The fog hung low over the outskirts of Pittsburgh, a thick, cloying mist that seemed to swallow sound and light.

Tommy sat in the back of the van, his bat gripped tight in his hands. He stared out the blood-splattered window, his eyes scanning the ruined landscape, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of danger.

Beside him, Laila huddled in on herself. She hadn’t spoken in hours, not since the attack at the campsite. Tommy’s gut twisted with worry for her, for all of them.

They’d fought so hard to make it this far. Pittsburgh was the last big hurdle, the final stretch of highway between them and Philly. Between them and home.

But looking out at the desolate streets, the abandoned cars and debris-strewn sidewalks, Tommy couldn’t shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.

Roxy guided the van down a narrow side street, the buildings pressing in close on either side.

“Take a left up here,” Zero said. “There’s an old service road that should get us around the worst of the congestion.”

Roxy nodded, spinning the wheel. The van lurched and bounced over the uneven pavement, jostling them in their seats.

“We’ve got dead-heads!” Zero said.

Tommy turned to the windshield. Zombies, dozens of them, maybe hundreds, shambled out from between the cars, crawling over hoods and roofs, their faces slack and hungry, their eyes milky white.

Roxy slammed on the brakes, the van skidding to a halt mere inches from the horde. “Where the hell did they come from?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Zero said. “We have to go through them.”

Tommy nodded, adrenaline surging through his veins. He knew this drill. But it never got any easier, never got any less terrifying.

Roxy hit the gas, the van surging forward. They ploughed into the horde, bodies crunching beneath the wheels, gore splattering the windshield.

Tommy and Laila leaned out the windows, their weapons swinging, smashing through skulls and limbs.

But there were too many of them, an endless sea of grasping hands and snapping teeth. They pressed in from all sides, their fingers scrabbling at the doors, at the windows.

“We’re going to get stuck!” Roxy said, her knuckles white on the wheel. “I can’t push through!”

“There!” Zero pointed to a narrow alley, barely wide enough for the van. “Take it, now!”

Roxy wrenched the wheel, the van careening into the alley. They scraped past dumpsters and fire escapes, sparks flying, metal screeching.

Zombies stumbled after them, but the tight confines slowed them down, bought them a few precious seconds.

They burst out onto another street, this one clearer.

Roxy floored it, the engine roaring as they sped away from the horde.

Tommy slumped back in his seat, his heart slamming against his ribs.

He glanced over at Laila, saw the way her hands shook, the way she stared straight ahead, her eyes unseeing. He reached out, laid a hand on her arm. “You okay?”

She flinched at his touch, pulling away. “I’m fine.”

Tommy swallowed, a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted to push, to make her talk to him, to break through the walls she’d thrown up. But he knew it would only make things worse, only drive her further away.

So he let it go, turning his attention back to the road, back to the city unfolding around them.

They drove in silence, the only sound the hum of the engine, the crunch of debris beneath the tyres.

The streets grew narrower, the buildings taller.

Tommy had been to Pittsburgh before, back when the band first started touring. He remembered the bustling sidewalks, the gleaming storefronts, the noise and the energy and the life.

Now, it was a hollow shell of its former self. The windows were dark and empty. Cars sat abandoned in the middle of the road.

And everywhere, the dead. They wandered the streets in packs, their clothes hanging in tatters, their flesh grey and rotten. They stumbled and lurched, their movements jerky and uncoordinated.

Zero barked out directions to Roxy, guiding her down side streets and back alleys, always staying one step ahead of the hordes.

They took a hard right, the van skidding on the slick pavement.

They approached an old arcade, its neon sign dark and lifeless, its windows boarded over.

Zero made a half-smile. “I used to practically live in this place.”

Roxy slowed the van, glancing over at him. “Yeah?”

Zero nodded. “Every weekend. Before I discovered punk. I’d be in there from open to close, blowing my allowance on tokens.”

Tommy leaned forward. “What games did you play?”

“Everything. But Street Fighter IV was my jam. I got so good with Blanka, nobody could touch me.”

Jimbo chuckled from the back. “Street Fighter was cool, but Dance Dance Revolution was where it was at. I was a beast on those pads.”

“I was more into the classic stuff,” Roxy said. “Pac-Man, Galaga. But I did love me some Time Crisis. Something satisfying about that light gun.”

Tommy nodded. “Guitar Hero for me. Guess that’s not surprising, huh?”

A zombie lurched out from behind a parked car, its arms outstretched, its jaw hanging slack.

Roxy jerked the wheel hard to the left.

