the dry hoodie someone had handed him. His lips had regained some color, but not enough to be reassuring.
“Cold?” Kimi asked.
Oscar let out a weak breath that might’ve been a laugh. “A bit.”
Ollie worked quickly, wrapping his wrist where the skin had split from earlier, his fingers careful but efficient. “You need to keep warm,” he said, more serious than usual. “Like, actually warm. Not just—” he gestured vaguely at the hoodie.
“I’ll manage.”
Lando appeared behind him almost immediately, like he’d been waiting for that cue. “He’s sitting in the passenger seat. Heater on. I’m driving now. No arguments.”
Oscar didn’t fight it.
Didn’t have the energy.
As he left, Lando lingered just long enough to press his hand briefly to Ollie’s shoulder—a silent thanks—before following.
The line thinned slowly.
Cuts wrapped. Scrapes cleaned. Hands steadied.
Until it was just them.
Kimi sat back slightly against the truck, flexing his fingers once, then again. They were stiff, raw at the knuckles from everything they’d done that day. Everything they’d touched.
Ollie stayed where he was, staring down at his hands.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The quiet stretched.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… full.
“You missed a spot,” Kimi said eventually, nodding toward a smear of dried blood along Ollie’s wrist.
Ollie huffed softly, reaching for a wipe. “Yeah, well. Occupational hazard.”
Kimi watched him for a second longer than necessary. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Ollie paused.
Looked down.
His hands were trembling faintly.
He let out a breath. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
Kimi didn’t push.
Just shifted closer, shoulder brushing Ollie’s.
It helped.
More than Ollie wanted to admit.
They sat like that for a while, listening to the low murmur of the others, the occasional creak of the building behind them, the distant nothing of a world that had gone too quiet.
“I keep thinking about it,” Ollie said finally.
Kimi didn’t ask what.
He didn’t need to.
“The garage,” Ollie clarified anyway, voice quieter now. “The way he just—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “He didn’t even hesitate.”
Kimi stared out into the dark. “Yeah.”
“I don’t think I could do that.”
There it was.
Honest.
Raw.
“I don’t think I could either,” Kimi admitted.
Ollie let out a shaky breath, something between relief and something heavier. “Everyone keeps acting like… like that’s what we’re supposed to do now. Be ready to—” He made a vague gesture. “Trade ourselves in.”
“No,” Kimi said immediately.
Ollie blinked, glancing at him.
“No,” Kimi repeated, more firmly this time. “That’s not the goal.”
“Then what is?” Ollie asked, the question slipping out sharper than he meant it to. “Because it kind of feels like we’re just… waiting for our turn.”
The words hung there.
Too real.
Too close.
Kimi didn’t answer right away.
He thought about it.
About everything they’d lost. Everyone.
Yuki.
Others before him.
Now Lance.
The list was getting longer.
And they were still here.
“Surviving isn’t the same as waiting to die,” Kimi said slowly.
Ollie looked unconvinced.
“It doesn’t feel that different.”
“I know,” Kimi admitted. “But it is.”
“How?”
Kimi turned to face him fully now. “Because we’re still choosing things.”
Ollie frowned slightly. “Like what?”
“Like stopping here instead of pushing until we crash,” Kimi said. “Like treating injuries instead of ignoring them. Like staying together.”
Ollie’s gaze dropped. “That doesn’t stop people from dying.”
“No,” Kimi said softly. “But it means when they do… it’s not for nothing.”
Ollie let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand over his face. “I’m scared.”
There it was.
Simple.
Unfiltered.
Kimi didn’t hesitate.
“I am too.”
Ollie shook his head slightly. “No, I mean—” He struggled for the words. “I don’t think I’m going to make it.”
Kimi’s chest tightened at that.
“Ollie—”
“I’m serious,” Ollie cut in, his voice thin but steady. “I’m not like Max, or Lewis, or even you. I panic. I freeze. I—” He swallowed hard. “I almost didn’t get out of that hotel. If you hadn’t—”
He stopped.
The memory catching.
“I keep thinking next time… there won’t be someone there.”
Kimi shifted closer.
Close enough that their shoulders pressed fully now.
“There will be,” he said.
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” Kimi admitted. “But I know I will be.”
Ollie went still.
Kimi didn’t look away. “You’re not doing this alone.”
Something in Ollie’s expression cracked slightly.
“You can’t promise that,” he whispered.
“I can promise I won’t leave you,” Kimi replied.
It wasn’t loud.
Wasn’t dramatic.
But it landed.
Ollie’s eyes stung suddenly, and he blinked hard, looking away. “That’s a stupid promise.”
“Probably,” Kimi said.
A faint, broken laugh escaped Ollie despite himself.
They sat in that for a moment.
Then Ollie leaned—just slightly—into him.
Not much.
But enough.
Kimi didn’t move away.
Didn’t make it a thing.
Just stayed there.
Steady.
“You’re gonna make it,” Kimi said after a while, quieter now.
Ollie shook his head, but there wasn’t as much conviction in it this time.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe.”
It wasn’t belief.
Not yet.
But it was closer.
And for now, that was enough.
Across the lot, Max finally released Charles’s hand.
“Done,” he said.
Charles flexed his fingers cautiously. “See? Still attached.”
Max didn’t smile. But the tension in his shoulders eased—just a fraction.
“Keep it clean,” he said. “If it gets worse—”
“I know.”
Another pause.
Then, softer: “Thanks.”
Max nodded once.
The night stretched on around them, heavy but quieter now.
All characters and real people depicted are fictionalized for storytelling purposes. No harm or offense is intended. Content may include mature themes—reader discretion advised.
Summary: When a desperate river crossing leaves them shaken, soaked, and questioning what survival is costing them, the group seeks refuge in the hollow darkness of an abandoned parking garage—only to find that safety is an illusion. As one selfless act turns into an irreversible loss, the survivors are forced back onto the road toward Waco, carrying grief, guilt, and the growing fear that in this world, saving others may be the most dangerous choice of all.
Warnings: Death (Major), Near Drowning, Injury, Blood, Hypothermia Risk, Grief, Trauma, Panic, Emotional Distress, Arguments, Sacrifice
Word Count: 4.5k+
Prev. Chapter Next Chapter
Oct 22, 2025, 7:30 PM
The sky had turned a flat, oppressive gray long before they saw the river.
It wasn’t the kind of gray that promised rain, or even change—it was stagnant, unmoving, like the world had been painted over and forgotten. The air carried a damp chill that clung to skin and fabric alike, and a thin mist had begun to gather low to the ground, curling through the grass and around the tires of their vehicles as they rolled forward.
Lewis noticed it first.
“We’re not getting through up ahead,” he said over the radio, his voice cutting through the low murmur of the group. It wasn’t panic—Lewis rarely let himself sound like that—but there was something firm in it. Certain.
Oscar slowed the truck gradually rather than slamming the brakes, the engine giving a soft protest as it idled down. “What is it?” he asked, already leaning forward to try and see past the hazy stretch of land ahead.
Then the road dipped.
And disappeared.
The river wasn’t supposed to be there—not like this. It had been marked on their maps, yes, a thin winding line cutting across their route, something manageable. Something you could drive across with a shallow crossing, maybe a bridge.
But this—
This wasn’t a river anymore.
It had swallowed the land around it.
Water stretched wide and uneven, bleeding far past its original banks, flooding the surrounding terrain until road and earth were indistinguishable beneath the murky surface. The current was slow, deceptively so, but thick with debris—branches, twisted metal, scraps of what might’ve once been parts of vehicles.
And bodies.
No one said it at first, but they all saw them.
Half-submerged shapes drifting just beneath the surface, caught on rocks or tangled in the reeds. Some were still. Some weren’t.
The engine cut completely, and the sudden silence felt heavier than the sound had.
“Well,” Lando said after a moment, his voice quieter than usual. “That’s… not ideal.”
No one laughed.
Back in the suburban, Max shifted in his seat, his jaw tightening as he studied the water. “We’re not driving through that.”
“Obviously,” Charles muttered, though his gaze hadn’t left the river. There was something uneasy in his posture, something that hadn’t been there before.
George leaned forward slightly, squinting. “How deep do you think it is?”
“Deep enough,” Carlos replied.
That much was clear. Even from a distance, they could see how the water moved—not rushing, not shallow. It rolled in slow, heavy currents, disturbed only by whatever it carried along with it.
Oscar swallowed hard, thumb flicking the button on the radio. “We don’t have another route, do we?”
Silence answered him.
Because they all knew the truth.
Turning around meant losing time they didn’t have. It meant burning through more fuel, risking running into something worse. It meant… uncertainty.
Everything was uncertainty now, but this? This was immediate.
Lewis exhaled slowly. “We cross on foot,” he said.
That got reactions.
“On foot?” Franco echoed from the truck bed, his voice rising slightly. “Through that?”
“We don’t have a choice,” Lewis said, leaning out the window.
“There’s always a choice,” Isack muttered, though it didn’t sound like he believed it.
Max pushed the door open, stepping out into the damp air. The others followed out of the truck and suburban, boots hitting the ground with dull, heavy thuds. The mist curled around their legs as they moved closer to the water’s edge, each step feeling more deliberate than the last.
Up close, it was worse.
The smell hit first.
Rotten. Stagnant. Thick enough that it seemed to coat the back of their throats. It wasn’t just water—it was decay, steeped into everything. Oscar instinctively pulled his sleeve up over his nose, but it didn’t help much.
“Jesus,” he breathed.
Lando grimaced beside him. “Yeah.”
A body drifted closer to the edge, caught briefly against a cluster of debris. Its skin had gone pale in that unnatural way, bloated slightly, the features just distorted enough to make it hard to look at for too long.
Then it moved.
Not much. Just a twitch. A slow, unnatural shift.
Franco took a step back immediately. “Nope,” he said. “No—no, we’re not—”
“It’s stuck,” Max cut in, though his voice was tight. “It’s not getting out.”
That didn’t make it better.
Kimi crouched slightly near the edge, picking up a long branch and nudging at the water. The surface rippled, disturbing the thin layer of debris floating across it.
“Current’s slow,” he said. “But it’s moving.”
“Meaning?” Ollie asked.
“Meaning if something slips…” Kimi didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t have to.
Lando crossed his arms, staring out at the opposite side. It wasn’t that far. Maybe twenty, thirty meters at most. Close enough that it felt doable.
Far enough that it didn’t.
“We go together,” Lewis said. “No one breaks off. We keep contact the whole way.”
“And the vehicles?” Liam asked.
Carlos shook his head slightly. “We leave them.”
That landed heavily.
Vehicles had meant safety. Speed. Distance.
Now they were just… dead weight.
Oscar glanced back at the truck for a moment, then back at the water. “What about supplies?”
“We carry what we can,” Lewis said. “The rest… we lose.”
Another silence.
There was no argument this time.
Because again—no one had a better option.
Max stepped closer to the edge, testing the ground with his boot before stepping into the water.
It soaked through instantly.
“Cold,” he muttered.
That was an understatement.
