The man stumbled the last few yards and collapsed against the pickup's hood, gasping, hands clawing at the warm metal like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Sweat and terror streaked his face; his shirt was torn across the ribs, blood seeping through the fabric in dark, spreading blooms.
Behind him the two fast zombies closed the gap, fresh-turned, clothes still intact, movements unnaturally quick and fluid. One wore what had once been a delivery uniform; the other was barefoot, jeans shredded at the knees, mouth gaping in a wet snarl.
Shane didn't hesitate.
He raised the pistol in a smooth, practiced motion and fired twice, center mass on the first zombie, then once between the eyes. It dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
Nyra was already moving, machete flashing in the late-afternoon sun. She met the second one mid-stride, sidestepped its lunge, and brought the blade down in a vicious overhead chop. Emberheart flared bright in her eyes; the cut didn't just sever the neck—it unzipped the entire upper torso in a wet, widening gash. Ribs cracked outward; black blood sprayed in a wide arc. The zombie collapsed in two twitching halves.
Silence crashed back down, broken only by the man's ragged, sobbing breaths.
Shane lowered the pistol but didn't holster it. Nyra stepped over the bisected corpse, blade dripping, and planted herself between the stranger and the pickup, protective, possessive, eyes still glowing faintly amber.
The man looked up, wild-eyed, shaking.
"Thank you—Jesus—thank you—"
"Slow," Shane said, voice flat. "Hands where I can see them. Who are you?"
"Elliot," he panted. "Elliot Kane. I—I was on a supply run. Me and my partner, Monty. We were hitting the pharmacy two blocks over for antibiotics since our group needs them bad. We got jumped—raiders, six of them. They took everything. Killed Monty. I ran. Those two… they followed me from the store."
Nyra tilted her head, studying him like a predator deciding whether prey was worth eating.
"Group?" she asked sweetly. "You said 'the group.' How many? Where?"
Elliot swallowed hard, eyes darting between the pistol and the machete.
"About thirty of us. Maybe thirty-five now. We're holed up in the old community college on the east side—fortified the gym, got solar panels, and rainwater collectors. Been holding there since the beginning. We've got… we've got people who can do things. Awakened, as they call themselves."
Shane's heart kicked once, hard.
"Who's in charge?" he asked quietly.
Elliot wiped blood and sweat from his face.
"Cassia. Cassia Sable. She's the one who keeps us alive. One of the strongest awakened we've seen. She can… she can make things grow. Plants, vines—turn a parking lot into a goddamn garden in minutes, even Heal wounds too. Everyone listens to her. She's the reason we're still breathing."
The name hit Shane like a fist to the sternum.
Cassia Sable.
His mother's mother.
His grandmother.
The woman who used to make him oatmeal raisin cookies every Sunday when he visited, who taught him how to plant tomatoes in old coffee cans on the back porch, who always smelled faintly of lavender and garden soil.
Alive, awakened and even leading a group.
Nyra caught the shift in his expression, saw the way his jaw locked, the way his hand flexed around the pistol grip. She stepped closer to him, shoulder brushing his, voice soft but only for him.
"Shane?"
He swallowed once, hard, then looked at Elliot.
"She's… family," he said quietly. "Cassia Sable is my grandmother. My mom's mom."
Elliot blinked, confusion cutting through the fear.
"Wait—you're—you're her grandson? She talks about a grandson sometimes. Shane, was it. Said you were away at college when it happened. She never stopped hoping—"
Shane cut him off, voice rough.
"Take us there."
Elliot stared at him for a long heartbeat, searching his face, then nodded slowly.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay. But… it's not safe right now. The raiders who hit us—they're still out there. They've got numbers. And they know where we are."
Nyra smiled, slow, dangerous, blood still drying on her cheek.
"Then they'll learn what happens when you fuck with family."
Shane holstered the pistol, but his hand stayed near it.
"Get in the back," he told Elliot. "We're going to see my grandma."
Elliot scrambled into the cargo area, shaking, grateful, terrified.
Shane slid behind the wheel. Nyra climbed in beside him, machete across her lap, hand immediately finding his thigh again, firm, and grounding.