The van clipped the zombie, sending it spinning. It hit the ground hard, its skull shattering on the pavement. Black blood sprayed across the asphalt.

Roxy fought for control. She stomped on the brakes, the tyres screaming as they skidded to a stop.

For a moment, no one moved, no one breathed.

Zero shook his head, his eyes hard. “We can’t afford any more distractions. We need to stay focused, stay sharp. One mistake out here, and we’re all dead.”

Roxy eased the van back into gear, steering them down another narrow street, the city stretching on and on.

She guided the van into an underpass, the concrete walls closing in around them. The headlights cut through the gloom, illuminating the road ahead.

As they neared the far end of the tunnel, a mass of zombies blocked the exit.

"Turn us around,” Zero said. “Quick!"

Roxy threw the van into reverse, but as she spun the wheel, Tommy's stomach dropped. More zombies were flooding in from the entrance they'd just passed through.

"We're trapped.” Roxy killed the engine, plunging them into silence.

The group exchanged worried glances in the dim light.

"What now?" Jimbo asked.

Zero ran a hand through his hair. "We could try to ram our way through. The van's tough, it might make it."

"And if it doesn't?" Tommy said. "We'd be stranded in the middle of that horde with no escape."

Roxy shook her head. "We can't risk damaging the van. It's our only reliable transportation."

They all fell silent for a moment.

"We have to clear a path," Tommy said, his grip tightening on his bat. "It's the only way forward."

"There are so many of them…" Roxy said.

"We don't have a choice," Zero said. "We fight our way out or we die in here."

Roxy nodded. "Alright, let's do this. We'll take the exit ahead—it's a shorter distance to cover."

Tommy burst from the van, falling into a fighting stance.

Roxy raised her machete, her teeth bared in a feral snarl.

Laila remained frozen, her tyre iron at her side.

“Laila!” Tommy shouted. “Laila, stay with me!”

But she remained rooted, her stare blank.

The zombies closed the gap, all grasping hands, and gnashing teeth.

Tommy’s bat collided with rotting flesh, bone splintering beneath the impact. He kicked another aside, pivoted, smashed the skull of a third.

A hand seized Tommy’s shoulder, dragging him backwards. He buckled, twisting to ram his elbow into the zombie’s chest. The grip slackened and he caved in the creature’s head.

He turned just in time to see a zombie lunge for Laila. She stood immobile, paralysed.

“No!” Tommy threw himself forward, his bat whooshing through the air. It struck the zombie’s temple. Blood splattered across Tommy’s face, hot and sticky.

Laila stared up at him, her eyes wide, brimming with tears.

Behind them, Jimbo cried out. Tommy spun to see him grappling with a zombie, its teeth snapping inches from his throat.

Roxy was there, her machete severing the creature’s spine. It flopped to the ground, twitching.

And then, silence.

The fight was over as abruptly as it had begun.

Tommy stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his skin crawling.

He turned to Laila, crouching down beside her. “Hey, you alright?”

She looked up at him, blinking slowly.

She opened her mouth, closed it again.

Finally, she gave a small, jerky nod.

Zero stalked the perimeter, his rifle up, his eyes scanning the shadows.

Jimbo approached, laying a hand on his shoulder. “We should get moving, dude. We don’t want to get trapped down here.”

Zero whirled on him, his face contorted. “You think I don’t know that? I know this city better than anyone. I’ll decide when it’s time to move.”

Jimbo held up his hands, taking a step back. “Whoa, easy. I was just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Tommy stepped between them, his hands up. “Alright, let’s all just take a breath. We’re all on edge, all running on fumes. But we can’t turn on each other, not now.”

Zero glared at him for a long moment, then looked away. His hands were trembling, his knuckles white around the grip of his rifle. “Whatever, Tommy boy.”

Roxy climbed back in the van. “Come on. We don’t have time for macho posturing. Let’s get moving.”

The van rolled to a stop. Tommy leaned forward, peering out the windshield.

Overturned trash cans and abandoned cars littered the street, the houses in various states of disrepair. Some had broken windows, their curtains fluttering in the breeze. Others had doors hanging off their hinges, or holes punched through their walls.

Zero stared at a burned down house. The roof had collapsed inward, the walls stained with smoke.

The engine ticked as it cooled.

No one moved, no one spoke.

They just sat there, staring at the burnt-out husk of Zero’s home.

Zero opened the passenger door, his movements slow, almost reluctant. “Let’s take a look.”

Stolen novel; please report.

