The stolen pickup rattled down the last stretch of cracked highway, engine humming a low, steady dirge under the fading winter sun. Shane kept both hands firm on the wheel, no more casual thigh-stroking, no wandering fingers. The adrenaline crash had hollowed him out, leaving him quieter than usual, eyes locked on the road as though it might vanish if he blinked. Nyra sat beside him in the passenger seat, knees drawn up, machete resting across her lap like a sleeping companion. In the back, Leah curled against the side panel, knees to her chest, staring at nothing. The cargo bed still held the faint dark stain where Marcus had bled out.
The silence stretched almost twenty miles thick, and heavy, broken only by the engine's drone and the occasional creak of the truck's frame.
Then Shane spoke, voice rough and quieter than usual.
"Brutus is gone."
Nyra turned her head slightly, eyes soft but steady.
"I know."
Shane's knuckles whitened on the wheel.
"When the Jeep rolled… he was still in the back. I commanded him to stay put. Didn't think—fuck, I didn't think. The frame crushed him. Heard the metal groan and then… nothing. Just silence. No groan. No leak. Nothing."
He swallowed hard.
"I know he was already dead. I know he was just meat I moved around with my brain. But… he was mine. First one I raised. Named him. Talked to him like he could hear me. Stupid, right? Treating a corpse like a pet. But he never bit me. Never wandered off. Just… stayed. Like he wanted to be there. Like he was loyal. Or maybe I was just lonely enough to imagine it."
Nyra reached over and laid her hand on his forearm, warm, grounding.
"It's not stupid, Shane."
He laughed, short and bitter.
"Yeah, it is. I'm sitting here mourning a zombie like I lost my dog. Meanwhile Marcus is in a shallow hole back there and Leah's—" He glanced in the rearview mirror. Leah hadn't moved. "She's barely holding it together. And I'm sad about a rotting meat puppet. Priorities are fucked."
Nyra squeezed his arm gently.
"You're allowed to feel it. All of it. The world ended—doesn't mean the rules for caring did. Brutus was yours. You gave him purpose again, even if it was just following orders. That matters. To you. That's enough."
Shane exhaled through his nose, jaw tight.
"Still feels dumb. I mean… he didn't even have a brain left. Just muscle memory and whatever I told him to do. But he was there every time I needed backup. Never complained. Never asked for anything. Just… existed. For me. And now he's gone. Crushed like a fucking bug."
Nyra's voice stayed soft, steady.
"He wasn't a bug. He was proof you could still control something in this mess. Proof you could make something stay. That's not nothing. You gave him dignity, in your own way. You named him. You talked to him. You cared. That's more humanity than most people have left."
From the back, Leah's voice came, small and cracked.
"He wasn't just a zombie to you… was he?"
Shane met her eyes in the mirror. She looked small, fragile, like the next strong wind might blow her away.
"No," he admitted. "He wasn't."
Leah swallowed, wiped her face with the back of her hand.
"Marcus… he used to talk to our old dog the same way. After everything started. Said it kept him sane. Said if he could still love something dead, maybe we weren't all gone yet." Her voice broke. "I thought he was crazy. Told him he was wasting energy on a dumb animal. Now I get it. I wish I'd listened. Wish I'd sat with him and the dog more. Wish I'd told him he was right."
Nyra turned in her seat, slow and careful, facing Leah fully.
"You're not crazy either," she said gently. "You loved him. That doesn't stop because he's gone. It just hurts more for a while. And it's okay to hurt. It means you're still feeling. You are still human. That's the hardest thing to hold onto right now."
Leah nodded, small, jerky movement.
"I keep thinking… if I'd been faster. If I'd pulled him down sooner. If I'd seen the blood before he did. If—"
"Stop," Nyra said, not harsh, just firm. "You did everything you could. You held him. You stayed with him. You kept pressure on that wound until the end. That's more than most people get in this world. You gave him peace. You gave him someone who cared. That's everything."
Leah's eyes filled again.
"He was trying to protect me. Right up to the end. He threw himself in front of me when the shooting started. He didn't even hesitate."
Shane's voice came low from the driver's seat.
"Then let him rest knowing he did. We'll carry that for him. We'll keep going. We'll keep breathing. That's what he'd want."
Leah wiped her face again.
"I don't know how to keep going without him."
Nyra reached back and squeezed Leah's ankle gently.
"One step at a time. You're not alone anymore. We're here. We're not going anywhere."
Leah managed a small, broken smile.
"Thank you. For burying him. For… not leaving him like that. For not leaving me."
Shane glanced at her in the mirror.
"You're still breathing. That's step one. Step two is keeping it that way. We're heading to Oakridge. Might be people there. Might be nothing. But it's a direction. You can come with us. Or you can stay. Your call."
Leah looked out the window at the endless gray fields, the abandoned cars, the sky that refused to rain.
"I don't want to be alone," she said finally.
"Then you won't be," Nyra answered.
The highway curved gently, signs for Oakridge appearing on the right, faded and bullet-pocked but still legible.
Oakridge – 3 miles.
Shane slowed as the first buildings came into view.
Empty.
Windows shattered. Doors hanging open. Cars parked crooked in driveways, doors flung wide like people had run and never come back. A child's tricycle lay on its side in the middle of the road, wheels still. A grocery store sign dangled by one chain, creaking in the wind.
Shane eased the truck to a stop at the edge of town, right where the welcome sign used to stand. Only the post remained, snapped off at the base.
They climbed out, slow and cautious.
Nyra drew her machete. Shane unholstered his pistol. Leah stayed close, hands empty, eyes wide.
The street was deserted.
No movement. No groans. Just silence so thick it pressed against their eardrums.
Shane scanned the rooftops, the alleys.
"Looks like everyone left in a hurry."
Nyra stepped forward, boots crunching glass.
"Or someone made them leave."
Leah hugged herself.
"Where is everyone?"
Shane started to answer, then froze.
From the far end of the main street, maybe two blocks down, a figure burst from between two buildings.
A man.
Running.
Full sprint.
Arms pumping.
Mouth open in a scream that carried clear across the empty town.
"HELP!"
He was waving one arm wildly, the other pressed to his side.
Blood on his shirt.
Blood on his face.
Running straight toward them.
Nyra raised the machete.
Shane leveled the pistol.
The man kept coming, stumbling now, legs buckling, but still screaming.
"HELP—PLEASE—THEY'RE COMING—"
Behind him, movement.
Shadows spilling from the alleys.
Figures.
Too many.
Too fast.
XXXX
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