The streets were alive with the dead.

  Not just corpses—monsters.

  People ran. People screamed. People fought. People died.

  That was all I could see.

  An old man stumbled, his frail legs giving out as the dead closed in, tearing him apart. A woman screamed, her arm caught in the jaws of what used to be her husband. A child—God, a child—stood frozen, clutching a stuffed bear as the rotten mouths sank into his throat.

  And then, there were the ones who didn’t move at all.

  The ones who just stood there, eyes wide and empty. Waiting.

  Like they had already accepted it.

  Like they knew there was no escape.

  Even though I’d just seen it happen, even though it felt like my mind had already swallowed the truth, I still wanted to believe this was all just a nightmare.

  That I would wake up—hot sweat sticking to my skin, heart racing—and find it was all some sick hallucination.

  But the blood was still warm on me.

  And the screams hadn’t stopped.

  The freak in front of me twitched.

  Its limbs jerked in a twisted rhythm, like some invisible force was pulling at it. Blood, thick and viscous, leaked from its empty eye sockets, running down its face like tears that couldn’t mourn. Its mouth opened, trying to speak. But all that came out were gurgles I couldn’t understand.

  Something beneath it gurgled back.

  I knew that sound.

  I didn’t want to look.

  But I did.

  Belgo was still alive.

  Or something close to it.

  The thing above him tore at him with savage hunger, its teeth ripping through flesh, pulling out whatever it could reach. And through it all, somehow—somehow—Belgo was still trying to breathe. Still trying to scream.

  My stomach twisted.

  His blood was everywhere. Soaking into my shirt. Warm, sticky, suffocating.

  And I ran.

  Why the fuck did I do that?

  Why did I go back for the meds?

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Bravery? Stupidity?

  The freaks were humming.

  A low, eerie sound, like a chant. A prayer to something that had long since stopped listening.

  They weren’t just eating.

  They were worshipping.

  One of them—mid-feast—stopped, turned its head to me, and smiled.

  It laughed.

  And that’s when I snapped out of it.

  A log cracked in the fire beside me, sending embers spiraling into the night. The sharp sound yanked me back, ripping me out of the nightmare looping behind my eyes.

  June sat across from me, poking at the flames with a stick. She barely looked up.

  “You good?”

  Her voice was steady, casual—like we were just two friends killing time in a coffee shop instead of sitting in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse.

  I exhaled slowly, running a hand down my face. My skin felt tight, sticky—Belgo’s blood still clung to my shirt like it had seeped into my pores.

  “I don’t know,” I muttered. “Like a coward, I guess. That’s what I am, right? Froze up. Left you to do all the work.”

  June arched a brow, her lips twitching.

  “Oh, so this is the self-pity episode tonight? Was wondering when we’d get to that.”

  She smirked, tossing another branch into the fire.

  “You getting into trouble, or just making up excuses to get out of chores? ‘Cause, you know, I swear I’ve heard this before. Like… back at the store. Maybe from someone who forgot to say ‘thanks’ then, too?”

  Even at the end of the world, she wasn’t done busting my ass.

  Some things really didn’t change.

  I rolled my eyes, letting out something between a scoff and a sigh.

  “Alright, alright. Maybe you do deserve a ‘thanks.’ After all the jaws you smashed.”

  She grinned, triumphant.

  “Damn right.”

  Laughter bubbled up between us—light, easy, real.

  For a second, just a second, the world didn’t feel so heavy.

  And in all the madness, that was enough.

  Still, Belgo was barely holding on. His chest rose and fell in weak, ragged breaths, the bandages around his gut already soaked through. He wasn’t dead. Not yet.

  But if he turned, we’d know soon enough.

  And yeah—he was tied to the seat.

  Not my idea.

  June’s.

  I poked at the fire with a stick, watching the embers spit and crackle.

  “Think the old bastard’s gonna make it? Or is he about to start snapping his teeth like one of your so-called zombies?”

  June let out a snort.

  “You’re still on that?”

  “They look like zombies.”

  “They act like zombies,” she shot back. “So guess what? They’re zombies.”