Tommy exchanged a glance with Jimbo, but followed suit, stepping out of the van.

They stood in a loose semicircle, their weapons held at the ready, their eyes scanning the surrounding houses for any signs of movement.

But the street was deserted, the only sound the whisper of the wind through the trees.

Tommy watched as Zero walked forward, his boots crunching on gravel. The grass was overgrown, the flowerbeds choked with weeds.

Zero paused at the edge of the yard, his gaze distant.

Tommy wondered what he was seeing, what memories were playing out behind his eyes.

He couldn’t imagine what it must be like, to come back home and find it like this.

Zero strode forward, approaching the ruined shell of the house. The others followed, picking their way through the debris.

Inside, the floorboards had been reduced to charcoal, the walls blackened and crumbling. Ash swirled in the air, catching in Tommy’s throat, and stinging his eyes.

In the corner of what had once been the living room, Tommy spotted a charred lump that might have been a couch, or an armchair. A few twisted pieces of metal poked up from the rubble, the remains of a lamp or an end table.

But there was no sign of any bodies, no indication of what had happened to Zero’s mother. Tommy didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Zero stood in the middle of the room, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped.

Tommy exchanged a glance with Roxy. What could they say? What words of comfort could they offer that wouldn’t sound hollow?

Jimbo stepped forward, placing a hand on Zero’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, dude. I can’t imagine how hard this must be.”

Zero shook his head. “It’s just a house…” His voice cracked. “It doesn’t matter.”

Laila reached out, her fingers brushing against a half-melted trophy. “Is this yours?”

Zero glanced over, his brow furrowing. For a moment, Tommy thought he might snap at her, might lash out.

“Yeah. My mom was so proud. She kept that damn thing on the mantel, polished it every week.”

Laila picked up the trophy, turning it over in her hands. “First Place, Pittsburgh Junior Marksman Competition.” She handed it to Zero, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Zero took the trophy, his fingers tracing over the words. For a moment, his face crumpled.

Then he shook his head, setting the trophy back down on the shelf.

Roxy cleared her throat, looking around at the ruined room. “We should keep moving. Get anything you need and we’ll head to Jimbo’s.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Zero turned and strode towards a door under the stairs. A sign hung on it, the words ‘Ezra’s Room’ printed on white paper, with a ‘No Entry’ sign underneath.

Tommy nudged Laila, pointing to the sign. “Ezra? You think that’s Zero’s real name?”

Laila shrugged, her eyes fixed on Zero as he fiddled with the lock.

After a moment, the door swung open, revealing a set of stairs leading down into darkness.

Zero clicked on his flashlight, the beam cutting through the gloom. “My room’s down here. Come on.”

Tommy followed him down the stairs, his own flashlight bobbing in the shadows. The air grew cooler as they descended, the smell of burnt wood making way for damp earth and mildew.

At the bottom, Zero’s flashlight swept across the room, illuminating a cluttered space. A bed sat in one corner. A desk stood against the opposite wall, a computer monitor perched on top, surrounded by a tangle of wires, and recording equipment. Tommy spotted a microphone, a guitar leaning against an amp.

Posters plastered the walls—punk bands, cult movies, WWE wrestlers. Tommy recognised a few of the names—C. M. Punk, The Undertaker—but most were unfamiliar.

Zero crossed to the bed and knelt down, reaching underneath. He dragged out a large duffel bag and hefted it onto the bed.

Tommy caught a glimpse of the contents as Zero unzipped it—the glint of a rifle barrel, the dull gleam of bullets, the neatly packed coils of rope and other survival gear.

He leaned over to Laila, lowering his voice. “Damn. All he’s missing is the tinfoil hat.”

Laila snorted, a smile tugging at her lips.

Their laughter died as Zero straightened up, his face cast in sharp angles by the flashlight’s glare. He glowered at them, his eyes hard. “You got something to say, Tommy boy?”

Tommy held up his hands, the grin fading from his face. “No, man. Just…admiring your setup here. That’s quite the collection.”

“No. That’s just my bug-out bag.” He crossed to a metal locker in the corner and turned a combination lock. He opened the door, revealing a rack of firearms.

Roxy let out a low whistle. “What the hell, Zero? You planning on starting your own militia or something?”

Zero didn’t answer. He reached inside and pulled out a shotgun, tossing it to Tommy.

Tommy caught it, the weight of it heavy and solid in his hands.

Next came a pair of hunting rifles, which Zero handed to Jimbo and Roxy. Finally, he pulled out a handgun and offered it to Laila.

