Tommy stood on the porch of Laila’s house, his bat dangling loosely from his hand as he stared out at the quiet street. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, casting long shadows across the neat rows of houses.

It all looked so normal, so peaceful. As if the world hadn’t ended, as if the dead weren’t walking the earth, as if they hadn’t just lost another friend to the darkness that had consumed everything.

Behind him, the others moved around inside, gathering their supplies, checking their weapons.

But beneath it all, there was a hollow silence, a void where Laila’s presence used to be. Her laughter, her fierce determination, her unwavering loyalty—all of it gone.

Tommy’s chest ached with the weight of it, with the guilt and the grief that threatened to swallow him whole. He had failed her, just like he had failed Micky, just like he had failed everyone who had trusted him to keep them safe.

The screen door creaked open behind him, and he turned to see Roxy stepping out onto the porch. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale and drawn.

“We’re almost ready,” she said, her voice rough and hoarse. “Just need to do one last sweep, make sure we haven’t forgotten anything.”

Tommy nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He followed her back inside, his feet heavy on the worn carpet.

The living room was a mess of scattered supplies and discarded wrappers, the detritus of their hasty packing.

Zero sat on the couch, his rifle across his knees, his face slick with sweat. Jimbo leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes distant.

Tommy moved through the room, his gaze skittering over the familiar objects, the little touches of Laila’s life. The framed photos on the mantel, the stack of well-worn paperbacks on the coffee table.

All of it meaningless now, all of it just another reminder of what they had lost.

He forced himself to focus on the task at hand, on the supplies they would need for the road ahead. Water, food, ammunition.

As he stuffed the last of the canned goods into his backpack, he heard Roxy’s sharp intake of breath. He looked up to see her standing in the doorway to Laila’s bedroom, her hand pressed to her mouth. “I can’t. I can’t go in there.”

Tommy crossed the room to her, his hand finding hers, squeezing gently. “It’s okay. We’ll do it together.”

He pushed open the door, steeling himself for what lay beyond.

The room was just as Laila had left it, the bed neatly made, the curtains drawn against the fading light. And there, on the nightstand, the gleam of metal, the dark stain of blood.

Tommy swallowed hard, his throat tight and aching. He forced himself to look away. They needed to gather anything useful.

But as he moved through the room, opening drawers and rifling through closets, he couldn’t escape the feeling of wrongness, of violation. This was Laila’s space, her sanctuary. And now it was just another tomb, another monument to the dead.

He stared down at the pistol, but couldn’t bring himself to take it.

As they stepped back out into the living room, Tommy saw that the others had finished their own packing, their bags bulging with supplies.

Zero stood by the front door, his rifle slung over his shoulder. “We need to move. The longer we stay here, the more likely we are to attract attention.”

Tommy nodded, shouldering his own pack. He took one last look around the room, one last moment to remember Laila as she had been—brave, fierce, loyal to the end.

Then he turned and followed the others out into the gathering dark, the screen door banging shut behind them with a dull finality.

The street was deserted, the houses silent and still. In the distance, the skyline of Philadelphia loomed, a jagged silhouette against the darkening sky.

Somewhere out there, his family was waiting for him, his reason for fighting, for surviving.

He led the way towards Fairmount Park, his bat gripped tight in his hand, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.

Behind him, the others followed in silence, their footsteps echoing off the crumbling facades of the abandoned buildings.

Tommy’s mind raced as he walked, his thoughts torn between the desperate need to find his family and the gnawing guilt that ate at his gut. Laila was gone, another casualty in this endless war against the undead. And he hadn’t been able to stop it, hadn’t been able to save her from the darkness that had claimed her.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. Fairmount Park. That was where they needed to go, where they might find some hint of Niamh and Sean’s fate.

It was a slim hope, a fragile thread to cling to in the midst of all this chaos and despair. But it was all he had left.

As they turned a corner, Tommy held up a hand, bringing the group to a halt.

