An uneasy silence descended on the parking garage. The crew sat huddled in the back of the van, seeking shelter and warmth as the temperature dropped.

Tommy rubbed his hands together, trying to generate some heat friction. His breath misted in the air.

“Wish we’d grabbed some blankets or something while scavenging,” Spike said, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets with a scowl.

“Come here.” Laila wrapped an arm around Spike’s shoulders, pulling him against her side.

Spike grumbled but didn’t pull away.

The others shuffled closer together too, shoulders touching, clinging to any heat they could generate in numbers.

Tommy watched his crew huddle tighter as the cold sank deeper into their bones. They were running on fumes, physically and mentally.

“Come on, we’ve survived worse than this.” Tommy forced some false cheer into his voice. “Remember that week snowed-in at that anarchist collective in Minneapolis? No power, no heat, all of us crammed in that tiny-ass living room burned everything we could find just to thaw fingers and toes?”

“I never thought I’d be so happy to see a bunch of smelly crust punks in my life,” Micky said. “We would have frozen solid if they hadn’t taken pity and let our sorry asses camp on their floor.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Laila said. “They didn’t even have a shower.” She rubbed her palms together as if trying to scrub away the memory. “I don’t think I smelled right for a month after.”

A ripple of laughter loosened some of the tension.

“Yeah, but we survived it together,” said Tommy. “Just like we survived that hellscape gig in that Portland hipster joint. We’ll get through this night and get back to Philly same as always. All of us together.”

Dee managed a jerky nod, though his eyes stayed haunted. “Sure hope things work out…”

An uneasy silence fell again.

Zero slipped back into the van from his patrol and cleared his throat. “Streets are still thick with zombies out there. But once daylight hits, I think our path will open up.”

He eased down against the wheel well with a barely suppressed groan.

Tommy studied Zero’s face, noting the deepening lines etched around his mouth and eyes.

“We’ve just got to hang tight a little longer,” Zero said. “Conserve our energy.”

Tommy shivered. “Anyone hungry?” He dragged his pack onto his lap and rummaged inside. “We’ve got a gourmet selection of tinned mystery meat or…” He grinned and dragged out the packet. “…funky baconated soy bits?”

Tommy passed around one of the vegetarian bacon packets, insisting everyone take a handful, the crunchy bits providing a welcome distraction.

He chewed and smiled. “These don’t taste that bad. Nothing close to real bacon, but they’re actually edible.”

Jimbo grimaced. “No, Tommy boy. They’re disgusting.”

Zero glanced around the van before shifting closer. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you? A disaster this huge and we’ve barely encountered another living survivor for hundreds of miles?”

Tommy hesitated then gave a noncommittal grunt through his mouthful of bacon-tinged soy.

“I’m telling you, there’s something more at play here.”

Jimbo smacked his head back against the van. “Kill me now.”

“No, no.” Zero’s voice softened. “Hear me out.” He looked to the others. “There’s no way this outbreak was some freak isolated event. It’s too widespread. Too calculating.”

Tommy swallowed and shot Laila an eyeroll.

“It’s Agenda 21, man. The Globalists are behind this whole thing to thin population and undermine civil liberties.”

Laila snorted. “You know the Globalist thing is just some old anti-Semitic crap repackaged for a less Nazified audience, right?”

Zero nodded. “That’s what they want you to think.”

Jimbo groaned. “Zero. Just can it, yeah? No one wants to hear your Alex Jones crap.”

“Alex Jones is controlled opposition. No. It’s clear to me that the Globalists wanted an excuse to declare martial law and force citizens into FEMA camps by the millions. A convenient zombie crisis provides perfect cover for their human rights takeover.”

“Seriously, Zero?” Roxy said. “You think anyone would come up with a plan like that? That’s quite a leap.”

“I’m serious. It all fits too neatly. Engineered disease to enact medical tyranny just like Bill Gates always warned.”

