The van lurched over cracked asphalt as they rolled into the outskirts of St. Louis. Tommy stared out at the ruined cityscape, his gut churning. Skyscrapers jutted like broken teeth against the smoggy sky, their windows dark and lifeless. Abandoned cars clogged the roads, picked clean by scavengers.

Tommy’s fingers twitched, aching for a bottle to ease the dread coiling in his chest. But he clenched his jaw, gripping his bat tighter instead. No more running. No more letting the others down. He had to face this head on.

Roxy white-knuckled the steering wheel. In the back, Zero and Jimbo rode in tense silence. Tommy could feel their eyes boring into him, the questions simmering under the surface.

Zero heaved a sigh. “We need to talk, Tommy boy.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Zero leaned forward. “Sorry? That’s it? You’re supposed to be leading us, watching our backs. But you’re so caught up in drowning your demons you can barely stumble straight. We can’t count on you like this. Can’t trust you.”

The words cut deep. But hadn’t he said the exact same things to himself a thousand times? He was weak. Selfish. A piss-poor excuse for a so-called leader.

Jimbo clapped a heavy hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Dude…you’re hurting. We all are. I get it. But pickling your liver won’t fix it. That promise you made, the straight-edge code, those Xs on your hands. Remember why you chose that. You’re better than this.”

Tommy sucked a breath through his teeth. His throat burned. The tattooed Xs seared his skin, accusing. It would be so easy to dive back into that blissful oblivion, to tell them all to go to hell. But he couldn’t run forever. Those blackout nights ended in blood more often than not—if not his, then someone else’s.

“Alright.” He met Jimbo’s gaze, then Zero’s. “No more bottles. No more excuses. I’m here, fully present. Won’t let you down again.”

“Guys…” Roxy brought the van to a stop and leaned over the dash to frown at something up the road. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Maybe we should try our luck somewhere on the fringes instead.”

Zero shook his head. “No. We’re running on fumes and prayers already. This is our best shot at supplies. We stick to the plan, but we play it smart.”

The hangover still pulsed behind Tommy’s eyes, but a sudden clarity cut through the fog. He turned to the others, crossing his arms. “Roxy’s right. We’re not doing this.”

Zero’s eyebrow arched. His fingers drummed against his rifle stock. “The city’s our best shot at restocking ammo and supplies. We need this.”

“No. It’s too much of a gamble. Every time we hit a major metro, we’re walking into a kill box. Too many zombies, too many angles for an ambush. The risk ain’t worth it.”

“Oh, so your grand plan is to just keep driving until the gas and food run dry?”

Tommy shook his head. “We’ve got enough rations and water to last a few days. That buys us time to find a safer spot to scavenge. Maybe hit some suburbs or small towns.”

Zero’s lips curled back from his teeth. “And what about firepower, huh? We try to fight off a horde with our current arsenal, we’re screwed. I’ve got a few dozen rounds left. That’s a spit in the ocean, Tommy boy.”

Tommy couldn’t shake the memories of Denver. Flashes of snapping jaws and grasping hands. Of Dee. Of Spike. Of Nix.

Roxy glowered at them. “Enough. Both of you. We vote.” Her gaze cut to the others. “All in favour of taking the risk and scavenging the city, raise your hand.”

Zero’s arm shot up. He glared around the circle, daring anyone to defy him.

But he stood alone.

Laila hugged herself. Jimbo stared at his boots, shoulders hunched. Roxy just looked exhausted.

“Then it’s decided.” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “We keep driving, find somewhere off the beaten path to resupply.”

Tommy let out a breath.

Zero’s nostrils flared as he cursed under his breath. “When things go sideways, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Roxy cranked the key. The engine coughed, sputtered, then growled to life.

As the city blurred by, Tommy’s thoughts whirled.

Had he done the right thing, pushing them away from the city? Or had he just condemned them all to a slower, more brutal death?

His fingers itched for a bottle, for that liquid numbness.