The street ahead was blocked by a tangle of abandoned cars. Tommy edged forward, his eyes straining to pierce the gloom beyond the makeshift barricade.

“I don’t like this,” Roxy said, her machete held low at her side. “It’s too quiet.”

Zero grunted, his rifle sweeping the surrounding buildings. “Could be an ambush. Hostiles, maybe. Or just a load of dead-heads waiting to jump out at us.”

Tommy hesitated, weighing their options. They could backtrack, try to find another route around. But that would cost them time they couldn’t afford to lose. And there was no guarantee the other streets would be any clearer. “We push through. Stick close, watch each other’s backs. Anything moves, you call it out.”

The others nodded, readying their weapons as they fell into formation behind him. Tommy took a deep breath. Then he stepped forward, easing his way between the bumpers of the stalled cars.

The metal was sun-warmed against his skin, the smell of gasoline and decay thick in his nostrils.

He moved slowly, his ears straining for any sound beyond the crunch of broken glass beneath his boots.

A low, guttural moan made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He froze, his heart slamming against his ribs as he eyed the shadows.

In the dark maw of an alleyway, something moved.

He pointed with his bat. “Over there.”

The others fanned out beside him, weapons at the ready.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the zombies shambled into view, dozens of them.

Tommy leapt forward to meet them, his bat crunching into the first zombie’s skull. Black blood sprayed across his face, his arms.

All his focus, all his rage and pain and desperate terror, was poured into the swing of the bat, the crack of splintering bone.

Beside him, the others fought with savage intensity.

Zero’s rifle boomed, each shot punctuated by the wet smack of a bullet striking rotten meat.

Roxy’s machete flashed, severing limbs and heads.

And Jimbo crushed and battered his way through the press of bodies with his golf club.

Tommy’s arms burned with the effort of swinging his bat. He could feel his strength flagging, his reactions slowing.

Roxy cried out, a sound of pain and fear that cut through the moans of the dead.

Tommy whirled to see her stagger back, blood pouring from her nose.

A zombie lurched towards her, its jaws wide and snapping.

Tommy lunged, throwing himself between Roxy and the monster.

His bat connected with the side of its head, caving in its temple.

It crumpled, but more surged forward, a writhing mass of grasping hands and gnashing teeth.

“Fall back!” Tommy shouted. “We have to get out of here!”

They fought their way back through the barricade, the zombies clawing at them from all sides.

Tommy’s world narrowed to the swing of his bat, the burn of his muscles, the frantic pounding of his heart.

He struck out again and again, until his arms felt like lead, until his vision blurred with sweat and gore.

And then they were through, stumbling out onto the open street.

Tommy risked a glance back over his shoulder and immediately wished he hadn’t. The zombies were pouring through the gap in the cars.

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“Run!”

They fled through the darkening streets, the moans of the dead echoing behind them.

Tommy’s lungs seared as he gulped down air, his feet pounding on the broken pavement, each step sending jarring bolts of pain through his ankle.

He had no idea where they were going, no sense of direction beyond the blind need to escape.

They careened around corners and sprinted down alleyways, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the horde.

Finally, when Tommy felt like his legs were about to give out, they stumbled to a halt in a small courtyard, huddling in the shadow of a crumbling brick wall.

Tommy leaned against it, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. “Is everyone okay? Anyone bit?”

Roxy shook her head, her hand pressed tight against her bloody nose. “Dead-head caught me with an elbow or something.”

Zero and Jimbo were battered and bloody but still standing.

Tommy let out a shaky breath, relief warring with the adrenaline still pumping through his system.

“We can’t stay here,” Zero said. “That horde could be right behind us.”

Tommy pushed off from the wall. “Then we need to keep moving.”

Roxy frowned, her gaze drifting towards the darkening sky. “Tommy, it’s getting late. We’re all knackered here. We need to find somewhere to crash, just for a few hours.”

