The van trundled down the muddy track, headlights stabbing through the sheets of rain. Tommy leaned forward, peering out into the storm-lashed night. Dark shapes loomed on either side, trees thrashing in the wind.

A flash of lightning illuminated a weathered sign: “Harris Farm.” The letters were faded, the wood rotting at the edges.

The track opened up into a gravel yard, a farmhouse hunched at its centre. To the left, a large barn sagged beneath the weight of years, its paint peeling in long, curling strips.

Zero brought the van to a halt, the engine idling. He turned to face the others, his expression grim. “This place looks deserted, but we can’t afford to take chances. Tommy and I will do a perimeter check, make sure it’s clear. The rest of you, stay put and keep your eyes peeled.”

Tommy grabbed his bat and slid out into the rain, the water cold against his skin. He hunched his shoulders against the downpour, squinting into the darkness as he fumbled with his flashlight.

Zero appeared at his side, rifle at the ready. He jerked his chin towards the barn. “That’s our best bet for shelter. Sturdy walls, defensible entrance. We should check there first.”

Tommy nodded, his eyes scanning the shadows. Wind howled around them, driving the rain in stinging sheets. Every rustle, every creak set his nerves jangling. It would be all too easy for a shambling figure to slip from the darkness, to catch them unawares.

They approached the barn, Tommy’s bat raised, Zero’s rifle held low and ready. Tommy tried the door, the wood groaning on rusted hinges. It swung open to reveal a cavernous interior, the air thick with the scent of old hay and engine oil.

Zero flicked on his flashlight, the beam cutting through the gloom. Hulking shapes resolved into farm equipment—a tractor, a thresher, coils of chain. The floor was packed dirt, scattered with straw. “Looks clear. Big enough to park the van, too.”

They completed a circuit of the interior, checking the loft and the stalls. No sign of the dead, or anything living.

Satisfied, they returned to the van. Tommy rapped on the passenger window, and Roxy cranked it down a crack. “Barn’s secure. And it’s dry. We can hole up there for the night.”

Roxy nodded. “What about the house? There could be supplies in there, maybe even beds.”

From the back, Jimbo snorted. “Yeah, or a pack of cannibal hicks just waiting to turn us into jerky.”

Roxy shot him a glare. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, Jimbo. Who exactly do you think is out here?”

“I don’t know, Rox. That’s kinda the point. Better safe than turned into people-burgers, is all I’m saying.”

Tommy chewed his lip. His body ached for a real bed, for a chance to be warm and dry. But Jimbo had a point. “I don’t like it. Too many unknowns. We stick to the barn, at least for tonight.”

Zero nodded his agreement. “Tommy’s right. We’re exposed enough as it is. No sense taking extra risks.”

Roxy sighed. “Fine. Let’s just get inside before we all drown.”

Zero hopped back into the driver’s seat and eased the van into the barn.

Tommy and Jimbo wrestled the doors shut behind them, securing the rusty latch with a loop of chain.

The others piled out of the van, grabbing their packs and supplies. Tommy helped Jimbo and Roxy unload the sleeping bags and mats from the back.

“I’ll take some of those up to the loft,” Roxy said, gathering an armful of bedrolls. She headed for the wooden ladder leaning against the loft opening and began climbing up.

Tommy climbed the rickety ladder to the hayloft, his bat slung across his back. The rough wood creaked under his weight. At the top, he paused, breathing in the musty scent of old hay and dust.

The loft was a large, open space, the floor covered in a thick layer of straw. Bales were stacked along the walls, forming makeshift barriers. The roof sloped down on either side, the rafters hung with cobwebs.

Tommy unslung his pack, setting it down in a corner. The others followed suit, arranging their belongings in a rough circle.

Rain hammered on the roof, the barn shuddering under the onslaught.

Tommy moved to one of the windows, peering out into the night. The glass was filthy, streaked with grime, but he could just make out the dark shapes of the trees, thrashing in the gale.

He shuddered, turning away. His skin prickled, every nerve thrumming with tension.

Behind him, the others were busy hanging their wet clothes on a length of chain Zero had strung between two posts. Shirts and jeans dripped, the fabric heavy with rain.

Laila sat apart from the rest, huddled against a bale, her knees drawn up to her chest, her eyes distant, unfocused.

