Tommy stepped into the apartment, his breath catching in his throat.

He stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the familiar space, taking in every detail. The worn sofa where he and Niamh had cuddled on lazy Sunday mornings, the bookshelf filled with Sean’s favourite bedtime stories, the faded band posters on the walls.

It was all just as he remembered it, untouched by the chaos and destruction that had consumed the world outside.

“Niamh?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Sean? Are you here?”

Silence.

He took a step forward, then another, his boots scuffing on the worn carpet.

“Niamh, please. If you’re here, if you can hear me, answer me. Please…” His voice broke on the last word, a sob welling up in his throat.

He moved through the apartment in a daze, his fingers trailing over the familiar surfaces, the memories threatening to overwhelm him.

Sean’s room was just as he had left it, the bed neatly made, the stuffed animals arranged on the pillow.

Tommy picked up a small teddy bear, its fur worn and matted from countless cuddles. He held it to his chest, inhaling the faint scent of his son, the tears flowing freely now.

There was no sign of a struggle, no indication that anything bad had happened here. But there was also no sign of life, no hint of where his family might have gone or what might have happened to them.

The uncertainty was worse than anything, the not knowing. It ate at him like acid, corroding his hope with every passing moment.

He sank to the floor, his back against the wall, the teddy bear clutched to his chest. The sobs wracked his body.

He had come so far, had fought so hard to get back to them. And now, to find nothing, to be left with only questions and fears and the aching, empty hole in his heart…it was more than he could bear.

“Tommy?”

He looked up, his vision blurred with tears. Jimbo stood in the doorway.

“They’re not here. I don’t…I don’t know where they are.”

Jimbo crossed the room, sinking down to sit beside him. He put an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. “Listen to me. We don’t know anything yet, okay? Just because they’re not here doesn’t mean…it doesn’t mean the worst.”

Tommy shook his head, his throat tight. “But what if it does? What if they’re gone, Jimbo? What if I’ve lost them forever?”

“You can’t think like that, dude. Look how far you’ve come, everything you’ve been through to get here. You can’t give up now, not when we’re so close.”

Tommy looked at him, his eyes searching Jimbo’s face for some kind of answer, some kind of hope. “I don’t know what to do. Where to go. This was it. This was supposed to be it.”

Jimbo squeezed his shoulder. “So we keep looking. We knock on doors, we call on friends. We do whatever it takes to track them down.”

Tommy hesitated. “I can’t…I can’t leave. What if they come back and I’m not here? What if I miss them?”

“So we leave a note. Tell them where you’ve gone, that you’re gonna be back. And we come back, every day if we have to, until they turn up.”

Tommy took a shuddering breath, his mind racing. Jimbo was right. He couldn’t give up, not now. Not after everything he had been through, everything he had sacrificed to get here.

Slowly, painfully, he got to his feet. He set the teddy bear on Sean’s bed, his fingers lingering on the soft fur for a moment.

He moved to the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers until he found a pad of paper and a pen. He scribbled a hasty note, his hand shaking slightly as he poured his heart onto the page.

Niamh, Sean.

I’m alive. I’m here. I’ve been fighting my way across the country to get back to you. If you see this, please, please wait for me. I’ll come back, every day, until I see you again.

I love you both, more than anything.

Tommy.

He left the note on the kitchen table, propped up against the salt and pepper shakers. It looked small and insignificant against the expanse of the wooden surface, but it was the best he could do.

He took one last look around the apartment, committing every detail to memory. The scuffed flooring, the faded curtains, the framed photos on the walls.

This had been his home, his sanctuary. And even if Niamh and Sean weren’t here now, even if he didn’t know where they were or what had happened to them, he had to believe that they would find their way back. That they would be a family again.

Tommy stepped into his and Niamh’s bedroom and rummaged through the closet, his fingers brushing against the familiar fabrics of his old clothes. He pulled out a few t-shirts and pairs of jeans.

He turned to the others, who were gathered in the living room, sorting through their supplies. “Anyone want a change of clothes? I’ve got plenty here.”

Zero and Roxy looked up, their faces brightening. “Hell yes,” Roxy said, pushing herself to her feet. “I feel like I’ve been wearing these rags for a decade.”

Jimbo chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, dude. Thanks, but I don’t think your skinny jeans would fit over my muscular thighs.”

Tommy cracked a smile. He tossed a bundle of clothes to Zero, watching as he sorted through the offerings.

He held up a black t-shirt, the logo of Zero’s band, Anarchy’s Child, emblazoned across the front. “Hey, Zero. How about this?”

Zero took the shirt, his eyebrows raising. “You’re actually a fan?”

Tommy shrugged. “What can I say? I saw you a couple of years back here in Philly.”

