#bortopinto

Oct 23, 2025, 9:00 AM

Morning came too clean for the kind of world they were living in.

The sky stretched out in a pale, endless blue, the kind that would’ve meant something once—would’ve been commented on, appreciated, maybe even photographed. Now it just felt wrong. Too bright. Too open. Like the world was pretending nothing had happened.

The abandoned roadside store looked even worse in daylight.

What had been shadowy and uncertain in the night was now fully visible—shattered glass glittering across the cracked concrete, shelves half-collapsed and picked through, the doors hanging crooked on bent hinges. The wind pushed through it in slow, hollow breaths, rattling something metallic deeper inside.

It didn’t look like a place people had simply left.

It looked like a place people had fled.

Still, it had given them walls. A roof. A few hours of sleep that hadn’t been constantly interrupted by movement or noise.

That was enough.

“Pairs,” Max said, already moving as he spoke, voice cutting clean through the quiet. “No one alone. Quick in, quick out.”

There were nods, murmured agreements. No arguments.

They were getting better at that.

Kimi ended up with Ollie without either of them really saying anything about it. It just… happened. The kind of quiet decision that didn’t need discussion anymore.

Liam and Isack peeled off toward the back storage area, while Kimi and Ollie headed toward the main aisles, stepping carefully over debris and broken glass.

The smell hit them almost immediately.

Not as bad as the dairy plant.

But close enough to make Ollie’s stomach twist.

“God,” he muttered under his breath, pulling the collar of his hoodie up over his nose. “Why does everywhere smell like something died?”

“Because something probably did,” Kimi replied, matter-of-fact.

“Yeah, thanks. That helps.”

Kimi glanced at him briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You asked.”

Ollie huffed, but there wasn’t much energy behind it.

They moved slowly, scanning shelves more out of habit than hope. Most of what remained was useless—expired, crushed, or already torn open. A few cans here and there, a couple of sealed bottles shoved behind fallen boxes.

Kimi grabbed what he could, passing things to Ollie to stuff into a worn backpack.

For a while, it was just that.

Routine.

Quiet.

Almost normal, in a distant, broken way.

Until Kimi pushed open a half-jammed door near the back hallway.

“I’ll check—” he started.

And then stopped.

There was movement.

Close.

Too close.

Kimi froze, instinct kicking in immediately, his hand tightening around the edge of the door as he leaned just slightly to look inside.

For a split second, his brain tried to process what he was seeing.

It didn’t.

Because it wasn’t what he expected.

At all.

He blinked once.

Twice.

Then immediately stepped back out and pulled the door shut again—quickly, quietly, like he hadn’t seen anything.

Like nothing had happened.

He turned around—

—and nearly walked straight into Ollie.

Ollie’s eyes were wide.

Really wide.

“Oh my—” Ollie choked, clapping a hand over his mouth as if that would physically hold the reaction in. “I did not need to see that.”

Kimi stared at him for half a second.

“You saw that too?” he asked, incredulous.

“I—yes?!” Ollie whisper-shouted, voice cracking slightly. “Did you just—”

“I didn’t even mean to—” Kimi cut in, shaking his head, a disbelieving grin already breaking through despite everything. “I thought something was wrong.”

“Well, something was definitely happening,” Ollie shot back, his voice dropping on the last word like it might somehow make it less real.

That did it.

They both lost it.

Not loud—couldn’t be loud—but the kind of laughter that bursts out anyway, sharp and sudden and impossible to stop once it starts. Kimi doubled over slightly, dragging a hand down his face as he tried—and failed—to contain it, while Ollie leaned back against a shelf, shoulders shaking.

It was ridiculous.

Completely, utterly ridiculous.

In the middle of everything—of the world ending, of running and surviving and barely holding it together—

Franco and Gabriel were making out in a storage closet.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ollie wheezed, wiping at his eyes. “Like—really? Here? Now?”

“I don’t—” Kimi shook his head again, laughing under his breath. “I don’t even know what I expected when I opened that door, but it was not that.”

Ollie let out another strangled laugh. “I thought it was an infected or something!”

“So did I!”

“That is so much worse!”

Kimi snorted. “Is it?”

“Yes!” Ollie insisted, then paused. “Okay—no. But emotionally? Yes.”

That set them off again.

Quieter this time.

But just as real.

For a moment, it felt… lighter.

Not fixed.

Not okay.

But lighter.

Like something inside their chests had loosened just enough to let them breathe properly again.

Ollie dragged in a breath, still smiling faintly as the laughter faded. “We are never making eye contact with them again.”

“Agreed,” Kimi said immediately.

A beat passed.