Even from where they stood, they could see the way his body tensed at the contact. The water reached just above his ankles, dark fabric immediately clinging to his legs.
“Alright,” he said after a second. “Slow. Watch your footing.”
One by one, they followed.
The first step was the worst.
Lando hissed under his breath as the cold hit, sharp and biting, seeping through his shoes and up his legs in seconds. It felt wrong—too cold, too heavy, like the water was pulling at him already.
“God,” he muttered.
Oscar stepped in beside him, his breath catching slightly. “Yeah. That’s—yeah.”
The ground beneath the water wasn’t solid. It shifted under their weight, uneven and slick with algae. Every step had to be placed carefully, tested before committing.
“Stay close,” Lewis reminded them.
They formed a loose line, close enough that they could reach each other if needed, but spaced just enough to avoid dragging someone else down if one of them slipped.
The water climbed higher with each step.
Ankles to calves.
Calves to knees.
By the time they were halfway to where the road had dipped beneath the surface, it was pressing against their thighs, the current more noticeable now—not strong, but persistent.
And the bodies—
They were closer now.
Too close.
One drifted past Lando’s side, brushing lightly against his leg. He jerked instinctively, his breath hitching as he stumbled slightly.
“Hey—hey, easy,” Oscar said quickly, reaching out to steady him.
“I’m fine,” Lando said, though his voice was tight. “I’m—fine.”
But his grip on Oscar’s arm didn’t loosen right away.
Behind them, Franco was breathing too fast.
“I don’t like this,” he said. “I don’t like this at all.”
“None of us do,” Carlos replied, not unkindly.
Another step.
Then another.
The mist hung thicker over the water, curling around them, obscuring the edges of the world until it felt like the river was all there was.
And then—
Isack slipped.
It happened fast.
One second he was steady, the next his foot went out from under him, the algae-slick ground offering no resistance as he dropped hard into the water with a sharp splash.
“Isack!” Franco shouted.
The current caught him immediately—not dragging him far, but enough. Enough that his balance was gone, that his arms flailed as he tried to push himself back up.
“Grab him!” Lewis snapped.
Franco lunged forward without thinking, reaching for Isack’s arm—
—and his own footing gave way.
They both went down.
Water surged, splashing high, breaking the fragile stillness of the river. One of the nearby bodies shifted violently in response, bumping into another with a sickening sound.
“Shit—!” Max moved first, pushing forward through the water with force, George right behind him.
Isack’s head dipped under for a second—just a second—but it was enough to send a shock of panic through the group.
“Get up—get up!” Franco was shouting, but he was half-submerged himself now, slipping, unable to get traction.
George reached them first, grabbing Isack by the back of his jacket and hauling him upward with a sharp, controlled motion. Max grabbed Franco’s arm, dragging him upright just as he started to go under again.
“Stop fighting it!” Max snapped. “You’re making it worse!”
They steadied them, holding them in place until their footing returned—until the panic eased just enough to function.
Isack coughed hard, water spilling from his mouth as he sucked in a ragged breath. Franco clung to George’s arm like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
For a moment, no one moved.
No one spoke.
The river seemed louder now, even though it hadn’t changed.
“Everyone good?” Lewis asked, his voice cutting through the chaos.
A series of shaky nods.
“Then we keep moving,” he said.
Because stopping wasn’t an option.
Not here.
Not now.
They moved again, but something had changed.
The rhythm they’d found in those first careful steps was gone, replaced by something sharper, more fragile. Every movement now carried the memory of Isack slipping under, of Franco’s panic, of how quickly control could be ripped away. The river didn’t feel like something they were crossing anymore—it felt like something they were inside of, something that could swallow them if it decided to.
“Slow,” Lewis reminded, though his voice had dropped even lower, like he didn’t want to disturb the air.
Isack was breathing hard, still coughing intermittently as he steadied himself. Franco stayed close to him now, one hand gripping the back of his jacket like he was afraid to let go again.
“You good?” Franco asked, voice tight.
Isack nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
He wasn’t.
None of them were.
Max stayed just behind them, watchful, his eyes flicking constantly between the ground and the water around them. George had gone quieter than usual, his expression unreadable as he scanned ahead, every movement precise, almost mechanical.
“Don’t rush,” Carlos said. “We’re almost halfway.”
That should have been reassuring.
It wasn’t.
Because halfway meant there was still just as much left.
The water climbed higher as they moved forward, reaching their hips now in the lowest dips of the flooded road. Their clothes clung heavy and cold, dragging at their movements, every step requiring more effort than the last.
Oscar sucked in a sharp breath as a deeper patch caught him off guard, water sloshing up to his waist. “Shit—”
Lando immediately reached out, grabbing his arm. “Careful.”
“I’m good,” Oscar said, though his teeth had started to chatter faintly.
Lando didn’t let go right away.
The cold was sinking deeper now, past the surface discomfort into something more dangerous. Muscles stiffened. Fingers numbed. The kind of cold that didn’t just make you shiver—it slowed you down.
“We need to keep moving,” Lewis said. “Don’t stop.”
As if they would.
A shape bumped against George’s leg.
He didn’t react at first—just looked down slowly, his gaze following the pale, distorted outline drifting past him. It turned slightly in the water, just enough that he could see its face.
Or what was left of it.
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Didn’t move away.
“George,” Alex said quietly from a few steps behind him.
George blinked once, like he was pulling himself back into his body. “I’m fine.”
It didn’t sound convincing.
But they didn’t have the space to push.
Another few steps.
The current tugged slightly stronger here, enough to shift their balance if they weren’t careful. The debris thickened too—branches, scraps of fabric, pieces of things that used to be useful, now just obstacles.
And then—
Charles hissed sharply.
“Ah—shit.”
Heads turned immediately.
“What happened?” Carlos asked.
Charles had pulled his hand up out of the water, clutching it instinctively. Blood mixed instantly with the murky current, thin red threads curling away from his fingers.
“Cut,” he said, his voice tight. “Something sharp under the water.”
“Let me see,” Lewis said, already moving closer.
“It’s not deep,” Charles insisted, though he didn’t sound entirely sure.
Lewis grabbed his wrist gently but firmly, turning his hand to inspect it. The cut wasn’t massive, but it was open enough—jagged, probably from metal or broken glass hidden beneath the surface.
And the water—
The water wasn’t clean.
A silence fell again, heavier this time.
“That’s not good,” Liam muttered.
“No,” Lewis agreed.
Charles swallowed. “It’s fine. It’s just a cut.”
“In that?” Max said, gesturing to the water around them.
Charles didn’t answer.
Because he knew.
They all did.
“Infection risk,” Oscar said quietly.
“That’s putting it lightly,” Lando added.
Lewis exhaled slowly, then released Charles’ hand. “We clean it as soon as we’re out,” he said. “Properly. For now, keep it out of the water if you can.”
Charles let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. I’ll just… float it above the surface, shall I?”
“No sarcasm,” Carlos snapped, sharper than intended.
That was new.
Everyone felt it.
Charles’s expression hardened slightly. “I’m just saying—”
“We don’t have time for this,” Carlos cut in. “We deal with it when we’re across.”
“When we’re across,” Charles repeated, something strained in his voice.
The words hung there.
When.
Not if.
But it didn’t feel guaranteed anymore.
George shifted slightly, his gaze still fixed ahead. “We should keep moving,” he said.
His voice was flat.
Too flat.
Alex glanced at him, something uneasy flickering across his face, but he didn’t push. Not here.
Not now.
They moved.
Step by step, forcing themselves forward through water that felt heavier with every passing second. The far bank was closer now—visibly so—but it didn’t feel like it.
Because something else was wrong.
“Wait,” Lando said suddenly.
Everyone stilled.
“What?” Max asked.
Lando turned slightly, scanning the water around them. “They’re moving.”
“They’ve been moving,” Oscar said quietly.
“No,” Lando said, shaking his head. “Not like that.”
And then they saw it.
The bodies in the water weren’t just drifting anymore.
They were… shifting.
Subtle at first—small, almost imperceptible movements. A hand twitching. A shoulder rolling slightly beneath the surface. A head turning just a fraction too deliberately.
“They’re reacting,” Lewis said under his breath.
“To us,” Carlos finished.
A low, sickening realization settled over the group.
The splashing.
The noise.
They’d disturbed the water.
And now—
A body jerked suddenly, its arm breaking the surface in a slow, unnatural motion.
Franco let out a strangled sound. “Nope—nope, no, we need to go—now.”
“Stay together!” Max barked.
But the tension had snapped.
Panic was threading through them again, sharper this time, more dangerous. Their steps grew less controlled, more hurried, water splashing louder with every movement.
“Stop rushing!” Lewis snapped. “You’ll fall—”
As if on cue, Liam stumbled, catching himself just in time before going under. The ripple of movement sent another wave through the water, disturbing more of the bodies around them.
“They’re waking up,” Isack said, his voice thin.
“Keep moving,” Carlos said. “Just keep moving.”
But the far bank—
It wasn’t getting closer fast enough.
Max stopped.
“Wait.”
Everyone froze.
“What?” Oscar asked, breathless.
Max was staring ahead, his expression tightening. “Look.”
They followed his gaze.
The terrain ahead—the place where the road should have risen out of the water—was worse than they thought. The flooding hadn’t just spread outward—it had deepened.
The drop wasn’t gradual.
It was sudden.
A dark, deeper stretch of water lay between them and the bank, the surface almost still, but wrong. Too dark. Too deep.
“How deep?” Lando asked.
George nudged forward slightly, testing with his foot.
He didn’t find the bottom.
His expression shifted—just slightly, but enough.
“…Too deep,” he said.
Silence.
“We can’t swim that,” Franco said immediately.
“Not like this,” Isack added, panic rising again.
“With the current, the debris—” Alex shook his head. “No way.”
Carlos ran a hand through his wet hair, frustration breaking through. “We’re too far in to turn back.”
“Are we?” Charles shot back, his voice sharper now.
Carlos turned on him. “You want to go back through that?”
“I don’t want to drown in front of it!” Charles snapped.
“Enough,” Lewis cut in, but the damage was already done.
The tension that had been building since they stepped into the water finally broke.
“We should’ve found another route,” Charles said, his voice tight with frustration—and fear.
“There wasn’t one,” Carlos fired back.
“There’s always another way!”
“And waste more time? More fuel? Run into something worse?”
“At least we wouldn’t be stuck in a river full of infected corpses!”
“That’s enough!” Max snapped.
But it wasn’t.
Because this wasn’t just about the river.
It was everything.
The exhaustion. The fear. The losses piling up with no time to process them.
Yuki.
Now this.
“We turn back,” Lewis said finally.
The words landed heavy.
Decisive.
Final.
No one argued.
Because as much as they hated it—
There was no other choice.
“Carefully,” he added. “We don’t rush. We do this properly.”
The way back felt longer.
Harder.
And the river didn’t feel like it was going to let them go easily.
The first thing anyone noticed about the parking garage wasn’t the darkness.
It was the echo.