Zero barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Man, the idea of you moshing to our tunes…that’s just too good.” As Zero stripped off his blood-stained shirt, Tommy noticed a wicked-looking scratch running down the length of his forearm. The skin around it was red and inflamed, the edges of the wound ragged and torn.

“Whoa, what happened there?”

Zero glanced down at his arm, his brow furrowing. “Must have caught it on something when I fell during that last fight. It’s no big deal.”

Jimbo appeared at Zero’s side, a first-aid kit in his hands. “Let me take a look at that, dude. We can’t afford to let anything get infected.”

Zero sighed but held out his arm, allowing Jimbo to clean the wound with antiseptic wipes.

“I don’t like the look of this, Zee. It’s deep, and the edges…they’re not clean. Almost like…”

“Like what?” Tommy asked.

Jimbo met his gaze. “Like a zombie scratch.”

Zero yanked his arm away, his face twisting. “No way, man. No freaking way. I would know if one of those things got me. I’m fine.”

Tommy held up his hands. “Okay, let’s just…let’s not jump to conclusions. We’ll keep an eye on it, make sure it doesn’t get any worse.”

Zero grumbled but allowed Jimbo to bandage the wound.

Tommy turned away, his mind racing.

He grabbed a bundle of Niamh’s clothes, the soft fabrics feeling strange in his hands. He approached Roxy, holding them out to her. “Here. These should fit you.”

Roxy took the clothes, her eyes softening as she ran her fingers over the material. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

Tommy nodded, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. It felt wrong, somehow, to be giving away Niamh’s things. Like he was betraying her, erasing her presence from their home.

But it was necessary. Roxy needed the clothes more than the empty closet did.

He turned to Laila, who was sitting on the couch, checking her handgun. “Lai? You want anything?”

Laila shook her head, her gaze distant. “No point.”

“It’s fine.”

“My place isn’t too far from here.”

Tommy nodded. He had been so focused on his own family, his own desperate search, that he had almost forgotten that Laila had people waiting for her too. Parents she loved, parents she was fighting to get back to.

As the others finished changing and gathering their supplies, Tommy took a deep breath, steeling himself for what came next.

Tommy led the way through the empty corridors of his apartment block. Behind him, the others followed.

They had started at the top floor, working their way down, knocking on each door, calling out to anyone who might be inside.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

But every apartment was locked, every knock met with silence.

Tommy tried not to think about what might have happened to the residents, tried to focus on the task at hand. But with each empty apartment, each unanswered call, he could feel the hope draining out of him, replaced by a cold, creeping dread.

They reached the ground floor, the last of the doors yielding nothing.

Tommy stood in the lobby, his bat hanging at his side, staring at nothing. “They’re not here. None of them. It’s like the whole block just…disappeared.”

Roxy laid a hand on his shoulder. “We keep looking. We check the other buildings, the houses nearby. Someone has to know something.”

Tommy nodded and exited the apartment block, stepping out into the deserted street.

They moved from door to door, knocking, calling out.

But just like in the apartment block, there was no answer, no sign of life.

Laila’s shoulders slumped as she sidled up to Tommy. “I just want to go home.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “Okay, let’s head to your place, Lai. Maybe we’ll have better luck there.”

They set off through the city, navigating the maze of deserted streets and abandoned buildings.

The silence pressed down on them, broken only by the occasional moan of a distant zombie.

As they walked, Tommy spotted a familiar house, the home of an old friend. He veered off course, bounding up to the front door.

He knocked.

But there was no answer.

He peered through the windows.

But inside, there was only darkness, the rooms empty and still.

Zero appeared at his side. “Haven’t seen a soul except soldiers and dead-heads. Starting to think there’s no one left in this whole damn city.”

A zombie shambled into view at the end of the block, its movements jerky and uncoordinated.

Tommy tensed, his hand tightening on his bat. But the creature was too far away to pose an immediate threat. “Let’s keep moving before more of those things turn up.”

“Maybe the quarantine zone’s to keep people out, not in,” Jimbo said. “Maybe there’s some sort of safe zone, and everyone’s holed up somewhere, waiting for the all-clear.”

Zero shook his head. “Or maybe they were all rounded up and taken to that deserted FEMA camp we saw. Herded like cattle, for God knows what purpose.”

“There could be another camp,” Roxy said. “I mean, not all FEMA setups would be abandoned, right? Maybe we should try talking to the soldiers, see if they know anything.”

Zero scoffed, his lip curling in a sneer. “Right, because we totally didn’t just sneak into this city illegally. I’m sure the soldiers will be thrilled to welcome us with open arms.”

“We don’t really know anything, do we?” Tommy said. “We’ve been out on the road, cut off from everything. Maybe Roxy and Jimbo are right. Maybe we’re just looking in the wrong places.”

“Can we keep going?” Laila asked. “I just want to go home.”

Tommy nodded. “We’ll get to your place, and we’ll figure out our next move.”

The group moved through the deserted streets, deep into the morning.