“…Do we tell anyone?” Ollie asked, lowering his voice instinctively like the walls themselves might hear.

Kimi didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, no, that stays buried,” Ollie nodded quickly. “Deep. Like—never happened.”

“Exactly.”

Another quiet laugh slipped between them.

Then, like a switch flipping, they both straightened slightly.

Because the world didn’t stay light for long.

It never did.

“Alright,” Kimi said, clearing his throat. “Let’s just—keep going.”

“Yeah,” Ollie agreed.

They moved on.

But the ghost of that moment lingered.

A small, fragile thing.

Something human.

Further back in the store, Liam stood awkwardly near a collapsed jewelry rack, turning a thin gold chain over in his hands.

It wasn’t worth anything anymore.

Not really.

But it was intact.

Clean.

Untouched.

Which made it rare.

Isack hovered a few steps away, watching him with a slight tilt of his head. “You taking that?”

Liam hesitated.

“Uh—” He glanced down at it again. “I mean. It’s not useful, but…”

He trailed off.

Then, before he could overthink it too much, he stepped closer and held it out.

“You should have it,” he said.

Isack blinked. “What?”

“It’d—” Liam stopped, suddenly very aware of how this sounded. “It’d look nice on you. I think.”

Silence.

Brief.

But loud.

Isack stared at him for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering across his expression.

“Oh,” he said finally.

Then, softer: “Okay.”

He reached out, taking the chain carefully, their fingers brushing for just a second longer than needed.

Neither of them pulled away immediately.

“Thanks,” Isack added, quieter now. He turned the chain in his hand before unclasping it, putting it on.

Liam shrugged, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah. No problem.”

The air between them shifted.

Not dramatically.

But enough.

The scream cut through the store like a blade.

Raw.

Sharp.

Completely unfiltered.

Everyone froze.

“What the hell—?!” someone shouted from the front.

Kimi and Ollie were already moving before the echo had even faded, adrenaline slamming back into place as they ran toward the sound.

“Charles!” Max’s voice—angry, panicked—rang out from near the entrance.

They skidded to a stop just short of the scene.

And for a second—

It didn’t make sense.

It didn’t register.

Because the human brain isn’t built to process something like that instantly.

Charles was on the floor.

Half-sitting, half-collapsed against a broken counter.

His face was pale—too pale—and slick with sweat, his breath coming in uneven, shallow pulls.

And his hand—

His hand—

Kimi’s stomach dropped.

“Oh—fuck,” Ollie breathed beside him, voice barely audible.

Charles’s right arm was soaked in blood.

Not a cut.

Not wrapped.

Gone.

The hand—his hand—the one that had been cut in the river—

It wasn’t there anymore.

In its place was a jagged, hastily wrapped stump, fabric already darkening as blood soaked through it in uneven patches.

For a moment, no one spoke.

No one moved.

Because the reality of it lagged behind the sight.

Then everything hit at once.

“What the FUCK did you do?!” Max exploded, dropping to his knees in front of him, hands hovering like he didn’t know where to touch without making it worse.

Charles let out a strained, almost hysterical breath that might’ve been a laugh. “I wasn’t—taking chances.”

His voice shook.

Not from regret.

From pain.

From adrenaline.

From something deeper.

“It was getting worse,” he forced out, words tight. “It was spreading.”

“You don’t just—” Max cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes wide with something dangerously close to panic. “You don’t just cut off your own hand!”

Charles met his gaze.

And there was something unsteady there.

But also something terrifyingly certain.

“I do if it means I don’t turn.”

Silence crashed back down.

Heavy.

Suffocating.

Because no one could argue with that.

Not really.

Not anymore.

Kimi swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away from the blood, from the reality of it, his pulse hammering in his ears.

Ollie didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He just stood there, staring, his face drained of color.

Because this—

This was new.

A line crossed.

A choice made.

And it changed something.

For all of them.

They left the store faster than planned.

No one said it out loud, but there was a shared understanding: they couldn’t stay there anymore.

Not after that.

Not with the smell of blood thick in the air.

Not with the image of it burned into their heads.

Charles was stabilized as best they could—bandaged tighter, arm secured, pain dulled slightly with what little they had left.

He didn’t complain.

Didn’t speak much at all.

Max stayed close.

Too close.

Like if he looked away, something else would go wrong.

The vehicles were loaded in near silence.

Doors slammed.

Engines turned.

And just like that—

They were moving again.

Heading northeast.

Away from Waco.

Or at least trying to.

No one said it, but the direction felt less like a plan and more like a gamble.

Because everything was now.

They hadn’t been on the road long when someone spotted it.

