They'd been driving in the dark for a long time.
Not metaphorical dark. Real dark.
No headlights. No dashboard glow beyond the faintest sliver Ethan allowed so he could still read the speed. The Jeep moved like a shadow, coasting through Savannah's back veins instead of its main arteries—side streets, service roads, alleys that smelled like rot and brine and something burnt that no one had bothered to put out.
Driving without lights wasn't just about the dead.
It was about the living.
They'd passed people earlier. More than once. Shapes that came out of the darkness screaming, pounding fists against the doors, throwing rocks and bottles and whatever else they could lift.
"You've got room!"
"Stop!"
"Please—please!"
One man had run alongside them for half a block, slamming his shoulder into the passenger door until Ethan swerved just enough to shake him loose. Another group had stood in the road ahead, waving flashlights like bait. Ethan had slowed just long enough to see the glint of metal in one of their hands before he cut hard left and gunned it.
No one said a word when that happened.
No one argued.
The rules were already written now. You didn't stop unless you planned to die there.
The Jeep rolled on, engine low and steady, tires whispering over cracked pavement. Zombies drifted through the streets in ones and twos, sometimes more, sometimes none at all—figures that turned at the sound of the engine but didn't fully register it without the visual cue of headlights.
Ethan kept it that way on purpose.
Under half a tank.
The needle had slipped there quietly, like it didn't want to draw attention to itself. Ethan noticed anyway. He always did.
"Coming up," Renee whispered at last, leaning forward from the back seat. "This is the area."
Ethan eased off the accelerator. The building loomed ahead in silhouette, barely visible against the night sky. An old hotel conversion—two stories, exterior walkways, a layout that screamed cheap and temporary even before the world ended.
The streetlight nearest it flickered on and off like it couldn't decide whether it wanted to exist anymore.
Zombies clustered near the entrance.
More than Renee remembered.
One stood at the base of the stairs, jaw slack, head tilted at an angle that made Mari's stomach turn. Another dragged one leg behind it as it wandered through the parking lot, bumping into abandoned cars with dull, hollow thuds. A third sat on the curb, rocking slowly, hands scraping rhythmically against the concrete.
And that was just what they could see.
Ethan didn't stop.
He rolled past once, slow and quiet, eyes flicking everywhere at once. No headlights. No sudden movements. The Jeep felt like it was holding its breath.
"Too many," Tally whispered.
"Enough," Ethan corrected.
They circled the block, the Jeep slipping through darkness like it didn't belong to the world anymore. When they came back around, two more shapes had wandered in from the side street, drawn by nothing more than habit and bad luck.
Ethan parked anyway.
Angled the Jeep for escape.
"No talking," he murmured. "No yelling. We move fast and we don't trip over each other."
Renee nodded, fingers clenched around her key. "Second floor. End unit."
They piled out one by one, shoes hitting pavement too loud, every sound amplified by fear. Mari's heart slammed so hard she thought for sure the zombies could hear it.
They crouched instinctively, bodies low, shadows stretched thin by the dying streetlight.
The zombie at the stairs lifted its head.
It sniffed.
A low, wet sound crawled out of its throat.
Ethan froze, weapon raised.
Everyone froze.
For one endless second, nothing happened.
Then the thing lurched forward.
"Move," Ethan hissed.
They ran.
Not sprinting—too much noise—but fast enough that panic chased their heels. Gravel crunched. A bottle shattered under someone's foot. The zombie at the stairs lunged, arms flailing, missing Dot by inches as she darted past.
Another zombie turned at the sound and started toward them, faster than it should've been able to move.
They hit the stairs hard.
Metal shrieked under their weight. The railing rattled violently. The zombie below grabbed at Renee's ankle, fingers grazing skin—
Ethan fired once.
The shot was deafening.
The zombie dropped.
But the noise…
Everything answered.
Moans rose from every direction at once—drawn out, overlapping, hungry. Doors banged open somewhere in the building. Shapes poured out of the shadows, converging toward the stairwell like water finding a drain.
"Go, go, go!" Ethan shouted, no longer whispering.
They took the stairs two at a time.
Halfway up, a door on the first-floor walkway burst open and a woman stumbled out screaming, blood soaking her shirt. Something followed her—fast—and tackled her out of sight in a tangle of limbs and sound that made Mari gag.
They didn't stop.
They couldn't.
At the top of the stairs, Renee skidded, nearly went down, caught herself on the railing and bolted for the end unit.
"Please be here," she whispered, jamming the key into the lock.
It didn't turn.
Her breath hitched. "No—no—"
Ethan slammed into her, shoving her aside just as a zombie reached the landing, hands clawing, teeth snapping inches from Renee's face.
Ethan fired again.
Then again.
The body fell backward, taking another zombie with it in a tumbling mess of limbs and broken bone.
"Now!" he yelled.
Renee tried the key again.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
They shoved inside in a tangled heap—Dot pulling Tally, Mari stumbling over the threshold, Ethan slamming the door shut behind them and throwing the deadbolt just as something crashed into the other side hard enough to rattle the frame.
They shoved furniture without thinking.
The couch tipped, slammed into place. A table wedged under the handle. The door bowed inward as bodies hit it from the hallway, hands slapping, nails scraping, teeth gnashing on wood.
Then—silence.
Not complete.
But distant.
Like the sound had moved on to something else.
They stood there in the dark, panting, shaking, pressed together and alive by inches.
Renee turned, breathless. "Kimmie?"
Nothing answered.
"Kimmie?" she called louder, panic creeping in. "Troy?"
Mari's stomach dropped.
They searched the apartment fast—bathroom, closet, bedroom.
Empty.
The bed was made. The fridge was open and bare. A bag sat by the door, half-packed.
On the small table by the kitchenette sat a folded piece of paper.
Dot picked it up with trembling fingers and unfolded it.
Her face drained of color.
Renee snatched it from her.
Went to Memorial. Had to try. Love you.
Renee let out a sound that wasn't a scream or a sob but something broken in between.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no—"
Mari felt dizzy.
Dot swayed.
Then collapsed.
She hit the floor hard, unconscious, as the sounds of the dead pressed closer outside.