But he clamped down on the craving, grinding his molars.

.

The van juddered to a halt at the foot of the Mississippi River bridge. Tommy leaned forward, squinting through the dusty windshield. At first glance, the bridge looked clear.

But as they crawled closer, the illusion shattered.

Cars choked the span. A twisted knot of steel and rubber. Doors gaped open. Shattered glass glittered on crumpled hoods.

Tommy’s stomach clenched.

Roxy swore under her breath. “No way through that. We’ll have to double back, find another crossing.”

Zero shook his head. “We have to try.”

Roxy sniffed. “Try what? We’d need a tank to punch through that scrapheap.”

“So we make our own path. Inch by inch if we have to.”

Roxy shot him a sidelong glance. “Alright. Whatever you say.”

The van doors screeched open, hinges screaming in protest.

Tommy unfolded from the passenger seat, bat in hand.

Roxy, Laila, and Jimbo fanned out beside him.

Zero rolled his neck, his gaze sweeping over the bridge and the tangled mass of vehicles choking its lanes. “Alright, listen up. We’re going to have to work together on this. Take it one vehicle at a time, clear what we can and shove what we can’t.” He turned to face them, his eyes hard. “Slow and steady wins this race. Watch your footing, and for God’s sake, keep your eyes peeled for any corpses shambling around. Everyone clear?”

A chorus of nods and murmured assent rippled through the group.

“Okay then.” Zero unslung his rifle and jerked his chin towards the bridge. “Let’s do this.”

They spread out, each taking a lane of the clogged bridge. Tommy approached the first vehicle blocking his path—a battered sedan crumpled against the guardrail.

He lined up with the others, planting his feet and bracing his hands against the car’s twisted frame.

“On my count,” Zero said. “Three, two, one - push!”

Tommy heaved, throwing his shoulder into the car with a grunt of effort. Beside him, Roxy and Jimbo did the same, their faces reddening with exertion.

Metal groaned, but the sedan remained stubbornly immobile.

“Again! Put your backs into it!”

Tommy repositioned and surged forward once more, straining against the unyielding mass of steel and rubber.

His muscles burned, his breath rasping in his lungs as he pushed with every ounce of strength he possessed.

But still it refused to budge, its frame wedged tight against the guardrail and the vehicles pressing in on either side.

“Damn it.” Jimbo panted, sagging back, and wiping sweat from his brow. “This thing’s not moving.”

“We’ll just have to try something else then.” Zero scanned their surroundings, his gaze settling on a nearby lamppost, bent and twisted from some long-ago impact. “There. We’ll use that as a lever, try to pry it loose.”

Together, they wrestled the lamppost free of its moorings, the metal scraping against the asphalt.

They jammed one end under the sedan’s bumper, Tommy and Roxy throwing their weight onto the opposite end.

“Okay, on three.” Zero positioned himself beside them. “One, two, three—lift!”

Tommy strained as he fought to heave the car upward. For a heartbeat, he thought he felt it shift, just the barest fraction of an inch.

But, with a metallic shriek, the lamppost snapped clean in two, sending Tommy and the others sprawling to the ground.

“Son of a bitch.” Zero snarled, tossing aside the broken lamppost. “Useless piece of scrap.”

A strangled scream tore through the air.

Tommy whirled to see Laila sliding down the side of the van to land in a crumpled heap, her arms wrapped tight around her drawn-up knees.

“I can’t.” Her words were almost lost in the hitching gasps that shook her frame. “I can’t do this anymore. We’re trapped, don’t you see? We’re all going to die here.”

Roxy ran to her side, dropping to her knees and gathering Laila into her arms. “Shh, hey now. None of that. We’re going to get through this, you hear me? We’ll find a way, just like we always do.”

Laila shook her head, pressing her tear-streaked face into Roxy’s shoulder. “Look around us! We’ll never clear all this, not before the dead find us. It’s hopeless.”