Tommy crossed over to her, crouching down at her side. “Hey. You okay?”

She blinked, seeming to come back to herself. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He reached out, laying a hand on her arm. “Talk to me, Lai. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“We’re all tired. But this is more than that. You’ve been pulling away, isolating yourself. That’s not like you.”

“What’s the point? Of any of this? We’re just delaying the inevitable.”

“Don’t say that. We’re going to make it through this.”

“How? How are we going to make it? Every day is just a fight to stay alive, and for what? So we can do it all again tomorrow?”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I know it seems hopeless. Believe me, I feel it too. But we can’t give up. We have to keep fighting”

She held his gaze, searching his face. At last, she sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I’m trying, Tommy. I really am. But it’s hard. It’s so hard.”

He pulled her into a hug, feeling the way she trembled against him. “I know. But you’re not alone, Lai. Remember that.”

She clung to him, her face pressed into his shoulder as the barn groaned and shuddered.

This place isn’t going to hold forever,” Zero said. “We need to shore it up, make it as secure as we can.”

Tommy pulled back from Laila, meeting Zero’s grim gaze. “What do you suggest?”

Zero jerked his chin towards the stacked bales. “We use those to block the windows, the doors. Create a barrier between us and whatever’s out there.”

Tommy nodded. “The loft, too. We can pull up the ladder, make it a last line of defence.”

Roxy stirred from where she sat, her shoulder pressed against Jimbo’s. “What about escape routes? If they breach the barn, we need a way out.”

Zero considered, his eyes scanning the loft. “There’s a window at the back, leads out onto the roof. We secure a rope, we can use it to rappel down if needed.”

“And then what?” Jimbo asked. “Where do we go? We’re miles from anywhere.”

“We cross that bridge when we come to it, Jimbo,” Roxy said. “Right now, we focus on getting through the night.”

Jimbo sighed. “One night at a time. Guess that’s all we can do, huh?”

Tommy got to his feet, squaring his shoulders. “Alright. Let’s get to work. Zero, you and Jimbo start on the windows. Roxy, you, and Laila see what you can do about that ladder. I’ll take the door.”

They split up, each to their appointed task. Tommy crossed to the loft door, studying the heavy planks, the rusted hinges. It was sturdy enough, but he didn’t like the way it shuddered in the wind, the way the gaps around the edges whistled with each gust.

He set his shoulder to a nearby hay bale, grunting with effort as he shoved it into place. The straw scratched at his skin, the dust tickling his nose, but he ignored it. He worked methodically, building a wall around the door, a barricade against the night.

It might not hold back an attack, but it would buy them some time.

As he worked, his mind wandered, spinning out scenarios, contingencies.

If the dead breached the barn, if they were overwhelmed…what then?

Where would they go?

How would they survive?

There were no easy answers. No safe havens, no refuges from the nightmare that had engulfed the world.

The others worked quickly, piling bales and debris in front of the windows until only narrow slits remained to allow glimpses of the storm raging outside.

As the final barricades went up, a sense of relief washed over the group. For tonight at least, they would have a relatively secure shelter from the elements and any threats.

Zero rummaged through their supplies, producing some cans of beans and a packet of potato chips. “Feast fit for a king.”

They gathered around, opening the cans and passing them around to share the cold contents.

No one complained.

After eating, they sorted out their sleeping arrangements in the loft. The thin bedrolls and musty hay bales didn’t make for the most comfortable beds, but at least it was dry.

“I’ll take first watch,” Tommy said. “I managed to grab a couple hours sleep in the van.”

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

The others nodded, too exhausted to object. One by one they bedded down amid the hay, pulling jackets and blankets up tightly against the drafts.

Tommy settled back against the wall, his bat within easy reach, and prepared to keep vigil.

The sounds of the others’ breathing soon joined the patter of rain as Roxy, Jimbo, Laila and Zero drifted off to sleep.

Tommy sat in the hayloft, his back against a bale. The others slept around him, their breathing slow and even, punctuated by the occasional snore from Jimbo.

His mind raced. And beneath it all, a constant, gnawing craving. An itch beneath his skin, a dryness in his throat.

He needed a drink. Just one to quiet the screaming in his head, the images that flashed through his mind every time he closed his eyes.