Tommy led the way, his bat held loosely at his side, his eyes scanning the alleys and windows for any sign of movement.

As they skirted the edge of a small park, a rasping moan drifted on the breeze.

Tommy froze, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He held up a clenched fist, signalling the others to stop.

Shambling between the gnarled trunks and overgrown bushes, a small group of zombies lurched into view.

Tommy’s grip tightened on his bat, his breath coming hard and fast.

With a jerk of his head, he motioned for them to fan out, to surround the undead before they could be surrounded themselves.

They moved quickly, Zero and Roxy breaking left while Jimbo and Tommy went right. Laila hung back, her tyre iron held loosely at her side.

The zombies turned towards Tommy and the others, their jaws slack and snapping.

With a roar, Tommy charged forward, his bat whistling through the air. It connected with the lead zombie’s skull.

Beside him, Jimbo swung his golf club in a vicious arc, the heavy end pulping a zombie’s face into a mess of gore and shattered teeth.

Across the clearing, Roxy’s machete sliced through decaying flesh and muscle, severing limbs and heads with each devastating blow.

Zero took shots, his bullets ripping through heads and shoulders.

Tommy found himself surrounded, rotten hands grasping at his clothes. He lashed out, his bat connecting with yielding bodies.

A cry of pain off to his right.

Jimbo, his arm caught in a zombie’s grip, its jaws stretching wide.

Tommy pivoted, swinging his bat, caving in the creature’s skull.

Jimbo staggered back, clutching his arm.

Tommy had no time to check on him—more zombies were closing in, their moans rising.

He risked a glance towards Laila, saw her standing motionless at the edge of the clearing.

A zombie stumbled towards her, its grasping fingers inches from her face.

Tommy opened his mouth to shout a warning, but Roxy was there, her machete cleaving the zombie’s head from its shoulders.

Another shot rang out and the last zombie fell.

Tommy stood amidst the carnage, his bat dripping with black ichor, his heart slamming against his ribs.

He looked around at the others, checking for injuries, for bites.

Jimbo was pale and shaken, but unharmed.

Roxy and Zero were splashed with blood and brains, but their eyes were clear, their movements steady.

And Laila still stood apart, her face blank, her eyes distant.

Tommy stormed over to her, his jaw clenched. “What the hell, Lai? Why didn’t you help? You could have been killed, standing there like that!”

She looked up at him. “I just want to go home. I’m so tired, Tommy. So goddamn tired of all this.”

Tommy opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his tongue as he saw the depth of pain in her eyes, the utter hopelessness.

He reached out, gripped her shoulder. “I know. I know you’re hurting. We all are. But we can’t give up. We have to keep fighting, keep going.”

Laila said nothing, just stared at him with those haunted eyes.

Tommy swallowed hard, trying to push down the fear that clawed at his throat, the sinking feeling that he was losing her, that she was slipping away into some dark place he couldn’t follow.

He turned away, blinking back the sudden sting of tears.

Zero leaned heavily against a tree, his face pale and slick with sweat.

“You okay, man?”

Zero pushed himself to stand and nodded. “I’m good.”

Tommy nodded.

They set off again, picking their way through the city.

Finally, they turned onto Laila’s street, the neat rows of houses standing empty.

Tommy felt a pang of unease as they made their way up the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath their feet.

Laila paused at the front door, her hand resting on the knob. She turned to face the others. “I need to do this alone. Please.”

“Okay,” Tommy said. “We’ll be right out here if you need us.”

Laila nodded. “Thanks, Tommy.”

Then she turned and disappeared into the house, the door clicking shut behind her.

Tommy and the others took up positions around the yard, their weapons held at the ready.

He glanced over at Zero, who was leaning against the porch railing, his head bowed. “Hey man, you okay?”

Zero looked up, his face ashen. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, a gunshot rang out from inside the house.

Tommy stood frozen, unable to comprehend what he had just heard.

Then he was moving, sprinting towards the door.

He crashed through the entrance, his bat raised, ready to face whatever horrors lay within.

“Laila! Laila, where are you?”

He moved through the house, checking each room. The kitchen, the dining room, the bathroom…all empty, all still.

And then he reached her bedroom.

He paused in the doorway, blinking.

Laila lay on the bed, her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. A pistol dangled from her limp fingers, a neat hole in her temple.

Tommy felt his knees give out, felt himself sinking to the floor.

A scream tore from his throat, a wordless cry of anguish and despair.

Laila was dead.

He had failed her. He had failed his friend, his sister in arms.

He should have seen the signs, should have known how close to the edge she was.

But he had been too wrapped up in his own pain, his own desperate quest to find his family.

And now she was gone, lost to the darkness that had consumed so many.

He felt arms around him, hands pulling him to his feet.

He blinked through the tears, saw Roxy’s face, Jimbo’s.