Their engines—what little they dared use—bounced off the concrete like something alive, like the structure itself was answering them back. The Suburban rolled in first, its headlights cutting shallow tunnels through the gloom, while the truck followed close behind, tires crunching over broken glass and something softer no one wanted to identify. The air inside was cooler than outside, but it wasn’t relief. It was stale, unmoving, thick with the kind of silence that made every breath feel like an intrusion.
Max killed the engine first.
The sudden quiet rang louder than the noise.
For a moment, no one moved.
They had made it out of the river. That alone felt like something fragile, something that might break if acknowledged too loudly. Every piece of clothing clung to skin, soaked through and heavy, the chill settling deeper now that the adrenaline had ebbed. Oscar’s hands were still trembling faintly where they rested in his lap, his knuckles pale, lips tinged faintly blue despite how he tried to hide it.
“We don’t stay long,” Lewis said quietly from the back, his voice measured, controlled in a way that made it clear he was forcing it. “Just enough to dry off. Regroup.”
No one argued.
They couldn’t.
The group spilled out slowly, movements stiff, exhausted. Shoes squelched against concrete, leaving damp prints behind them like a trail they couldn’t erase. The smell hit them then—oil, rot, something metallic beneath it all—and it turned stomachs already too close to empty.
Charles flexed his hand the second he stepped out, the cut across his palm reopening slightly with the motion. The sight of diluted blood mixing with river water made something twist low in his chest, sharp and quiet. He didn’t say anything. Just wiped it against his already ruined hoodie and flexed again, slower this time.
They moved deeper in, instinctively huddling closer despite the open space.
George stayed near Franco and Isack, his presence solid but distant. He hadn’t said much since the river. Not since dragging Franco out, not since the moment everything could have gone very differently. His silence wasn’t empty—it was heavy, like something compressing inward.
Lando stuck close to Oscar, one hand brushing his arm every few seconds like a grounding check. Oscar didn’t pull away. Didn’t lean in either. Just existed in that narrow space between.
“We’ll take second level,” Max decided, scanning upward into the spiraling dark. “Less exposed.”
“Or more trapped,” Carlos muttered, but he followed anyway.
The climb up the ramp felt longer than it should have. Every step echoed. Every small noise stretched too far. By the time they reached the second level, the group had tightened unconsciously, shoulders brushing, breaths syncing in a way that came from shared fear more than intention.
They chose a corner.
Not because it was safe—nothing felt safe anymore—but because it felt defensible. Fewer angles. Fewer unknowns.
Lewis and Carlos worked quietly to block part of the entrance with an overturned cart and debris. It wouldn’t stop anything determined, but it might slow it. Might give them seconds. And seconds mattered now more than anything.
Lance was the one who found the noise trap.
It was half-buried under debris—a cluster of cans wired loosely together, something crude but effective. Someone else’s attempt at survival. Someone else who wasn’t here anymore.
“Still works,” Lance said after testing it gently, the faint clink echoing too loudly in the space.
Max looked over immediately. “Don’t set it off.”
“I won’t,” Lance replied, but there was something in his tone. Thoughtful. Quiet in a different way.
They settled.
Or tried to.
Wet clothes were wrung out as best as possible, laid over anything remotely clean. Hands shook—not just from cold now, but from everything stacked on top of everything else. Hunger gnawed. Exhaustion pressed down. The kind that made thoughts slow and heavy.
For a moment, it almost felt still.
Then the sound came.
Distant at first.
A scrape.
Then another.
Everyone froze.
Heads turned toward the ramp.
The sound came again, louder now. Not random. Not drifting.
Moving.
“Shit,” Ollie breathed.
Max was already on his feet. “Lights off.”
The dim glow vanished instantly, plunging them into near-total darkness. Only the faint grey from the outside filtered in, barely enough to make shapes of each other.
The sound multiplied.
Scraping. Shuffling. Something dragging.
More than one.
“They followed us,” George said, voice low, flat.
“No,” Lewis murmured. “They tracked us.”
The difference hung in the air.
Closer now.
Too close.
Max’s voice cut through, sharp and quiet. “We leave. Now.”
“But the cars—” Isack started.
“We’ll draw them,” Lance said suddenly.
It was so calm it almost didn’t register.
Everyone turned.
“What?” Lando snapped.
“The trap,” Lance continued, already moving, already thinking it through out loud. “Set it off on the upper level. Pull them up. You drive out while they’re distracted.”
“No,” Esteban said immediately.
“It’ll work.”
“It’s not happening.”
“It’s the only thing that will.”
Silence slammed down hard.
Even the sounds from below seemed to pause for a second, like the world itself was waiting.
Max stepped forward. “We go together.”
“If we all go, they follow all of us,” Lance replied, meeting his gaze. “You know that.”
Oscar shook his head, sharp and immediate. “No. No, we figure something else out—”
“There isn’t time,” Lance cut in, not harsh, just certain.
Charles swallowed hard. “Lance—”
“Listen,” Lance said, softer now, looking at all of them. “You’re soaked. Half of you can barely stand. If they get here—” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
Lando’s hand tightened into a fist. “We’re not leaving you.”
“You won’t be,” Lance said, and for a second, something almost like a smile flickered. “I’ll be right behind you.”
It was a lie.
Everyone knew it.
That was the worst part.
Lewis stepped forward slowly. “There are other ways.”
Lance shook his head. “Not fast enough.”
The scraping below grew louder again.
Closer.
Decision time shrinking to nothing.
Max’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked to the ramp, then back to Lance.
“No,” he said again, but it wasn’t as firm.
Lance reached out, gripping his shoulder briefly. “Get them out.”
Something in Max’s expression cracked—not outwardly, not fully—but enough.
Pierre swore under his breath, turning away like he couldn’t watch this play out.
“Oscar,” Lance said quietly, stepping toward him. “Stay close to Lando.”
Oscar’s throat tightened. He nodded anyway.
Lance looked at each of them once. Not lingering. Just enough.
Then he turned.
And ran.
“LANCE—” someone shouted, but it was already too late.
His footsteps pounded down the ramp, loud on purpose now. Drawing attention. Drawing everything.
The trap went off seconds later.
The clatter exploded through the garage, sharp and violent, echoing endlessly.
The response was immediate.
The infected surged.
The sound of movement became a flood—scraping, dragging, bodies colliding, drawn toward the noise like it was oxygen.
“GO!” Max shouted.
Everything broke into motion.
They sprinted.
Down the opposite ramp, toward the cars, toward anything that wasn’t this.
Behind them, the noise didn’t stop.
It got worse.
They didn’t look back.
They couldn’t.
The Suburban roared to life first, engine screaming in the enclosed space. The truck followed seconds later, Oscar practically throwing himself into the driver’s seat.
“Where is he?!” Isack shouted from the truck bed, bracing himself.
No one answered.
Because they knew.
Max floored it.
The vehicles tore out of the garage, tires screeching, bursting into the open air like breaking through the surface of water.
The night outside felt too wide.
Too empty.
They didn’t stop driving.
Not for a long time.
No one spoke for miles.
The road stretched ahead in a dull, endless line, the sky above a flat, oppressive grey even as evening deepened. The Suburban’s interior felt smaller now, tighter, filled with something unspoken and suffocating.
Pierre sat curled slightly into himself, hands tucked into his sleeves despite the damp. Esteban’s arm was around him, firm, steady, not letting go.
Carlos stared out the window, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
Lewis sat forward, elbows on his knees, eyes unfocused.
Max drove like he was on autopilot. Precise. Mechanical.
Charles kept flexing his injured hand without realizing it.
Max didn’t look away from the road.
In the truck bed, Franco and Isack sat in stunned silence.
Finally, Lando broke.
“He said he’d be right behind us.”
The words were quiet. Fragile.
No one answered.
“Did you hear him?” Lando continued, voice tightening. “He said—”
“I heard him,” Oscar said.
Flat.
Final.
Lando’s jaw clenched. “So why didn’t we wait?”
“Because if we had, we’d all be dead,” Oscar replied.
The words hit hard.
Too hard.
“That wasn’t Max’s call to make!” Lando snapped.
“It was,” Oscar shot back. “Someone had to make it.”
“Not like that—”
“Like what?” Oscar’s voice rose now, sharp, cutting. “Like hesitating? Like getting everyone killed because we couldn’t move?”
“Because we couldn’t leave him!”
Silence exploded in the wake of that.
Heavy.
Raw.
“He chose it,” Kimi said quietly.
Lando shook his head immediately. “That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No,” Kimi agreed. “It doesn’t.”
Oscar shifted slightly, a hand moving towards Lando’s. “He knew,” he murmured. “He knew what he was doing.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” Lando repeated, softer now.
No one argued that.
Because it wasn’t.
But it had still happened.
The road stretched on.
Waco was somewhere ahead.
And behind them, in a dark, echoing garage, Lance Stroll had made a choice none of them would ever forget.
They didn’t stop until the sky darkened fully.
Even then, it wasn’t really a stop. Just a slow down. A reluctant pause in a world that didn’t allow them much of either.
All characters and real people depicted are fictionalized for storytelling purposes. No harm or offense is intended. Content may include mature themes—reader discretion advised.
It’s officially June… which means it’s my birthday month, so expect me to be a little extra self-indulgent with what I write and post <3
Thank you guys for all the love on my fics lately—genuinely, every like, reblog, and message means more than you know. This little corner of the internet has become something really special to me.
My posting schedule for the month of June is as follows:
Series:
PLOTD (zombie AU)
• Every Sunday + Wednesday
(We’re getting into some serious plot now… prepare yourselves)
One-Shots
• June 6 — “We Were Never Just Teammates” (Gabico)
• June 14 — “You Talk Big for Someone Who Cares This Much” (Lisack)
• June 22 — “Shared Custody of One Braincell” (Bearnelli)
(Might sneak in a drabble or two if the mood hits 👀)
Other Notes:
• Requests are open! Please refer to my request rules before making one! • You can now read PLOTD more seamlessly! Easily change chapters using the in-chapter header links!
• Please keep checking tags—some upcoming PLOTD chapters are heavier
• Reblogs and Likes are always appreciated ❤️
Again, thank you for being here. Whether you’ve been following for a while or just found me, I appreciate you more than I can properly put into words.
Summary: As firelight flickers against the dark, Oscar and Lando cling to memories of a life before the collapse, finding brief comfort in laughter and each other’s presence. But when something stirs just beyond the edge of the flames, they’re reminded that in this world, even the quietest moments are never truly safe.
The fire was small on purpose—just enough to push back the creeping chill of evening without advertising their presence to anything that might be watching from the dark. It crackled softly, the flames licking at splintered wood scavenged from somewhere along the road, and the smoke drifted low, hugging the ground as if even it was trying to stay hidden. The rest of the group had settled into a loose perimeter not far off, shapes half-lost in the dimming light, but for a little while, it was just Oscar and Lando sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed every time one of them shifted.
