Tommy looked up, meeting Laila’s wide eyes. Without a word, he tilted the screen her way, watching the colour drain from her face. She gave a tiny nod, her jaw set with grim determination.

Soon, everyone was glued to their phones, sharing panicked whispers and pointed looks. A few people made a beeline for the exit, only to be held back by their bandmates.

The urge to flee pulsed through Tommy’s veins.

“Guys, hang on.” He stepped into the centre of the chaos. “We can’t just run out into the streets blind. We need a plan.”

Laila appeared at his side. “Tommy’s right. It’s not safe out there.” Her eyes flicked to Micky, who was staring into space, disconnected from the panic around him.

“We should barricade the place,” Tommy said. “Turn it into a stronghold. Block the doors and windows with anything we can move.”

There were nods and murmurs of assent. People sprang into action, shifting amps and drum kits, piling up chairs and tables. The doors were sealed off with finality, but it did little to shut out the harsh reality now crashing down upon them.

Someone pulled up a live news feed on their phone. Men and women huddled around the tiny screen, a dozen heads craned together. On the cracked display, scenes of unthinkable violence played out in real-time, just miles away.

Berkeley was burning.

Tommy stood transfixed on the images, the weight of responsibility bowing his shoulders. He thought of Niamh, of the two-year-old son awaiting his return. He might never see their faces again.

Swallowing hard, he steeled himself. What came next, he didn’t know. But he’d be damned if he didn’t do everything in his power to get back to them.

He took a deep breath and turned to face the group, his bandmates and the others looking to him expectantly.

“Alright, listen up. I know everyone’s scared, believe me, I am too.” He met their eyes one by one, his own fear reflected back. “We’ve gotta stick together, watch each other’s backs. Conserve food and water. Take shifts keeping watch. We’ve got the numbers and resources to ride this out for a while.” He glanced at the barricaded entrance. “As long as we lay low, don’t draw attention, we might just be okay.”

A petite girl with a ruby-red mohawk spoke up. “But for how long? We can’t stay cooped up here forever.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. All I know is we need to be smart. Make a plan. We’ll figure the rest out as we go.”

A tense silence settled over the room. Then Laila stepped forward. “Tommy’s right. We look out for each other now, y’all hear? Ain’t no zombies gonna mess with a bunch of punks like us.”

A ripple of laughter broke the tension.

As the group dispersed, Laila sidled up beside Tommy, worry etching her face. “Where’s Micky?”

“I’ll find him. You help the others divvy up supplies and take guard duty.”

Laila gave his arm a squeeze. As he moved through the room, he caught glimpses of the news footage still playing on various phones. Each image was like a punch to the gut. This was really happening.

He found Micky huddled behind a stack of amps, pale and trembling. His pupils were dilated, hands scratching at his arms. Tommy crouched down beside him. “Micky. Hey. Look at me.”

Micky lifted his head slowly. “I ain’t gonna make it, man. I need some plez. Like, now.”

Tommy gripped his shoulder. “You’re stronger than your cravings. We’re gonna get you through this.” Even as he said the words, he wondered if he was telling the truth.

He helped Micky to his feet, keeping a firm hold on his arm as he swayed. His skin was cold and clammy.

“C’mon. Let’s get you some water and something to eat.”

As they made their way across the room, he noticed Laila and the others hauling furniture and equipment to block the doors and windows. An amp crashed to the floor, the discordant twang of an unplugged electric guitar following it.

Tommy sat Micky down against the wall and grabbed a bottle of water from the green room mini fridge. Micky gulped it so fast some dribbled down his chin. He looked up at Tommy. “We’re all gonna die, ain’t we?”

“No one’s dying on my watch,” Tommy tried to sound firm, confident. But inside, doubt gnawed at him. He didn’t know if he could protect anyone. Not from this.

He squeezed Micky’s shoulder, then headed over to help Laila and the others barricade the entrance. They had to hold this place down, for as long as they could. It was all they could do.

Tommy nodded at Laila as he joined her and some of the other bands barricading the front entrance. They pushed a couple of heavy amps up against the doors, then stacked chairs and mic stands on top. It wouldn’t stop a horde of zombies, but it might slow them down.

“How’s Micky holding up?” Laila asked, her voice strained as she shoved an amp into place.