“Why so many guns?” Roxy asked.

Zero met her gaze. “For this exact scenario.”

“You were preparing for the zombie apocalypse?”

“Zombies, no. Apocalypse, yes.” He reached back into the locker and pulled out several boxes of ammunition, tossing them to the others.

Tommy caught one, the cardboard rough against his palms.

“Take as much as you can carry. We don’t know when we’ll be able to resupply.”

Tommy nodded, stuffing the box into his backpack. He grabbed a handful of loose shotgun shells, shoving them into his pockets.

Zero finished packing and zipped up the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Alright, let’s move. I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to.”

They filed back up the stairs, Tommy bringing up the rear, his arms laden with weapons and ammunition.

As they emerged back into the living room, Tommy couldn’t help but take one last look around. The burned-out shell of a family home, the charred remains of a life that no longer existed.

Tommy adjusted his grip on the shotgun and followed the others out into the waiting sunlight.

Outside, the group began loading up the van with their newly acquired weapons and supplies.

Roxy and Laila organised the gear in the back.

Jimbo approached the driver’s side door. “I’ll take the wheel from here. I know the best route to my place from here.”

Roxy nodded, tossing him the keys. “All yours, big guy.”

While the others busied themselves with preparations, Zero remained on the kerb, his gaze fixed on the burnt-out shell of his home.

Tommy walked over to join him. “Hey, man. You alright?”

Zero remained silent for several seconds before nodding. “I will be. I just need to come to terms with the fact that my mom’s probably dead.”

Tommy placed a hand on Zero’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. Really.”

“Part of me hopes she got out somehow. But I doubt it. And worse, she could be in one of those FEMA camps.”

Tommy shook his head. “If she’s alive, isn’t that enough?”

Zero’s face hardened. “I’d rather be dead than in one of those places. At least that way, I die on my own terms.”

Before Tommy could respond, Zero turned abruptly and strode back to the van.

As Zero climbed into the passenger seat, Tommy took one last look at the ruined house.

The weight of all they’d lost, all they continued to lose, settled heavy on his shoulders.

With a deep breath, he pushed the feeling aside and joined the others in the van.

Jimbo started the engine and pulled away.

Tommy caught Zero staring out the window, watching his old life fade into the distance.

Tommy let his eyes drift shut. He pictured Niamh’s face, Sean’s smile. He imagined the way their arms would feel around him, the way their laughter would sound in his ears.

It was a fantasy. A dream of a future that might never come to pass. But it was all he had to keep him from giving up.

Jimbo sat behind the wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead as he maneuvered around the streets of Pittsburgh.

As they drove on, Jimbo started pointing out landmarks. “See that building over there?” He nodded towards a dilapidated structure on the corner. “That’s where Anarchy’s Child played our first gig. Man, we were so nervous. No one knew what to make of a punk band with the drummer doing lead vocals.”

“We sucked so hard back then,” Zero said.

“I remember this one show,” Jimbo said. “We were opening for this big-name band, and the crowd was just not feeling us. I mean, they were straight-up booing. But Zero, he just stepped up to the mic and started ripping into them, telling them they were a bunch of posers who wouldn’t know real punk if it bit them on the ass. And somehow, it worked. By the end of our set, they were cheering for us.”

Jimbo brought the van to a stop outside an apartment building, the engine’s rumble fading to silence. The group sat for a moment, scanning the area for any signs of immediate danger.

“Alright,” Jimbo said. “This is it. My place is on the third floor.”

Zero nodded. “Let’s do a quick perimeter check before we head in.”

Tommy exited the van. He gripped his newly acquired shotgun, his eyes darting between shadows and potential hiding spots.

“Roxy, you and Laila take the left side,” Zero said. “Tommy and I will go right. Jimbo, keep watch on the van. Any sign of trouble, give the signal.”

As Tommy and Zero rounded the corner of the building, Zero held up a hand, stopping them in their tracks.

He pointed to a partially open door at the back of the building.

They approached, Zero taking point with his rifle raised.

Tommy covered him, shotgun at the ready.

Zero nudged the door with his foot, revealing an empty hallway beyond. He lowered his weapon. “Looks clear, but stay alert.”

They rejoined the others at the van, each reporting no immediate threats.

“Alright, dudes,” Jimbo said. “Let’s grab what we need and head up. I don’t want to be out in the open any longer than necessary.”

Tommy and the others unloaded essential supplies and weapons from the van, distributing the weight among them.

Loaded down with gear, Tommy moved towards the apartment block.