“Smoke,” George said over the walkie, his voice cutting through the static.

Lando frowned slightly, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Where?”

“Distance. Northeast. Multiple columns.”

Kimi leaned forward slightly from the back seat, squinting through the windshield.

There it was.

Dark streaks against the clear sky.

Too thick to be accidental.

Too many to ignore.

Ollie shifted beside him. “That’s… not good, right?”

“No,” Kimi said quietly. “It’s not.”

The convoy slowed slightly.

Not stopping.

But not pushing forward blindly either.

Because smoke like that only meant one thing now.

And they all knew it.

They didn’t turn toward the smoke immediately.

That was the first decision.

It hung between them in the silence that followed George’s callout, carried in the low static of the walkies and the steady hum of both engines. The Suburban kept a consistent distance ahead, its dark shape cutting through the pale morning light, while the truck followed just behind, tires crunching over uneven asphalt.

No one said “go.”

No one said “don’t.”

But everyone was thinking it.

Lando adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, glancing briefly at Oscar in the passenger seat. Oscar had one arm hooked loosely through the handle above the door, his posture still slightly curled inward despite the warmth of the heater blowing steadily toward him. He looked better than he had the night before—less pale, more present—but there was still a fragility to him that hadn’t been there days ago.

“You seeing it?” Lando asked quietly.

Oscar nodded once, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “Yeah.”

The smoke columns were clearer now.

Thicker.

Darker.

Not just one.

Several.

And they weren’t drifting lazily like something abandoned.

They were active.

Alive.

Something was burning.

“Could be a distraction,” Ollie said from the back, though his voice lacked conviction. “Like—someone trying to pull infected away from somewhere else.”

“Or the opposite,” Kimi replied. “Could be drawing them in.”

“Either way,” Oscar murmured, “it means people.”

That word settled heavily in the space between them.

People.

Alive.

Maybe.

Lando reached for the walkie clipped near the dash. “Max, you seeing this?”

A crackle.

Then: “Yeah,” Max’s voice came through, tight but controlled. “We’re slowing. Not stopping yet.”

“Copy.”

Another pause.

Then Lewis’s voice cut in, clearer, more direct. “We need to decide now. If we’re going to check it out, we don’t circle for ten minutes thinking about it. That’s how you get caught out here.”

Carlos responded almost immediately. “And we don’t just drive straight into something like that either. You remember Austin?”

Silence followed that.

Heavy.

Because everyone did.

The chaos.

The noise.

The way helping had almost gotten them all killed.

“Different situation,” Lewis said, though there was less certainty in it than usual.

“Is it?” Carlos shot back. “Smoke, people in trouble, no clear exit—sounds familiar to me.”

From the truck bed, Franco’s voice crackled through faintly over a third walkie. “Could be a small group. Not a city.”

“Could be a trap,” Alex added from the Suburban.

“Everything’s a trap now,” George muttered, almost to himself.

That didn’t help.

Lando exhaled slowly, eyes flicking between the road and the horizon. “We don’t have to go in. We can just—get close enough to see what’s happening.”

“And then what?” Carlos asked.

No one answered.

Because that was the problem.

Seeing meant choosing.

And choosing meant consequences.

They compromised.

Or something close to it.

The vehicles veered slightly off their original path, angling toward the smoke but keeping distance, weaving through back roads and open stretches where visibility stayed clear. The terrain shifted as they moved—less abandoned highway, more scattered structures, remnants of what had once been a small settlement or outskirts of something larger.

The closer they got, the worse it looked.

Smoke wasn’t just rising now.

It was pouring.

Thick, black plumes clawing into the sky from multiple points, some lower, some spreading wider. The smell hit them next—burning wood, plastic, something chemical underneath it, and something else—

Something they didn’t want to name.

“Jesus,” Ollie whispered.

The road ahead curved slightly, dipping just enough to obscure the full view for a moment.

Then they crested it.

And everything came into focus.

The settlement—if it could still be called that—was collapsing.

Buildings—small houses, makeshift barricades, vehicles shoved together into crude walls—were already overrun. Fire had taken hold in at least three places, flames licking up walls and tearing through anything that could burn. The barricades had been breached in multiple spots.

And the infected—

There were too many.

They moved in waves, spilling through gaps, climbing over obstacles, drawn by sound, by movement, by chaos. Not scattered.

Focused.

Predatory.

People were still inside.

That was the worst part.

You could see them.

Running.

Fighting.

Trying.

“Fuck,” Lando breathed.

Over the walkie, Max didn’t say anything for a long second.

Then: “We’re not going in.”

Relief flickered—

Brief.

Because Lewis’s voice cut through it almost immediately.