The sky was that strange in-between color, where blue faded into something bruised and gray, and the first hints of night pressed in at the edges. It felt quieter than it should have. Not peaceful—never that anymore—but stretched thin, like the world was holding its breath.
Lando nudged a stick into the fire, watching the embers rearrange themselves with a soft hiss. “You ever think about how ridiculous this would’ve sounded a year ago?” he murmured, voice low enough that it barely carried past Oscar.
Oscar huffed out a quiet laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “A year ago I was complaining about jet lag and media duties,” he said. “Now I’m… here.” He gestured vaguely around them—the dirt, the trees, the broken edges of a world that didn’t quite make sense anymore.
“Yeah,” Lando said. “I’d take jet lag.”
They fell into a brief silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind that settled naturally, like they’d both learned how to exist in the gaps between words. Oscar shifted slightly, pulling one knee up, resting his arm across it. The firelight flickered across his face, catching in his eyes, softening the lines that had carved themselves there over the past weeks.
“You remember Monaco?” Lando asked suddenly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Oscar snorted, glancing over at him. “That narrows it down.”
“No, that one year,” Lando insisted, leaning forward a bit, animated now. “When you thought it’d be funny to hide my helmet before quali.”
Oscar’s grin broke through, quick and genuine. “Okay, first of all, it was funny.”
“You nearly got me killed,” Lando shot back, though there was no real heat behind it.
“You found it in like two minutes.”
“Because I panicked,” Lando said. “I thought I’d lost it. Do you have any idea what that does to a driver’s brain before qualifying?”
Oscar laughed softly, shaking his head. “You were fine. You always are.”
There was something in the way he said it—quiet, certain—that made Lando’s expression falter just slightly. He poked at the fire again, more out of habit than necessity.
“Not always,” he said after a moment.
Oscar didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against the back of Lando’s hand. It was a small thing, almost absent-minded, but Lando stilled at the contact, his shoulders loosening just a fraction.
“Okay,” Oscar conceded softly. “Not always. But… most of the time.”
Lando turned his hand, threading their fingers together without really thinking about it. The warmth of Oscar’s skin grounded him in a way the fire couldn’t. For a moment, the world shrank down to just that—the quiet crackle of flames, the steady presence beside him.
“Do you remember the water fight?” Lando asked, a little lighter now.
Oscar groaned immediately. “Don’t.”
“You started that,” Lando said, pointing at him with his free hand.
“I did not—”
“You absolutely did. You sprayed me with a hose.”
“You were standing right there.”
“You aimed it at me!”
Oscar tried to hold onto his indignation, but it dissolved into a quiet laugh. “Okay, maybe I did. But you escalated.”
“I escalated because you drenched me!”
“You threw a bucket at my head.”
“It was empty!”
“Still a bucket.”
Lando grinned, the expression softer than it used to be, but still there. “Worth it.”
Oscar shook his head, but his smile lingered. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” Lando said. “You like it.”
There was a beat—just long enough to feel intentional—before Oscar bumped his shoulder lightly against Lando’s.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”
The fire popped, a sudden sharp sound that made both of them glance down instinctively. The moment stretched, then settled again, but something had shifted—something quieter, deeper.
“Feels like a different life,” Lando said after a while. “All of it. The tracks, the crowds… everything.”
Oscar nodded. “It does.”
“Sometimes I try to remember it properly,” Lando continued, his voice thoughtful. “Like, not just flashes. I try to picture it. The noise, the heat, the stupid interviews… but it’s like it’s slipping.”
Oscar tightened his grip slightly. “It’s still there.”
“Is it?” Lando asked.
“Yeah,” Oscar said firmly. “It has to be.”
Lando looked at him, searching his face like he might find something solid there—something to hold onto. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Oscar shifted closer, just enough that their shoulders pressed more fully together. “We’ll make new stuff too,” he added quietly. “Not the same. But… something.”
Lando let out a slow breath. “Yeah,” he said. “Something.”
The darkness had deepened while they talked, creeping in until the fire was the only real light left. The trees beyond it blurred into shadow, their outlines indistinct, like they could be anything if you looked too long.
Lando’s gaze drifted outward, scanning the edges of their little clearing. It had become second nature—always checking, always listening. Even in moments like this, the awareness never really went away.
“You think it’s weird,” he said slowly, “that it almost feels quieter now than it did during the day?”
Oscar followed his gaze, his expression sharpening slightly. “Not weird,” he said. “Just… wrong.”
“Yeah,” Lando agreed. “Wrong.”
They both fell silent again, but this time it wasn’t the same easy quiet as before. There was tension threaded through it now, subtle but unmistakable. The fire crackled on, oblivious, but the space beyond it felt heavier somehow.
A sound broke through the stillness—a faint rustle, just at the edge of hearing.
Lando’s head snapped up, his grip on Oscar tightening instinctively. “Did you—”
“Yeah,” Oscar said under his breath.
They both went still, listening. The night pressed in around them, thick and watchful. For a few seconds, there was nothing—just the distant hum of insects, the soft whisper of wind through leaves.
Then it came again. Closer this time.
A shift. A movement. Something brushing against something else.
Lando slowly let go of Oscar’s hand, not because he wanted to, but because his instincts were already taking over. He reached for the weapon resting beside him, movements careful, controlled.
Oscar mirrored him, his posture tightening, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the firelight. “Could be one,” he murmured. “Or… something else.”
“Or nothing,” Lando said, though he didn’t sound convinced.
They both knew better than that.
The fire suddenly felt too bright, too exposing. It cast long shadows that stretched and twisted, turning every uneven shape into something that might move if you looked away for too long.
Another sound. A little sharper.
Oscar shifted his weight slightly, angling himself so he was half in front of Lando without even realizing he’d done it. Lando noticed, though, and something tight in his chest pulled even tighter.
“Hey,” Lando whispered. “Don’t—”
“I’ve got it,” Oscar said quietly.
Lando almost argued, but the words caught in his throat. There wasn’t time for that kind of back-and-forth anymore.
The shadows at the edge of the clearing seemed to ripple, just for a second, like something had moved through them. Both of them tensed, breaths held.
A shape flickered into view—low, quick.
Lando’s heart slammed against his ribs.
Oscar raised his weapon slightly, not firing, not moving forward—just ready.
The shape darted again, and for a split second, the firelight caught it.
Not an infected.
Too small. Too fast.
It bolted across the edge of the clearing and disappeared into the brush with a sharp, startled noise.
They both froze, waiting.
Silence.
Then, slowly, the tension began to ebb.
“A… rabbit?” Lando said, his voice somewhere between disbelief and relief.
Oscar exhaled, lowering his weapon. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Lando let out a breath that turned into a quiet, shaky laugh. “We just nearly had a heart attack over a rabbit.”
Oscar huffed, the sound almost a laugh. “To be fair,” he said, “it sounded bigger.”
“Everything sounds bigger now,” Lando replied.
Oscar glanced at him, something softer returning to his expression. “Yeah,” he said. “It does.”
Lando set his weapon back down, running a hand through his hair. The adrenaline was still there, buzzing under his skin, but it was already starting to fade, leaving behind a strange kind of exhaustion.
“God,” he muttered. “I miss when the scariest thing was messing up a lap.”
Oscar smiled faintly. “You didn’t mess up laps.”
“I did sometimes.”
“Rarely.”
Lando nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe,” Oscar admitted.
They settled back into place, a little closer than before, as if the brief scare had reminded them just how easily things could go wrong. The fire had burned down slightly, the flames lower now, more embers than anything else.
For a while, neither of them spoke. They just sat there, watching the glow, listening to the night, letting their breathing even out again.
Eventually, Lando leaned his head lightly against Oscar’s shoulder. It was a quiet, almost hesitant gesture, but Oscar didn’t hesitate at all. He shifted just enough to make it easier, resting his head briefly against Lando’s.
“We’re okay,” Oscar murmured.
“For now,” Lando said.
Oscar didn’t argue with that. He just tightened his arm slightly where it brushed against Lando’s, grounding, steady.
“For now’s enough,” he said.
Lando closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the fire and the presence beside him sink in. The world outside their little circle was still broken, still dangerous, still unpredictable—but here, in this brief, fragile pocket of time, there was something that felt almost like peace.
Not the kind they used to know. Not the kind they’d probably ever have again.
All characters and real people depicted are fictionalized for storytelling purposes. No harm or offense is intended. Content may include mature themes—reader discretion advised.
Summary: As the night fills with unnatural howls and something far worse moving just beyond sight, the group realizes they are no longer simply surviving the infected—they are being studied, hunted, and encircled. By morning, with the stench of decay clinging to them and danger closing in, they are forced onward, knowing rest is no longer safety but a liability.
By the time they find the dairy plant, it doesn’t feel like a place meant for people anymore.
It feels like something abandoned mid-breath.
The buildings rise out of the flat land in low, hulking shapes—concrete stained a sickly gray, metal siding warped and rusting in long streaks. The sign out front hangs crooked, one side torn loose and scraping faintly against the pole every time the wind shifts, producing a dull, repetitive clang that sets everyone’s teeth on edge.
“Charming,” Lando mutters under his breath as the vehicles roll to a slow stop.
The smell hits before they even get out.
It seeps through the cracked seams of the vehicles, thick and sour and wrong in a way that makes the back of the throat burn. Not just rot—something heavier. Spoiled milk left too long, curdled into something almost chemical, almost alive.
Ollie gags immediately.
“Jesus—” he chokes, fumbling with the door handle, practically falling out of the truck as he stumbles a few steps away, hand pressed over his mouth.
Kimi is out right after him, slower but steady, one hand hovering near Ollie’s shoulder without quite touching.
“Breathe,” Kimi says quietly. “Not too deep.”
“Bit hard not to,” Ollie manages, voice strained.
Behind them, the rest of the group filters out, reactions varying but never neutral. Even Max pauses halfway out of the Suburban, brow furrowing as the smell hits him full force.
“That’s…” Alex starts, then stops, unable to find a word that quite covers it.
“Rotten dairy,” Carlos says, though even he sounds unsure. “Industrial amounts of it.”
“It’s more than that,” Lewis adds, quieter, eyes scanning the buildings. “There’s something else mixed in.”
Flies swarm thick in the air.
Not just a few.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
They gather in slow, shifting clouds near the open loading docks, buzzing loud enough to create a constant, low drone that never quite fades into the background. Every step closer makes it worse, the air feeling heavier, thicker, like it’s clinging to their skin.
Lance swats one away from his face, grimacing. “We’re really stopping here?”
“We need supplies,” George says, though he doesn’t sound convinced either. “Water, if there’s any left uncontaminated. Tools.”
“And you think we’ll find that in there?” Franco gestures toward the darkened entrance.
“No,” George admits. “But we might.”
“Pairs,” Max says, slipping back into something resembling leadership out of necessity. “No one goes alone.”
There’s a quiet shuffle as people fall into place, the group instinctively forming smaller units.
Charles stays at Max’s side.
Carlos moves with Franco.
Lewis and George stick together, Alex trailing close.
Pierre doesn’t say anything, but Esteban remains beside him without question.
