As the first light of dawn crept through the warehouse windows,. Tommy emerged from his bedroll, muscles aching from the previous day’s trials. He watched as the others slowly came to life, stretching and rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

Laila was already up, hunched over a map spread out on the van’s hood. She looked up as Tommy approached, offering a weary smile. “Morning. How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a damn truck. But I’ll live. What’s the plan for today?”

Roxy appeared at his side, her hair tousled from sleep. “Well, we still need to find some methadone for Micky. And after yesterday’s fiasco, we’re running low on just about everything else too.”

Jimbo ambled over, stifling a yawn. “Food, fuel, ammo…the holy trinity of the apocalypse.”

“Sounds like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Tommy said, studying the map. “Where do you think we should start, Lai?”

Laila tapped a finger on the map. “We head towards Kansas – should be able to make it by mid-afternoon. There’s towns along the way. Might be our best bet for finding supplies without running into too much trouble.”

Zero joined them, his rifle slung over his shoulder. “We should get moving soon. Daylight’s burning.”

As they began to pack up and load the van, Roxy turned to Jimbo with a grin. “You know, I’ve been thinking about these zombies we’ve been dealing with.”

Jimbo raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What about them?”

“Well, they’re not exactly the sprinty kind, are they? More like the classic Romero shamblers.”

“True that. I guess we should count ourselves lucky. Can you imagine trying to outrun the ones from 28 Days Later?”

Roxy shuddered. “No thanks. I’ll take the slow and steady type any day.”

Zero paused in his packing, glancing over at them. “You ever think about how this whole thing started? I mean, what’s causing people to turn into walkers?”

“Gotta be some kind of virus or bacteria,” Roxy said, shoving a duffel bag into the back of the van. “Something that gets into the blood and rewires the brain.”

“Or maybe it’s one of those parasitic fungi that turn ants into zombies,” Zero said. “I saw a documentary about that once.”

Tommy furrowed his brow. “You know, I haven’t seen any zombie animals since this whole thing began. No undead cats or dogs, no birds dropping out of the sky. It seems to be a strictly human problem.”

Jimbo let out a low whistle. “Damn, I never even thought about the possibility of a zombie moose. Thanks for the new nightmare fuel, dude.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

As they finished loading the last of their gear into the van, it became clear that space was going to be tight. They all stared at the vehicle, trying to figure out the best configuration.

“I can drive for a while,” Zero said.” Give the rest of you a chance to catch some more shut-eye.”

Laila hesitated, glancing at Tommy. “I don’t know. I feel like it should be me or Tommy driving.”

Zero shook his head. “No offense, but you look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet. And Tommy here looks like he could use another eight hours himself.”

Tommy wanted to protest, but he couldn’t deny the exhaustion tugging at his eyelids. “Zero’s right. We’ll be no good to anyone if we’re too tired to think straight.”

Laila sighed, then nodded. “Okay, fine. But wake me up if you need a break, alright?”

“You got it, boss,” Zero said, climbing into the driver’s seat.

The others piled in, arranging themselves as best they could in the cramped space. Tommy found himself wedged between Roxy and the passenger window. Laila and Jimbo sat in the back with Micky stretched out on the floor at their feet.

As Zero guided the van out of the warehouse and onto the open road, Tommy felt his eyelids growing heavy. The gentle rocking motion of the vehicle lulled him into a drowsy state, his head nodding against his chest.

Beside him, Roxy had already drifted off, her head resting on his shoulder while Micky snored softly from his spot on the floor.

Tommy stirred from his slumber, the sound of raised voices pulling him back to wakefulness. He blinked, taking a moment to orient himself. The van was still moving, the scenery outside the windows a blur of endless fields and open sky.

In the back of the van, Micky tossed and turned, his skin slick with sweat.

“Can you please stop fidgeting so much?” Laila snapped. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Micky glared at her, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is my agonising withdrawal inconveniencing you? Maybe if Tommy had found me some damn methadone like he promised, I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Laila bristled. “We’ve all risked our lives out there trying to find you medicine. Zero nearly died. So don’t you dare put that on us.”