“We can’t just leave them.”

Carlos swore under his breath. “We can’t save them either.”

“We can save some,” Lewis insisted. “There—left side, near that collapsed fence—there’s a gap. We could pull a few out.”

“And then what?” Carlos snapped. “We take them with us? Feed them with what? Protect them how?”

“We don’t just—drive away,” Lewis said, and there it was again—that edge, that refusal to let go of something fundamental even as the world demanded it.

In the truck, Kimi felt Ollie shift beside him.

Tense.

Watching.

Waiting.

“Lewis,” Max said finally, voice lower now, controlled in a way that meant he was holding something back. “Look at it.”

“I am.”

“No—you’re not,” Max shot back. “You’re looking at the idea of it. Not what’s actually there.”

A beat.

Then, quieter: “We go in, we don’t come out. Not all of us.”

Silence followed.

Because that was the truth.

And they all knew it.

Another voice—George this time, faint but steady—came through. “There’s too many.”

Then Alex: “Fire’s spreading fast. Wind’s picking up.”

As if to prove it, a section of one of the burning structures collapsed inward with a shower of sparks, sending a fresh wave of smoke rolling outward.

Time was running out.

For them.

For the people inside.

For everyone.

Lewis exhaled sharply over the line.

Then: “One pass.”

Carlos didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

“One pass,” Lewis repeated, firmer. “We don’t stop. We don’t get boxed in. We take whoever can reach the road and we go.”

“And if that turns into ten people?” Carlos demanded.

“It won’t,” Lewis said, though he couldn’t guarantee that.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know we can’t leave without trying.”

That landed.

Because it wasn’t strategy.

It wasn’t logic.

It was something else.

Something older.

Something harder to kill.

Max’s grip tightened on the wheel. Everyone could hear it in the way his voice came back, quieter now.

“…One pass.”

Carlos swore again—but he didn’t argue further.

Because that was the compromise.

And it was a dangerous one.

They moved fast after that.

No more circling.

No more debating.

The Suburban took the lead, angling toward the least congested side of the settlement, while the truck followed close behind, ready to pull out just as quickly as they went in.

“Windows up,” Lando said. “Doors locked. No one opens anything unless we say.”

In the back, Franco and Liam shifted in the truck bed, bracing themselves, while Isack tightened his grip on the side rail, eyes fixed ahead.

Kimi leaned forward slightly, scanning the edges of the road, tracking movement.

“There,” he said suddenly. “Left—two people, near the ditch.”

Lando saw them.

A man and a woman, stumbling, trying to move faster than their bodies allowed.

Behind them—

Movement.

Closing.

“Hold on,” Lando muttered, accelerating.

The truck swerved just enough to line up alongside them.

“Go!” Kimi shouted, already reaching back to yank the rear door open from the inside.

The man grabbed first, hauled up into the bed by Franco and Liam with a burst of desperate strength.

The woman stumbled—

Fell—

“Get her!” Ollie shouted.

Isack leaned out, catching her arm just before the gap widened too much, dragging her up towards the door with a strained grunt as the truck surged forward again.

“Close it!” Lando snapped.

The door slammed shut.

Behind them, the infected hit the space where they’d been seconds too late.

“Two,” Kimi said, breath tight.

“Keep moving,” Max’s voice came through.

They pushed deeper along the outer edge.

Another cluster appeared—three this time, one limping badly.

“Too many,” Carlos warned.

“We can take one more,” Lewis said. “That’s it.”

The Suburban slowed just enough.

George shoved the door open from the inside, reaching out.

“Come on!” he shouted.

One of them made it.

The other two—

Didn’t.

The door slammed.

The Suburban surged forward again.

“Go, go, go!”

They didn’t look back.

They couldn’t.

By the time they cleared the settlement’s edge, the smoke had swallowed most of it.

The road stretched ahead again—empty, quiet, wrong.

Inside the truck, the rescued woman was shaking violently, her breaths coming in ragged, uneven bursts. The man sat hunched forward in the bed, staring at nothing, his hands trembling in his lap.

“Hey,” Ollie said softly, trying to ground her. “You’re okay. You’re out.”

Her eyes snapped to him.

Wild.

Unfocused.

“No,” she rasped. “No, it’s not—it’s not safe—”

“You’re safe enough,” Kimi said gently.

She shook her head frantically. “You don’t understand—”

“Hey,” Ollie cut in, quieter but firmer. “Breathe first. Talk after.”

She tried.

God, she tried.

But something in her had already broken.

“They’re all gone,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Everyone—”

No one interrupted.

Because what was there to say?

Nothing that mattered.