Oscar glances back toward the truck bed. “We’ll take the left side,” he says, nodding to Lando, Kimi, and Ollie.
Lando gives a mock salute that doesn’t quite land. “Field trip.”
Ollie manages a weak huff of air that might have been a laugh on a better day.
Inside, it’s worse.
The moment they cross the threshold, the smell intensifies tenfold—trapped, concentrated, festering in the stale air of the building. The temperature shifts too, not cooler like it should be, but warmer in a suffocating, stagnant way that clings to their lungs.
“God—” Alex pulls his sleeve up over his nose. “This is foul.”
The floor is slick in places.
Not visibly.
But enough that every step feels uncertain, shoes sticking slightly before lifting again with a faint, wet sound no one wants to think about too hard.
The vats are the first thing they see.
Massive.
Industrial.
Lined up in rows like silent, bloated giants.
Some are sealed.
Some are not.
The ones that are open—
No one looks into them for long.
“Don’t,” Lewis says quietly when Lando starts to edge closer to one, curiosity getting the better of him. “There’s nothing in there you need to see.”
Lando doesn’t argue.
He steps back.
The further in they go, the darker it gets.
Windows are either boarded up or too grime-coated to let in any real light, forcing them to rely on flashlights that cut narrow, harsh beams through the gloom. Every sound echoes—footsteps, breathing, the distant drip of something that might be water but probably isn’t.
“Stay sharp,” Oscar murmurs.
As if they wouldn’t be.
They find the trucks in the loading bay.
Milk tankers, once bright white, now dulled and streaked with grime. Some are overturned, massive cylindrical bodies resting at awkward angles, doors ripped open or hanging loose.
One has spilled its contents.
Or something like it.
The ground around it is stained dark, the smell there almost unbearable.
Ollie turns away sharply, swallowing hard.
“Hey,” Oscar says softly, stepping closer but not crowding him. “Look at me.”
Ollie does, barely.
“Focus on something else,” Oscar continues. “Not that. Anything else.”
Kimi shifts slightly, placing himself on Ollie’s other side, a quiet, steady presence.
“Count,” Kimi suggests. “Steps. Breaths. Doesn’t matter.”
Ollie nods faintly, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Across the bay, Max and Charles check one of the smaller storage rooms.
It’s been ransacked.
Shelves overturned, boxes torn open, contents scattered.
“We’re not the first ones here,” Charles says unnecessarily.
“No,” Max agrees, crouching slightly to inspect a broken crate. “But they didn’t take everything.”
He pulls out a small toolkit, testing the weight of it before handing it back.
“Useful.”
Charles nods, already scanning for more.
Lance lets out a sharp hiss somewhere behind them.
“What?” George calls, immediately alert.
“Cut,” Lance mutters, holding up his hand. A thin line of red beads along his finger where he’s sliced it on a jagged piece of metal.
“Let me see,” Lewis says, moving over quickly.
“It’s nothing,” Lance insists, but he doesn’t pull away.
Lewis examines it anyway, careful but efficient. “Still needs wrapping. Infection’s the last thing you want right now.”
“Bit ironic,” Lance mutters.
Lewis almost smiles.
They don’t stay longer than they have to.
They can’t.
Every second inside feels like it’s pressing in on them, the smell, the heat, the weight of something unseen but deeply wrong.
When they finally step back out into the open air, it’s like breaking the surface after being held underwater too long.
Even the muggy heat feels like relief.
“We’re not staying in there,” Alex says immediately.
“Agreed,” Max replies.
“Then where?” Franco asks, glancing around the wide, exposed land.
There’s no good answer.
Just better than nothing.
They settle a short distance away, far enough that the worst of the smell doesn’t choke them, but close enough to keep the vehicles within reach.
It’s not a campsite.
Not really.
Just a space they decide will do.
The perimeter is crude. Improvised. But it’s something.
They arrange themselves in a loose circle, vehicles forming partial barriers, scattered debris dragged into place to create the illusion of defense. Weapons are kept within arm’s reach, no one willing to be more than a second away from something they can use.
“No fire,” George says.
“Too visible,” Carlos agrees.
“Too risky,” Max finishes.
As the sun dips lower, the air doesn’t cool.
If anything, it gets heavier.
The kind of heat that sticks to skin and doesn’t let go, sweat drying almost as quickly as it forms, leaving behind a layer of salt and discomfort.
Flies linger.
Not as many.
But enough.
They eat in silence.
Quick.
Minimal.
No one has much of an appetite anyway.
Night comes slowly.
Then all at once.
At first, it’s just quiet.
The kind of quiet they’ve started to recognize as temporary.
Fragile.
Then—
A sound.
Distant.
Low.
A howl.
Ollie’s head snaps up.
“What was that?”
No one answers immediately.
Because they all heard it.
Another howl joins it.
Then another.
Layering.
Building.
“Coyotes,” Carlos says, though his voice is tight.
“They don’t sound like that,” Franco replies.
He’s right.
They don’t.
The howls stretch longer than they should.
Higher.
Almost… warped.
Like something mimicking the sound instead of making it naturally.
“They’re following something,” Lewis says quietly.
“Or being led by it,” Pierre mutters.
The noise grows.
Not closer.
But more.
Echoing across the hills in a way that makes it impossible to tell where it’s coming from—or how many there are.
Ollie pulls his knees in slightly, arms wrapping around himself.
“Hey,” Kimi says softly, noticing immediately.
“I’m fine,” Ollie says quickly.
He’s not.
Oscar shifts closer anyway, not making a big deal out of it.
“Just animals,” he says lightly.
“Yeah,” Ollie murmurs.
But his grip tightens.
Across the circle, Max stares out into the darkness beyond the weak perimeter they’ve built.
Listening.
Counting.
Waiting.
Because something about it—
The sound.
The timing.
It doesn’t feel random.
It feels like a pattern.
The howling doesn’t stop.
It shifts.
That’s worse.
At first, it had been distant—something they could pretend was far enough away not to matter. Something that belonged to the hills, to the wilderness, to a world that still functioned on instinct instead of infection.
But now it moves.
Not closer.
Not exactly.
Just… around.
“It’s circling,” George murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.
No one tells him he’s wrong.
Because they can hear it too.
The way the sound drifts from one side of the horizon to the other, uneven but intentional, like something testing boundaries. Like something mapping them.
Max shifts where he sits, back against one of the vehicle tires, eyes fixed on the dark beyond their makeshift perimeter. His hand rests loosely on the weapon in his lap, not gripping, but not relaxed either.
“Stay sharp,” he says quietly.
No one sleeps.
Not really, but they try.
Some of them lie back, eyes closed, bodies angled in ways that suggest rest—but every small sound pulls them back to the surface. Every shift of wind, every rustle of grass, every faint scrape of something unseen makes muscles tense again.
Sleep becomes something shallow.
Unearned.
Dangerous.
The flies fade with the night.
Replaced by something worse.
Movement.
At first, it’s barely noticeable.
A flicker at the edge of vision.
A shadow that doesn’t quite match the direction of the moonlight.
Then—
A sound.
Close.
Too close.
Oscar’s head snaps toward it instantly. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah,” Lando breathes, already pushing himself upright.
It comes again.
A dragging noise.
Slow.
Measured.
“Don’t—” Lewis starts quietly, but it’s too late.
Everyone is already looking.
At the edge of their camp, just beyond the reach of what little light they have, something moves.
Not like the infected they’re used to.
Not stumbling.
Not frantic.
Deliberate.
It steps forward just enough for them to see it.
Then stops.
For a moment, no one breathes.
Because it’s not alone.
Another shape emerges behind it.
Then another.
“They’re not charging,” Franco whispers.
“No,” Carlos replies. “They’re watching.”
The realization lands hard.
Heavier than any sprinting horde.
Heavier than any chaotic attack.
Because this—
This is different.
“They’re… waiting,” Alex says, the words almost catching in his throat.
A third sound cuts through the air.
Not a howl this time.
Something lower.
Rougher.
Almost like a broken attempt at one.
The infected respond.
Not by moving forward.
But by shifting.
Spacing themselves.
Adjusting.
“They’re communicating,” George says.
Pierre lets out a quiet, hollow laugh.
“Of course they are.”
Esteban glances at him, something like concern flickering there, but Pierre doesn’t look back.
Max rises slowly to his feet.
“Don’t engage unless they get closer,” he says, voice steady even if his pulse isn’t.
“We don’t know what triggers them yet.”
“And if they rush?” Lance asks.
Max’s grip tightens slightly.
“Then we fight.”
The standoff stretches.
Minutes that feel like hours.
The infected don’t come closer.
But they don’t leave either.
They shift.
Step.
Pause.
Always just outside.
Always watching.
The howling continues in the distance.
But now it sounds… answered.
Echoed.
As if what’s out there and what’s here are connected.
Ollie is shaking.
He doesn’t realize it at first.
It starts small—just a tremor in his hands, barely noticeable in the dark.
Then it spreads.
His breathing shifts.
Too fast.
Too shallow.
“No,” he whispers under his breath.
Not now.
Not here.
The sound of dragging—
The movement in the dark—
The way nothing is rushing them, just waiting—
It’s too close.
Too familiar.
The hotel.
The hallway.
The pounding.
The silence that came after—
“Ollie.”
Oscar’s voice cuts through it.
Grounding.
But it’s not enough.
Not yet.
“I can’t—” Ollie chokes, pulling back slightly, hands pressing against his head like he can physically block it out. “I can’t do this again—”
“Hey,” Oscar says, sharper now, moving closer but careful, controlled. “You’re not there.”
Ollie doesn’t respond.
His breathing spikes.
Kimi shifts on his other side, slower, steadier.
“Ollie.”
That gets through.
Barely.
“Look at me,” Kimi says.
Ollie hesitates.
Then does.
“You’re here,” Kimi continues, voice calm, even, unshaken by the movement at the edge of camp. “Not there. This is different.”
“It’s not—” Ollie’s voice cracks. “It’s the same—”
“It’s not,” Oscar cuts in, firm but not harsh. “We’re not trapped. We’re not cornered.”
A pause.
Then, softer—
“And you’re not alone.”
Ollie’s breathing stutters.
Still too fast.
Still uneven.
But it slows.
Just a little.
“Count,” Kimi says again, quieter this time. “With me.”
Ollie swallows hard.
Then nods.
“Okay,” he whispers.
And they do.
Around them, the others pretend not to notice.
Not out of indifference.
Out of respect.
Out of understanding.
Because everyone is holding something together right now.
The infected remain.
Watching.
Listening.
But they don’t attack.
Eventually—slowly—the movement lessens.
Not gone.
Just… further.
Like whatever line they’d been testing has been drawn.
The howling fades with it.
Not completely.
But enough.
No one relaxes.
Not fully.
But the edge dulls.
Just a fraction.
Enough that exhaustion starts to win out over adrenaline.
One by one, people slip into something closer to real sleep.
Short.
Uneasy.
But deeper than before.
Max stays awake the longest.