  I shook my head.

  “They look like it. But they’re not.”

  She glanced at me.

  “Oh yeah? And what makes you so fucking sure, professor?”

  I hesitated.

  "When I went back in the store for the meds—”

  “You mean when you ran off like an absolute dumbass and ignored me calling your name?”

  I clenched my jaw.

  “Are you gonna let me fucking talk, or do you just like hearing yourself shit on me?”

  She smirked.

  “Multitasking.”

  I exhaled sharply.

  “Anyway. In the store… I heard them humming.”

  June blinked.

  “The fuck?”

  I nodded.

  “Not some random-ass noise. A tune. A fucking song.”

  I swallowed.

  “And before you start with your bullshit, I know how it sounds. But I heard it.”

  She just stared.

  Then leaned in.

  Not laughing. Not grinning. Just watching me, head tilting slightly, eyes flicking across my face like she was scanning for bullshit.

  I held her gaze, dead serious.

  She held it a second longer—then sat back and shrugged.

  “Nah. You’re full of shit.”

  I blinked.

  “What? That’s it?”

  “Yup.”

  I scoffed.

  “What, you think you can read my fucking soul or some shit?”

  “Nope. I don’t know how to read that kinda crap.”

  Her smirk widened.

  “Just felt like messing with you.”

  And then she laughed.

  Loud. Sharp. Like I’d just told her the funniest goddamn joke in the world.

  I glared at her.

  “Oh my God,” she wheezed. “So first they laugh, now they’re singing? What’s next, they start beatboxing and shit?”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  I clenched my jaw.

  “Glad to know my trauma is so fucking hilarious to you.”

  She wiped at her eyes, still grinning.

  “Nah, nah, you’re right, it’s serious. Super serious.”

  She bit her lip, but another laugh slipped out.

  “Fucking Broadway zombies, man. That’s next-level horror movie shit.”

  I flipped her off and went back to poking the fire.

  She just kept laughing.

  “Haha, very funny, huh?”

  June was still chuckling, hugging her knees to her chest as she rocked slightly by the fire. I just kept poking at the embers, letting her have her little moment.

  “God, Ethan,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You’ve got the dumbest fucking luck. If the apocalypse hadn’t happened, you’d probably be ranting to some poor bartender about how zombies tried to serenade you.”

  I scoffed. “And if the apocalypse hadn’t happened, you’d still be finding ways to get out of doing any actual work.”

  She gasped, mock-offended. “Excuse you. Who was the one smashing skulls while you were having your little moment?”

  “Hey, I was busy processing my trauma.”

  She snorted. “Yeah. Processing it by running away like a bitch.”

  I flipped her off.

  She smirked. “That’s real mature.”

  We went back and forth like that for a while—her taking jabs, me throwing them back. It was easy. Natural. Like we weren’t sitting in the middle of the fucking apocalypse with a half-dead guy tied up a few feet away.

  I glanced back at Belgo. His breathing had steadied, no longer the weak, rattling gasps from earlier. His face wasn’t as pale, and the rise and fall of his chest looked… normal. Or at least, as normal as it could be after losing that much blood.

  Maybe he wasn’t turning. Maybe he was actually healing.

  Something in my chest loosened. Just a little.

  For the first time in hours, it didn’t feel like everything was slipping further into hell.

  Then, the fire crackled, and a silence settled in.

  For the first time in a while, neither of us had anything to say. Maybe I was missing our olive oil at this point. Hope he is okay out there.

  I stared at the flames, feeling the weight of exhaustion creep up my spine. June shifted beside me, stretching her legs out.

  Then, out of nowhere—

  “Hey,” she said casually. “Wanna have sex?”

  My brain short-circuited.

  I blinked. Turned my head slowly. “What?”

  She shrugged. “I mean, end of the fucking world and all. Why not?”

  I just stared at her. “Are you—are you actually serious right now?”

  “What? It makes sense.” She gestured around us. “No rules. No responsibilities. No future. Maybe we won’t even see tomorrow’s sun. Might as well try it, right?”