They didn’t stop driving.

Not yet.

Not until the smoke was a distant smear behind them.

Only then did the convoy slow slightly, enough to breathe, enough to process what they’d just done.

What they hadn’t.

Over the walkie, Lewis spoke again, softer now. “We did what we could.”

In the truck, the woman’s breathing had started to hitch.

Wrong.

Too shallow.

Too uneven.

Kimi noticed first, shifting closer. “Hey—stay with us, okay?”

Her eyes found his.

And for a second, they cleared.

Focused.

“You can’t go to Waco,” she said suddenly, gripping his sleeve with surprising strength.

“We’re not,” Ollie said quickly. “We’re heading around—”

“No,” she cut him off, shaking her head weakly. “Not there. Not anywhere near it. It’s worse than you think.”

Kimi exchanged a glance with Ollie.

“We heard,” he said carefully.

She tightened her grip. “There’s a way around.”

“Yeah?” Kimi asked. “Where?”

Her lips parted.

Hesitated.

Then: “The Black Bridge.”

The name hung in the air.

Unfamiliar.

Ominous.

“What is that?” Ollie asked.

“A crossing,” she whispered. “Old. Not on most maps anymore. But it’s still there.”

“Where?” Kimi pressed.

Her strength was fading fast now.

“North… east,” she murmured. “Past the burned fields… you’ll see it…”

Her grip slackened.

Kimi’s chest tightened. “Hey—stay with me.”

Her eyes flickered once more.

Then stilled.

Silence filled the truck.

Heavy.

Final.

Ollie swallowed hard, his voice barely there. “She—”

“I know,” Kimi said quietly.

Over the walkie, Lando’s voice came through, low. “We’ve got… information.”

A pause.

“About a route,” he added.

Max responded after a second. “Send it.”

Kimi looked out at the road ahead.

At the unknown waiting for them.

“…Black Bridge,” he said.

The road didn’t feel the same after they left the settlement.

It wasn’t just the smoke fading behind them in the rearview mirrors, or the way the sky stretched open and empty again, pale blue cut with cold wind. It was quieter in a way that felt wrong, like something had been decided back there—something final—and now the world had settled around it.

They drove for nearly twenty minutes before one of the survivors spoke up.

“Stop here.”

Lando’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel of the truck. “Here?” he echoed, glancing out at the empty stretch of cracked road and low brush. “There’s nothing here.”

“That’s the point,” the man said through the back window, voice rough but steady. He was older than most of them, maybe mid-forties, with a limp that had slowed them down during the escape. “Less noise. Less attention.”

In the Suburban ahead, Max’s voice crackled through the walkie. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a drop-off request,” Lando replied, eyes flicking to Oscar beside him. Oscar was awake now, bundled in a blanket, still pale but more alert. He gave a small, uncertain shrug.

There was a pause on the other end, then a quieter, more controlled: “You’re stopping?”

Another voice cut in before Lando could answer—Lewis. “If they want out, we let them out.”

Carlos didn’t say anything, but the silence carried agreement.

Lando exhaled slowly. “Yeah. We’re stopping.”

The truck slowed first, gravel crunching under the tires as he eased it off the road. The Suburban followed, pulling in just ahead, both vehicles idling in the cold morning air. For a moment, no one moved.

The man climbed out of the truck bed, stiff and careful, testing his weight as he landed. The second survivor—a younger woman with a bandage wrapped around her forearm—climbed out of the suburban, eyes darting across the open space like she expected something to come tearing out of it at any second.

“Are you sure about this?” Oscar asked quietly.

The woman nodded immediately. “Safer than staying in a group that size,” she said. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Lando muttered.

It wasn’t even untrue.

Groups drew attention. Noise. Risk. They all knew it.

The man stepped back from the truck, giving a small, almost awkward nod. “You got us out of there,” he said. “That’s more than most would’ve done.”

No one responded right away.

What do you even say to that?

You’re welcome didn’t feel right.

Good luck felt worse.

So Lando just nodded back, jaw tight. “Stay off the main roads,” he said instead. “And—” he hesitated, then added, “if you see smoke again… don’t go toward it.”

The man gave a humorless half-smile. “Wasn’t planning to.”

The woman looked at them one last time, her gaze lingering—on Oscar, on Kimi and Ollie in the back, on the others she didn’t know the names of.

“Don’t die,” she said, blunt and quiet.

Then they turned and started walking.

No dramatic goodbye. No looking back.

Just two figures moving off into the open land until the distance swallowed them.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, softly, through the walkie:

“Let’s move.”

Max again.

Always forward.

They got back on the road.