“Enough!” Zero’s shout cracked through the air, sharp and sudden enough to make them all flinch. He stormed over and glared at Laila. “Shut off the waterworks and get up. We don’t have time for you to wallow in self-pity.”

Roxy surged to her feet, her fists clenched at her sides. “Back off, Zero. Can’t you see she’s hurting? She needs comfort, not your macho hardass bullcrap.”

Zero’s lip curled in a sneer. “What she needs is to put on her big girl pants and help us find a way off this dam bridge. But by all means, keep coddling her. I’m sure the zombies will wait patiently for you to dry her tears and braid her hair before they chow down.”

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“Why, you insensitive prick.” Roxy took a step forward.

“Whoa, whoa, time out!” Jimbo scrambled between them, thrusting his arms out. “Simmer down, both of you. I get that tensions are high, but this alpha dog crap is so not productive right now.”

Zero rolled his eyes.

Roxy continued to glare at him, her jaw clenched tight.

Tommy moved to Laila’s side, crouching down to lay a hand on her shaking shoulder. “He’s right, Lai. I know you’re scared. We all are. But giving in to despair now won’t help us. We have to keep fighting, keep trying. For Micky’s sake if nothing else.”

Laila met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. After a long moment, she gave a jerky nod, allowing Tommy to help her to her feet.

Zero watched the exchange, something unreadable flickering across his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it, turning away with a shake of his head.

Tommy’s fingers twitched on his bat.

But before he could take another step, cold steel kissed the nape of his neck.

“Drop the weapon, son. Nice and slow.”

The voice was hard and clipped.

The others stared wild-eyed at the loaded muzzles---a shotgun, two pistols, and an AK.

Slowly, he raised his free hand and let his bat clatter to the asphalt. Beside him, the others did the same.

A man stepped forward, his rifle never wavering from Tommy’s forehead. Salt-and-pepper stubble cloaked a hard face. Cold hunter’s eyes raked over them. “Gotta admit, you folks are a sight for sore eyes. Been slim pickings since the refugee trucks dried up.”

Jimbo licked his lips. “Look, dude. We don’t want any trouble. Y’all just ease off the hardware and let us mosey along, yeah?”

“You lot aiming to cross to the other side?”

“That’s the notion,” Zero said.

“It just so happens my associates and I operate a little water taxi service around here. Could punt you over, lickety-split.”

Tommy blinked. “You could take us across?”

“Course, such a service don’t come gratis. Not in times like this. It’ll cost ya.”

Tommy tore his gaze from the leader’s face, and sought out the others. “What do you think?”

Laila shrugged.

Jimbo shook his head. “Dude, we’ve got nothing.”

Zero nodded. “We’re running on fumes.”

Roxy took a single step forward. “The shield. It’s the only bit of kit we can afford to lose.”

Zero grunted and gave a tight nod.

The leader rubbed his beard. “What kinda shield we talking here?”

“Riot shield,” Roxy said. “We’ll even throw in a police baton too if that’ll sweeten the deal.”

Tommy turned back to the leader. “You heard her. The riot gear or nothing. What’s it gonna be?”

The leader stared them down, unblinking. “The shield it is. Pile your asses and your jalopy on the ferry and don’t tarry. But I’m warning you now—try anything squirrely and it’ll be your hides drying in the sun. We clear?”

“As glass.” He picked up his bat and jerked his chin at the others. “Back to the van. Slow and easy.”

They moved as one, never turning their backs on the armed men.

Tommy’s pulse thudded in his ears as the leader’s gaze bored into him.

At the van, he reached for the rear door handle, the screech of metal on metal.

He rummaged through the detritus of their lives. There, wedged into the far corner, was the riot shield. Black and scuffed, the word POLICE emblazoned in chipped white letters.

He hefted it and advanced on the leader, steps measured, eyes trained on the man’s trigger finger. “Here. Take it.”

The leader snatched it, ran an appraising hand over the pitted surface. “Not bad. Could stop a few bullets at least.”