They led him out of the room, out of the house.

He stumbled blindly, his mind reeling, his heart shattered.

They gathered in the back yard, huddled together.

No one spoke.

Tommy looked around at their faces, saw the same pain, the same guilt he felt reflected back at him.

They had all failed her, all been too caught up in their own struggles to see how much she was hurting.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words tearing at his throat. “I’m so G oddamn sorry.”

Roxy shook her head, her face streaked with tears. “It’s not your fault, Tommy. It’s not any of our faults. We couldn’t have known…couldn’t have stopped her.”

But even as she spoke, Tommy saw the doubt in her eyes.

Could they have done more?

Could they have saved her, if only they had paid closer attention, if only they had been there for her when she needed them most?

He would never know. And that, perhaps, was the cruellest thing of all. The not knowing, the endless cycle of what-ifs and might-have-beens.

They stood there in silence, united in their grief, their loss.

They couldn’t let Laila’s death be in vain, couldn’t let the darkness win.

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard.

Tommy felt numb, his mind reeling with shock and grief.

Laila was gone. And he had been powerless to stop it.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. They couldn’t leave her like this, couldn’t just walk away and let the undead claim her body.

She deserved better than that. They all did.

“We need to find a shovel. Something to…to dig with.”

Jimbo nodded, his face grim. “I think I saw a garage around the front. There might be some tools in there.”

They made their way to the garage, the gravel crunching beneath their feet.

Inside, they found a shovel and a spade, the metal blades dull with rust.

Tommy took the shovel, his hands shaking as he gripped the wooden handle. He led the way back to the yard, to a spot beneath the tree that Laila had once told him was her favourite place to sit and think.

They began to dig, the scrape of metal biting into earth.

Tommy worked mechanically, his body operating on autopilot, as if he watched himself at a distance.

Beside him, Roxy and Jimbo took turns, their faces streaked with sweat and tears.

Zero stood watch, his rifle held at the ready, his eyes scanning the street. But the neighbourhood remained quiet.

As he dug, Tommy couldn’t shake the guilt that gnawed at his gut. He should have seen the signs, should have known, should have stopped her.

He thought back to all the times she had been there for him, all the moments of laughter and tears they had shared.

She had been his rock, his best friend, his confidante, the one person who understood him better than anyone else.

And now she was gone, and he would never have the chance to tell her how much she meant to him.

The hole grew deeper, the pile of dirt beside it rising.

Finally, it was done, a neat rectangle cut into the earth.

They returned to the house, to the bedroom where Laila lay.

Tommy couldn’t bring himself to look at her, couldn’t bear to see the ruin of her once-vibrant face.

He helped the others wrap her in a blanket, his hands trembling as he tucked the fabric around her still form.

They carried her out into the yard, laying her gently in the grave.

Tommy knelt beside her, his vision blurring with tears.

This was too much. Too damn much.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lai. I should have been there for you. I should have…I could have stopped this.”

Jimbo laid a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm. “It’s not on you, dude. She was fighting a battle none of us could see. PTSD, it…it screws you up in ways you can’t imagine.”

Roxy nodded. “We’re all fighting our own demons, Tommy. Sometimes, it’s just…too much.”

They had all been through hell, had all seen and done things that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

Tommy cleared his throat, forcing himself to stand, forcing himself to speak. “Laila was…she was the strongest person I knew. She brought so much light into our lives. She was my friend, my sister...and I’ll never forget her.”

Roxy stepped forward and began to sing the words to ‘The Leaving Song’ by AFI.

As she sang, Jimbo bowed his head, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Zero stood rigid, his face a mask, his eyes fixed on some distant point.

When the song was finished, they stood in silence for a long time, each saying their own private goodbyes to the friend they had lost.

Finally, Tommy picked up the shovel, his hands shaking as he began to fill in the grave.

The others joined him, working together to put Laila to rest.

When it was done, they returned to the house.

Tommy couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness, the sense that something vital had been ripped away from him.

As they gathered their belongings, preparing to leave, Jimbo called out from the kitchen.

“Guys, come look at this.”

They crowded around him, peering at a notice pinned to the fridge with a magnet, the text bold and urgent.

“Attention all residents,” Jimbo read aloud. “Due to the ongoing crisis, the city of Philadelphia has established a designated Protected Zone for all survivors. Please make your way to Fairmount Park for safety and shelter.” He looked up. “Dudes, do you know what this means? There might be other safe places out there. Places where people are still alive, still fighting.” He met Tommy’s gaze. “Maybe…maybe that’s where your family went.”

“Then that’s where we’re going.”

Zero frowned. “Or it could be a trap. Another one of the Globalists’ schemes to round us up like cattle.”

Tommy shook his head, his jaw clenching. “I don’t care. If there’s even a chance that Niamh and Sean are there, I have to take it. I have to.”