As the van crawled through the streets of Kansas City, Tommy couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his gut. Shattered windows and abandoned vehicles littered the streets.

Micky lay slumped in the back, his face pale and coated with sweat. Laila sat beside him, her brow furrowed as she tried to offer what little comfort she could.

They needed to find a pharmacy, and fast. Micky’s condition was deteriorating by the hour, and without proper medication, there was no telling how much longer he could hold on.

But venturing into the city was a risk, one that Tommy wasn’t sure they could afford to take. Every mile they drove deeper into the urban sprawl was another mile further from safety.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Roxy said, her voice tight. “We should be putting as much distance between us and this place as possible.”

Tommy sighed. “Normally, I’d agree. But Micky needs help, and we’re not going to find it out on the open road.”

Zero scoffed, his eyes never leaving the street ahead. “So, what, we’re supposed to risk all our necks for one junkie who couldn’t keep himself together?”

“Screw you, man,” Micky spat, his words slurring. “You think I wanted this? You think I chose this?”

“I think you chose to stick that needle in your arm,” Zero said. “And now, we’re all paying the price.”

“Zee,” Jimbo said. “This isn’t helping, dude. We need to stick together, not tear each other apart.”

Tommy clenched his fists, the urge to swing at Zero overwhelming.

Roxy gripped his arm. “Tommy, watch out!”

Tommy swerved hard, narrowly avoiding the zombie as it staggered into the street. The van fishtailed, tyres screeching against the asphalt before righting itself.

A tense silence fell over the group, broken only by the sound of their ragged breathing.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Roxy said. “We’re going to get ourselves killed.”

Tommy knew Roxy was right. Every second they spent in this city was a second closer to disaster. But what choice did they have?

“Just a little further,” he said, trying to inject some measure of confidence into his voice. “We find a drugstore, get what we need, and then we’re gone. In and out, quick and quiet.”

Zero let out a snort. “Right. Because that always works out so well for us.”

Tommy’s nostrils flared. “You know what, Zero? If you’ve got a problem with how I’m running things, you’re welcome to strike out on your own. No one’s forcing you to stay.”

Zero’s eyes narrowed, his hand tightening around his rifle. For a moment, Tommy thought he might actually take him up on the offer.

“There,” Laila said. “Up ahead, on the right. Looks like a drugstore.”

Tommy followed her gaze. Nestled between a boarded-up pawn shop and a gutted convenience store hung the faded green cross of a pharmacy sign.

“Good spot, Laila. Jimbo, Rox, be ready to move. We get in, we get what we need, and we get out. No heroics, no unnecessary risks. Understood?”

Jimbo nodded. “You got it, T.”

As Tommy eased the van to a stop outside the pharmacy, he took a deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, their luck was finally turning.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew better than to trust it. In this world, hope was a dangerous thing.

He glanced back at Micky, taking in the sickly sheen of sweat, the tremors that wracked his frame. “You okay staying here, man?”

Micky gave a weak nod.

Tommy reached for his bat, the worn wood a comforting weight in his hand. Beside him, the others readied their own weapons.

“Let’s do this.” He opened the van door and listened. The distant moans of the undead carried on the wind.

Gritting his teeth, he stepped out into the fading light, his senses on high alert. Behind him, the others fanned out, forming a loose perimeter around the van.

The pharmacy loomed ahead, its windows dark and its door ajar. Tommy swallowed hard, his grip tightening on his bat.

The others fell in behind him, their footsteps echoing in the stillness.

As they neared the pharmacy’s entrance, Tommy held up a hand, signalling for the others to halt. He strained his ears, listening for any sign of movement from within.

Nothing.

With a nod to the others, he eased open the door. He peered into the gloom beyond, his eyes straining to penetrate the darkness.

“Looks clear. Jimbo, you’re with me. The rest of you, keep watch out here. Shout if you see anything.”

