Iyisha groaned, blinking through the blur in her vision. Her whole body pulsed with pain. The bike lay beside her on its side, the metal scraped and one handle bent awkwardly.
She pushed herself up, arms trembling, throat dry. Every inch of her stung — scraped knees, elbow, hip. Her head throbbed.
The groans were still nearby. Distant, but not far enough.
She reached for the bike, fingers fumbling with the handlebar. It moved. Not broken. Gritting her teeth, she planted her feet, bent low, and heaved. The frame shifted. With a strained grunt, she up righted the bike. The sidecar was scratched but intact.
Her pulse steadied as her hands found the pedal.
"Come on," she whispered, gritting her teeth.
She climbed back on.
And started to ride.
Minutes later, she saw the alley.
She parked farther and waited for the 2 hours mark.
More walkers had wandered near the alleyway. If she left the bike, even for a second, it would be gone. Or she would.
So she waited.
Clutching two stones in her hand, eyes flicking between the road and the shadowed alley mouth. "You're not getting my damn bike," she muttered under her breath.
Then she saw movement above—Malcolm's silhouette at the window.
Her heart kicked. She threw the stones toward the far end of the street.
Clack. Crack.
The walkers turned, shuffling toward the sound.
She stood and waved. Malcolm saw her, squinted and froze.
He stared at the bike. At her. Back at the bike.
"That yours?" he called.
She pointed proudly. "Yeah."
He climbed down, slower this time, but with more control. The crutch held.
"I'll be damned."
"Not yet," she said, smirking. "But keep talking and I'll throw you at the next one."
They loaded up. Malcolm sat heavy in the sidecar.
She grunted. "You're heavier than you look."
The bike creaked with every push. Iyisha's legs strained, the weight of Malcolm in the sidecar making every meter a battle.
Behind them, the groans grew louder. A glance over her shoulder showed three walkers turning the corner, more trailing slowly after. Not fast — but steady. Inescapable.
"Walkers are gonna beat us at this pace," he muttered.
She gritted her teeth and pushed harder, sweat stinging her eyes. At this rate, they'd be caught before the block was over.
She muttered, "Then maybe lose some weight."
He just looked at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
They turned onto a quieter street.
Malcolm nodded toward the far end. "You'll need to take the last street before the curve. That'll put us on the highway."
They biked in silence for a while, the only sounds the soft whirr of the wheels and the dull clink of debris under the tires. They passed the husks of forgotten buildings old diners with shattered glass, stores with signs dangling loose, doorways swallowed in shadow.
He glanced at her scratched arm. "You killed for this thing?"
She didn't look at him. "No. But I didn't help either."
He shrugged. "Dead's dead. You didn't cause it."
They rode out of town. For the first time in days, Iyisha could breathe.
But it didn't feel like relief.
She knew she hadn't caused that man's death. She hadn't laid a hand on him. But the truth clawed at her: when she sat there waiting, she almost hoped he wouldn't make it because it meant she could take the bike.
And she got what she wished for.
Now the guilt clung to her skin worse than the sweat. No one else would know. But she would.
The highway opened ahead.
"Sun's brutal today," Malcolm muttered.
She nodded, sweat soaking into the collar of her shirt, her skin stinging where the sun hit the dried scratches.
They rode in silence for a long stretch. The highway unfurled ahead of them — wide, exposed, and brutal under the midday sun.
Rows of abandoned cars lined the lanes, twisted metal glinting under the heat. Burnt-out trucks. Caved-in sedans. A van crushed against a barricade. Ghosts of a panic that emptied the world.
Malcolm had his gun out before they even reached the jam. He scanned constantly while his hand never far from the trigger.
Iyisha's grip on the handlebars tightened.
The cars thinned out where the military had cleared paths wide enough for vehicles to pass. But even with space, Iyisha felt exposed. She weaved through them with tense focus, tires brushing debris, the bike jittering over old potholes and bits of shattered glass.
Every noise made her flinch, every shadow looked like it might move. Her heart climbed higher with every creak.
It felt too quiet.
"Don't slow down," Malcolm muttered.
Then—
Something moved.
A twitcher burst from behind a minivan, sprinting toward them.
"Iyisha!"
Malcolm raised the gun. One shot.
The twitcher's head snapped back. Its body crumpled mid-charge, hitting the hood of a car and sliding off.
She gasped but didn't stop pedaling.
"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" she asked breathlessly.
"Past life," he said.
And she knew he didn't mean anything metaphorical.
He must've been military — with that body? It was impossible not to notice. She almost pictured him naked before snapping herself out of it, heat crawling up her neck. Focus, Iyisha. Focus.
They kept moving, pushing through the wreckage. The sun bore down harder. Her arms ached. Her legs burned. The cuts on her skin throbbed beneath her clothes.
Malcolm looked at her, expression tightening.
"You're exhausted."
"I'm fine," she muttered.
"You're not. Exit's coming up. Take it."
Up ahead, the highway forked. A curved off-ramp led into the outskirts of a town — rows of closed shops, rusting metal gates, and a gas station collapsed inward.
"Out there's too exposed," he said. "Let's find something with walls."
But then Malcolm stiffened. "Stop."
She slowed the bike.
Fresh blood streaked across the asphalt ahead — wet, recent. A trail.
Malcolm climbed out of the sidecar, crouched down, and touched the edge of it with his fingers.
"We're not alone," he said. "Look around."
Iyisha's throat tightened. Her eyes scanned the empty stretch. Cars. Cracked windows. Shadows too deep.
"We can't go back to the highway," he added. "Sun's going down. We don't know who's out here, or how many."
He stood, shoulders tense, gun back in his hand. "We move careful. No noise. If anything feels wrong, we double back. Fast."
The wind stirred faintly down the bloodstained street.
Iyisha gripped the handlebars tighter.
They weren't alone.
And whatever was out there, it was close.