“Put it on you?” Micky let out a bitter laugh that turned into a hacking cough. “I’m the one who feels like my bones are trying to crawl out of my skin. I’m the one emptying my guts out either end every half hour. You have no idea what this is like.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But I do know that we’re all just trying to survive here. And maybe if you hadn’t gotten yourself hooked on that junk in the first place—”

“Don’t.” Micky’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “Don’t you dare judge me. Not when I’ve been through hell and back with you lot.”

The van hit a pothole, jostling them all. Jimbo snorted in his sleep but didn’t wake.

“I’m not judging you, Micky. But your addiction affects all of us now. We can’t keep going on like this, with you sick and us constantly at risk trying to score you a fix.”

“So what, you just expect me to ride it out cold turkey? In case it’s escaped your notice, the world has gone to hell. Excuse me if I needed something to take the edge off.” Micky shifted again.

“I know it hurts. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. But Micky…we need you. We need you clear-headed and strong if we’re going to make it through this.”

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough, Lai. I don’t know if I can do this.”

Laila reached across the small space between them and gripped his hand. “You can. We’ll help you through this, okay? We’ll find a way.”

Micky hung his head, taking a shuddering breath. “Alright. I’ll try. For you lot, if nothing else.”

“Or we could let him out here,” Zero said. “Ungrateful twat can walk his ass back to Philly on his own.”

Tommy sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Hey, guys? Maybe we could all just try to get along for a little while longer? At least until we find a place to stop and stretch our legs?”

Laila sighed. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Just coming up on Burlington,” Zero said. “Shouldn’t be too much longer now.”

Jimbo perked up. “Hey, isn’t that where the Kit Carson County Fairground is? Man, I’ve always wanted to check that place out.”

Roxy groaned. “Are you serious right now? We’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, and you want to go to a fairground? Have you not seen Zombieland?”

Jimbo grinned. “Come on, it could be fun. Plus, think of all the supplies we might find there. Cotton candy, funnel cakes, maybe even some Twinkies.”

“Yeah, because that’s exactly what we need right now. A sugar rush and a case of salmonella.”

Zero cleared his throat. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.” He turned the wheel, guiding the van off the main road and onto a narrower side street.

Tommy leaned forward, trying to get a better look at their surroundings. “Where are we going?”

“Prairie Pines Golf Course,” Zero said.

“A golf course? Why? Thinking of taking in a few rounds?”

“Think about it, Tommy boy. There’s bound to be a clubhouse, which means shelter and maybe even some supplies. Plus, with all that open space, we’ll be able to see any zombies coming from a mile away.”

Roxy nodded slowly. “And I can’t imagine a golf course being high on the list of priorities for any raiders or looters.”

“Exactly,” Zero said.

“Alright,” Tommy said. “Let’s do it.”

Jimbo huffed. “Aww. But I wanted a go on the carousel.”

As the van pulled into the golf course parking lot, Tommy glanced over at Micky, his face pale and slick with sweat.

“Hey, Mick? We’re gonna head inside, see if we can find some supplies. Maybe even a place to rest for a bit. You want to stay here in the van?”

Stolen novel; please report.

Micky shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. “No. No, I’m coming with you.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Laila said. “You should really try to rest.”

“I’m fine. I just…I need to move around a bit. Get some fresh air.”

Tommy exchanged a glance with Zero, who shrugged. “Alright, man. But you stick close to us, okay? And if you start feeling worse, you let us know right away.”

Micky nodded, already reaching for the door handle. “Yeah, yeah, Tommy. I got it.”

As the group piled out of the van, stretching their cramped muscles, and blinking in the bright sunlight, Tommy couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Micky was in bad shape. He couldn’t help but wonder if bringing him along was a mistake.

He shouldered his backpack and swung his bat, scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble. “Alright, guys. Let’s do this.”

Jimbo clapped him on the back, a grin splitting his face. “Lead the way, dude. Just keep your balls protected.”

“Grow up, Jimbo,” Roxy said.