Of course he does.
Sitting at the edge of the circle, gaze fixed outward, replaying everything in his head.
The patterns.
The spacing.
The waiting.
This isn’t random.
None of it is.
And that thought—
That’s the one that follows him into the early hours of the morning.
Because if the infected are learning—
Adapting—
Then everything they thought they understood—
Everything they’ve been relying on—
It’s already outdated.
The sky begins to lighten slowly.
Gray bleeding into pale blue.
The kind of morning that feels too calm for what the night held.
Birds don’t sing.
The silence returns.
Different this time.
Heavier.
And when the others start to wake, it’s not with relief.
It’s with the quiet, shared understanding that something has changed.
Morning doesn’t feel like relief.
It feels like exposure.
The light comes slowly, dragging itself over the horizon in muted shades of gray and pale gold, but it doesn’t bring warmth with it. It doesn’t bring comfort. It just reveals what the dark had hidden—and somehow, that’s worse.
No one speaks at first.
They don’t need to.
Because the ground around them tells the story.
Tracks.
Fresh.
They’re everywhere.
Max is the first to stand fully, already scanning the perimeter as the others begin to stir, stretching stiff limbs, blinking sleep from eyes that never truly rested.
Then he sees them.
And stills.
“Don’t move,” he says quietly.
That’s enough.
Everyone freezes.
“Why—” Lando starts, but then he follows Max’s line of sight.
And stops.
The dirt is disturbed in uneven patterns, scuffed and pressed down in dozens of overlapping paths. Footprints—if they can even be called that—circle the camp in a wide, deliberate ring.
Not random.
Not chaotic.
Organized.
“Jesus,” George breathes, stepping carefully to the edge of the circle.
“They were right here,” Alex says, voice low, disbelieving.
“Closer than that,” Carlos murmurs, crouching slightly to inspect the marks. “Some of these—” he gestures just beyond where they’d slept “—that’s less than a few meters.”
Ollie doesn’t move.
He doesn’t need to.
He can feel it.
The invisible line where something had stood in the dark.
Watching.
Waiting.
“They could’ve rushed us,” Franco says.
“But they didn’t,” Lewis replies.
That’s the problem.
Pierre stares down at the tracks, expression unreadable.
“Testing,” he says after a moment.
No one argues.
Max exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “We’re not staying.”
That earns a few tight nods.
No hesitation.
No debate.
They move quickly after that.
Faster than usual.
Not panicked—but efficient in a way that only comes from knowing they’ve already pushed their luck further than they should have.
Packing is quieter.
More focused.
Less conversation, more action.
Lance fumbles slightly with the cloth wrapped around his finger, the makeshift bandage already spotted faintly with dried blood.
“Hold still,” Lewis says, stepping in to rewrap it.
“I’ve got it,” Lance mutters.
“You’ve got a mess,” Lewis corrects gently, tightening the fabric just enough to hold without cutting circulation. “There. Try not to reopen it.”
Lance huffs but nods. “Yeah. I’ll just… avoid using my hands.”
Lewis almost smiles.
Nearby, Ollie sits on the edge of the truck bed, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed slightly as he focuses on breathing through the lingering nausea.
The smell hasn’t gone.
Not entirely.
Even out here, away from the building, it clings—faint but persistent, like it’s settled into the back of his throat.
“You okay?” Oscar asks, climbing up beside him.
Ollie nods automatically.
Then pauses.
Then shakes his head instead.
“Feel like I swallowed that place,” he admits hoarsely.
“Yeah,” Oscar says. “I get that.”
Kimi steps closer, offering a half-full bottle. “Small sips.”
Ollie takes it, grateful, though the water doesn’t help as much as he’d like.
Still—it’s something.
Lando leans against the side of the truck, inspecting the bottom of his shoe with a grimace.
The sole is starting to peel away at the edge.
“Great,” he mutters. “That’s not concerning at all.”
“You can tie it,” Liam offers, already reaching for a strip of fabric.
“Stylish,” Lando says dryly.
“Functional,” Liam counters.
Lando sighs. “Yeah, okay. Functional.”
Across the way, Max checks the Suburban, running a quick inspection out of habit more than necessity. The bloodstains on the front haven’t faded, dark against the paint, and the tear in his sleeve catches slightly as he moves.
Charles notices.
“Let me see that,” he says.
“It’s fine,” Max replies.
“It’s torn.”
“I noticed.”
Charles doesn’t back down. “Still.”
Max hesitates.
Then sighs.
“Fine.”
It’s a small thing.
A ripped sleeve.
A quick patch.
But it matters.
Because everything does now.
They’re almost ready to leave when George stops short near the edge of camp.
“Wait.”
Everyone looks up.
He crouches, pointing.
“Look at this.”
The tracks here are different.
Less scattered.
More concentrated.
“They stopped here,” George says.
Carlos joins him, studying the ground. “No… they didn’t stop.”
He traces a line with his finger.
“They turned.”
“Toward?” Alex asks.
Carlos glances up.
Back toward the dairy plant.
“They’re drawn to it,” Lewis says quietly.
“The smell,” Franco adds.
“Or something in it,” Pierre murmurs.
Max straightens.
“Doesn’t matter.”
He gestures toward the vehicles.
“We’re leaving.”
No one argues.
They load up quickly after that.
Faster than before.
The engines start almost simultaneously, the low rumble cutting through the still morning air.
As they pull away, no one looks back.
Not at the plant.
Not at the tracks.
Not at the place where something had circled them in the dark and chosen not to strike.
The road ahead stretches out in a thin, uncertain line.
Waco still waiting somewhere beyond it.
The heat is already building again, thick and oppressive, the air heavy with moisture that clings to skin and clothes alike. Sweat gathers quickly, mixing with the dirt and grime that’s become a permanent layer on all of them.
Their clothes tell the story.
Frayed edges.
Torn seams.
Patches where there used to be holes.
Makeshift gloves wrapped tight around scraped palms.
They look less like who they were.
More like something built for this world.
Even if none of them ever wanted to be.
In the truck, Ollie leans back carefully, eyes half-closed as he tries to steady himself.
The nausea lingers.
The memory lingers more.
“You did good,” Oscar says quietly.
Ollie lets out a faint breath. “Didn’t feel like it.”
“Still counts.”
Kimi glances over. “You stayed.”
Ollie considers that.
Then nods, just slightly.
“Yeah,” he says.
“I did.”
In the Suburban, Max keeps his eyes on the road.
But his mind isn’t there.
It’s back in the circle.
The tracks.
The spacing.
The waiting.
“They’re changing,” he says finally.
Charles doesn’t ask who.
“I know.”
Max’s grip tightens slightly on the wheel.
“We need to be faster.”
“Or smarter,” Charles replies.
Max glances at him.
“Both.”
The road carries them forward.
Away from the dairy plant.
Away from the hills that sang back in the night.
But not away from what they’ve learned.
Because now they know—
The infected don’t just hunt.
They watch.
They wait.
They learn.
And somewhere out there, beyond the heat and the flies and the empty roads—
All characters and real people depicted are fictionalized for storytelling purposes. No harm or offense is intended. Content may include mature themes—reader discretion advised.
Pardon the spam of likes but I refuse to read this au and NOT add it to my likes because HELLO? THIS IS AWESOME???
No no don’t apologize at all 😭 I LOVE seeing the like spam, it makes me so happy you have no idea. I’m so glad you’re enjoying it and that it’s hitting for you like it is. Thank you so much for reading and for the support, seriously ❤️
Summary: Driven into unforgiving wilderness where the rules of survival no longer apply, the group is forced into a deadly realization: the unknown may be far more dangerous than the infected they understand. When their escape west collapses into chaos, they make a desperate choice to turn toward Waco—toward the very outbreak they were warned would destroy them.
By the time the afternoon settled in, the world felt… emptier.
Not quieter—quiet had stopped meaning safety a long time ago—but stripped. Like something had peeled civilization back in uneven layers and left only the bones behind.
The road they followed wasn’t really a road anymore.
It had been, once. You could still see it in fragments—cracked asphalt threading through overgrown brush, faded lane markings ghosting beneath dirt and debris—but nature had started reclaiming it long before the end. Grass split through seams in the pavement. Branches leaned inward, narrowing their path. The further they drove, the more it felt like they were slipping off the map entirely.
Fog rolled low across the land, not thick enough to blind them, but enough to distort distance. Shapes appeared farther than they were. Movement felt delayed, wrong, like the world lagged behind itself.
Inside the Suburban, Max squinted slightly through the windshield, his hands steady on the wheel despite the way his posture had tightened over the past hour.
“You seeing that?” Alex asked quietly from the back.
“Yeah,” Max replied. “Doesn’t sit right.”
Lewis leaned forward slightly from the middle row, inhaling slowly through his nose, then again, more deliberately.
“Rain’s long gone,” he murmured. “Air’s dry underneath it.”
Lando’s voice crackled faintly over the radio from the truck behind them. “That’s not reassuring, by the way.”
Lewis exhaled softly. “Didn’t say it was.”
The connection between the vehicles wasn’t perfect.
The communication gear they’d found—half-working radios pulled from the farmhouse—came with static, with delay, with the constant threat of cutting out at the worst possible moment.
But it was something.
And right now, something was everything.
“Smell tells you more than you think,” Lewis continued, half to the group, half to Lando on the other end. “Storm clears the air. What’s left after—that’s what matters.”
Lando adjusted the radio slightly, frowning. “Okay, but what am I supposed to be smelling for? Because right now it’s just… dirt and anxiety.”
A faint flicker of something almost like amusement crossed Lewis’s face. “Rot. Metal. Stagnant water. If it changes suddenly—pay attention.”
“Got it,” Lando replied. “Sniff for danger. Easy.”
In the back of the truck, Kimi leaned his head back briefly against the metal, eyes half-lidded.
“Drink,” Oscar called over his shoulder from the driver’s seat.
Kimi didn’t respond immediately.
“Drink,” Oscar repeated, sharper this time.
That got a reaction.
Kimi reached for the bottle beside him, unscrewing it with slower movements than usual. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Ollie cut in quietly.
Kimi glanced at him.
“You’re moving slower,” Ollie added. “And you haven’t said anything in like… ten minutes.”
“That’s normal,” Kimi replied dryly.
“Not like this,” Ollie said.
A pause.
Then, without further argument, Kimi took a longer drink.
Small victories.
The land stretched wider as they moved.
Fields gave way to uneven terrain—patches of woodland, dips in the ground that hinted at dried creek beds, clusters of abandoned structures that looked more like shells than buildings.
No movement.
No infected.
But that didn’t make it better.
If anything, it made it worse.
“They’re not here,” Franco said from the truck bed, scanning the tree line.
“Or they’re not where we can see them,” Gabriel replied.
“Exactly,” Franco muttered.
Carlos shifted slightly in his seat in the Suburban, glancing back through the rear window at the truck behind them.
“Behavior’s different out here,” he said.
George nodded. “Less predictable.”
