No one moved.
Mari could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, loud enough that she was sure it would give them away. The pallets pressed into her back, splinters biting through her shirt. Ethan was half-collapsed beside her, his weight heavy and wrong, breath shallow and forced through clenched teeth. She kept her hand braced against his side, feeling the wet heat spreading beneath her fingers, trying to judge how bad it was without looking.
Across from them, Cherry stood frozen.
Not poised. Not ready.
Frozen.
Her knife trembled in her hand, the blade catching faint reflections from distant fires and emergency lights flickering somewhere beyond the parking lot. Tears slid silently down her cheeks, cutting clean tracks through the grime on her face. She shook so hard Mari could see it even in the dark—her shoulders hitching, knees barely holding, chest fluttering with shallow breaths she didn't seem able to slow.
They were all breathing too loud.
They were all too close.
And the dead were still eating.
The sound carried—wet, rhythmic, obscene. Jaws snapping. Bones cracking. Something tore loose with a thick, ripping noise that made Mari's stomach flip. Darius's body was being reduced piece by piece not ten feet away, hidden only by the curve of cars and shadows. The smell was already spreading—iron-heavy blood, opened organs, that sickly sweet rot that clung to the back of the throat and made every breath feel contaminated.
If any one of them moved wrong—
If Cherry cried out.
If Ethan groaned.
If Mari shifted her weight too fast—
The horde would peel off what was left of Darius and come for them.
This is why you can't trust anyone, Mari thought grimly.Not when fear gets this sharp.
Cherry's eyes flicked between Mari and Ethan, darting, wild. Afraid of the dead. Afraid of them. Afraid of what would happen if she stayed—and what would happen if she ran. Her grip tightened on the knife, then loosened, then tightened again.
Mari didn't lower her blade.
She didn't raise it either.
She just watched.
Ethan's breath stuttered once, and Mari pressed her forehead briefly against his shoulder, a silent warning. He nodded almost imperceptibly, jaw locked, eyes glassy with pain and adrenaline. His skin felt clammy. Too cold. The blood loss was real. They couldn't stay here much longer.
But they couldn't leave yet.
The dead weren't done.
A new sound cut through the feeding noises.
Footsteps.
Fast. Multiple.
Mari's head snapped up just enough to see movement at the far end of the lot. A group—five, maybe six people—burst between the rows of cars, running hard, panic obvious in the way they kept looking over their shoulders instead of where they were going. One woman was crying openly. A man shouted for someone to hurry up. Another carried a child who looked too limp, arms dangling uselessly.
They didn't see the bodies.
They didn't see the zombies crouched low, backs rounded, faces buried in Darius's remains.
They ran straight toward them.
Mari's chest tightened.
No. No, no—
One of the men skidded sideways, shoes losing traction on blood-slick pavement. He slammed shoulder-first into a parked sedan.
The car alarm screamed to life.
The sound was deafening.
High-pitched. Piercing. Endless.
A dinner bell.
The effect was immediate.
Heads snapped up all across the lot—some still chewing, others lifting from the shadows where Mari hadn't even known they were hiding. Under cars. Inside wrecked vehicles. Slumped in driver seats, seatbelts still strapped across chests that no longer rose and fell. Half-decapitated bodies dragged themselves forward on elbows, mouths opening and closing soundlessly. Others surged upright and ran, limbs jerky but fast, drawn to the noise like moths to flame.
The group that had triggered the alarm realized their mistake all at once.
Screaming erupted.
The child was dropped.
Mari watched in horror as a woman turned back for the kid and was tackled mid-step, both of them going down under a swarm of hands. The man who'd hit the car tried to climb onto the hood, slipping in blood, boots scrabbling uselessly as teeth sank into his calf. Another person bolted the opposite direction, only to be intercepted by a figure that had been lying flat under a truck, rising up like something born from the asphalt.
The sound changed.
From feeding to frenzy.