“She’s right,” Jimbo said. “I haven’t slept in…I don’t even know how long. And after that last fight…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I’ve got anything left in the tank, dude.”

Tommy’s fingers tightened around his bat. “Fairmount Park is closer than my place. We can make it there before full dark.”

Zero stepped forward, his rifle clutched tight to his chest. “Tommy’s right. We stop now, we might not get started again.”

Roxy sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Alright. If you’re sure about Fairmount, then I’m with you. But we’re no good to anyone if we’re too exhausted to function.”

Tommy nodded. “Okay. We stick to the side streets, the back alleys. Avoid the main roads, the open spaces. Anything looks off, we go around, find another way. And if we run into trouble…”

“We deal with it,” Zero said.

Jimbo stood straight, his golf club held at his side. “Just promise me one thing, dude. When we get to Fairmount, I get first dibs on any beds they got. My back is killing me.”

Tommy managed a tight smile, clapping Jimbo on the shoulder. “You got it, man. Now let’s move. We’re burning daylight.”

They set off into the gathering dark, their weapons held at the ready, their senses straining for any hint of danger.

Tommy took point, his bat gripped tight, his eyes scanning the shadows.

Behind him, the others fell into formation, Roxy and Zero flanking him on either side, Jimbo bringing up the rear.

They moved quickly and quietly, darting from cover to cover, using the abandoned cars and buildings to shield them from view.

Tommy’s heart pounded in his chest as the alley ahead filled with the shuffling sounds of countless feet, the air thick with the groans of the undead.

Shadows shifted within the narrow space between the buildings, growing denser, louder.

The stench of decay wafted towards him.

Tommy turned to the others. “Circle up! Watch each other’s backs!”

Roxy and Jimbo moved closer to flank him on either side.

Zero maneuvered himself behind a fallen statue, using it as a makeshift sniper’s nest, his rifle already sweeping for targets.

As the zombies began to pour out of the alleyway, the group tightened their formation.

Tommy met the milky eyes of the frontmost zombies as they staggered forward.

His bat swung with a ferocity born of desperation and fear, the crack of splintering bone echoing in the narrow space as he took down the first of the horde.

Each swing was a blow for survival, each connection a visceral crunch that sent sprays of coagulated blood into the air.

To his right, Roxy was a blur of motion, her machete slicing through the air. Limbs and heads fell at her feet as she carved a path through the advancing dead, her every move fluid and precise. Her breaths came sharp and quick, punctuating each strike with a fierce grunt.

On his left, Jimbo wielded his golf club like a war hammer, each heavy swing accompanied by a thud as the club connected with rotting flesh.

Behind them, the steady crack of Zero’s rifle echoed between the buildings, his shots precise, each bullet finding its mark.

As the fight dragged on, Tommy felt the strain in his arms, the burn of his muscles screaming for rest.

They had to hold the line, to keep fighting despite the odds.

Each fallen zombie meant one less threat, but the horde seemed endless, each monster replaced by another. They pressed in from all sides, their jaws snapping, their fingers clawing.

“To the alley!” Tommy’s voice cut through the moans and gunfire. “Force them in!”

He motioned towards the narrow passageway behind them, swinging his bat in wide, sweeping arcs to clear the way.

The others rallied at his call, each step backward hard-won as they struggled against the relentless press of decaying bodies.

As they retreated into the alley’s confining space, the rank stench of the undead intensified, a pungent mixture of decay and blood.

Tommy felt the oppressive heat from the zombies’ rasping breaths as he fought with desperate ferocity, his bat a blur of motion as he smashed through their faces.

Beside him, Roxy erupted into a fierce battle cry, her voice raw and powerful. Her machete moved with lethal grace, slicing through the air, splattering the bricks with dark ichor.

Jimbo swung with ruthless efficiency, each heavy thud a sickening crunch of pulped flesh and broken bone.

Further down the alley, they reached a narrow gap between two rusted dumpsters.