He pushed to his feet, pacing the length of the loft. The boards creaked under his weight, the sound loud in the stillness. He froze, glancing at the others, but none of them stirred.

He crept to the ladder, peering down into the darkness below.

The van sat where they’d left it.

He knew what was in there, tucked away in the back. A bottle of whiskey.

Just one sip.

Just enough to keep the shakes at bay, to dull the constant, aching fear.

He climbed down the ladder, his heart pounding.

He reached the van, trying the handle.

Locked.

Of course it was.

Zero was too cautious, too paranoid to leave it unsecured.

Tommy cursed under his breath, his hands shaking as he patted his pockets, searching for the keys.

Nothing.

Zero must have them.

Tommy’s gaze fell on the cracked window, the glass spiderwebbed with fractures.

It would be so easy to break it, to reach inside and grab the bottle.

Just a quick smash, a moment of pain, and then relief.

He raised his fist, his breath coming hard and fast.

“Tommy?”

He spun to find Jimbo at the foot of the ladder, his face shadowed, his expression unreadable.

“What are you doing?”

Tommy swallowed. “I was just…I needed some air.”

Jimbo cocked his head, his eyes flickering to the van, the raised fist. “And that involves breaking into the van because?”

Tommy flushed. “It’s none of your business, Jimbo. Just go back to sleep.”

Jimbo sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. We’ve talked about this, dude. I’m not going to let you do this to yourself.”

“Do what? I’m not doing anything.”

“Then why are you creeping around in the middle of the night, trying to score a drink?”

Tommy’s shoulders slumped. “I need it, man. I can’t…I can’t handle this. The constant fear, the not knowing. It’s eating me alive.”

Jimbo nodded. “I get it. But this?” He gestured to the van, the broken window. “This isn’t the answer. It’s never the answer.”

Tommy laughed. “Then what is? What’s going to make this better? Because from where I’m standing, there’s no end to this. No way out.”

Jimbo stepped towards Tommy, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go back up. We can talk about this.”

Tommy hesitated, the urge still thrumming through his veins. But he nodded, allowing Jimbo to steer him back to the ladder.

They climbed in silence, the only sound the creaking of the rungs, the distant moan of the wind.

At the top, Jimbo settled against a bale, patting the straw beside him. “Take a seat, dude.”

Tommy sank down, his legs folding underneath him. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans, not meeting Jimbo’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, T. You’re hurting. We all are. This thing, this…apocalypse…it’s messing with everyone’s head. I’d be more worried if it didn’t bother you.”

Tommy shook his head. “It’s more than that. I can’t stop thinking about Micky. About the others. Dee, Spike, Nix, Kim…they’re all gone, Jimbo. And for what? What was the point of it all?”

Jimbo sighed, leaning back against the bale. “I don’t know, dude. I wish I did. I wish I had some grand answer, some profound truth to lay on you. But the fact is, there is no point. No reason. It’s just chaos. Random, meaningless chaos.”

“That’s…bleak, man. Talk about taking the black pill.”

Jimbo chuckled. “Yeah, well. Welcome to the apocalypse, my friend. Bleak is the new normal.”

“I miss them. Micky, especially. We went through so much together. Learned to play, learned what punk was all about. He was my best friend, Jimbo. My brother.” He looked down at his hands. “I can’t help blaming myself. I keep going over it. I should have been there. I should have kept an eye on him. But instead…”

Jimbo nodded, his eyes distant. “I know. And I know it hurts like hell. But Micky’s demons, his addiction…that wasn’t on you. You tried, man. You tried so hard to help him. But in the end, it was his choice. His battle to fight.”

Tommy’s throat tightened, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I should have done more.”

“You were there. You were always there. But you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. Believe me, I know.”

Tommy looked at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Jimbo sighed. “I had my own issues, back in the day. Speed, mostly. It got bad for a while. Real bad.”

“I never knew that.”

Jimbo shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Not exactly something I advertise, you know? But yeah. I was a mess. Thought I had it under control, thought I could handle it. But it was handling me.”

“What changed?”

“Zero, believe it or not. He was there for me, in his own Zero way. Never judged, never preached. Just made sure I didn’t fall too far down the rabbit hole.”

Tommy nodded. “That’s why he was so hard on Micky. Why he’s always on my case about the drinking.”