Leah leaned forward from the back, voice small but steady.
"If your grandmother is there… she's strong. Like you. Maybe there's hope."
Shane glanced at her in the rearview mirror, jaw tight.
"That's what we're about to find out."
He started the engine.
The pickup rolled forward, slow at first, then picking up speed.
Toward the east side of Oakridge.
Toward Cassia Sable.
Toward answers.
Toward whatever waited in the fortified gym of a dead community college.
Shane glanced at Nyra, eyes fierce, voice low.
"Whatever happens in there… you stay close."
She squeezed his thigh, hard.
"Always. We bleed together."
XXXX
The pickup growled through Oakridge's empty streets, engine low and menacing like a predator stalking prey. Shane kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Nyra's thigh, fingers occasionally flexing in that possessive rhythm they'd fallen into. Nyra sat ready, machete across her lap, eyes scanning every shadow. In the back, Elliot sat rigid, still pale and shaking, while Leah leaned against the side panel, clutching her backpack like a lifeline, determination slowly replacing the grief in her eyes.
No one spoke for the first few blocks. The silence was thick, only the crunch of tires over broken glass and the occasional distant groan of a stray zombie that didn't get close enough to matter.
Then Elliot cleared his throat.
"They're still out there," he said quietly. "The raiders. Six of them hit us at the pharmacy. They took the meds, killed Monty, and… they're not done. They've been circling the college for days. Waiting for us to run out of food or bullets."
Nyra turned in her seat, eyes narrowing, amber fleck glinting even in the dim cabin light.
"How many total?" she asked sweetly. "And how armed?"
Elliot swallowed.
"Six we saw, there are probably more. Rifles, shotguns, and a couple handguns. They've got a truck, black pickup with reinforced bumpers. They use it to ram barricades. They're… they're not starving. They're hunting."
Shane's jaw tightened.
"Where were they last seen?"
"Two blocks west of the college. There's an old auto shop on Carver Street. They've been using it as a staging point. If we go straight to the college, we might slip past—but if they spot us…"
Nyra smiled, slow, dangerous, the same smile she wore right before she swung the machete.
"Then we don't slip past," she said. "We go through them."
Shane glanced at her, eyes dark with understanding and something hotter.
"You read my mind, dear tech."
He cut the wheel left at the next intersection, heading west instead of east.
Elliot's voice cracked.
"Wait—what are you doing? The college is east!"
Shane didn't look back.
"We're tying up loose ends."
Nyra reached into the back seat, patted Elliot's knee like he was a nervous puppy.
"Relax, cargo. We're just gonna say hello to the nice people who tried to kill you."
Leah leaned forward, voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
"I want to help. I can't fight like you two… but I can watch the truck. Or… or distract them. Anything. I owe you. For Marcus, for everything."
Nyra turned, met her eyes, nodded once.
"You watch our backs and stay low. If things go sideways, get the engine running. We'll handle the rest."
Leah swallowed, then straightened.
"Okay."
XXXX
The auto shop appeared two minutes later, a squat brick building with shattered bay doors, a black pickup parked crookedly out front. Two raiders lounged against the hood, rifles slung casually, smoking, laughing. Three more moved crates inside the open bay. The sixth stood watch on the roof with binoculars.
Shane killed the headlights a block away, coasted to a stop behind a burned-out delivery van.
Nyra was already unbuckling, machete in hand.
"Plan?" she asked, voice low and eager.
Shane checked the pistol magazine, eight rounds left.
"I draw them out. You flank from the left. Elliot—" He looked back. "Stay down. Don't move until we say."
Elliot nodded frantically.
Leah leaned forward.
"I'll keep the engine ready. Just… come back."
Shane gave her a quick, crooked grin.
"Always do, kid."
Shane stepped out, pistol raised but not aimed, voice carrying across the empty street.
"Hey! You the assholes who hit the pharmacy?"
The two on the hood snapped to attention. Rifles came up.
"Who the fuck are you?" one shouted.
Shane smiled, cold, lethal.
"Family of the people you're hunting. Bad move."