Jimbo held up his hands. “What did I do? We’re at a golf club. There’s golf balls. We don’t want them rolling around for someone to step on. I bet they keep them in a sack. A huge ball-sack.”

Roxy rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

Tommy approached the clubhouse first, baseball bat at the ready. But as they drew closer, it became clear that the building was deserted. No signs of life, human or otherwise. “Looks like we might be in luck. Let’s head inside and see what we can find.”

Zero took point, pushing open the heavy wooden doors and scanning the interior for any potential threats. He still carried his rifle, not that it would do him much good without ammo.

A spacious lobby spread out before them, complete with plush armchairs and a large stone fireplace.

“Whoa,” Jimbo said. “Fancy digs.”

Roxy snorted. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘post-apocalyptic chic’ like a bunch of rich people’s leftovers.”

Tommy chuckled. “Alright, guys. Let’s split up and start searching. Holler if you find anything useful.”

The group dispersed, each heading off in a different direction. Tommy found himself in what appeared to be a small dining area, complete with tables and chairs. He rummaged through the cabinets, finding a few cans of soup and some crackers.

“Jackpot!” Jimbo’s voice echoed from somewhere down the hall. “Guys, come check this out!”

Tommy hurried towards the sound, the others close behind. They found Jimbo standing in the middle of a large room lined with shelves and display cases.

“Is that…?” Laila said, her eyes widening.

“A pro shop,” Zero said. “Looks like we hit the mother lode.”

The group spread out, each grabbing whatever caught their eye. Tommy snagged a few golf clubs, testing their weight and balance.

“Hey, Tommy!” Roxy called out. She had donned a brightly coloured golf hat, the brim pulled low over her eyes. “What do you think? Is this my new look?”

Tommy laughed. “Oh, definitely. Very punk.”

“Hey, guys!” Jimbo’s voice rang out from outside. “Come check this out!”

The group rushed to the window, peering out to see Jimbo sitting behind the wheel of a golf cart, a huge grin on his face.

“No way,” Roxy said, shaking her head.

Jimbo revved the engine, the cart lurching forward across the grass. “Woo-hoo! This is awesome!”

Zero chuckled. “Hate to break it to you, Jimbo, but there’s no way we’re fitting that thing in the van.”

Jimbo shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll just drive it alongside you guys. It’ll be like having my own personal escort.”

As the others continued to explore the pro shop, Tommy wandered off in search of anything else that might prove useful. He found himself in a small room lined with cabinets and a large metal table.

“Guys, in here!”

The others filed in as Tommy took in the supplies scattered across the table and shelves. “Bandages, painkillers, antiseptic”

Laila snatched bottles, stuffing them into her pack. “This is great.”

Tommy glanced over at Micky rifling through the cabinets with desperate intensity. “You alright, man?”

Micky slammed a cabinet shut, his face contorted. “It’s not here. The methadone. I thought…I thought maybe…”

He placed a hand on Micky’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. But we’ll keep looking, okay? We’re not giving up.”

Micky nodded, his jaw clenched tight.

As the group gathered up their haul and prepared to head back to the van, Micky grabbed one of the bottles of whiskey they had found behind the bar. “It’s not methadone,” he said, twisting off the cap and taking a long swig. “But it’ll do for now.”

Tommy watched his friend with a mix of concern and understanding. He knew all too well the desperation that came with addiction, the overwhelming need to quiet the screaming in your head by any means necessary.

The old Tommy might have stopped him, would have tried to talk him down, but now…now he’d take anything for an easier life.

Zero paused to sort through the various clubs they had collected. “We should stick with the irons,” he said, setting aside the woods. “They’re less likely to break when we’re bashing in zombie skulls.”

Roxy raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you know so much about golf clubs, Mr. Tough Guy?”

Zero shrugged. “Let’s just say I used to play a lot of Mario Golf back in the day.”

Jimbo laughed, clapping Zero on the back. “No way, dude! I love that game. We should totally have a tournament sometime.”

“Yeah, because that’s exactly what we need right now,” Roxy said. “A bunch of grown men playing video games while the world ends around us.”