  I let out a laugh—sharp, disbelieving. “You’re fucking with me.”

  Okay, this? I knew what she was thinking.

  She kept a straight face for a second longer—then cracked.

  And laughed.

  Hard.

  I groaned, shaking my head as she practically doubled over. “You absolute fucking menace.”

  “Oh my God—your face—” she wheezed, gripping her stomach.

  “Jesus Christ, June.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I actually thought you’d lost your fucking mind.”

  She wiped at her eyes, still grinning. “You should’ve seen yourself. Looked like I just asked you to eat a goddamn baby.”

  I muttered, “Go fuck yourself, June,” and chucked a small rock at her.

  She dodged it easily, still grinning.

  The fire crackled between us, shadows flickering across our faces.

  Then, she nudged me with her boot. “Admit it. You considered it for half a second.”

  I scoffed. “Just shut it.”

  “The fact that you didn’t immediately say no is very interesting, though.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fuck off.”

  She snickered, tossing a twig into the fire. “I mean, c’mon, Ethan—end of the world, no rules, nobody judging. It’s basically a free trial run.”

  “You are actually fucking insane,” I said, dragging a hand down my face.

  “No, no, think about it,” she went on, like I hadn’t just told her to go fuck herself. “We’re both young, hot, surviving against all odds—why not celebrate a little?”

  I just stared at her. “You seriously need help.”

  She arched a brow. “You’re dodging the question.”

  I groaned. “I fucking hate you.”

  She kicked my boot. “No, you don’t. Admit it. You thought about it.”

  “I did not.”

  “Not even for, like, half a second?”

  “Just stop already, you psycho.”

  Then, just as I thought she was finally done, she tilted her head, looking fake thoughtful.

  “Y’know, maybe we should find Oliver. Really make a night of it.”

  I choked. “The fuck?”

  She burst out laughing, slapping my arm. “Relax, dumbass. I’m kidding.”

  “You’re fucking sick.”

  She wiped a tear from her eye, still cackling. “God, you should’ve seen your face.”

  I shook my head, but I couldn’t help it—I laughed too.

  June let out a soft chuckle. It was different from before—not loud, not teasing. Just… there. Hanging in the space between us.

  I glanced up.

  She was staring into the flames now, her smirk fading at the edges. Like the weight of everything was finally catching up to her. Like she was only just realizing how tired she really was.

  And for the first time tonight, she didn’t have a comeback.

  Instead, she let out a slow breath, stretching her legs toward the fire.

  Then, just barely loud enough to hear—

  “You’re thinking too much, Ethan.”

  No teasing. No grin. Just that.

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

  Because I knew she wasn’t saying it for me.

  She was saying it for herself.

  And neither of us believed it.

  Then I heard the crack.

  Me and June pulled out our weapons—well, what little we had. I grabbed a stone, ready to bash whatever the fuck was out there, while she had her badass crowbar—the same one that had saved my sorry ass more times than I’d like to admit.

  Belgo.

  He was standing there. Alive.

  I never thought I’d be so fucking happy to see his face again. The old bastard had some balls, surviving this long with that missing hand.

  "Belgo, it’s so good to see—"

  June cut me off, flicking her eyes toward his head. I followed her stare.

  Something was wrong.

  He wasn’t looking at us. Not really. Just standing there—his body twisted ever so slightly, like he wasn’t sure which way to face. Like he wasn’t... all there.

  June shifted beside me. "Okay, Ethan. Let’s test your little theory about these freaks not being zombies. Now or never."

  What the fuck?

  She was joking. At a time like this. About Belgo.

  I turned to her, ready to snap—but then I saw it. That flicker of hesitation behind her eyes. The way her grip on the crowbar tightened just a little too much. The way she forced her smirk, like it would hold her together.

  She wasn’t just testing a theory.

  She was preparing to kill him.

  And the worst fucking part?

  She might be right.

  My throat closed up. Could I do it? Could I kill him? The same Belgo who used to yell at me for every dumbass decision I made. The same Belgo who told me to be better, to be something. The same Belgo who picked me up from school when my dad was too busy to give a shit.