The Suburban took the lead this time, its dark frame cutting a steady line through the empty highway. The truck followed close behind, close enough that Lando could see the outline of George’s head in the back window, unmoving, like he hadn’t shifted since they started driving again.

“Feels wrong,” Ollie murmured from the back.

Kimi glanced at him. “What does?”

“Leaving people like that.”

Kimi didn’t answer immediately. He watched the road instead, the way it stretched out ahead of them, endless and uncertain.

“They chose it,” he said finally.

“I know,” Ollie replied. “Doesn’t make it feel better.”

No one argued with that.

Up front, Oscar shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “We can’t save everyone,” he said, voice quiet but firm.

It wasn’t harsh.

Just… tired.

Lando glanced at him briefly, then back to the road. “We barely save anyone.”

Oscar didn’t respond.

Because that was true too.

In the Suburban, the silence sat heavier.

Charles leaned back in the passenger seat, his head tipped against the window, eyes closed. His sleeve was tied off tight where his hand used to be, the fabric darkened despite everything they’d done to stop the bleeding.

Max kept his eyes forward.

He hadn’t said much since the store.

Since the screaming.

Since the moment everything had tipped from bad into something worse.

“You should rest,” Carlos said quietly from the middle row.

“I’m driving,” Max replied.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Max didn’t answer.

Behind them, Lewis watched the road through the side window, his expression distant, unreadable. The events of the morning played over and over in his mind—the fire, the people they couldn’t reach, the ones they left behind.

The one they didn’t.

The woman’s voice still echoed.

The Black Bridge.

It sounded like a warning.

Or a promise.

Or both.

“We’re really doing this?” Alex asked from the back, breaking the silence. “Heading toward something that sounds like it belongs in a horror story?”

“It’s a route,” Lewis said simply.

“Or a trap,” Pierre muttered, his voice flat, detached.

Esteban shifted beside him, wincing slightly as his bruised arm pressed against the seat. “Everything’s a trap now.”

No one argued with that either.

George finally spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “We don’t have better options.”

All eyes drifted, almost unconsciously, to Charles.

To the bandage.

To the cost of their last “option.”

Max’s grip tightened on the wheel.

“No,” he said. “We don’t.”

The land began to change as they drove.

Less debris.

Fewer abandoned cars.

More open stretches of road, broken up by clusters of buildings that looked untouched from a distance—but no one trusted distance anymore.

The wind picked up, rattling loose signs and carrying the faint smell of something burnt, though the smoke itself was long gone.

In the truck bed, Liam adjusted his grip on the side rail, the cold air biting at his face. Beside him, Isack pulled his jacket tighter, the gold chain catching briefly in the light before disappearing again beneath the fabric.

“You okay?” Liam asked over the wind.

Isack nodded. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“…Thanks. For earlier.”

Liam shrugged, a little awkward. “It suits you.”

Isack huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “We’re in the middle of the apocalypse and you’re still—”

“Still what?”

“…this.”

Liam smirked faintly. “Charming?”

“Annoying,” Isack shot back, but there was no heat in it.

For a second, something almost normal passed between them.

Then the truck hit a bump, jolting them both, and the moment slipped away.

Hours passed like that.

Driving.

Watching.

Waiting.

No one said it out loud, but they were all expecting something to go wrong.

It always did.

But for once—

Nothing did.

No hordes.

No sudden ambush.

No desperate radio calls cutting through the static.

Just the road.

Just the wind.

Just the low, constant hum of engines carrying them forward.

Toward something they didn’t understand.

Toward a place they hadn’t seen.

Toward the Black Bridge.

© thepitlibrary — Please do not repost, translate, or claim as your own. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

Oct 23, 2025, 4:00 PM

The bridge appeared slowly.

At first, it was just a shape in the fog—something darker than the rest of the world, something too straight, too deliberate to be natural. The heavy morning mist still hadn’t burned off, clinging low over the riverbanks and swallowing distance whole. What should have been visible from miles away only revealed itself in fragments: a rusted railing here, the skeletal outline of a light post there.

Then, as they crested a shallow incline, it emerged all at once.

The Black Bridge.

Even without the warning, without the dying woman’s voice echoing in their heads, they would’ve known something about it was wrong.

It wasn’t just abandoned.

It was choked.

Cars littered the span in chaotic clusters—some angled sideways like they’d tried to turn around too late, others crushed nose-to-tail in desperate attempts to escape. Doors hung open. Windshields were shattered. A semi truck sat jackknifed across two lanes near the center, its trailer split open like something had clawed its way out.

And between it all—

Movement.

Slow. Unsteady. Endless.

“Infected,” Alex muttered from the back of the Suburban, though no one needed the confirmation.