Zombies poured in from every direction now—fast ones sprinting with terrifying purpose, slower ones dragging themselves relentlessly, all of them converging on the sudden chaos. The air filled with screams, wet impacts, the crack of bones, the crunch of teeth. Blood sprayed across windshields and pooled in dark, reflective patches on the ground.
Mari couldn't tear her eyes away.
And that was when Cherry moved.
She didn't run.
She slipped.
Slowly, carefully, using the chaos like cover, easing backward inch by inch until she melted into the shadows between two cars. Her eyes never left Mari and Ethan, apology and terror tangled together in her expression. Then she was gone—swallowed by darkness and noise, another variable removed from the equation.
Mari swore silently.
Ethan didn't even notice at first. He was staring at the massacre unfolding twenty feet away, eyes wide, chest heaving as he fought the urge to gasp or shout. Mari followed his gaze and felt something cold settle deep in her gut.
This was worse than before.
This was everything moving.
Zombies tripped over one another, slipped in blood, clawed their way upright again. Some tore into the fallen group while others, distracted by the alarm and the sheer density of bodies, began to spread outward—searching.
Hunting.
A shift in the wind carried Ethan's blood scent farther.
Mari felt it change before she saw it.
Several heads lifted at once.
Noses flared.
Bodies pivoted.
A handful of zombies broke from the feeding frenzy and turned directly toward the pallets.
Toward them.
"Shit," Mari breathed, barely a whisper.
Ethan swallowed hard. "We gotta go."
"I know."
They couldn't stay hidden. Not with his blood loss, not with the wind working against them. If they waited another minute, they'd be boxed in completely.
Mari tightened her grip on Ethan. "On my count. We move low. Quiet as we can. Follow me."
Ethan nodded once, face gray, sweat slicking his hairline. He tried to push himself upright and hissed through his teeth as pain lanced through his side. Blood dripped steadily now, dark and thick.
One of the fast ones broke into a run.
Another followed.
Mari didn't wait for three.
She hauled Ethan up and they ran.
They darted between cars, ducking low as hands slapped at empty air inches behind them. Mari felt fingers brush her jacket, nails tearing fabric. She twisted, slashed blindly, felt resistance give way as her blade sank into soft tissue. A zombie howled—not in pain, but frustration—and lunged again.
They vaulted over a hood, Ethan stumbling but staying upright through sheer will. Mari dragged him forward, heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst. The ground was slick with blood and oil and things she didn't want to think about.
A zombie lunged from beneath a car, grabbing Ethan's ankle.
He went down hard.
Mari screamed and turned, bringing the knife down again and again until the skull caved and the thing went limp. She hauled Ethan back up, practically carrying him now, his weight sagging heavier with every step.
Behind them, the parking lot was pure hell.
Zombies tore through the last of the screaming group. The car alarm wailed on, relentless, pulling more dead from streets and alleys and buildings that had seemed empty moments before. Figures poured from apartment stairwells, from behind dumpsters, from places no one would've thought to check.
The wind howled through the lot, whipping loose trash into spirals, carrying blood scent farther still.
More heads turned.
More bodies ran.
Mari didn't look back again.
She focused on one thing only: putting distance between them and the feeding ground.
They ducked around the corner of a building, slamming into the shadows along the side, lungs burning, legs screaming. Ethan nearly collapsed, catching himself against the brick wall with a wet, choked sound.
Mari pressed him into the darkness, knife raised, listening.
The horde surged past the opening seconds later—dozens of bodies rushing toward the noise and blood, missing them by feet.
Mari slid down beside Ethan, hands shaking now that the immediate danger had passed.
He was pale. Too pale.
Blood soaked his shirt and dripped onto the concrete in a steady rhythm.
"We gotta move," he rasped. "Can't… stop…"
"I know," Mari said, voice breaking despite herself. "I know. Just—give me ten seconds."
She tore a strip from her shirt and pressed it hard against his side, trying to slow the bleeding. Ethan groaned but didn't pull away. Somewhere behind them, another scream cut off abruptly.
The world was still ending.
And they were still alive.
For now.