  My dad.

  Fuck, I didn’t even know if he was alive.

  Until then, Belgo was the only thing close to family I had left.

  Please, old man. Don’t make me do this. Just be okay. Please.

  Then, from his mouth—

  A growl.

  A slow, guttural, wrong noise that made my stomach churn.

  And still—still—I wanted to wait. Just one more second. Just one more second.

  But June—

  June was already moving.

  She took a step forward, raising the crowbar, shifting into an offensive stance—but not like before. This wasn’t her usual fearless, reckless, swinging-for-the-fences bullshit.

  She was scared.

  June never let shit get to her. Never let herself hesitate. But now—she was shaking. Just a little. Just enough for me to see it.

  Her face was locked in focus, her stance solid—but her breathing? It was uneven. Small, sharp exhales through her nose. Her eyes? Twitching. Like she was about to cry—but then she shut it down. Swallowed it back. Locked it up so fucking tight you’d never know.

  Except I did.

  Was this because of me?

  Was she holding it together just because I was losing my shit?

  Was she burying everything because she thought I couldn't handle it?

  She’s a girl, after all. No matter how fucking tough she acts, this shit is eating her alive too. And she’s keeping it together because she thinks I won’t.

  I gritted my teeth.

  Fuck that.

  Just when I thought I could take it—could fucking do this—

  I hesitated. Again. But I won’t stop here.

  Sometimes, you just have to make the hard choice.

  Even when it fucking kills you.

  And in this world—this twisted, rotting corpse of what it used to be—you can’t save everyone.

  I’m sorry, Belgo.

  I can’t keep my promise.

  It’s a shitty excuse. It’s fucking weak. But it’s all I’ve got.

  I don’t know how to save you. Where to go? Who to ask for help? I don’t know shit.

  I stepped ahead of her. Ahead of June.

  It was my time to get my shit together—time to stop being such a fucking coward.

  June shot me a look. What the hell are you doing?

  “Stay back. Trust me,” I said. “Let me handle this.”

  She stared at me, hard, like she was trying to read something in me. She always said she wasn’t good at that, but this time—this time, she got it.

  She backed off. She understood.

  I stepped in front of Belgo, my grip tightening around the rock. It was already raised, ready to swing. Ready to end this.

  Kill him. Kill it.

  I told myself I just needed one last look—to be sure.

  But who was I fucking kidding?

  I already knew.

  He had turned. I was just denying it. Clinging to some dumb, desperate hope that I wouldn’t have to do this.

  But hope was a dangerous thing.

  And I couldn’t afford it.

  Not when I had June to look after. Not when she needed someone who had his shit together. It was time she took a breath. Time she had someone to rely on for once.

  I tightened my grip. I’m sorry, Belgo.

  Then, with everything I had, I swung—

  But before I could bring it down—

  He dropped. On his knees

  Not from my hit. Not from anything I did.

  He just... collapsed. On his knees.

  And then he started throwing up.

  Not growling. Not lunging. Just puking his guts out, like a damn bull refusing to go down.

  My chest caved in. My breath caught.

  He was alive. Alive.

  “God damn,” Belgo coughed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “What the fuck did I eat?” He blinked, dazed, then looked down at his arm. Or… what was left of it. “Shit. There goes my leftie.”

  June and I just stood there, still trying to process it.

  “Wait,” Belgo grumbled, glancing between us. “You two dumbasses thought I was dead, didn’t you?” He let out a raspy laugh. “Shit, I bet you were about to bash my skull in, huh?”

  I wiped at my face, realizing there were actual fucking tears in my eyes. “Shut up, old man.”

  June let out this shaky breath—then her face just crumpled.

  She fucking cried.

  Not just teary eyes. Not just holding it in.

  She broke.

  She clamped a hand over her mouth, but the sobs still shook through her. Then she just rushed him—practically tackled him in a hug, her whole body trembling.

  “You’re alive,” she choked out, grinning through the tears. “Belgo—you’re alive.”