“Dude, that’s exactly what we need. Remember when we used to have fun?”

Roxy shrugged. “Maybe. It’s hard to have fun when all your bandmates are dead.”

As they rounded the corner of the building, Tommy’s heart sank. The van was surrounded by a sea of zombies.

Tommy did a quick head count. There had to be at least thirty of the undead bastards, with more shambling their way across the golf course. “Okay, nobody panic. We just need to—”

“Need to what?” Micky snapped. “There’s too many of them. We’re screwed.”

Zero stepped forward, his jaw set. “No, we’re not. We can do this.”

Tommy nodded. “Zero’s right. We just need to be smart about this. Spread out, use the terrain to our advantage.”

Roxy adjusted her golf cap. “Let’s tee off.”

The group fanned out, each grabbing whatever makeshift weapons they could find. Tommy grabbed a club and a bucket of golf balls.

“What are you going to do with those?” Roxy asked.

Tommy grinned. “Improvise.” He stuffed his baseball bat into his pack and took off running towards the nearest green.

Zombies turned to follow him.

The others copied his lead, their shouts and taunts echoing across the course.

Tommy reached the green and spun around, golf balls at the ready.

The first zombie lurched towards him, its rotting arms outstretched.

Tommy took aim and let fly, the ball hitting the creature square between the eyes. It stumbled backwards, momentarily stunned.

“Ha!” Tommy shouted. “Hole in one, baby!”

He turned to see Laila and Micky nearby, both armed with golf clubs. They swung with wild abandon, each blow connecting with a sickening crunch.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this!” Laila called.

Micky looked like he was about to be sick. “I can’t believe I’m using a nine-iron to bash in zombie brains.”

Across the course, Roxy had climbed atop a golf cart and was using it as a makeshift sniper’s nest. She had found a bucket of range balls and was launching them at the approaching horde. “Fore!” she shouted, as another ball found its mark.

Jimbo screeched past in another golf cart, using it to ram into the zombies, sending them flying like undead bowling pins. “Strike!”

But for every zombie they took down, two more seemed to take its place. They were being slowly but surely overwhelmed, the horde pressing in from all sides.

Tommy gripped his golf club tighter as more closed in. The stench of decay hung in the air, mingling with the scent of grass and pine.

Laila swung her club, the sickening crunch of metal against bone ringing out as she caved in a zombie’s skull.

A scream tore through the air. Tommy spun around to see Jimbo, his golf cart overrun by a swarm of the undead. They clawed at him, their rotten fingers grasping at his clothes, trying to drag him down.

“Jimbo!” Tommy sprinted forward, dodging the outstretched arms of the zombies in his path. He reached the cart just as Jimbo managed to kick free, sending a severed hand flying through the air.

“Dude, that was way too close.” Jimbo panted hard, his face pale beneath his mop of sweat-soaked hair.

Tommy hauled him to his feet, scanning the area for a way out. His gaze landed on the nearby sand trap, its steep walls offering a potential refuge. “Come on, I’ve got an idea.”

He dragged Jimbo towards the bunker, shouting for the others to follow. They tumbled down the sandy slope, the zombies close on their heels.

“What now, genius?” Roxy snapped, her golf hat askew and her new polo shirt already splattered with gore. “We’re trapped like rats down here.”

His eyes fell on the nearby flag marking the hole, its bright red fabric fluttering in the breeze.

“Micky, give me your shirt,” he said, already stripping off his own.

Micky blinked at him. “What? Why?”

“Just do it!”

Micky peeled off his sweat-soaked t-shirt and tossed it to Tommy.

Tommy snatched up the flag, tying the shirts to the end to create a makeshift banner. He turned to the others. “Right, here’s the plan. Zero, Jimbo, you’re with me. We’re going to wave this thing around, get their attention, then leg it across the course. Laila, Roxy, Micky, you lot make a break for the van as soon as they’re distracted. Got it?”

“This is never going to work,” Zero said.

“Sure it will,” Tommy said. “It’s just like being on stage, man. We’ve just got to give them a show they won’t forget.” With a whoop, he vaulted out of the sand trap, waving the banner high above his head. “Oi, you rotten bastards! Come get some!”