The tight space acted as a funnel, restricting the advancing horde to a single-file assault.

Tommy positioned himself firmly in front of the gap, feet planted wide, his bat cocked back over his shoulder, poised for the onslaught. “Come on, you bastards! Come get some!”

The zombies surged forward, their arms outstretched, their faces slack.

Tommy met them with a roar, his bat slamming into the lead zombie’s chest, caving it in.

He kicked the corpse aside and swung again, the wood connecting with the next monster’s jaw, snapping its head back at an obscene angle.

The heavy thud of Jimbo’s club and the slicing hiss of Roxy’s machete melded with the sharp blasts of Zero’s rifle.

Each gunshot was followed by the thump of another zombie body hitting the ground.

Despite their efforts, the swarm seemed endless, each fallen creature replaced by another.

Exhaustion clawed at Tommy, his arms heavy from the relentless swinging of his bat, each breath he drew laden with the acrid stench of decay.

His muscles screamed in protest, his lungs burned with the foul air, and he felt his strength ebbing away, his reactions becoming sluggish.

A scream.

Tommy spun around just in time to see Jimbo overwhelmed, dragged down beneath a mass of writhing, decayed bodies.

Jimbo’s club swung wildly.

“Jimbo!” Roxy’s voice cut through the tumult as she fought her way towards him.

Her machete slashed at the encroaching zombies, but it was too late.

Jimbo’s cries choked off abruptly, replaced by the sounds of the zombies feeding.

A visceral rage exploded within Tommy, a searing mix of grief and fury.

He charged forward, his bat raised in a blind frenzy, every swing fuelled by the raw need for vengeance.

His weapon smashed into skulls, crushed through bones.

His world narrowed to the simple, brutal need to destroy these creatures, to make them pay for the life they had ripped away from his grasp.

But his arms grew leaden, his vision blurring with exhaustion and blood.

Yet still, the zombies pressed forward.

His movements slowed, each swing less effective as despair began to seep through the fury.

From somewhere beyond the immediate chaos, he heard Roxy’s screams, calling his name in a desperate plea.

Zero’s voice joined hers. “We can’t help him! Tommy, we need to move!”

But the voices seemed distant, almost unreal, against the backdrop of his overwhelming rage and the endless tide of the undead that continued to surge towards him.

He shook his head, tears and sweat stinging his eyes.

He couldn’t leave Jimbo, couldn’t abandon him.

But even as the thought formed, he knew it was hopeless.

Jimbo was gone.

With a cry, Tommy turned and fled, his feet pounding on the blood-slick pavement. Roxy and Zero were right behind him.

They ran, the moans of the horde dogging their heels.

Tommy’s lungs burned, his muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed himself harder, faster.

They burst out of the alley and into another courtyard, this one ringed by tall, crumbling tenements.

Tommy skidded to a halt, his chest heaving as he scanned for an escape route.

But there was nowhere to go, no way out.

The zombies were closing in from all sides.

Zero took up a position at the edge of the courtyard, his rifle snapping up to his shoulder.

He fired, the shots cracking like thunder in the confined space.

Zombies crumpled.

Tommy and Roxy fell back to join Zero, their weapons held at the ready.

They fought with a desperate ferocity, their movements fuelled by grief and adrenaline.

Tommy’s bat crunched into skulls, Roxy’s machete cleaved through limbs, Zero’s rifle barked and boomed.

But it wasn’t enough.

The zombies kept coming, their numbers inexhaustible.

Tommy felt a hand close around his ankle. He screamed, his bat smashing down on the zombie’s skull, pulping it to gory ruin.

Beside him, Roxy cried out as a zombie seized her arm. She wrenched free as Tommy struck down with raining blows.

Zero stood over them, his rifle spitting fire.

Tommy’s vision blurred, his limbs growing numb. He could feel the darkness closing in, the world slipping away.

