Ethan didn't slow down.
The Jeep lurched forward, tires crunching over broken glass and debris, engine growling low like it didn't want to draw attention—but it moved anyway. One second the passenger door was still open, cold air knifing through the cab, and the next the world outside began to slide sideways.
"Kenzie—!"
Tally's scream tore out of her before she could stop it.
She twisted in her seat, half on her knees, half tangled in her seatbelt, reaching back toward the open space where Kenzie had been standing just moments before. Her fingers clawed at nothing but air.
"ETHAN!" she screamed. "YOU'RE LEAVING HER—YOU'RE LEAVING HER!"
Ethan didn't look back.
He couldn't.
If he slowed—if he hesitated even a second—the movement alone would draw the dead back in. They were already drifting too close. Too many shapes on the edges of the road. Too much motion in the mirrors.
He drove.
The Jeep surged ahead.
And Tally watched Kenzie disappear.
She watched the space where Kenzie had been—Kenzie with Barbie tucked tight against her chest, Kenzie standing too straight like she was trying not to shake, Kenzie looking back at the Jeep with that awful, soft understanding in her eyes—shrink and vanish behind them.
Lila's scream followed them for a few seconds, raw and panicked, her name breaking in the air.
Then the road curved.
And they were gone.
Tally collapsed forward with a sound that didn't even sound human.
She sobbed into the space where Kenzie should have been, shoulders shaking violently, her hands still reaching—like if she stretched far enough, hard enough, she could pull her back through time and metal and fear.
"I didn't mean it," she cried. "Kenzie—I didn't mean it. I swear I didn't—"
Her chest seized.
She couldn't breathe.
Not like this.
Not again.
Justin was gone.
And now Kenzie was gone.
Another person ripped out of her hands, another piece of her world peeled away and left bleeding on the road.
People thought Tally was loud because she was cruel.
They were wrong.
She was loud because silence meant losing people.
Kenzie had been real.
Annoying, stubborn, always in the wrong place at the wrong time—but real.
Kenzie who sat too close, who followed her like a shadow, who laughed at jokes that weren't funny just because Tally told them. Kenzie who stayed.
Tally had pushed her around, yes.
She had snapped at her, embarrassed her, reminded her—again and again—where she stood.
Not because she hated her.
Because she was terrified of loving her too much.
Because everyone Tally loved disappeared.
Justin had always been the constant. Her brother. Her anchor. The one person who didn't leave.
And Kenzie had slipped into that space quietly, gently—like she wasn't trying to replace him, just… be there too.
Tally couldn't afford that.
So she hurt her instead.
And now she was gone.
Mari unbuckled and moved without thinking, crawling over the console and wrapping her arms around Tally's shaking shoulders.
"It's okay," Mari whispered. "I've got you. I've got you—"
Tally melted into her for half a second.
Her body folded forward, pressing into Mari's chest like a child who had finally run out of strength. Her sobs broke loose, ugly and loud, her fists clenching in Mari's jacket.
Then reality slammed back in.
Tally stiffened.
She realized who was holding her.
Her hands shoved hard.
"GET OFF ME!"
Mari stumbled back, hitting the door with a startled gasp.
Marcus swore. Dot's mouth fell open. Renee reached forward instinctively, then froze.
The Jeep swerved slightly as Ethan corrected.
"What the hell, Tally?" Marcus snapped.
Tally whirled on Mari, eyes red, face twisted with grief and fury.
"This is YOUR fault!" she screamed. "ALL OF IT!"
Mari stared at her, stunned. "Tally—I—"
"If you had let me drive," Tally shouted, voice cracking, "I would've gone back for him. I would've picked Justin up. I would've gotten him out."
Marcus shook his head. "That's not—"
"If you had let me sit up front," Tally continued, steamrolling over him, "the horn wouldn't have gone off. None of this would've happened."
Her chest heaved.
"You never listen," she screamed at Mari. "You never listen to me. You always think you know better."
Mari's eyes filled. "Tally, that's not fair."
"Fair?" Tally laughed hysterically. "FAIR? My brother is dead. Kenzie is gone. And you're standing here acting like it was unavoidable."
Renee's voice was sharp now. "Enough."
Tally spun on her. "You don't get to tell me what's enough."
Dot spoke quietly, firm. "Baby, blaming her won't bring them back."
Tally saw it then.
The looks.
Not agreement.
Pity.
That hurt worse than anger.
She swallowed hard, her rage faltering as the truth settled in her chest like a stone: they didn't believe her.
They didn't side with her.
They were already moving on.
Without Justin.
Without Kenzie.
Without her.
"You all think it's me," she whispered, her voice suddenly small. "Don't you?"
No one answered.
That was answer enough.
She slumped back against the seat, hugging herself, rocking slightly as the Jeep continued forward.
Mari stayed where she was, eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched—like she'd been struck and didn't know how to defend herself without making it worse.
Ethan kept driving.
His jaw was locked so tight it ached.
He hated this.
Hated leaving them.
Hated the sound of Tally breaking behind him.
But he also knew something the others didn't yet—or didn't want to say out loud.
If he had stopped…
They'd all be dead.
The Jeep sped on, weaving around stalled cars, past bodies in the road, past signs begging for help.
The world kept ending around them.
And inside the vehicle, six people sat in the wreckage of what they'd lost—each one grieving something different, each one carrying blame they couldn't put down.
They were six now.
Not seven.
Not eight.
Six.
And the space where Kenzie had been felt louder than any scream.
Tally pressed her forehead to the window, watching the road swallow the past behind them.
She whispered Kenzie's name once.
Just once.
Then she went quiet.