Zero cleared his throat. “I’ll keep hold of the baton. We’ll hand it over once we’re on the other side.”

The leader’s eyes narrowed, lips curling in the ghost of a sneer. But after a moment, he nodded. “Fine. But no more delays.”

Roxy climbed into the driver’s seat, her movements stiff and mechanical. Zero rode shotgun, his hand never straying far from his rifle. Laila, Jimbo, and Tommy clambered into the back.

The leader strode ahead, motioning for them to follow. His men fell in around the van, a loose cordon of guns and hostile stares.

The road sloped down, twisting between gutted buildings and burned-out cars.

Roxy stared straight ahead through the windshield, her jaw clenched tight.

The river stretched out ahead, a vast expanse of grey-brown water, choppy and frothing. And there, moored to a concrete jetty, was the ferry—little more than a rusted barge, a few car-lengths square, its metal siding was pocked with dents and choked with river weed. A single sagging rope served as a safety railing. The engine jutted from the rear, belching clouds of oily smoke.

Jimbo leaned forward. “Damn, you think that thing can hold us?”

Zero shrugged. “It had better.”

“Yeah,” Roxy said. “Not like we’ve got much choice.”

The leader stopped at the ramp, one foot propped on the pitted metal. He turned, gesturing with the riot shield. “All aboard, folks. Next stop, the other side.”

Tommy swallowed down the sudden taste of bile.

He caught Roxy’s eye in the side mirror. Saw his own dread reflected back at him.

Wheels skidded on damp metal grating as the van lurched up the ferry’s ramp. A squeal and clank as the gate crashed down behind them. Trapping them.

Tommy shoved the door open. The others clambered out after him, hands clutching weapons, eyes flickering in every direction. They fanned into a loose half-circle, backs to the van.

“Stay tight,” Zero said, his gaze sweeping the deck.

The ferry chugged out into the seething chop of the river.

Tommy gripped the van’s doorframe, knuckles white, stomach pitching with each wallowing lurch of the deck.

Around him, the others stood in a tight knot, weapons close to hand.

Zero glowered at the leader’s back. Roxy kept Laila tucked under one arm. Jimbo bounced on the balls of his feet.

The leader stood at the prow, riot shield slung over one arm, the other draped over the rudder housing. He looked back at them, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Tommy ground his teeth until his jaw ached. Every instinct screamed at him to make a move, to take the leader down. But he wrestled the impulse into submission.

Minutes crept by. Then the opposite shore drew near.

The ferry nosed up to the jetty with a screech of tortured metal. The leader cranked a lever and the gate clattered down to rest. He turned to face them, making no move to disembark. “End of the line, folks. Time to pay the piper.”

“We gave you the shield,” Zero said. “That was the deal.”

“Ah ah ah.” The leader waggled a finger. “The shield was for passage. The baton’s for safe conduct off my boat. I ain’t one to leave a job half finished.”

Zero reached into the van, withdrew the police baton, and held it out at arm’s length.

The leader took it and hefted it in his hand. “Much obliged.” His tone was pleasant, almost friendly. “So, where you folks headed?”

“East coast.”

The leader gave a low whistle. “Bad idea.”

“Why? What do you know?”

“The big cities…New York, Boston, Newark…word is the dead took over. Those that survived went west.”

“And…and Philly?”

“Can’t say for sure. But if it’s anything like its sisters…best hope your people got out while the getting was good.”

Tommy jerked his head towards the ramp. “Let’s go.”

Jimbo frowned as the others piled into the van and turned to the leader. “Hey, boat dude. Quick question. You ever get dead-heads coming up out the river?”

The leader tapped his chin. “Now you come to mention it, no. Seems they ain’t too keen on the water.”

Jimbo nodded and climbed into the van. “Good to know.”

“Y’all watch your asses out there,” the leader grinned at Tommy. “And hey…thanks for the gear.”