This was the end, he realised with a distant sense of clarity. This was how they died, torn apart by the horde, just like Jimbo, just like so many others.

He thought of Niamh, of Sean. He had failed them, had left them alone in this nightmare world. The grief and the guilt threatened to consume him, to drag him down into the abyss.

A sound cut through the moans of the dead.

Engines.

The zombies fell in waves, their bodies shredded by the hail of bullets. Blood and gore painted the walls.

Soldiers advanced, their faces hidden behind masks and visors.

Tommy stood frozen, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. Beside him, Roxy let out a sob, her hand finding his.

“What the hell…” Zero’s voice was barely audible over the roar of engines and gunfire.

Soldiers poured into the courtyard, their rifles sweeping the area.

A man in an officer’s uniform strode forward, his eyes hard and assessing behind his visor. “Identify yourselves.” He trained his rifle on Tommy’s chest. “What are you doing in the quarantine zone?”

Tommy swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “We…we were trying to get to Fairmount Park. We got overrun…”

The officer’s eyes narrowed. “That camp there was overrun days ago. There’s nothing left but the dead.”

Tommy felt as if the ground had dropped away beneath his feet.

Niamh, Sean…

The officer barked orders and the soldiers moved in, their hands rough as they yanked Tommy, Roxy, and Zero to their feet. They stripped them of their weapons and lined them up against the wall.

“Check them for infection.”

A soldier approached Tommy first, his gloved hands probing at his neck, his arms, his legs.

The soldier moved on to Roxy, then to Zero.

Zero jerked away from the soldier’s touch, his face twisting into a snarl. “Get your hands off me, you Globalist scum! I know what you’re really after. I know what you’re doing!”

The soldier tried to grab him, but Zero was too quick.

He lunged for his rifle, his fingers scrabbling for the trigger.

“Zero, no!” Tommy shouted.

Gunfire.

Zero staggered back, his hands clutching at his chest as a bloom of red spread across his shirt.

He looked down at the wound, then up at Tommy, his eyes wide with shock. “Tommy…don’t let them…don’t let them take you…” He dropped to the ground, his body twitching as the life drained out of him.

Tommy could only stare.

Zero had been with them since the beginning, had fought beside them through hell and back.

And now he was gone, just like that.

“This one’s infected.” A soldier kicked Zero’s body with the toe of his boot. “Look.”

Tommy followed the man’s gaze and stared at the ragged, oozing wound.

The soldier turned to the officer. “Sir, what do we do with the others?”

The officer studied Tommy and Roxy. “Check them again, just to be sure. And then we’ll take them in for processing.”

Tommy tensed as the soldiers approached him once more, their hands roving over his body, probing for any sign of infection.

But they found nothing, no bites, no scratches. Just a body wracked with cuts and bruises.

They moved on to Roxy, and Tommy held his breath, praying that she too would be cleared.

After a long, tense moment, the soldier stepped back. “All clean.”

The officer nodded and gestured for his men to take up positions around Tommy and Roxy. “Escort these civilians to the transport. We’re moving out.”

As soldiers marched them towards the waiting vehicles, Tommy turned to the officer. “Where are you taking us?”

The officer kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “You’ll be taken to a secure facility for processing and questioning. After that, we’ll decide what to do with you.”

He wanted to run, to fight. But what choice did he have? They were outnumbered and outgunned, with nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to.

As they climbed into the back of the transport, Tommy caught a final glimpse of Zero’s body lying on the ground.

A sob rose up in his throat, but he choked it back, forcing himself to be strong, to keep going for Roxy’s sake if nothing else.

The doors slammed shut, plunging them into darkness as the engines roared to life.

He slumped against the wall, his head in his hands as the grief and the guilt threatened to overwhelm him.

Laila, Jimbo, Zero…they were all gone.

And Tommy was still here, still breathing, still fighting.

But for what?

Niamh and Sean were gone.

He had nothing left to fight for.

Nothing left to hope for.

What was the point?