Laila buried her head in her hands. “Oh my God…”

Zero held up a finger. “First wave of outbreak takes hold, decimates majority of population. Second wave, they roll out a ‘miracle vaccine’ which actually further mutates the virus. Suddenly you’ve got phase three—zombification contagion.” He smacked a fist into his palm. “And that’s how they do it.”

Jimbo stroked his stubble. “Huh, that actually makes a demented sort of sense.” He grinned. “What if the zombie virus was engineered by the Lizard People though? Unleashed it through the plexi-glass shields around their Antarctic bases so it would spread globally?” He waggled his eyebrows at Zero. “Maybe this whole bloody mess is just fallout from an unauthorised penguin feast by their starving troops.”

A round of sputtered laughter went through the van. But Zero himself sat stone-faced.

Nix leaned over and nudged Zero with his elbow. “Aw c’mon, lighten up! Nothing wrong with cracking wise to ease the tension, yeah?”

When Zero’s dour expression remained unmoved, Nix reached behind the bench seat and retrieved a glass bottle of amber liquid.

“How about the universal language of booze instead? Kept this baby back specially for dull occasions.” He took a generous swig himself before passing the whiskey bottle towards Zero. “Warm your parts, agent Mulder.”

Zero eyed the bottle a moment. He took a sip and passed it along with a grunt.

As the whiskey made the rounds, Tommy waved it off. “I’m good, thanks.”

Micky cocked an eyebrow. “You sure, Tommy? We could all use something to take the edge off tonight.”

He shook his head, lips pressed to a firm line. “Not for me. I’m straight edge, remember? Need to stay sharp.”

Micky sighed but didn’t argue further.

Tommy watched the whiskey continue circulating instead, each person taking longer pulls to fight the creeping chill.

After a while, Tommy leaned close to Micky. “How you holding up, man?”The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Micky managed a jerky shrug. “I’m coping. Starting to feel…feel a bit more clear-headed actually.” He exhaled hard. “Still feel like microwaved crap though.”

Tommy silently cursed himself for pushing onwards to Reno instead of seeing to Micky’s health sooner. The methadone was a band-aid over a gaping wound. It would do for now, but he needed treatment.

He gripped Micky’s shoulder. “You’re tougher than you look, you know? We’ll get you sorted proper when we get back home. I promise.”

Micky blinked before offering a weak smile. “Might hold you to that, Tommy. My own detox dungeon and isolation, yeah?”

“You got it, man.” Tommy smiled back. “Anything you need.”

Jimbo waved the near-empty bottle. “Oi, Tommy! Catch!”

Tommy grabbed at the flung bottle. Amber liquid sloshed over his hands. “Whoa, careful.”

Jimbo guffawed. “Take some medicine like the rest of us, dude.”

Tommy grimaced at the whiskey dripping through his fingers. The sharp scent stirred temptation, memories of numbing his anxieties and grief with liquor over the years.

Was abstaining just delaying the inevitable?

“I’m good.” Tommy shrugged, avoiding Jimbo’s look, and handed the bottle to Laila.

How long could he keep his own hope kindled before despair and drink claimed him too?

“Aww, dude. Since you declined a drink…” Jimbo looked around the van as if searching for inspiration. He grabbed the discarded bag of bacon bits and gave it a shake. “Punk code requires you have second helpings of these gourmet zombie apocalypse delicacies instead.”

“It’s the rules,” Spike said with mock solemnity.

The tension diffused as Tommy made a show of munching more imitation bacon to the group’s amusement.

A pained cry rang through the van. Dee scrubbed at his cheeks as tears welled in his eyes.

Laila reached over to wrap her arms around his heaving shoulders. “Dee? You doing okay?”

He shook his head, choking back a sob. “It’s just…all so messed up, you know?” His voice cracked. “We barely made it out back there. Again! And now we’re trapped here instead.”

“Hey. It’s not so bad.”

“I mean, what’s the goddamn point anymore? We can’t keep running and hiding like this forever. Sooner or later, those things are gonna run us down for good.” He sniffed and wiped his face. “Might as well be tonight. We’re all gonna die anyway, right? Just like everyone else already has…”

A long silence met his words.