Roxy cranked the engine and the van trundled down the ramp, tyres crunching on weed-choked gravel.

As the rear wheels kissed the shore, Tommy twisted in his seat. “So, what now?”

Zero shrugged. “Now we find somewhere to sleep.”

“We should look for somewhere like in Denver,” Roxy said. “That warehouse was the best place we’ve found yet.”

Zero nodded. “Good thinking. Let’s keep an eye out.”

“We should find a castle,” Jimbo said. “One with a moat. Turns out the dead-heads don’t like water.”

Roxy cocked an eyebrow. “A castle? Here?”

Jimbo shrugged. “We should go to England. They’ve got castles all over the place there.”

Tommy sniffed. “Yeah. One on every street corner.”

“He’s got a point,” Zero said. “If they won’t cross water, we can use that.”

“Doesn’t exactly help us now though, does it?” Roxy said.

Zero nodded. “I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

The road unwound before them, a dusty ribbon of asphalt winding through skeletal trees and fallow fields. They passed abandoned vehicles, their husks long since stripped of anything useful. Rotting corpses, human and animal, littered the verge, buzzing with flies.

An hour ground by, then two. The adrenaline ebbed, exhaustion rushing in to fill the void. Tommy’s eyelids grew heavy, head lolling against the window.

Roxy steered them off the highway, following a rusted sign pointing towards an industrial district. Rows of squat, nondescript buildings hunkered under the leaden sky, their walls streaked with soot and graffiti.

She eased the van to a crawl, leaning forward to peer through the windshield. “There. That one looks promising.”

Tommy followed her gaze to a sprawling warehouse, its corrugated metal walls pockmarked with rust. A faded logo, something with gears and cogs, adorned the facade.

Zero nodded. “Good a place as any. Pull around back, scope out the loading docks. I’ll take point on foot.”

Roxy guided the van into the alley behind the warehouse. She brought the vehicle to a stop beside a bank of loading bays, their roll-up doors daubed with crude gang tags.

Zero slid out, rifle held at the ready. He moved off towards the warehouse, hugging the wall.

Tommy and the others waited.

The seconds ticked by with glacial slowness.

Then Zero was back, his face grim. “We’ve got company. Couple dozen shamblers, at least.”

Tommy sighed. “Can we punch through? Maybe lead some away, thin the herd?”

Zero shook his head. “Too many. Best to keep moving, find someplace else.”

Laila shook her head. “But we’ve been driving for hours. If we don’t stop soon…”

“We stop when it’s safe.”

The groans started.

Jimbo cried out. “They’re pouring out of the alleys!”

Tommy whirled in his seat as a mass of zombies stumbled into view. “Gun it, Rox!”

Roxy floored the gas.

The van leapt forward with a roar, tyres squealing.

More zombies lurched out from the shadows ahead.

“Hold on!” Roxy cranked the wheel hard left, nearly putting the van up on two wheels as they careened down a narrow side street. Trash cans and cardboard boxes exploded in their wake, the impacts jarring bone and rattling teeth.

“There!” Tommy jabbed a finger at the windshield. “That parking garage. Head for the upper levels, buy us some breathing room.”

Roxy glared at him. “After Dee? Are you insane?”

“Roxy’s right,” Zero said. “Head back to the highway.”

Roxy wrenched the steering wheel right. The van fishtailed as they bounced over a kerb and back onto the main road.

In the side mirror, Tommy watched the horde of zombies boil out of the alleyways behind them, a seething mass of rotting flesh and grasping hands.

“They’re closing in on us!” Jimbo’s voice cracked, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests.

“Just a little further.” The van’s engine roared as Roxy coaxed every last bit of speed from the van.

The highway loomed, the on-ramp just ahead.

“Come on, come on,” Tommy muttered, his heart slamming against his ribs.

With a lurch, they were on the ramp.

Roxy didn’t let off the gas, the van rocketing up the incline, the zombies falling away behind them.