“He’s freaked out. We all are,” Tommy rubbed his chin. “Once we get this barricaded, we should do a supply check. Take inventory of what we’ve got here to survive on.”

Laila opened her mouth to respond when a shriek pierced the air. They both snapped their heads towards the sound.

On the small backstage TV, a shaky video showed absolute chaos on the streets of San Francisco.

People running, screaming.

Dark shapes lumbering after them.

Blood splattering the pavement.

A hush fell over the room as they all stared, frozen.

This was real.

It was here.

The video kept playing as they all stood in horrified silence.

More scenes of carnage and panic flashed by.

A mob smashing store windows.

Soldiers opening fire on infected civilians.

Bodies littering the streets.

Tommy tore his eyes away and scanned the room. Micky sat hugging his knees in the corner, eyes glazed over. Roxy was pacing back and forth, chewing on her lip, muttering under her breath. The other bands looked various stages of freaked out and shell-shocked.

He grabbed a hammer and some boards, securing the back door while trying not to think about Niamh and Sean back home. Were they safe? Had the infection spread to Philly yet?

His stomach churned with worry, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

Barricade now, freak out later.

Once the back was secured, he moved to help Laila reinforce the front. They worked in silence, the weight of their new reality hanging thick in the air.

“You really think we can make it through this?” Laila asked.

“Honestly? I have no idea. But we have to try. Staying together here, keeping our wits about us—it’s the best chance we’ve got.”

Laila nodded, hammering another board across the door. “Well, I’m with you either way. You know that.”

“We’ll get through this. However we can.” Tommy stepped back as they finished the barricade, sweat beading on his forehead. The gravity of their situation sat like a stone in his gut. But the work gave him purpose. Kept the panic at bay.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. But one look at Micky’s pale, sweaty face killed any humour he felt. The bloke was in bad shape already, and this chaos wasn’t helping.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Hey,” Tommy said, gripping Micky’s shoulder. “Just stay close to me, alright? We’re gonna be okay.”

Micky nodded, eyes wide and fearful.

The stale air clung to Tommy like a second skin as he scanned the crowded green room. Fear and desperation charged the atmosphere, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

They were sitting ducks here at the Gilman, that much was clear. The barricades wouldn’t hold forever against the undead.

Roxy shoved through the crowd. “We gotta get the hell out of Dodge.” She jabbed a finger at the boarded-up windows. “Let’s grab the vans and get on the road. The Bay Area’s swarming with those things. And it’s only gonna get worse if we stick around.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. Even Zero nodded, his face grim.

“You sure that’s smart?” Tommy asked. “We got no idea what it’s like out there. Maybe better to stay put.”

Laila moved to his side, uncertainty clouding her eyes.

“Time’s wasting, Tommy boy,” Micky said with a hollow laugh. He looked dreadful—face gaunt and pale, dark circles under his eyes.

Tommy wanted to argue, to make them see reason, but the tide had already turned against him.

With a sigh, he hoisted his guitar case. His fingers hesitated on the door handle.

Guitars, amps, merch boxes, and duffel bags cluttered the hallway as everyone scrambled to pack up their belongings.

Tommy caught Zero’s eye as the latter heaved a couple of bass drums toward the back door. Zero shot him a tense grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Grab anything useful, yeah? No telling when we’ll restock.”

Tommy scanned the room for anything that might increase their chances of survival out there. A glint from the corner bar caught his attention—an untouched bottle of Jameson. He quickly snatched it up, feeling the weight of the full litre in his hand.

Closing his eyes, he set the whiskey back down and crammed a couple of water bottles into his backpack, along with some t-shirts and a dog-eared copy of Kerouac’s On The Road. If these were his last hours on Earth, he wanted a few familiar comforts close by.

He swung his pack over his shoulder and headed outside to where the vans were parked. Most of the gear was already loaded up, although a few band members were still scrambling with last-minute items.

A drumstick clattered to the pavement. Micky’s fingers trembled as he tried grabbing it, the stick jittering just out of reach.

“Need a hand?” Tommy asked.

Micky’s bloodshot eyes flicked up at him. Dark circles pooled beneath them. “I got it.”

Tommy watched him fumble for the stick, his hands shaking badly.

“We’ve gotta roll,” Tommy said. “Just let me help you with that kit.”

Micky grimaced, his jaw clenched. Behind him, Laila shot Tommy a worried glance as she loaded up the van.