“He sees himself in you, T. Or at least, who he used to be. He doesn’t want you to make the same mistakes he did.”

Tommy was silent for a long moment, digesting that. Then he laughed. “I used to think I had it all figured out, you know? Thought I knew what punk was, what it meant. Raging against the machine, sticking it to the man. All that cliched crap.”

Jimbo grinned. “Hey, we were all young and stupid once.”

“But now? With all this?” Tommy gestured around them. “None of that matters anymore. It all seems so petty. So meaningless.”

Jimbo nodded. “That’s because it is, dude. All that stuff, the politics, the posturing…it was always just noise. Just a distraction from what really matters.”

“And what’s that?”

“This. Us. The people we love, the bonds we forge. That’s what punk is, dude. Not the clothes, or the music, or the attitude. It’s the spirit. The fire inside. The thing that keeps us going, even when the world’s gone to hell.”

Tommy felt something loosen in his chest, a knot of tension unravelling. Jimbo was right.

He’d been so focused on the trappings, on the surface level crap, that he’d lost sight of what truly mattered.

His friends. His family. The people who stood by him, no matter what. That was what he was fighting for. What he’d always been fighting for.

He leaned back against the bale, his eyes growing heavy.

The craving was still there, a dull ache in the back of his mind. But it seemed more distant now, less urgent.

He glanced at Jimbo, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks, man. For…for everything. For being here.”

“Anytime, dude. That’s what family’s for.”

Tommy hesitated, a question forming on his lips. He wanted to ask about Roxy, about the new closeness between her and Jimbo. But something held him back. It wasn’t his business, wasn’t his place to pry.

And besides, he was tired. So damn tired. The events of the day were catching up to him, leaving only the heavy drag of exhaustion.

He yawned. “Think I’m going to hit the hay. You good to keep watch?”

“I got this, dude. You get some shut-eye. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

Tommy nodded, his eyes already slipping closed.

Tommy stood at the window of the hayloft, watching as the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon. The air was still, almost serene.

For a brief moment, he could almost forget the reality of their situation and lose himself in the gentle play of light and shadow across the fields stretching out before him.

A rustle of movement behind him broke the spell. Tommy turned to see the others starting to stir, emerging from their sleeping bags and blankets.

Roxy sat up, running a hand through her tangled hair, and wincing as her fingers caught on knots.

Jimbo stretched with a series of pops from his joints.

Zero was already on his feet, rifle slung over his shoulder as he surveyed the barn.

Laila remained seated on her bedroll, her eyes fixed on some unseen point in the middle distance.

Tommy cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “So, what’s our play?”

Zero shifted, his hand falling to the stock of his rifle. “Indianapolis. We need supplies.”

Tommy frowned. “I don’t know, man. We’ve seen what happens when we go into the big metros. Too many variables, too many ways for things to go sideways.”

Roxy pushed herself to her feet. “We can’t keep running on beans, Tommy. Sooner or later, we’re going to have to take a risk.”

“A calculated risk.” Tommy shook his head. “Not a suicide mission.”

She crossed her arms. “So what do you suggest? We just keep wandering, hoping we stumble across a fully stocked Wal-Mart in the middle of nowhere?”

“No. But I think we need to be smart. Scout the outskirts first, get a feel for what we’re walking into. If it looks bad, we keep moving.”

Jimbo nodded. “Dude’s got a point, Rox. We go in guns blazing, we’re liable to bring every zombie and creep in the city down on our heads.”

Zero grunted, his fingers tapping against his thigh. “Fine. We do it your way. But we need to move fast. I’m out of ammo, and I don’t fancy taking on a herd with just my winning personality.”

“What about a melee weapon? Something that won’t run out of ammo.”

Zero shot him a look, eyebrow arched. “You might be happy wading into the thick of it with just a baseball bat, but I’m not.”

Tommy shrugged. “Better than ending up zombie chow because you ran out of bullets.”

Roxy stepped forward. “Nobody’s ending up as zombie chow. We stick to the plan, play it smart, and we’ll be fine.” She turned to the others, her expression softening. “But first, we need to eat. Can’t save the world on an empty stomach, right?”

Jimbo grinned. “Now you’re talking, Rox. But no more beans.”

Zero shook his head. “Alright, alright. We break out the gourmet rations, then we head out. But let’s make it quick.”