They merged into traffic, such as it was, weaving between abandoned cars.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Tommy slumped back in his seat, his muscles unclenching by slow degrees. “Everyone alright? Anyone hurt?”

A chorus of negatives and head shakes.

“Good driving, Rox.” Jimbo wiped a hand over his sweaty face. “Seriously. You just saved our asses back there.”

Roxy huffed a laugh, the sound thin and strained. “Let’s not make a habit of it, yeah? I’m not looking to audition for NASCAR anytime soon.”

“Too bad,” Zero said. “You’ve got the nerves for it. Quick thinking, keeping us on the move like that.”

Roxy shrugged. “Next time, let’s just stick to the highway, yeah?”

Laila shuddered, curling into herself, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees. “I hate this. I hate not being able to stop, to rest. I feel like we’re always running, always looking over our shoulders.”

Tommy reached back to squeeze her ankle, wishing he had something more to offer. “I know, Lai. Believe me, I’m as tired of running as you are. But we’ll find someplace safe. Someplace we can catch our breath.”

“Will we?” Laila raised her head. “Sometimes…sometimes I wonder if there’s anywhere left. If maybe the whole world is like this now. Just…just death and running. Forever.”

“Hey.” Roxy’s voice was sharp, her eyes flashing to Laila. “We didn’t make it this far to just lie down and die now.”

“Roxy’s right,” Zero said. “Can’t think like that. Just got to take it one day at a time. One mile at a time. Speaking of…” He leaned forward, looking at a passing road sign. “Says here Indy’s about a hundred miles off. I say we keep on pushing, try and make the city limits by dark.”

Tommy opened his mouth to argue, to say they should find a place to rest, to regroup. But the words died unspoken. “Indianapolis it is. Wake me when we get there.”

He closed his eyes, trying to will his body to relax, to snatch what rest he could in the scant hours they had before reaching the city. Despite the weariness, sleep was slow to come.

He shifted in his seat, his skin crawling with a restless energy. His fingers tapped a staccato rhythm on his thigh, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he stared out at the passing landscape without really seeing it.

What he wouldn’t give for a drink right now. Something to take the edge off, to quiet the screaming in his head. His eyes flicked to the back of the van, to the jumble of bags and gear piled on the floorboards

He began picking through bags, his hand groping around food cans and dirty clothes.

His fingers closed around the neck of a bottle, the glass warm and slightly tacky against his skin.

He breathed when he dragged out the whiskey bottle.

“Hey, whoa, what do you think you’re doing?” Jimbo’s hand closed around his wrist, his grip firm but gentle.

Tommy blinked, startled out of his reverie. He looked down at the bottle in his hand, then back up at Jimbo’s concerned face. “I just...I need a little something to help me sleep, that’s all.”

Jimbo shook his head. “Nah, dude. You promised.”

Tommy’s fingers tightened on the bottle. “It’s just a sip, Jimbo. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, T. You know it is.” Jimbo’s voice was soft, but there was an undercurrent of steel beneath the words. “We need you clear-headed and sharp.”

Tommy stared at the bottle, at the way the light refracted through the cloudy liquid within. Jimbo was right. He knew he was right. But the thirst was like a physical thing, tearing at his insides.

“I can’t sleep, Jimbo,” he said, hating the whine in his voice. “I just…I need something to quiet my head, you know?”

Jimbo squeezed his wrist, then gently pried the bottle from his fingers. “I know, dude. Believe me, I know. But this ain’t the answer. You’ll sleep. You just need to give yourself a chance to rest, to let go for a little while.”

Tommy watched as Jimbo tucked the bottle back into the depths of the gear, out of sight and out of reach. He felt a pang of loss, of longing. “You win.” He slumped back into his seat. “I’ll try.”

Jimbo clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s all any of us can do. Just keep trying.”

Tommy let his eyes drift shut, the rumble of the road and the purr of the engine a familiar lullaby. He felt the pull of sleep.

And he didn’t fight it.