Jimbo nodded. Together, the two of them slipped inside, the shadows swallowing them.

Shelves stood overturned.

Supplies lay scattered across the floor.

Tommy picked his way through the debris, his bat at the ready.

They made their way towards the prescription counter.

Tommy’s heart sank as he took in the empty shelves, the ransacked drawers. “Nothing here.”

As the words left his mouth, a sound from the rear of the store sent a chill down his spine. A shuffling, dragging sound, accompanied by a low, guttural moan.

“Get ready,” Zero said from the doorway. “Sounds like we’ve got company.”

Tommy burst out onto the street. He barely had time to raise his bat before they were on him.

He swung hard, the solid crack of wood on bone.

Beside him, Laila wielded her tyre iron, caving in skulls and shattering kneecaps with each targeted strike.

Zero cursed, his empty rifle little more than a blunt instrument as he used it to fend off the attacking horde.

Jimbo’s golf club whistled through the air as he charged headlong into the fray.

Roxy hacked and slashed with her machete.

As more zombies arrived, Tommy soon lost sight of the van, the press of bodies driving him further and further down the street.

He ducked and weaved, using the abandoned cars and scattered debris to his advantage. A well-timed shove sent a zombie sprawling over the hood of a rusted sedan, giving him a precious second to catch his breath.

A hand closed around his ankle, dragging him off balance. He stumbled, his bat skittering from his grip as he hit the ground hard.

Fetid breath washed over him, the stench of decay filling his nostrils as a zombie loomed over him, its jaws yawning wide.

Tommy scrabbled for his bat, his fingers closing around the handle as the creature lunged.

He brought the bat up in a desperate arc, the impact jarring his arm all the way to the shoulder.

The zombie’s head snapped back, a spray of black ichor splattering Tommy’s face.

Gagging, he staggered to his feet, his eyes darting as he tried to get his bearings.

The others were scattered, each fighting their own desperate battle against the relentless horde.

Laila had clambered onto the roof of a car, using the high ground to rain down blows on the zombies clawing at the vehicle’s sides. Zero was backed into a corner, his rifle held out before him like a shield as he kicked and shoved at the grasping hands.

Jimbo had somehow gotten hold of a length of chain, which he swung in wild arcs, the heavy links crunching through bone and sinew with each strike. And Roxy danced amidst the chaos, her machete a blur of steel as she hacked a path through the press of bodies.

But it wasn’t enough.

More zombies emerged from the shadows, their moans rising in a chorus of mindless hunger.

They were outnumbered, outmatched, and running out of both strength and space to manoeuvre.

With a roar, Tommy launched himself back into the fray, his bat swinging. He battered his way to Laila’s side, the two of them forming a wall of flailing limbs and crushing blows.

Jimbo joined them a moment later, his chain whipping out to entangle the legs of an advancing zombie. Roxy appeared at Tommy’s other side, her machete dripping gore as she hacked and slashed.

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They fought with a desperate, savage fury.

The street ran slick with blood and viscera, the air thick with the stench of rot and echoing moans.

Inch by hard-fought inch, they began to push the zombies back, carving a path through the mass of bodies.

Tommy’s arms burned with fatigue, his lungs screaming for air, but he didn’t dare stop.

A new sound cut through the moans and snarls.

The roar of engines.

Dozens of them growing louder.

Tommy turned, his eyes widening as a pack of motorcycles tore around the corner, their riders clad in black leather and bristling with weapons.

With a chorus of battle cries, the bikers ploughed into the horde, their tyres crushing rotting flesh and their chains and bats smashing through bone.

They moved with a savage grace, weaving between the zombies, and leaving a trail of broken bodies in their wake.

For a moment, Tommy could only stare as the tide of battle shifted.

“We need to move, now!” Zero’s shout snapped Tommy back to reality. “While they’ve got the zombies distracted!”

Tommy nodded, gesturing for the others to fall back. “To the van, quick!”