Gunfire erupted.
Shane dove behind the van, bullets pinging off metal. He returned fire, two quick shots, dropped one raider on the hood, clipped the other in the shoulder.
Nyra was already moving, silent, shadow-fast, circling left through an alley. She reached the side of the building, pressed against the brick, waited.
Inside the bay, the three raiders scrambled for cover. The one on the roof shouted warnings.
Shane popped out, fired twice more, dropped another, forced the rest to duck.
Nyra struck.
She slipped through the side door, machete flashing. First raider never saw her, blade took him across the back of the neck. Emberheart flared; the wound unzipped down his spine, vertebrae popping like wet firecrackers. He dropped screaming.
Second raider spun, shotgun raised, but Nyra was faster. She ducked under the barrel, drove the machete up under his ribs. The power surged, cut widening inward, tearing through lung and heart. Blood sprayed across her face; he collapsed gurgling.
Third raider, the leader, raised a pistol.
Nyra smiled, blood dripping from her chin.
"Hi."
She swung.
The blade caught him across the chest, deep, diagonal. The wound exploded open, ribs splaying outward, sternum cracking like dry wood. He looked down in shock, then fell.
Outside, Shane dropped the last two, clean headshots.
The rooftop raider tried to run.
Nyra sprinted up the external stairs, leapt, caught him mid-stride. One slash across the hamstring, power flared, leg nearly severed. He screamed, fell.
She stepped over him, blade at his throat.
"Tell your friends", She said softly, "if any are left… we're coming for the rest."
Then she finished him.
Silence returned, thick, final.
Shane jogged up, pistol still smoking.
Nyra turned to him, covered head-to-toe in fresh blood, eyes blazing amber, lips curved in that feral, satisfied smile.
"Loose ends tied," she said sweetly.
Shane paused, eyes narrowing at the six dead raiders scattered across the auto shop lot.
"Not yet," he said quietly.
He focused, reaching inward, feeling that familiar cold thread of necromantic power coil in his chest. He extended it outward, pushing it toward the fresh corpses.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Get up. You're mine now."
The power surged, dark, hungry.
The bodies twitched.
Then convulsed.
Skin split with wet, tearing sounds, bubbling like boiling tar as dark veins spiderwebbed outward in thick, pulsing ropes. Muscles jerked and swelled unnaturally, ripping through flesh with sickening pops, strands of sinew snapping like over-stretched rubber. Bones cracked and realigned in jagged snaps, limbs twisting at impossible angles before locking into grotesque new forms, elongated, claw-like, fingers elongating into curved talons that scraped concrete with sparks. Eyes bulged, then burst in milky explosions, reforming as sunken, glowing pits that leaked black ichor down ruined cheeks. Mouths stretched wide, jaws unhinging with a series of wet crunches, teeth elongating into jagged shards that dripped viscous saliva. Flesh sloughed off in rotting strips, exposing raw muscle that pulsed and writhed like living worms beneath, the air filling with a foul, choking stench of decay and wrongness so thick it burned the lungs.
One by one, the six raiders rose, jerky, puppet-like, clothes torn and blood-soaked, rifles still clutched in dead hands.
They shambled toward the pickup, silent, obedient, awaiting command.
Shane exhaled slowly, a dark satisfaction curling in his gut.
"Guess we've got new friends."
Nyra's eyes gleamed, amber flickering again, with approval.
"Companions," she corrected softly. "And they'll be useful."
Leah stared from the back, wide-eyed.
"They… they just… got up."
Shane glanced at her in the rearview.
"Welcome to my world, Leah."
He focused again, simple command.
"Get in. Follow and protect."
The six zombies climbed into the cargo bed, awkward, mechanical, stacking themselves around Elliot like grotesque bodyguards. Elliot scooted as far away as possible, pressing against the side panel.
Shane started the engine with a single growled reply:
"Born ready, baby."
The pickup peeled out eastward, toward the fortified community college, toward Cassia Sable, toward Shane's long-lost grandmother and whatever remains of his blood family in this broken world.
Now with six fresh, obedient undead in tow.
XXXX
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