The zombies turned as one, their milky eyes locking onto the fluttering banner. They began to stumble towards him, their movements sluggish but relentless.

“That’s it, come on.” Tommy backed away slowly. “Follow the pretty flag, you brain-dead freaks.”

Zero and Jimbo hurled their own insults, drawing even more of the horde away from the others.

The zombies shambled after them, leaving a clear path to the van. Tommy risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Laila, Roxy, and Micky making a run for it, their golf clubs abandoned in favour of speed.

Tommy leapt over a bench, rotting fingers grazing his boots. He swung the flag like a matador’s cape, taunting them, drawing them ever further away.

Beside him, Zero and Jimbo joined in, their shouts and jeers mingling with the groans. They wove between the trees, ducking and dodging the zombies’ grasping hands.

“We need to get back to the van!” Tommy threw the banner down and swung his club at another zombie, braining it against a tree..

Zero nodded. “Jimbo! Bring that cart over here!”

Jimbo sprinted back towards the golf cart, hopped inside, and hurtled towards them. “All aboard the Zombie Express.”

Tommy and Zero clambered onto the back of the cart, using it as a makeshift battle platform. They clung to the roof as Jimbo floored it, the cart’s electric motor whining in protest.

They ploughed through the horde, golf clubs swinging and bodies flying.

Jimbo came to a stop twenty or so metres from the van. Roxy, Laila, and Micky joined them.

“There’s too many by the van still,” Roxy said. “We’re not driving out of here until those dead-heads move.”

“The clubhouse.” Tommy pointed back towards the building. “If we can lure them inside, we might be able to slip past and make a run for the van.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

They turned the cart around, Jimbo laying on the horn to get the zombies’ attention.

The horde turned as one, their milky eyes fixating on the new target.

“Come on, you ugly bastards!” Jimbo waved his arms. “Come and get us, ya dead freaks!”

Jimbo led the zombies back along the green, weaving in and out of the sand traps and water hazards, Laila and Micky jogging close behind.

When they reached the clubhouse. Tommy and Zero leaped from the cart, sprinting towards the doors.

“Inside, now!” Tommy waved the others forward.

They piled through the doors, slamming them shut behind them. The zombies pressed up against the glass, their moans muffled by the thick panes.

“That’s not going to hold them for long,” Roxy said, her chest heaving.

Tommy nodded. “We need to move.”

They raced through the building, bursting out the back entrance.

But a second horde shambled towards them from the opposite direction, cutting off their escape.

“Oh, come on.” Micky groaned. “Give us a damn break.”

Tommy’s grip tightened on his golf club, his mind racing. “There!” He pointed across the parking lot. “Another cart!”

The group sprinted towards it. Jimbo leaped into the driver’s seat, his fingers scrabbling for the keys. “Come on, come on.”

The engine roared to life. Jimbo let out a whoop as the others piled in behind him.

He tore across the parking lot, zombies falling away on either side.

Tommy clung to the roof, his heart in his throat as they neared the van.

“Get ready,” Zero said, his voice barely audible over the wind.

They leaped from the cart, hitting the ground running. Tommy yanked open the van’s side door, practically throwing Micky inside.

The others piled in behind him, Zero taking the wheel.

The tyres squealed as Zero peeled out of the parking lot, leaving the clubhouse behind.

Tommy sagged against the seat, his body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline.

“That was insane,” Roxy said.

Jimbo let out a laugh. “Dude, we just fought off a horde of zombies with a freaking golf cart. Insane doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Micky reached for the whiskey bottle, his hands shaking as he unscrewed the cap. “I never want to see another golf course again in my life.”

Tommy couldn’t help but chuckle. “But we made it. And we’re up on supplies.”

Micky knocked back a swig of whiskey. “Still no stuff though.”

“Not yet.” Tommy nodded. “But we’ll keep looking.”

Micky glanced down at the bottle and offered it to Tommy.

Tommy raised his hands. “I’m good, man.”

Micky shrugged and took another drink. “Suit yourself.”