Tommy found himself reaching for the discarded whiskey bottle.

What harm would a few soothing gulps do really? Take the sharpest bite off fear and despair…

Laila’s hand closed firmly over his wrist. Her eyes pleaded with him to stop.

Jaw tightening, Tommy forced his hand back down.

“I know it feels hopeless now, Dee,” Laila said. “But we can’t give up yet.”

Dee shook his head.

“Come on, even if it is just us against the world, we still have each other. If we stick together, I know we can make it back home. The bands are family.”

“Back home to what though?” Dee said. “We don’t even know if there’s anything left back there either! The whole east coast’s probably all walking corpses by now too.” He dragged a sleeve roughly across his eyes, his voice dropping low. You’ll see. We’ll make it back there eventually and it’ll be empty…everyone we ever knew just gone. We might as well all be dead already anyway.”

Tommy stared down at his grubby palms. What were the chances Niamh, Sean, and everyone else back in Philly had somehow avoided the outbreak?

Maybe Dee was right. Maybe raising his son in this graveyard world was a futile hope.

“That’s enough!” Jimbo’s voice rang out. “I don’t wanna hear any more moaning from you lot, you hear me?” He glared around the group. “We’re fighters. Survivors. So the world’s gone to hell around us—we’ll keep fighting our way through hell then.”

Jimbo jabbed a finger towards Dee and Tommy. “It ain’t over ‘til the fat dead-head sings. We’re getting back home. And we’re gonna find people still alive there too. Count on it.”

Dee blinked up at the ceiling. “What, like Kim? She won’t be there, will she? It’s like she never existed. We just left her there without a second thought.”

A tense silence descended on the group.

Zero’s jaw tightened. “There was no choice to make. She was already dead from the bite. All we could do was keep moving forward.”

Dee whipped around to face Zero, fresh tears trailing his cheeks. “That’s bullcrap! We could’ve done something, tried to help her somehow. But you just…” His voice cracked as he made a gun gesture with shaking fingers.

“The infection was too far gone. She had turned. There was nothing left of who she was.” He gave a small shake of his head. “I neutralized an active threat before it could spread further or attack the rest of us. Hard decisions had to be made for the good of the group.”

“Yeah but you didn’t even hesitate! You loved it, didn’t you? You freaking gun-nut weirdo. You blew her away like it was nothing.”

Zero bristled at that. “You think it was easy for me? The person she was had already died. That thing wearing her face wasn’t Kim anymore.”

Dee opened his mouth to respond, but Roxy cut him off.

“That’s enough!” She held up a hand, her expression pained. “I know emotions are high, but turning on each other won’t help.” She reached over to rub Dee’s shoulder. “I miss Kim too. Every damn day. It’s just not the same without her.”

“Yeah well,” Dee said. “Just seems so messed up how fast everyone moves on, you know? We lost someone we cared about. She deserves better than to be just forgotten.”

“No one’s forgetting her, Dee. But we can’t dwell on ghosts either. Kim would want us to keep fighting.” She grabbed the near-empty whiskey bottle and took another long swig. Her eyes turned distant. “God, it seems like another lifetime when we first met. We were playing some hole-in-the-wall club. Her band opened for mine.”

She let out a quiet laugh.

“First thing I noticed was her pink-tipped mohawk sticking up over the crowd. Then when she jumped up on stage, bass slung low, just oozing punk rock attitude…”

Roxy trailed off, shaking her head with a sad smile.

“We hit it off right away. We hooked up. Ended up talking for hours after the show about bands and songs and life.” She idly picked at a fraying thread on her shirt. “She just got me, you know? She understood the high I get creating music, baring my soul to the strings. Connected with that passion in a way most people don’t.”

Laila shifted closer, looping an arm through Roxy’s. “You two did always vibe so well together,” she said.