There were hundreds.

Maybe more.

They wandered between the cars, bumped into one another, dragged themselves along the concrete. Some were caught in loops, pacing the same few feet over and over again. Others leaned against vehicles as if they’d simply stopped mid-escape and never started again.

And below the bridge—

The river churned, swollen and fast from recent storms, its surface broken by debris and something darker that none of them wanted to look at too closely.

Max slowed the Suburban to a stop a safe distance away. Behind him, Lando did the same with the Ram.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, quietly, through the walkie:

“Well,” Lando said. “That’s… bad.”

“That’s not crossable,” Pierre added flatly.

“No,” Carlos agreed. “Not like this.”

Silence stretched again, heavier this time.

They had come all this way for this.

Lewis leaned forward slightly from the middle row, eyes scanning the structure. “What about underneath?”

Max didn’t respond immediately. His gaze tracked along the side of the bridge, where the concrete supports descended toward the riverbank.

A narrow maintenance path. Steel beams. Structural supports crisscrossing beneath the main span.

Close.

Dangerously close.

“…It’s possible,” Max said finally.

A beat.

“That’s insane,” Charles said.

Max glanced at him. “You have a better idea?”

Charles opened his mouth—then stopped.

Because he didn’t.

None of them did.

Behind them, in the truck, the conversation mirrored itself.

“You’re joking,” Ollie said, staring at the underside of the bridge. “You want to go under that? That’s like—” he gestured vaguely, “—a horror movie.”

Kimi didn’t disagree.

But he also didn’t look away.

“It’s quieter,” he said. “Less visible.”

“Less visible to what?” Ollie shot back. “There are literally hundreds of them above us.”

“And fewer below,” Kimi replied.

That was the problem.

Fewer didn’t mean none.

Liam shifted his weight in the truck bed, eyes locked on the structure. “If it collapses—”

“It hasn’t yet,” Franco interrupted, though his voice lacked conviction.

Isack said nothing.

He was staring at the water.

At the way it moved.

At the way things seemed to drift just beneath the surface.

“No,” Lando said suddenly, louder than before. “No, we’re not doing that.”

Every head in the truck turned toward him.

“That’s suicide,” he continued. “We find another way.”

“There is no other way,” Max’s voice came through the walkie, sharp and immediate. “We turn around, we lose hours. Maybe days. We burn fuel we don’t have.”

“And we die if that thing comes down on us,” Lando shot back.

“Or we die out here,” Max countered. “Pick one.”

The argument hung there, raw and unresolved.

Then—

“We go under,” Lewis said.

Quiet.

Decisive.

Final.

Max didn’t argue.

Neither did Carlos.

And after a moment—

Neither did Lando.

They parked off the road, hidden as best they could behind a cluster of overgrown brush and a collapsed sign.

No engines.

No unnecessary noise.

Everything they didn’t need stayed behind.

Everything they couldn’t afford to lose came with them.

Weapons were checked. Straps tightened. Sleeves pulled down over shaking hands.

“Stay close,” Carlos said. “No sudden movements. No yelling unless you absolutely have to.”

“That’s reassuring,” Ollie muttered.

Kimi bumped his shoulder lightly. “You’ll be fine.”

Ollie gave him a look. “That is statistically unlikely.”

But he stuck close anyway.

They approached the bridge from the side, moving down the sloped embankment toward the supports. The ground was damp, soft underfoot, and more than once someone slipped slightly before catching themselves.

The closer they got, the louder it became.

Not loud in the way of a horde charging.

But constant.

A low, unending chorus of movement and decay filtering down from above. The scrape of shoes on concrete. The hollow thud of bodies bumping into metal. The occasional, wet, choking sound that none of them wanted to identify.

“Don’t look up,” George said quietly.

Of course, that made it impossible not to.

Through the gaps in the structure, they could see them.

Feet.

Legs.

Shadows shifting overhead.

So many of them.

“Jesus,” Alex whispered.

“Keep moving,” Max said.

They reached the first beam.

It was narrower than it looked from a distance.

Of course it was.

Steel, slick with condensation, stretching out beneath the bridge like a thin, unforgiving path. Below it, the river rushed past, fast and cold and full of things they couldn’t see clearly enough.

“Nope,” Ollie said immediately. “No, absolutely not.”

Kimi stepped onto it.

Ollie stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Kimi glanced back. “You coming?”

Ollie hesitated—

Then followed.

Because what else was he going to do?

One by one, they moved onto the beams.

Slow.

Careful.

Every step placed with deliberate precision.

Above them, the infected shifted.

A few sounds changed—subtle, but enough to make everyone freeze.