Jimbo paused at the entrance, his hand on the door handle. He took a deep breath. “Ready?”

Tommy nodded.

Jimbo pushed open the door, and entered.

Inside, the building stood quiet, the only sound the echo of their footsteps on the concrete floor.

Jimbo led them up the stairs to his apartment.

“Home sweet home,” he said, ushering them inside.

The apartment was dusty but untouched. Posters of punk bands covered the walls, interspersed with shelves of CDs and vinyl records.

Jimbo made a beeline for the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets. “I knew I had some good stuff stashed away.” He emerged with an armful of canned goods and boxed meals. “Feast your eyes on this, my friends. We’re eating like kings tonight!”

The group gathered around the small dining table. As Jimbo heated up a can of soup on his gas stove, he turned to Zero with a grin. “Hey man, I know you’re probably itching to hop on the internet and do some research, but I’m afraid the Wi-Fi’s been out for a while.”

Zero folded his arms. “Hilarious.”

As they ate, the mood in the room lightened, laughter and conversation filling the space.

“Listen,” Tommy said. “I know we’re all exhausted, and this place feels like a godsend after everything we’ve been through. But we can’t stay here long. We need to keep moving, need to get to Philadelphia.”

Roxy frowned, leaning forward. “We’re safe, we have food and shelter. Why can’t you take a day or two to rest, to regroup?”

Jimbo nodded. “We’ve been running non-stop since Berkley.”

Tommy shook his head. “Every day I waste here is another day Niamh and Sean are out there. I can’t…I won’t let them down.”

Zero met his gaze. “Don’t be a fool, Tommy boy. At least rest tonight.”

Laila pursed her lips. “He’s right.”

“Fine. One night.”

The living room of Jimbo’s apartment glowed with the warm light of a dozen candles.

Tommy and the others had gathered there, settling in with an assortment of blankets and pillows scavenged from around the apartment.

Roxy jumped to her feet. “I have an idea.” She raced for the door. “Be right back!”

The others exchanged curious glances, but before anyone could ask what she was up to, Roxy had disappeared into the hallway.

Zero raced after her, his rifle in hand.

A few minutes later, they returned, Roxy’s battered guitar case slung over her shoulder.

Jimbo’s face lit up. “Dude!”

Roxy grinned, setting the case down and flipping it open. “Thought we could use a little music.”

Jimbo leapt to his feet, disappearing into his bedroom. He emerged a moment later, a set of bongos tucked under his arm. “I’m so in.” He sat down cross-legged on the floor.

The others arranged themselves around the room, Roxy setting up on the worn couch, Zero sprawling on the carpet. Tommy found himself sandwiched between Zero and Laila, a pillow propped behind his back.

Roxy strummed a few chords, tuning the strings until they rang true. Then, with a grin, she began to strum the chords of ‘New Rose’ by The Damned.

Jimbo joined in on the bongos, his hands flying over the drumheads in a complex rhythm. The others began to clap along, grins spreading across their faces.

Jimbo and Roxy began to sing, belting out the lyrics.

Tommy found himself singing along, the words coming back to him like a long-lost friend.

For a moment, the world outside fell away, the horrors and the heartache forgotten in the sheer joy of the music.

As the song ended, Roxy segued into a slowed-down version of ‘Prayer of the Refugee’ by Rise Against.

Jimbo switched to a softer beat, his fingers caressing the drumheads.

Tommy closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. In his mind’s eye, he saw a different living room, a different group of friends. Niamh, her feet propped up on the coffee table, her head bobbing along to the beat. Sean, his face split in a wide grin, air-guitaring with wild abandon.

A lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard, forcing the memories back. He couldn’t afford to get lost in them, not now. Not when there was still so much to do, so far to go.

As if sensing his thoughts, Roxy’s voice softened, the lyrics taking on a wistful tone.

Beside him, Laila let out a shuddering breath, her hand finding his in the darkness. He squeezed it gently, offering what comfort he could.

The song ended. And, then, the room was silent.

“You know, when all this started,” Jimbo said. “I thought it was the end of the world. I mean, it kinda was, I guess. But I never thought I’d find something like this, you know? Something like…family.”

Roxy nodded, her fingers still resting on the fretboard. “I know what you mean. Before, it was just about surviving, about getting through each day. But now it feels like we’re actually fighting for something.”

They traded stories back and forth, remembering the highs and lows of their journey.

As the laughter and reminiscing wound down, Tommy found himself thinking about the future. “What do you think it’ll be like, when this is all over? I mean, assuming we make it through.”