“No patterns,” Carlos added. “In the city, they followed noise. Density. Movement. Out here…” He shook his head. “Too many variables.”
“Which means we assume nothing,” Max said.
“Exactly,” Carlos replied.
The Suburban hit a rough patch of road, the vehicle jolting slightly. Max winced—quick, subtle, but not invisible.
Charles noticed immediately.
“Your ribs,” he said quietly.
“I’m fine,” Max replied automatically.
Charles didn’t argue right away.
But his gaze lingered.
“You’re compensating,” he said after a moment. “Left side.”
Max exhaled sharply. “It’s manageable.”
“For now,” Charles said.
Max didn’t respond.
Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?
Everything was manageable until it wasn’t.
They slowed as the road narrowed further, the trees pressing in tighter on either side now.
Visibility dropped.
The fog thickened in uneven pockets, drifting low across the ground like something alive.
Oscar’s voice crackled over the radio. “We might want to reconsider this route.”
“Options?” George asked.
“None that don’t put us back toward denser areas,” Oscar replied.
Silence.
Then Max: “We keep moving.”
No one argued.
It happened fast.
Too fast.
One second, the road ahead was empty.
The next—
Figures stepped out of the fog.
Two of them.
Human.
Alive.
And armed.
Max slammed the brakes.
The Suburban lurched to a halt, the truck behind them skidding slightly before stopping just short of impact.
“Don’t move,” George said immediately.
As if anyone was about to.
The two figures stood in the center of the road, rifles raised.
Not shaking.
Not uncertain.
Steady.
That was almost worse.
They were young.
Early twenties, maybe.
Similar features—brothers, most likely. One slightly taller, broader in the shoulders. The other thinner, eyes sharper, scanning constantly.
Both looked like they hadn’t slept in days.
Or longer.
“Out of the vehicle!” the taller one shouted.
No greeting.
No hesitation.
Just command.
Inside the Suburban, no one moved.
“Easy,” Charles murmured under his breath.
Max’s grip on the wheel tightened, but he didn’t reach for anything. Didn’t make any sudden movements.
“We’re not a threat,” he called out through the closed window.
The thinner brother let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s what everyone says.”
Behind them, the truck remained still.
Lando’s voice came quietly over the radio, barely above a whisper. “What’s the play?”
“Wait,” George replied. “No sudden moves.”
The taller brother took a step closer, rifle still trained directly on the windshield.
“I said get out.”
Max exchanged a quick glance with Charles.
Then, slowly—very slowly—he lifted his hands from the wheel, making sure the movement was visible.
“Okay,” he said. “We’re getting out.”
One movement at a time.
That was how this worked now.
The doors opened carefully.
Max stepped out first, hands raised slightly, palms visible. Charles followed, mirroring him.
From the truck, Oscar and Lando exited next, keeping their movements just as deliberate.
The rest stayed where they were.
Up close, the brothers looked worse.
Not physically injured.
But worn.
Frayed at the edges in a way that had nothing to do with the apocalypse itself and everything to do with surviving it.
“How many of you?” the thinner one demanded.
“More than two,” Lando said lightly.
Max shot him a look.
Lando shrugged slightly. “What? They can count the vehicles.”
The taller brother didn’t smile. “That’s not funny.”
“Wasn’t trying to be,” Lando replied.
Tension tightened.
Sharp.
Unstable.
“We’ve got supplies,” Max said carefully. “Food. Water. We can trade.”
The thinner brother’s eyes flicked between them, calculating. “Or we take.”
There it was.
The line.
Thin.
Dangerous.
“No one’s taking anything,” George said from inside the Suburban, voice carrying just enough.
The taller brother’s rifle shifted slightly.
Lando stepped forward.
Just a little.
Enough to shift the focus.
“Hey,” he said, tone calmer than the situation deserved. “We’re not here to fight.”
“Then why are you here?” the thinner brother snapped.
“Same reason you are,” Lando replied. “Trying not to die.”
That landed.
Not fully, but enough to pause the escalation.
Lando glanced back briefly, then reached slowly into his jacket.
Both rifles snapped tighter.
“Easy,” Lando said quickly. “Just grabbing something.”
He pulled out a small pack.
Water.
Protein bars.
Not much.
But enough.
He held it out.
Didn’t step closer.
Just… offered.
“We can spare this,” he said. “No strings.”
The brothers hesitated.
Suspicion warred with something else.
Need.
“Why?” the taller one asked.
Lando shrugged slightly. “Because we can.”
The thinner brother frowned. “That’s stupid.”
“Yeah,” Lando agreed. “Probably.”
A beat.
Then, softer: “But we’re still doing it.”
Silence stretched.
The kind that could break either way.
Finally—
Slowly—
The taller brother lowered his rifle.
Not completely.
But enough.
The thinner one followed a second later.
Still tense.
Still wary.
But no longer seconds away from pulling the trigger.
Lando stepped forward just enough to place the supplies on the ground between them, then stepped back again.
No sudden moves.
No pressure.
The exchange hung there.
Fragile.
Uncertain.
“Waco’s gone,” the taller brother said suddenly.
The words cut through the moment like a blade.
Max frowned. “Gone how?”
The thinner brother let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it.
“Overrun,” he said. “Bad. Worse than anything we’ve seen.”
“Clusters,” the taller one added. “Cities—it spreads faster. Denser.”
“Stay away from them,” the thinner brother said. “If you want to live.”
The group absorbed that.
Silently.
Heavily.
“Thanks,” Max said after a moment.
The taller brother gave a short nod.
Not friendly.
But not hostile either.
They didn’t ask the brothers to come with them.
And the brothers didn’t ask to join.
That was the thing now.
Trust didn’t extend that far.
They parted without another word.
The brothers disappearing back into the fog as quickly as they’d appeared.
Gone.
Like they’d never been there.
Back in the vehicles, the silence felt different again.
Not just heavy.
But… shifted.
“They were ready to kill us,” Alex said quietly.
“Yeah,” George replied.
“But didn’t,” Charles added.
Lando leaned his head back against the seat in the truck, exhaling slowly.
“Feels like that’s going to happen more,” he said.
No one disagreed.
They don’t relax after the brothers leave.
If anything, the quiet feels worse.
The Suburban idles for a long moment longer than necessary, engine humming like something alive beneath them, before Max finally shifts it back into drive. The Ram follows a second later, Oscar keeping just close enough that they won’t lose each other in the fog that still clings stubbornly to the low ground.
No one speaks at first.
Not in either vehicle.
Because now it’s not just the infected they’re thinking about.
It’s people.
In the Suburban, Charles is the first to move, turning slightly in his seat to glance back—not at anyone in particular, but at all of them. At the tension sitting heavy in the space.
“They didn’t look well,” he says quietly.
George lets out a humorless breath. “That’s one way to put it.”
“They were terrified,” Lewis adds, voice steady but softer than usual. His hand rests loosely against his side, careful of the strain in his back. “Not just of us. Of everything.”
“They were ready to shoot first,” Alex says from the back, arms crossed tightly. “No questions asked.”
Max’s jaw tightens. “Would you not be?”
No one answers that.
Because they all know the truth.
They might be.
In the truck, the conversation comes slower, more fractured.
Lando shifts in the passenger seat, one knee pulled up slightly despite the cramped space. His fingers tap absently against the dashboard, restless energy he can’t quite shake.
“Well,” he says finally, voice lighter than he feels, “that went… not horribly.”
Oscar snorts under his breath. “High bar.”
“Hey, no one got shot,” Lando shoots back. “That’s a win now.”
Behind them, there’s a faint murmur of movement in the truck bed.
Kimi leans back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, lips dry. Ollie sits close beside him, shoulder pressed lightly into his, as if making sure he’s still there.
“They weren’t wrong, though,” Gabriel shouts after a moment, his voice sounding quieter than usual though the closed window. “About the cities.”
“No,” Oscar agrees. “They weren’t.”
Liam shifts, adjusting the coil of rope in his hands like he needs something to focus on. “So we’re just… not going anywhere with people anymore?”
“That’s the idea,” Lance mutters. “Middle of nowhere. Fewer infected, fewer psychos with guns.”
Franco huffs softly. “Until we become the psychos with guns.”
That earns a few looks.
No one laughs.
The fog begins to thin as the afternoon stretches on, the landscape opening up into wider, emptier fields. The road narrows, cracks spiderwebbing through the asphalt, weeds pushing up through what used to be maintained.
Civilization doesn’t end cleanly.
It just… stops being cared for.
Fences sag. Mailboxes lean. A rusted tractor sits abandoned in the middle of a field, half-swallowed by grass.
Max’s grip tightens slightly on the wheel as they pass it.
Everything here feels paused.
Like someone hit stop in the middle of a life and never came back.
They pull over once the road becomes too unreliable to trust at speed.
Both vehicles idle as the group spills out, stretching stiff limbs, scanning the horizon out of instinct more than anything else.
It’s quieter here.
No distant screams.
No constant hum of a city that never sleeps.
Just wind moving through tall grass.
And the faint, ever-present awareness that quiet doesn’t mean safe.
“Map,” Carlos says, already moving to the back of the Suburban.
Oscar retrieves the one they took from the brothers, unfolding it carefully across the hood. It’s worn, edges frayed, but marked—routes circled, areas crossed out, notes scribbled in hurried handwriting.
“Jesus,” George mutters, leaning in. “They’ve been tracking this.”
“Or running from it,” Alex says.
Carlos traces a line with his finger. “Here—Waco.” There’s a heavy circle around it, thick enough to almost tear the paper. “That’s what they warned us about.”
“Mass outbreak,” Lewis murmurs.
“And here,” Oscar adds, pointing to a series of Xs branching outward from it. “Spread pattern.”
Lando leans over his shoulder. “So we go… away from that.”
“Preferably,” Max says dryly.
They spend longer than they should debating routes.
Not because they don’t agree.
But because every direction feels like a gamble.
“North keeps us in open land longer,” George argues.
“West gets us further from the outbreak faster,” Carlos counters.
“West also means less infrastructure,” Alex points out. “Less chance of finding supplies.”
“Less chance of finding people,” Lance adds.
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing anymore,” Franco mutters.
There’s a pause at that.
Because again—no one can argue.
Pierre hasn’t said a word.
He stands slightly apart from the group, arms folded, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the map, beyond the fields, beyond anything they can see.
Esteban stays close.
Not hovering.
Just… present.
Like a tether.
Every so often, Pierre’s fingers twitch against his sleeves, brushing over dried blood that hasn’t quite washed out.
He doesn’t seem to notice.
Max notices.
Of course he does.
His chest tightens, guilt a familiar, unwelcome weight pressing in again.
He hesitates.
Then moves.
“Pierre.”
The name feels fragile in his mouth.
Pierre doesn’t respond immediately.
But after a moment, his gaze shifts—slow, deliberate—until it lands on Max.
“What.”
Not a question.
A challenge.
Max swallows.
“I—” He stops, recalibrates. “We’re deciding on a route.”
“Then what do you want?” Pierre cuts in, sharper now, something volatile flickering just beneath the surface.