They ran, dodging grasping hands as they fought their way through the thinning horde.

The bikers continued their relentless assault, their weapons rising and falling in a brutal rhythm.

Reaching the van, Tommy yanked open the door, diving inside as the others piled in behind him.

Micky had the engine running and ready.

“Go, go, go!” Tommy yelled as Roxy slammed the door shut behind her.

Micky stomped on the gas, the van’s tyres squealing as they peeled away from the kerb.

In the side mirror, Tommy watched as the bikers continued to hold off the zombies, their fierce battle cries fading into the distance as the van sped along.

For several long minutes, no one spoke.

Tommy leaned his head back against the seat, his heart still racing.

The sound of engines once again filled the air.

The bikers appeared in the side mirror, their motorcycles rapidly gaining ground on the van.

“Damn it,” Zero said. “Looks like those bikers are after us.”

Tommy chewed his lip. “They did just save our asses back there. Maybe they just want to make sure we’re okay?”

“Or maybe they want something else.” Zero’s hand tightened around his rifle. “We can’t take any chances.”

“We can’t just ignore them either,” Jimbo said. “They stuck their necks out for us. Least we can do is hear what they have to say.”

Tommy nodded. “Jimbo’s right. We owe them that much.” He turned to Micky. “Pull over, but keep the engine running. Just in case.”

Micky did as he was told, guiding the van to a stop.

The bikers pulled up alongside them a moment later, their engines idling.

Tommy rolled down his window as the lead biker dismounted and approached, his broad shoulders and muscular frame evident beneath his heavy leather jacket.

“You folks alright?” the biker asked.

Tommy nodded. “Thanks to you and your crew. We wouldn’t have made it out of there without your help.”

The biker waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, don’t mention it. We were just passing through, saw you were in a tight spot. Couldn’t just leave you to the rotters.”

Zero leaned across Tommy, his eyes narrowed. “Not that we don’t appreciate the assist, but who are you guys? What’s your angle here?”

The biker chuckled. “Name’s Jack. And as for our angle, we don’t have one. Just trying to survive, same as you.”

“Fair enough,” Tommy said, shooting Zero a warning look. “We’re just trying to get back east.”

Jack nodded, his eyes flicking over the van’s occupants. “You guys in a band or something?”

Zero snorted. “We were. Punks, out on tour when the world went to hell. Now we’re just trying to stay alive long enough to make it home.”

Jack’s face split into a grin, his teeth flashing white against his beard. “That so? We’ve got a bit of a music scene going on back at our compound. You guys should come check it out, maybe even play a set. Lord knows we could use some entertainment these days.”

Tommy exchanged a glance with Zero.

As if sensing their hesitation, Jack held up his hands. “Hey, no pressure. Just thought you might like a place to crash for a night or two, maybe blow off some steam. We’ve got food, water, even some spare instruments kicking around. Beats sleeping in the van, yeah?”

“Alright,” Tommy said..” We’ll follow you. But the second anything feels off, we’re gone. Deal?”

“Deal goes two ways, brother. Just keep close and try to keep up. Roads can get a bit hairy out here.”

Jack turned and strode back to his bike, swinging his leg over the saddle and revving the engine. The other bikers fell in behind him, their formation tight and disciplined.

As Micky eased the van back onto the road, Tommy couldn’t shake the feeling that they were heading into uncharted territory. But then again, what part of this brave new world wasn’t?

He glanced back at the others. “What do you think?”

Roxy shrugged. “Screw it. I say we go for it.”

“Yeah, dude. As you say, if things go south, we get the hell out.”

Tommy nodded. “Agreed.”

“One condition,” Roxy said.

Tommy frowned. “What’s that?”

“I’m driving.”

The bikers’ compound loomed ahead—tall brick walls surrounded by fences and a maze of makeshift barricades.