He reached for the bass drum. Micky’s hand snapped out, grabbing his wrist.

“I said I got it!” His fingers dug into Tommy’s skin.

He met Micky’s eyes. “When’s the last time you slept, Micky?”

He dropped Tommy’s wrist, turning away. “Leave it, man.”

“Or shot up? How bad are the cravings?”

Micky whirled, face twisted in anger. “You don’t know—”

“Guys!” Laila appeared between them. “Fight later, survive now. We need to move.”

Micky scowled but stayed silent.

They finished packing up, the drums thudding heavily into the van.

Laila slammed the back doors shut.

Tommy sidled up next to her. “You doing okay?”

She glanced at him, lips pursed. “As okay as any of us can be right now. I just hope we have enough fuel and food to get us far from here.”

He nodded. “Me too.”

She offered him a weak smile. “Well, guess we’re committed now.”

He smiled back.

“Let’s get this show on the road!” Roxy hopped into the driver’s seat of the lead van.

Tommy slid open the side door of their van and climbed in next to Laila. Micky was already sprawled across the backseat, eyes closed.

“You good?” Tommy asked.

Micky mumbled something incoherent.

Laila gave him a knowing look as she started the engine. “Here we go.”

The van lurched forward, following the others. As they pulled out of the parking lot, he took one last look at 924 Gilman Street.

Who knew if they’d ever be back here.

Where they were even going now was still uncertain.

They drove in tense silence for a while, trailing behind Roxy and Zero’s vans in the dark.

Tommy fiddled with the radio but got nothing but static.

Laila passed him her phone and gestured for him to plug it in and secure it on the dashboard.

“Call Roxy.” The ringing tone pulsed through the van’s speakers.

“Yeah?” Roxy said.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We’ll take the 580 towards the Central Valley. Should be safer out there.”

Tommy wasn’t convinced. The highway was sure to be a nightmare. But before he could object, Laila shot him a look that said not now. He slumped back with a sigh, bracing himself for the long road ahead.

Running off into the unknown seemed reckless, but Roxy was right about one thing—staying put was getting riskier by the minute.

Laila ended the call and turned to him. “You think this is the right call?”

He shook his head. “No, not at all. But it’s not like we had much choice.”

Up ahead, the street was vacant, save for the occasional shambling figure in the distance. A toppled streetlight jutted across the asphalt like a felled tree.

“Any idea where we’re even headed?”

Laila shrugged one shoulder. “Your guess is as good as mine. But we stick together and I guess we’ll figure the rest out on the go.”

He knew she hated acting without a plan. But for now, aimless momentum was all they had to go on.

He kept his eyes glued to the road, trying to ignore the creeping dread in his gut.

Tommy took a deep breath and focused on the dark stretch of road ahead, illuminated only by the van’s dim headlights. Just yesterday, they were gearing up for a show at 924 Gilman Street, high on the pre-gig rush that comes before taking the stage. Now they were fleeing from the place they’d dreamed of playing for years.

He knew they didn’t have a choice.

Berkeley had become increasingly dangerous by the hour, those things swarming everywhere, drawn by the chaos.

Perhaps Roxy was right—staying put at the venue would have been suicidal. Yet, part of him questioned the decision. Were they just delaying the inevitable?

Tommy glanced over at Laila. Her forehead was creased with worry, her eyes fixed on the road. “You hanging in there?”

Laila exhaled shakily. “Trying to. This is…”

“Insane?” he finished for her.

She nodded. “What if we’ve made a mistake? What if it’s not better out here?”

“It’s too late to turn back now. We’ll figure this out. We have to.”

Laila didn’t look convinced but didn’t argue. They drove on in tense silence, the van’s rumbling engine and the occasional moan from Micky in the back the only sounds.

“How’s the gear holding up back there?”

Laila sniffed. “The way things are going, I’m not sure how useful guitars and a drum kit will be in the goddamn zombie apocalypse.”

“Hey, you never know. Nothing like a protest song to lift spirits during the end times, eh?”

“If you break into Kumbaya, I’m throwing you and your guitar out the window.”

Micky twisted around, his eyes ablaze. “Would you two shut up already? In case you haven’t noticed, the world is ending here. Have some goddamn respect.”

“We know, man.” Tommy raised his hands. “And we’re going to get through this, okay? All of us. But we’re just having a joke. Keep the spirits up.”