The group quiets.
Everyone pretending not to listen.
Everyone listening anyway.
Max forces himself not to look away.
“I wanted to know what you think.”
A beat.
Pierre stares at him.
And for a second—just a second—it looks like something might crack.
Like grief might surface instead of anger.
But it doesn’t.
It hardens.
“I think,” Pierre says slowly, “that it doesn’t matter where we go.”
Esteban shifts slightly beside him.
“Pierre—”
“No,” Pierre snaps, not even looking at him. “We pick a direction. We drive. Something goes wrong. Someone dies.” His gaze flicks briefly—too briefly—toward the others. “Repeat.”
Max exhales slowly. “We’re still choosing the best option we have.”
Pierre lets out a short, humorless laugh. “There is no best option.”
“Maybe not,” Max says. “But there are worse ones.”
Another pause.
Pierre studies him.
Really studies him this time.
As if trying to decide something.
“West,” Pierre says finally, voice flat. “You want distance from Waco? You go west.”
And then he turns away.
Conversation over.
They go west.
Not because Pierre said it.
But because no one has a better argument.
Before they leave, Carlos pulls Liam aside again, gesturing to the rope still looped around his hands.
“Show me the knot,” he says.
Liam blinks. “Now?”
“Yes, now.”
Liam hesitates, then begins, fingers fumbling slightly before finding the rhythm Carlos showed him earlier. Loop, pull, tighten.
It’s not perfect.
But it holds.
Carlos nods once. “Good. Again.”
Liam huffs out a quiet breath but complies.
Repetition.
Muscle memory.
Because out here, knowing something once isn’t enough.
A few feet away, Lewis crouches beside Lando, picking up a small handful of dirt and letting it sift through his fingers.
“Smell that,” he says.
Lando leans in, skeptical. “That just smells like… dirt.”
Lewis smiles faintly. “Not just dirt. Dry. No recent rain. Wind’s shifting, though.”
Lando glances up instinctively, like he might be able to see it.
“You can smell that?”
“You can learn to.”
Lando wrinkles his nose. “I feel like I’m being scammed.”
Lewis chuckles softly. “You said that about the knots too.”
“Okay, those at least make sense.”
“And this doesn’t?”
Lando hesitates.
Then shakes his head, smiling just a little despite everything. “Not yet.”
Lewis straightens. “It will.”
They load back into the vehicles as the light begins to shift toward late afternoon.
The fog is gone now.
Replaced by a wide, open sky streaked with pale gold.
It would be beautiful.
If it didn’t feel so empty.
The Suburban pulls out first.
The Ram follows.
The land changes before they realize it.
At first, it’s subtle.
A shift in the road—less broken, more swallowed. The asphalt thins into long stretches of dirt and gravel, tire tracks fading into nothing as if the world itself has decided this direction isn’t meant to be followed.
Max notices it first.
His hands tighten slightly on the wheel.
“This doesn’t look right.”
Charles leans forward in the passenger seat, scanning the road ahead. “It’s still on the map.”
“Barely,” Max mutters.
Behind them, the others shift, tension rippling through the vehicle like a shared instinct they’ve stopped questioning.
The Ram isn’t faring much better.
Oscar slows as the terrain roughens, the truck jolting over uneven ground. Lando braces himself against the dashboard, wincing slightly as the scratch on his side pulls.
“This feels like a bad idea,” he says.
“Everything feels like a bad idea,” Oscar replies.
“Yeah, but this feels like a worse one.”
They keep going anyway.
Because turning back means admitting they chose wrong.
And no one wants to say that out loud.
The first real sign comes in the form of silence.
Not the empty quiet they’ve grown used to.
Something heavier.
Oppressive.
The kind of silence that feels… watched.
Max slows the Suburban to a crawl.
The fields on either side have changed—grass taller, thicker, swallowing sightlines. What used to be open land now feels like a corridor, visibility shrinking with every meter forward.
Charles notices it too. “We can’t see anything.”
“Exactly,” Max says.
A shape moves in the grass.
Too fast.
Too low.
Max slams the brakes.
The Suburban jerks to a stop.
Behind them, Oscar reacts instantly, swerving the Ram slightly to avoid rear-ending them.
“What the hell—” Lando starts.
Then he sees it.
They don’t come from the road.
They come from the land.
Infected—thin, fast, wrong—bursting out of the tall grass like something unearthed, their movements erratic, unpredictable in a way the city ones never were.
There’s no warning.
No buildup.
Just—
Movement.
Too much of it.
“Go,” Charles says sharply.
Max doesn’t hesitate.
The Suburban lurches forward again, engine roaring as he forces it over uneven ground, tires skidding for traction.
Behind them, Oscar guns the Ram, swearing under his breath as the truck fishtails slightly before catching.
The infected follow.
Not in a straight line.
They cut.
Angle.
Disappear into the grass and reappear closer.ll
“Why are they faster?” Lando shouts, twisting in his seat to look back.
“I don’t think they are,” Oscar says through gritted teeth. “I think we just can’t see them.”
That’s worse.
The Suburban hits a dip hard enough to jolt everyone inside.
Lewis winces, one hand bracing instinctively against his back.
“Max—”
“I see it,” Max cuts in, scanning desperately for something—anything—that resembles a stable road.
There isn’t one.
Not anymore.
Another shape lunges from the grass—too close.
Max jerks the wheel.
The vehicle swerves, barely missing it.
“Fuck,” George breathes.
Behind them, the Ram takes the same path, but the terrain shifts under its weight differently.
A sharp crack echoes.
Oscar’s grip tightens.
“That didn’t sound good.”
“What didn’t—” Lando starts.
The truck dips suddenly on the right side.
“Shit.”
“Hold on!” Oscar shouts.
The Ram veers, struggling as one of the tires grinds unevenly against the dirt.
Not flat.
But not right.
Not stable.
“Keep moving!” Max’s voice crackles over the radio.
“Trying!” Oscar snaps back.
The infected are closer now.
Too close.
One of them slams into the side of the truck bed, fingers clawing at the metal before losing grip as the vehicle jerks forward.
In the back, Isack shoves himself upright despite the exhaustion still clinging to him, grabbing Liam’s arm and hauling him further from the edge.
“Stay down,” he mutters.
Liam doesn’t argue.
“Max,” Charles says, sharper now, urgency cutting through his usual calm. “We can’t keep this up.”
“I know.”
“Then what—”
“I don’t know.”
Another dip.
Another jolt.
The Suburban’s back end fishtails slightly.
Max corrects it—but it’s not clean.
Not controlled.
This isn’t a road.
It’s a trap.
“Max,” Lewis says, quieter but firmer. “We need to turn around.”
Max doesn’t respond immediately.
Because turning around means driving back through it.
Behind them, the Ram lurches again.
“Oscar,” Lando says, voice tighter now, fear creeping in despite himself.
“I know.”
The steering pulls slightly to the right again.
Not enough to lose control.
Enough to matter.
“Max!” Charles pushes.
“They’re not thinning,” Alex adds from the back. “If anything—”
“They’re getting worse,” George finishes.
Max exhales sharply.
Decision made.
“Everyone hold on.”
He yanks the wheel.
The Suburban swings hard, tires screaming against dirt and gravel as he forces it into a tight, uneven turn.
For a second, it feels like they might tip.
Then it catches.
Faces forward.
Back the way they came.
“Turn! Turn!” Max barks into the radio.
Oscar doesn’t hesitate.
The Ram swings wider, slower—harder to control—but it makes it.
Barely.
The damaged tire skids, catching unevenly before finding just enough grip.
Now they’re driving back through it.
Through the same corridor.
Through the same unseen movement.
The infected adapt instantly.
They don’t chase from behind anymore.
They intercept.
“Left!” Lando shouts.
Oscar jerks the wheel.
An infected lunges from the grass where the truck would have been a second later.
The Suburban isn’t spared either.
Max swerves again, heart hammering as another shape slams against the side, leaving a streak of blood that smears across the window.
Pierre watches it happen.
Doesn’t flinch.
“Almost there,” Charles says, though none of them can see where there is.
And then—
The grass thins.
The ground steadies.
The broken suggestion of a road reappears beneath them.
The infected don’t follow.
Not far.
Not once the terrain opens up again.
They slow.
Fade back into the tall grass like something that belongs there.
Like something that waits there.
Max doesn’t slow until they’re well clear.
Until the land is open again.
Until the silence returns.
This time, when he stops the car, it’s not careful.
It’s abrupt.
Final.
Everyone sits there for a second.
Breathing.
Processing.
Alive.
“Well,” Lando says faintly over the radio, voice shaky in a way he doesn’t bother hiding. “That was—”
“Nope,” Oscar cuts in. “Not finishing that sentence.”
Max leans back slightly in his seat, closing his eyes for half a second.
Then opening them again.
Decision already settling in his chest.
“That doesn’t work,” he says.
No one argues.
Carlos exhales slowly. “So… what now?”
There’s only one answer.
And they all know it.
Even before Max says it.
“We go toward Waco.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Resigned.
“Thought we were avoiding that,” Alex mutters.
“We were,” Max says. “Until the alternative tried to kill us faster.”
“It’s a massive outbreak,” George says.
“It’s also roads,” Charles counters quietly. “Structure. Resources.”
“More infected,” Lance adds.
“Different infected,” Oscar says over the radio. “Not whatever the hell that was.”
Pierre laughs.
It’s sharp.
Empty.
“Right. Because that’s comforting.”
Max grips the wheel again.
Not defensive.
Not angry.
Just… certain.
“We can’t survive in terrain we don’t understand,” he says. “Out there, we’re blind.”
He gestures vaguely west.
“In a city—or near one—we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Do we?” Franco asks.
Max meets his gaze in the rearview mirror.
“No,” he admits. “But we have a better chance learning something familiar than guessing something completely new.”
Another pause.
Then—
A quiet, collective acceptance.
Not agreement.
Not confidence.
Just… acceptance.
“Waco, then,” Lewis says.
The word hangs in the air like a sentence.
They don’t waste time.
They can’t afford to.
The vehicles turn.
This time, deliberately.
Back toward something they were warned to avoid.
The sun is lower now.
Light stretching long and thin across the land.
Turning everything gold.
Beautiful.
Deceptive.
As they drive, the radio crackles softly.
Not voices.
Just static.
Oscar adjusts the dial slightly, frowning. “Think this thing actually works?”
“Maybe,” Lando says. “Or maybe it just likes making creepy noises.”
A pause.
Then—
A faint sound beneath the static.
Too distorted to understand.
Too real to ignore.
Everyone hears it.
No one says anything.
Because whether it’s a signal.
Or a warning.
Or nothing at all.
They’re heading toward it anyway.
Behind them, the wildlands swallow their tracks.
Ahead of them, something worse waits.
And for the first time since Austin—
The direction they’re driving in isn’t just uncertain.
All characters and real people depicted are fictionalized for storytelling purposes. No harm or offense is intended. Content may include mature themes—reader discretion advised.