Roxy’s expression turned wistful. “We were kinda perfect for each other in some ways. But the timing was always off, other relationships getting in the way and crap. The romance angle just fizzled out.”

She stroked a thumb over the bottle’s worn label.

“The friendship stayed strong though. Bond like that don’t break easy. We’d get together and jam sometimes between tour stops. She’d noodle these basslines that just…changed the whole feeling of my songs.”

Roxy smiled sadly.

“She just understood how to take the random chords in my head and ground them into something bigger, you know? Lock it all together into a sound no one else could have imagined.”

She shook her head.

“Kim could wail some sick notes, but her songwriting was even more killer. She had these heavy lyrics ripped straight from the heart. Just laid herself wide open without fear.”

She held Dee’s gaze.

“Point is, there was nobody else like her. She left one hell of a void in all our lives.” Her eyes softened. “I know you looked up to her too. First big tour and all…”

Dee rubbed at the lingering wetness on his face. “Yeah, she kinda took me under her wing, you know? Told me war stories about the punk life, taught me how to keep guitars tuned.”

He choked out a weak laugh.

“Hell, she even slipped me my first beer at that rest stop in Iowa. Said if I was man enough to live on the road with her crew of degenerates, I was man enough to drink pisswater beer too.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

“Definitely sounds like Kim,” Laila said.

“She was one of a kind,” Spike said.

Roxy raised the bottle. “Here’s to you, Kim. Keeping it punk as hell to the end.” She took one last swig and passed the bottle to Dee in offering. “We carry her spirit with us in our music now.”

Dee accepted the bottle. He stared down into its near-empty depths for a long moment before taking a shaky sip.

“We won’t let her be forgotten,” Laila said.

Dee managed a jerky nod as he handed the bottle off.

One by one, they each took a sip.

The bottle reached Tommy and he raised it before passing it on.

An uneasy quiet fell over the group again.

Tommy cleared his throat “Tell you what, soon as we get back home, we should do something together—work up the sickest tribute to Kim.”

Roxy dabbed her eyes and nodded. “Damn right, she’ll be looking down ready to heckle our sorry asses if we don’t come up with something worthy.”

She scooped up Dee’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“But we won’t let her down, right guys?” Roxy cast her gaze around their huddled circle. “We carry on rocking twice as hard and loud to make up for the empty spot she’s left. Keep fighting the good fight because it’s what Kim would have wanted.”

“Yeah…yeah, okay,” Dee said. “She’d definitely want us out there kicking zombie ass and taking names. For Kim.”

“For Kim!” the rest echoed.

Zero rubbed the back of his neck. “I regret what happened with Kim. My focus was solely on necessities for group survival rather than personal connection. I didn’t know her like you did.” Zero cast his gaze down. “Perhaps certain choices could have been handled more delicately. If I’ve come across as cold and clinical, I apologise.”

Zero glanced between Roxy and Dee’s surprised faces.

“You both speak truth. Her memory carries on in the family she left behind. And perhaps I acted hastily.” He opened his hands. “But I swear it was not out of malice.”

Dee’s mouth gaped and he shook his head. “I…I don’t know what to say. Thanks, man.”

Tommy rubbed his eyes and caught Laila swiping her own stray tears.

She reached over and embraced him in a tight hug.

Zero slipped out as the others lay down to sleep.

Tommy closed his eyes and pictured Niamh and Sean. He hated not knowing where they were, or whether they were still alive.

After a while, Zero returned. “Good news. The zombie activity out there is finally dying down. If we’re making a break for it, I say we go now while the coast is clear.”

“You heard the man.” Tommy sat up and shook away the tiredness. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Roxy shook her head. “No, Tommy. We need rest.”

“Yeah,” Jimbo said. “And half of us are drunk.”

“Alright.” Tommy glanced up at Zero. “That good with you, man?”

“I will take first watch.” He stepped back outside and slammed the door shut.

“Night everyone,” Jimbo said. “Hope you don’t mind Nix’s snoring.”