The heat sat on Princeton like a wet towel, heavy and choking. Sunlight bled through the smoggy sky, turning the pavement into a slow-cooking griddle. Somewhere off Mercer Street, an ambulance wailed, its siren fading into the hills.
Jay sat on an upside-down milk crate behind the Shell station, flipping a lighter between his fingers. His phone lay face down on the cracked concrete beside him, long since silenced by a flood of notifications. A blunt sagged between his lips, half-burnt and forgotten.
"Best zombie movie. Go," he said, smoke curling up into the muggy air.
Malik leaned against the graffiti-tagged back wall, arms crossed. His hoodie was too much for the weather, but he didn't seem to notice. "You already know my answer."
"Come on, man. Not again with that slow-burning French one. Nobody watches black-and-white arthouse zombies."
"Because nobody has taste anymore."
Jay groaned, pulling the blunt and taking a drag. "We've had this debate a hundred times. It's either Dawn or Train to Busan. Anything else is fake news."
Malik didn't answer. His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed. Another siren echoed, closer this time. Not a cop. Not fire either. Another ambulance.
"You hear that?" he said.
Jay blew smoke. "Yeah. Somebody probably overdosed at the Dairy Queen again."
"No," Malik said. "That's the third one in the last half hour."
Jay reached for his phone. The lock screen lit up with a dozen unread alerts. News pings. Weird videos. One of them had a thumbnail of a guy covered in blood on the hood of a car.
"You see this?" he asked.
Malik stepped closer. The video played on mute. A man ran across a street, screaming. Behind him, something moved fast and wrong, jerking with each step. The frame cut off before anything else.
"Looks fake," Jay muttered, but his voice had lost its edge.
Malik stared at the thumbnail. "You think this is viral marketing? That Resident Evil reboot or something?"
"Please. Hollywood doesn't know Princeton exists."
They sat in silence for a moment. Jay stood up, slapped dust from his jeans, and pointed to the gas station door. "I'm starving. You want anything?"
Malik shook his head. "Just don't get the hot dogs. I saw one fall on the floor, and the clerk kicked it back into the warmer."
Jay gagged and pushed through the door.
Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed like flies. A teenager behind the counter played something on his phone, nodding along to the beat, unaware that the world was ending outside. Jay wandered the aisles, grabbed a bag of Doritos and a Gatorade, then froze.
The front door creaked open.
A man stumbled in. Pale skin. Blood smeared across his chest like war paint. His eyes were wide but wrong, too glossy and unfocused. His shirt hung in ribbons, and his left arm was a mess of torn flesh and muscle.
The kid behind the counter stood up. "Sir, you okay?"
The man didn't answer.
Jay took a step back and dropped the chips. The man tilted his head. His mouth twitched and opened slightly, as if sniffing.
Then he lunged.
The kid screamed, knocking over the gum display. Jay bolted. He didn't think or breathe. He just ran. The cooler door shattered behind him. The clerk's scream cut off suddenly, like someone had hit mute.
Jay slammed through the emergency exit and crashed into Malik.
"Go," Jay gasped. "Now."
They ran. Sneakers slapped the asphalt. The alley stank of sour beer and rotting trash. Malik pulled him around a dumpster and pressed his back to the wall.
"What the hell happened?"
Jay couldn't answer. His chest heaved. He tasted metal in his mouth. Somewhere inside the gas station, something heavy hit the floor. Then a dragging sound.
Malik grabbed his shoulder. "Jay. Talk to me."
"He bit him," Jay said. "Just straight up went for his throat. No warning. Like he was starving."
"Bit him? Like a vampire?"
Jay looked at him. "No. Like a zombie."
They stared at each other. Then Malik swore and glanced at the alley mouth. "We need to go."
"I have to check on my sister."
Malik hesitated. "You sure? It could be safer to hole up somewhere."
"She was at the library. That's two blocks away. If it's spreading, I'm not going to leave her."
Malik nodded once. "Alright. Then we move quietly."
They crept back toward the front of the store, ducking low. Jay peeked around the corner.
The clerk was on the ground. His neck was torn open, blood pooling under him like spilled ink.
The man who attacked him stood there, swaying. Then he straightened.
His head twisted slightly. Too far. His neck cracked and bent at an angle no living thing should tolerate.
And then he turned.
His eyes locked with Jay's.
Malik whispered, "No way he saw us."
The man jerked forward.
Not walked. Not limped.
He sprinted.