As the others began to rummage through their packs, pulling out cans and packets of food, Zero turned to Tommy “Before we go, we should check the farmhouse. See if there’s anything we can use.”

Tommy hesitated, glancing out the window “I don’t know, man. It looked pretty abandoned last night.”

Zero snorted. “In that storm, a pack of cannibals could have been having a barbecue on the front porch and we wouldn’t have seen them. Better safe than sorry.”

Tommy sighed. “Alright. But we’re careful. No unnecessary risks.”

“Careful’s my middle name, Tommy boy.”

Tommy turned to the others. “Anyone else coming to check out that farmhouse?”

Jimbo and Roxy exchanged a look.

Laila shrugged.

“We’ll get the van ready to go,” Jimbo said. “In case we need to make a quick exit.”

Tommy nodded. “Sounds good, man.” He hefted his bat and nodded at Zero. “You ready?”

“Always.”

Tommy stepped out into the morning light, the air fresh and crisp after the storm.

Zero took a deep breath. “Glad that rain’s stopped. Nothing worse than wet socks.”

“I hear that.”

They approached the farmhouse, taking care to stay quiet.

The structure loomed before them, its paint peeling, its windows dark.

They circled the perimeter, checking for any signs of danger—zombies, people, traps. But the place seemed deserted, still, and silent in the early morning light.

Tommy peered through the windows, trying to get a sense of what lay inside. But the rooms were shadowed. No signs of movement, no hint of life.

Zero found the back door unlocked and eased it open, wincing as the hinges creaked.

They stepped into a kitchen, the floor littered with pots and pans, the counters strewn with shattered plates.

Zero held up a hand, his head cocked.

Tommy froze, straining his ears.

Had he heard something?

A footstep, a breath?

But there was only silence.

They moved further into the kitchen, checking the cupboards as they went. They found a few things they could use—tins of soup, crackers, even a box of pop tarts.

Zero grinned as he stuffed a package of Twinkies into his pack. “Woody Harrelson would be proud.”

Tommy frowned. “What?”

“Zombieland.”

Tommy nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

A strange buzz filled the air, low and insistent. Tommy looked around, trying to pinpoint the source. “You hear that?”

Zero nodded, his brow furrowed. “Probably the electricity acting up. Best not to touch any outlets.”

Tommy moved into the living room and froze.

Three bodies lay on the floor, their flesh torn, their bones showing through the ragged wounds.

A man, a woman, a child.

A family, no doubt, left to the mercies of the undead.

Flies buzzed around the corpses, their wings glinting in the half-light. Tommy retched, his stomach heaving.

Zero stepped over the bodies, his face set in a grim mask. He picked up a shotgun that lay near the man’s outstretched hand, checking the chamber. “Empty.”

He looked around, his eyes scanning the room. “No ammo. But we should take it anyway. Never know when it might come in handy.”

Tommy nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

The sight of the child, its tiny body broken and torn, shook him to his core. He tried not to think about Sean.

Zero moved towards the stairs, his rifle at the ready.

Tommy hesitated, his skin crawling. “I don’t know, man. Maybe we should just go.”

Zero shook his head. “We need to be thorough. There could be more supplies upstairs.”

Tommy sighed, but followed, his bat clenched tight in his fist.

They checked the bedrooms, the bathroom, even the attic. They found a few more useful items—shampoo, soap, a bottle of bleach. Zero grabbed a couple of pillows, stuffing them into his pack.

As they made their way back downstairs, Tommy paused, looking back at the bodies on the living room floor. “What should we do about them?”

Zero shrugged. “Nothing we can do. We don’t have time for a proper burial, and a fire would just attract attention.”

Tommy nodded, his throat tight. It felt wrong to just leave them there. But Zero was right. They had to think of the living, not the dead.

He stepped out into the sunlight, blinking in the sudden brightness.

The others were waiting by the van, their faces tense.

“Any luck?” Roxy asked.

“We found some supplies, but no trouble.”

Good. Let’s load up and get out of here.”

They piled into the van, Roxy taking the wheel.

As the engine rumbled to life, Tommy looked back at the farmhouse, silent against the brightening sky. He thought of the family inside, their lives cut short, their bodies left to rot.

It was a harsh reminder of the world they lived in now. A world where the dead walked, and the living fought for survival.