I don’t think about much these days. Surviving is all that matters.

  Drifting from place to place, I never stay anywhere too long. Settling down is pointless, dangerous. Right now, I was holed up in a motel room—one of the few that hadn’t been completely wrecked when I found it. No bloodstains, no lingering stench of decay. That was a plus. I had cleared out the two adjacent rooms, not because I needed the space, but because I didn't want to hear anything banging on the walls in the middle of the night.

  I laced up my worn boots and pulled on the oversized black jacket I had found in the last house I stayed in. It was too big for me, but it was warm—comfort wasn't something I could afford to let go of. Moving toward the bathroom mirror, I crinkled my nose at my reflection. My hair was a tangled mess, its natural blonde now dulled to a murky brown from weeks of dirt and sweat. I sighed, running a hand through it, knowing there was little I could do.

  My backpack was already packed and ready. I slung it over my shoulder, then grabbed my gun from the vanity. It was an old friend, one I had come to trust more than any living thing in this world. Stepping to the window, I peered outside. Just one lone zombie shuffled across the parking lot, no more than a yard away from my motorcycle.

  Without hesitation, I flung the door open and moved quickly. My gun was raised in an instant, the shot precise. The zombie crumpled like a sack of potatoes, unmoving.

  The motorcycle roared to life beneath me as I sped away from the motel, the empty highway stretching out before me. It was rare to find roads so clear, but I was grateful—I had no patience for weaving through abandoned cars today.

  After riding for a while, my stomach clenched painfully. I needed food. Taking the next exit, I found myself in a small town. It was in complete ruin—bodies rotting on the sidewalks, vehicles rusting in the middle of the road. I killed the engine and wheeled my bike beside me. No way I was getting through all this wreckage on two wheels.

  Something felt off.

  With all this carnage, there should have been zombies everywhere. But since entering town, I hadn’t seen a single one.

  I stepped cautiously into a small grocery store on the corner. Gun raised, I whistled, the sharp sound echoing through the empty aisles. If there were any undead inside, they would have come shambling toward me by now. But nothing stirred.

  Still, I kept my guard up as I rummaged through the remnants of the store. A smashed box of cereal. A lone can of beans. Everything else had been looted long ago.

  Sighing, I sat on an overturned crate at the back of the store, pulling out the last bottle of water in my pack. It was already half-empty. I tilted it back, drinking the rest in one go, then tossed it aside. One small silver lining of the apocalypse? No one cared about cleaning up anymore.

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  I picked at the stale cereal, forcing myself to chew. What I really craved was a burger, but wishful thinking wouldn’t fill my stomach.

  With my meager supplies packed, I stepped back outside. A neighborhood would be my next stop. When the world fell apart, people had hoarded supplies in their homes—that’s why grocery stores were picked clean, but some houses were treasure troves. Just a few days ago, I had hit the jackpot: an entire basement stocked with canned goods. Those had been a rare treat.

  A few streets down, I found exactly what I was looking for—a massive neighborhood filled with houses bigger than anything I had ever lived in. Smirking to myself, I knew today might just be a lucky day.

  I knocked on the first door. If anything was inside, it would come to me. But there was no response. Carefully, I turned the handle. The door swung open with ease.

  Inside, everything was pristine. The kitchen was my first stop, but the fridge was empty save for a half-drunk bottle of water. I took it without hesitation—germs were the least of my worries. The pantry, however, was completely bare.

  I moved through the house, checking each room. The first was a child’s bedroom. I closed the door quickly, a tight feeling in my chest. The second was the master bedroom. In the bathroom, I grabbed a bottle of shampoo. If I found a lake, I could finally wash this filth off me.

  The last bedroom belonged to a teenager. Band posters lined the walls—her music taste was actually pretty good. Clothes were strewn across the floor, and I picked through them, swapping out my own dirty rags for a clean black t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. My boots and jacket, though? Those were staying.

  Then, I found it.

  The basement.

  Jackpot.

  Shelves lined with food and water, untouched, waiting for someone like me. I wasted no time, grabbing armfuls of supplies. Staying in one place was too risky—sooner or later, something would find you. Usually a horde. But this food would keep me going.

  I needed something bigger than my motorcycle to carry it all.

  Upstairs, I found exactly what I needed—a red truck parked in the driveway. It was in great shape, half a tank of gas still left. The keys were on the floorboard, probably dropped in a panic. I climbed inside, started the engine, and felt a rare smile tug at my lips.

  After loading everything in, I popped open a can of corn and ate right there in the driver’s seat. It wasn’t a burger, but it was better than stale cereal.

  As I ate, unease settled over me.

  No zombies. Not a single one since I arrived in this town. There were plenty of bodies. But no movement. No groaning. No dead eyes staring through shattered windows.

  Something was wrong.

  I drove aimlessly through the town, trying to shake the feeling. And then, I saw it.

  A church.

  A massive one, looming at the edge of the street. But that wasn’t what caught my attention.

  The lights were on.

  My breath hitched. Electricity didn’t work anymore.

  I parked the truck as far back as possible, turning off the engine. My fingers tightened around my gun as I crept toward the church. For the first time in months, I felt panic creeping in. I hadn’t seen another person in two months. Not a single soul.

  I reached the back door, hesitating. I could just leave. Pretend I never saw it. But my curiosity got the better of me. I knocked.

  For a moment, silence. Then—

  Laughter.

  Deep, booming laughter erupted from inside.

  Every instinct screamed at me to run.

  I turned, but it was too late.

  The door burst open, and a man lunged at me.

  I barely made it to the alley before he tackled me, slamming me hard against the pavement. My leg twisted painfully beneath me, and my cheek scraped across the rough ground. I felt the warm trickle of blood sliding down my face.

  I struggled. Landed a punch. He barely flinched.

  His grip tightened, and a moment later, he had me hoisted over his shoulder, carrying me back to the church.

  Inside, six more men waited, their eyes glinting in the dim candlelight.

  They laughed, whooped, and hollered as he set me down in the corner, tying my hands and legs together.

  My vision blurred, pain throbbing in my head.

  I had just walked into hell.