  And for the first time since all this shit started—since the whole world went to hell—

  Her smile was real.

  Belgo groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—kid, I just lost a goddamn arm, you tryin’ to squeeze the rest of me out too?””

  “Oh—sorry. Belgo. I mean, sir.”

  “Quit that shit, idiot. The store’s gone. You’re free from all that now. And let’s be real, you never liked callin’ me that anyway.”

  June huffed out a breath, wiping at her face, but the smirk still found its way back. “Glad we’re finally clear on that… Belgo.”

  Belgo grunted, shaking his head. Then, he glanced down at his side—at the stump where his hand used to be. He flexed his arm, like he was expecting the damn thing to still be there.

  “The fuck…” he muttered, then let out a dry laugh. “No leftie, huh? Guess that’s one way to quit my bad habits.” He clicked his tongue. “Damn, this is gonna be a pain in the ass.”

  Belgo flicked his gaze back to June, then to me. Something unreadable there, something deeper. But just as quick, it was gone.

  “Anyway,” he drawled, cracking his neck. “I might still turn into one of those freaks, y’know. You got that crowbar ready, little girl?”

  June let out a choked laugh, eyes still wet

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Big bad June cryin’ over me. Didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

  Then his eyes landed on me.

  And stayed there.

  There was something in them. Something off. A sadness buried too deep for words.

  But just as quick, he shook it off and smirked. “Damn, boy. I been watchin’ you piss your pants for days, and now you suddenly grow a pair?”

  I exhaled sharply. “Fuck you, old man.”

  He grinned. “That’s more like it.”

  Then he cracked his neck and sighed.

  “Alright, someone tell me—” he gave us a dead-serious look—

  “Why the fuck aren’t we at a hospital?

  “Oh, you’ve gotta be shitting me,” I muttered, rubbing a hand down my face.

  Did he really think this was some one-and-done nightmare? That the dead took one look at us escaping and just gave up? Like, damn, mission failed boys, pack it up.

  No. They were everywhere. Clogging the roads, filling the alleyways. And the hospital? Who the hell knew if anyone was even left alive in there? For all we knew, it was just another slaughterhouse waiting to happen.

  June and I had risked our asses getting him out of there. And now, instead of a thanks, this motherfucker was acting like we owed him an explanation.

  Unbelievable.

  June huffed, wiping at her face, her eyes still red from crying. "You think we had a damn choice?"

  Belgo scoffed, shaking his head. "All I'm sayin’ is, when a man wakes up missing a goddamn hand, he kinda expects to be somewhere with pain meds and nurses. Not out here in the apocalypse daycare with you two crybabies."

  "Daycare?" June let out a breathy, exhausted laugh. "You were the one on your knees puking your guts out two seconds ago."

  Belgo smirked, shifting to lean on his one good arm—his right. "Yeah? And yet, here I am. Lookin’ fine as hell, minus the missing leftie. Kinda gives me character, don’t you think?"

  I ran a hand down my face, still trying to process everything. "Jesus Christ."

  "Blasphemy, boy," Belgo mocked, wagging a finger at me. "He’s the only reason I'm still breathin’."

  June let out a tired chuckle, but there was still something broken in her smile. Belgo might be back, but nothing was the same.

  And it never would be.

  I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah, well, you should be thanking us instead of cracking jokes. We dragged your half-dead ass all the way here."

  Belgo grinned, flashing those damn teeth. "Oh, don't you worry—I’ll thank you proper when I’m not seeing double." Then his smirk faded just a bit. Just enough. "But really… you two did good. I mean it."

  June and I both went quiet.

  Belgo? Giving a real compliment?

  Hell must’ve frozen over.

  The fire crackled between us, and for the first time all night, we weren’t running. We weren’t fighting.

  Just breathing.

  And in this world?

  That was a fucking miracle.

  June sniffed, shaking her head as she wiped at her face. “God, I needed that. For once, something actually worked out.”

  She let out a breath—one of relief. One we hadn’t had since this whole nightmare started.

  Then, from somewhere in the dark—too close—

  A voice.

  “You really think so?