As they passed through the gates, Tommy’s eyes widened at the sight before him. It was like a rock festival, complete with tents, stages, and seating areas scattered throughout the compound. Hundreds of metalheads and goths milled about, their dark clothing and spiked accessories a stark contrast to the bright colours of the tents.

Music blared from a stage at the far end of the compound, the heavy riffs and pounding drums of a metal band echoing off the walls. Generators hummed in the background, providing power to the various lights and sound systems.

Jimbo slapped the back of Roxy’s seat. “Dude, it’s freaking Zombiepalooza!”

The bikers led them to a parking area alongside other vans and cars, their engines rumbling to a stop. As Tommy and the others climbed out, Jack approached.

“Welcome to our little sanctuary,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “It ain’t much, but it’s home. Just leave your weapons in the van and I’ll show you around.”

Laila looked around. “I can’t believe it. Music, still alive and kicking even after everything that’s happened.”

Jack chuckled. “Music’s the one thing that keeps us going, you know? We’ve got plenty of spare tents if you folks need a place to crash. Think of it like a hardcore FEMA camp, but with better tunes.”

Zero bristled at the mention of FEMA, his hand tightening around his rifle.

Jack raised his hands. “Easy there, cowboy. It was just a joke. This is a place for survivors, for people who just want to live free and rock out.”

Zero pursed his lips. “Speaking of living free, we’re not too keen on giving up our weapons. Had a bad experience with that before.”

Jack shrugged. “I get it. But this is our home, and we’ve got rules. If you want to stay, you’ve got to leave your weapons in your ride. Can’t have everyone walking around armed to the teeth, you know? Tends to make folks a bit jumpy.”

Zero opened his mouth to argue, but Tommy cut him off. “We understand. And we appreciate you inviting us in. But you’ve got to understand our position too. We’ve been through hell out there, and our weapons are the only thing that’s kept us alive.”

Jack nodded. “I hear you, man. But you don’t need your weapons here. We’ve got barriers. We’ve got patrols. And if you’re not comfortable with that, well, you’re welcome to move on. No hard feelings.”

Tommy exchanged a glance with the others

Zero sighed and lowered his rifle. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Didn’t expect you to be, brother. But trust me, you won’t need it here.”

As they moved into the main area of the compound, the music grew louder, the intricate guitar solos and complex time signatures of the band on stage a world away from the fast and loud punk they were used to.

Tommy couldn’t help but marvel at the skill of the musicians, their fingers flying over their instruments with a precision that spoke of years of practice.

As they approached the stage, Jack turned to them. “So, you folks said you were in a band before all this went down? What’s your story?”

Tommy cleared his throat. “We were three bands, actually. Out on tour when everything went to hell. We’d just played a gig in Berkeley when the first reports started coming in.”

Roxy nodded. “I’m the only one left from my band. Lost them all along the way.”

“Damn. Sorry to hear that.”

Zero and Jimbo exchanged a glance. “We lost our bassist too,” Zero said. “Nix was a good kid.”

Jack’s face fell. “Losing people, it never gets easier. But at least you’ve still got each other, right?”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah. We do. And we’re going to make it through this.”

“That’s the spirit. So, what kind of music do you folks play?”

“Punk, man. Loud and fast. Three chords in your face.” He gestured towards the stage. “None of this slow, plodding stuff.”

As if on cue, the song came to an end, the final notes ringing out across the compound. The band on stage waved to the crowd, the lead singer grabbing the mic. “We’ll be back on tomorrow, folks. Or maybe later tonight, if the mood strikes us. But for now, we’re going to take a little break. Keep the music alive, and don’t let the dead get you down.”

The crowd cheered as the band left the stage, handing their instruments off to the next group waiting in the wings.

Tommy and the others moved towards the edge of the crowd, watching as the new band took their places on stage. The guitarist fiddled with his tuning, the sound of his strings reverberating through the amps.

Laila leaned in close to Tommy. “I know we just got here, but I’ve got a good feeling about this place, Tommy. It feels safe. Like we can finally breathe again, even if just for a little while.”