They drove on in silence. The streets were choked with abandoned cars, smoke rising in the distance. Screams and gunshots echoed through the empty buildings looming around them.

Tommy’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, but his mind wandered.

He thought back to the early days when it was just him and Micky playing in his mum’s garage. Micky had been a force of nature behind the kit, and Tommy had fed off that energy. Then drugs came into the picture, pulling Micky down a rabbit hole.

Tommy glanced at Micky, his pale, clammy skin and bloodshot eyes revealing the extent of his troubles. “How you holding up?”

“I’m...I’m okay, man.”

“Bullcrap,” Laila snapped. “You’re not okay. Talk to us.”

Tommy watched as Micky groaned, his face glistening with sweat.

“What do you want me to say? I messed up. But I’m gonna get clean. Just please don’t kick me out of the band.”

“We’re not kicking you out,” Tommy said. “But you need professional help.”

“No clinics. They’ll lock me up.”

“That’s not an option anymore,” Laila said. “Your habit has gone too far.”

Tommy nodded. “We’ll find a way that keeps us together, but you can’t do this alone. And you can’t do it on the road.”

Micky looked down, shaking. After a long pause, he looked up. “Okay...if we get back to Philly, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Laila dodged abandoned cars and panicked pedestrians. She winced when a mob spilled across an intersection ahead.

A cyclist swerved suddenly in front of the van. Laila slammed the brakes, the tyres screeching as they slid to a halt just inches away from a collision.

“Get off the road, dickhead!” Laila shoved the van back into gear.

They continued, one intersection at a time. All they could do was keep moving.

Reaching the outskirts of Berkeley, the knot in Tommy’s chest loosened slightly. The streets were clearer, but the path ahead was filled with unknowns.

The van’s engine roared as they hurtled down the streets. Micky’s cries of pain echoed through the vehicle, and Tommy’s heart ached, knowing he could do little to alleviate his friend’s suffering.

“Talk to me, Micky,” Tommy said. “Tell me about playing your first show. Remember how pumped we were?”

A flicker of recognition crossed Micky’s feverish eyes. “Y-yeah... the place was... I smashed the drums... so hard.” He chuckled weakly. “Thought my hands would bleed.”

“But you kept playing,” Laila said. “You were amazing. The crowd loved you.”

Micky managed a weak smile. “Hell yeah... we killed it.”

His energy soon faded, his face twisting in pain once again.

Tommy gripped the arm of his seat as they zoomed through the streets. The van fishtailed around another overturned car, its alarm blaring, its lights still flashing.

The clock tower loomed ahead, resembling a massive tombstone.

“Zombies.” Laila pointed as a mob of stumbling figures emerged from behind the stone columns.

“How are we supposed to get through that?” Tommy sat straight. “We’ll wreck the van.”

Laila slammed the brakes, causing Micky to tumble off the backseat. “We make a path.”

Tommy blinked. “We do what?”

“Get weapons.”

They scrambled, grabbing whatever they could swing or stab with—drumsticks, microphone stands, a tyre iron. Tommy tossed Laila a heavy wrench, and she caught it one-handed, her jaw set.

“Ready?” Laila met his eyes.

He nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Laila flung open the side door and leapt out, tyre iron arcing through the air to crush the first zombie’s skull.

Tommy was right behind her, taking down two more with a guitar stand used as a bat.

Micky dropped his weapon, a drumstick, which clattered to the asphalt.

He stared at it as the zombies closed in.

Zero from Anarchy’s Child appeared beside Tommy, wielding a bass guitar like a battle axe, his bandmates helping to push back the undead. Members of The Furious Minks joined in, clearing a path through the mob.

“Back inside, everyone.” Roxy pointed to the vans. “Go, go, go!”

Tommy clambered back inside.

Laila slammed her foot down on the gas, speeding away. Her hands clenched the wheel tight.

Micky sat slumped in the back, staring at his shaking hands.

“That was too close,” Laila said. “You nearly died out there.”

“Sorry,” Micky said.

“We can’t have weak links. You need to focus.”

“I know, I know,” Micky said. “I’ll do better.”

Laila glanced back at him. “Make sure you do. There’s no room for any more screw ups. You understand me?”

Micky nodded. “I said I’m sorry. Geez.”