Roxy shrugged, her fingers plucking idle notes on the guitar. “I don’t know. I try not to think about it too much. It’s hard to imagine anything beyond just surviving.”

Jimbo leaned back on his hands. “I’d like to think we could rebuild, you know? Start over, make something better than what we had before. A world where people look out for each other, where we don’t take things for granted.”

“A world without zombies would be a good start,” Zero said.

Laila shifted, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I just want to feel safe again. To not be afraid all the time, to not worry that every noise, every shadow is something trying to kill us.”

Tommy nodded. “We’ll get there. We’ve made it this far. We just have to keep going, keep fighting.”

“What about you guys?” Laila said. “What’s next?”

Jimbo shrugged. “I’m staying here. The rest of you are welcome to crash for as long as you want. And I mean that.”

Tommy nodded. “I appreciate that, man. But I’m itching to get home.”

“I get it, dude.”

“I’m staying,” Zero said. “But you two can keep the weapons. Just promise me you’ll keep them clean like I showed you.”

“Thanks, Ezra. Bit of a step up from living in your mom’s basement, huh?”

Zero smirked. “Watch it, Tommy boy.”

Roxy sighed. “I’m done with running.”

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Laila said

“You and me.” He gave a slow nod. “We’ll head out at first light then. If we’re lucky, we can make it to Philly by nightfall.”

Jimbo reached out, clasping Tommy’s shoulder. “I just wanted to say thanks. For everything. I know it hasn’t been easy, leading us through all this. But we couldn’t have made it this far without you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without all of you. We’re family now. And I promise, I’ll do everything I can to get us back together when this thing’s over.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, dude.”

The morning sun cast long shadows across the street as Tommy and Laila loaded the last of their supplies into the van.

Tommy hauled a backpack filled with canned goods, his muscles straining with the effort. Beside him, Laila sorted through a box of medical supplies.

“Do you think we have enough gas? I don’t want to run out halfway to Philly.”

Tommy nodded, his gaze sweeping over the piles of gear. “We’ve got plenty. And if we need more, we can always find some along the way.”

Zero emerged from the back of the van, wiping his hands on a rag. “Tyres are good. Engine’s running smooth. You should be good to go.”

“Thanks, man.” Tommy clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t know how we’d have got through this without you.”

Zero grinned. “You wouldn’t, Tommy boy.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” He turned to face the others, gathered on the sidewalk to see them off. Jimbo stood with his arms crossed, his expression sombre. Roxy leaned against the building, her eyes shadowed and distant.

“Well,” Tommy said. “I guess this is it.”

Jimbo stepped forward, pulling him into a tight hug. “You take care of yourself out there, you hear me? Don’t go doing anything stupid.”

Tommy chuckled, returning the embrace. “I’ll do my best.”

Roxy pushed off the wall, her gaze meeting Tommy’s. “You sure about this? Leaving, I mean. We could all stay here. Make a go of it.”

“I can’t, Rox. I have to find them.”

She nodded. “I get it. Just be careful, okay?”

“I will. I promise.”

They said their final goodbyes, exchanging hugs and handshakes. Tommy tried to memorise their faces, the sound of their voices. He didn’t know when, or if, he would see them again.

As they climbed into the van, Tommy paused, his hand on the door. “You know, you could come with us. There’s room.”

Jimbo shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “Nah, dude. This is your journey. Your fight. We’ve got our own battles to face here.”

Zero nodded, his jaw tight. “Stay safe, both of you. If you ever need anything, you know where to find us.”

With that, Tommy swung into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind him. Laila slid into the passenger side.

As the engine roared to life, Tommy felt a pang of guilt, of regret. He was leaving his friends behind, abandoning them to an uncertain fate. But he knew he had no choice. He had to keep going, had to find his family.

Beside him, Laila sat in silence, her gaze fixed out the window.

A shout rang out behind them. Tommy frowned, glancing in the side mirror.

Jimbo waved his arms. “Tommy, wait!”

Tommy wound down the window. “What’s up?”

“We’re coming with you, dude.”

Tommy stared at him, his brow furrowed. “What?”

“We’re coming with you. To Philly. Me, Zero, Roxy.”

Tommy shook his head. “But…but what about making a go of it here?”

Jimbo shrugged. “We’re family now, dude. Family sticks together.”

Tommy felt a lump rise in his throat as he swept his gaze across Jimbo, Zero, and Roxy’s faces. “You best get your gear together then.”

Jimbo let out a whoop. “Look out, Philly! The cavalry’s coming!”