Tommy nodded. After so many long days of running and fighting, of never knowing where their next meal or safe place to sleep would come from, the idea of a respite was almost too good to be true.

The new band launched into their first song, the heavy riffs and pounding drums washing over the crowd. Tommy closed his eyes, letting the music fill him up, chasing away the fear and the doubt and the gnawing hunger that had become his constant companions.

For the first time since Berkley, he felt something close to peace. It was a fragile thing, a gossamer thread that could snap at any moment. But for now, in this place, surrounded by his friends and the thrumming energy of the crowd, it was enough.

He opened his eyes, meeting Laila’s gaze. She smiled, her hand finding his and squeezing tight.

The crowd surged forward, a seething mass of leather and spikes and flailing limbs.

Zero, Roxy, and Jimbo darted into the fray, throwing themselves into the frenzied mosh pit. They slammed and headbanged with abandon, their bodies moving in time with the relentless beat.

Tommy stood back, watching the spectacle with a mix of awe and disbelief.

“Nothing quite like it, is there?” Jack said, his voice barely audible over the noise. “Music, man. It’s the one thing that keeps us human.”

Tommy nodded. “It’s been too long. I almost forgot what it felt like, to be part of something bigger than yourself.”

“Well, consider yourself officially welcomed to the party, my friend. Ain’t no cover charge, no dress code. Just good people, good music, and a chance to forget about the outside, even if just for a little while.”

Tommy’s gaze drifted to Micky, who stood apart from the crowd, his arms wrapped around himself as he shivered despite the warmth of the evening.

Jack followed his gaze, his brow furrowing. “What’s the deal with your friend over there? He doesn’t look so hot.”

Tommy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We were in Kansas, looking for meds. Micky…he’s been struggling, ever since we lost our supply. The withdrawal, it’s hitting him hard.”

“I’ve seen it before, man. It’s rough. But listen, I might know someone who can help out. Got a guy who might have a stash of stuff for your friend here. I could talk to him, see if he’s willing to part with some.”

“That…that would be incredible. I don’t know how we could ever repay you.”

“Ain’t about repayment, man. We look out for each other here. It’s the only way any of us are going to make it through this thing.”

Tommy nodded, watching as Zero and Jimbo slammed into each other in the pit.

“So, what’s your role in the band. Let me guess. You’re the singer, right?”

“Yeah. Laila over there, she’s on bass. And Micky, he’s our drummer.”

“Is that your full line-up?”

“Just the three of us. Crab Versus Lion.”

Jack’s eyes lit up. “That’s awesome, man. Listen, I know you folks are just passing through, but what would you say to putting on a show? Nothing big, just a set or two. In exchange, we can hook you up with some food, a place to crash. Maybe even some new threads, if you’re interested.”

“I don’t know. We had to ditch our gear a while back, to make room for supplies. And we’re not really a metal band. Last time we played for a room full of metalheads, they nearly rioted.”

Jack laughed. “Ain’t about genre, man. Music is music. That’s what this place is all about. And as for the instruments, don’t worry about it. We’ve got a whole backline set up, been passing it around between bands.”

Tommy chewed his lip, considering the offer. He glanced over at the others, seeing the same mix of exhaustion and desperate hope on their faces. They needed this, needed a reminder of who they were, of what they were fighting for.

“Alright, man. You’ve got a deal. We’ll play, but on one condition.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“We’re going to need someone to show us how to work all this fancy gear.”

“You’ve got it, man. I’ll have our techs give you the rundown. And hey, who knows? Maybe you folks will even teach us a thing or two. Lord knows we could use a little variety around here.”

With that, he clapped Tommy on the shoulder and strode off, his boots crunching on the gravel as he made his way towards the stage.

Tommy strode over to Laila and Micky, a grin spreading across his face. “Alright, folks. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a gig. Let’s show these metalheads what punk rock is all about.”