“Did they hear that?” Isack whispered.

“Keep moving,” Liam murmured.

The beam vibrated faintly under their combined weight.

Or maybe that was just in their heads.

The river below surged louder, the current slamming against the supports with a force that made the entire structure feel… unstable.

Alive, almost.

Wrong.

Halfway to the first support column, Ollie’s foot slipped.

“Shit—”

His arms windmilled for balance, body tipping sideways—

Kimi grabbed him instantly, fingers locking around his sleeve and yanking him back upright.

For a second, they just stood there, breathing hard.

“Okay,” Ollie said faintly. “Okay. That almost—yeah, I almost died.”

“You didn’t,” Kimi said.

“Great. Fantastic. Love that for me.”

Despite everything—

Kimi huffed a quiet laugh.

It was brief.

Fragile.

But it was something.

Behind them, Liam kept a closer eye on Isack, who hadn’t taken his gaze off the water.

“You good?” Liam asked softly.

Isack nodded quickly.

Too quickly.

“Yeah. Fine.”

He wasn’t.

But they didn’t have time for that.

Not here.

Not now.

“Stay with me,” Liam said anyway.

Isack glanced at him, something tight in his expression—

Then nodded again.

“Yeah.”

They kept moving.

Step by step.

Toward the center of the bridge.

Toward something none of them trusted.

And somewhere above them—

Something shifted.

Louder this time.

A metal groan, deep and resonant, echoing through the structure like a warning.

Everyone froze.

“What was that?” Esteban whispered.

No one answered.

Because they all knew.

And none of them wanted to say it out loud.

The sound didn’t stop.

That was the worst part.

It wasn’t just a single groan of stressed metal that faded into silence, something they could pretend hadn’t happened. It lingered—low and aching, vibrating through the beams beneath their feet and up into their bones.

Everyone stood frozen, balanced precariously above the rushing water.

“Keep moving,” Max said, quieter now but more urgent. “Slow. Don’t rush.”

“Don’t rush?” Ollie whispered hoarsely. “The bridge is literally—”

“Move,” Carlos cut in.

That did it.

They moved.

Not faster—if anything, more carefully—but with a tension now that hadn’t been there before. Every step felt like it mattered more. Every shift of weight carried consequence.

Above them, the infected reacted to the vibration.

A few stumbled closer to the edges of the bridge, their uncoordinated movements sending small bits of debris trickling down through the gaps. Dust. Rust flakes. Something wetter that no one wanted to identify.

Isack flinched as something landed on his sleeve.

“Don’t look,” Liam murmured immediately.

Too late.

Isack wiped it off quickly, jaw tightening, breathing starting to come a little too fast.

“Hey,” Liam said softly, adjusting his pace to stay directly beside him. “Stay with me, yeah? Just—focus on your steps.”

“I am,” Isack said, but it came out thin.

They kept moving.

The first support column loomed ahead—thick concrete rising from the river like a temporary promise of stability.

“Once we reach that, we can—” Alex started.

A shout cut him off.

Behind them.

“Wait—!”

It was Franco.

Everyone turned instinctively.

Too fast.

The beam shifted under the sudden, uneven movement.

“Don’t—!” George snapped, but the warning came too late.

Liam’s foot slipped.

It happened in a fraction of a second—one misstep, one patch of slick metal—and suddenly he wasn’t standing anymore.

He dropped.

A sharp intake of breath, a flash of movement—

And then he was hanging.

One hand barely caught the edge of the beam, the other scrambling for purchase as his body swung out over the river below.

“Liam!” Isack’s voice cracked, panic immediate and raw.

The current roared beneath him, loud and violent, close enough that if he fell, there would be no getting him back.

“Don’t move!” Max barked, already shifting carefully back along the beam.

Liam’s grip slipped slightly.

“Fuck—”

His fingers tightened, knuckles going white as he fought to hold on. His boots scraped uselessly against empty air, searching for something that wasn’t there.

“I’ve got you—” someone started—

But they didn’t.

Not yet.

Kimi moved first.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. He dropped down onto the beam, lowering his center of gravity as he edged closer, one hand braced behind him for balance.

“Kimi—” Ollie’s voice was tight with fear.

“It’s fine,” Kimi said, though it very clearly wasn’t.

He reached Liam.

For a second, it looked impossible—Liam hanging too far down, Kimi stretched too thin—but then Kimi lunged forward just enough to grab his wrist.

“Got you,” Kimi said, breath sharp.

Liam let out a strained laugh that didn’t sound like humor at all. “That’s—great—please don’t drop me.”

“Not planning to.”

“Good—good plan—”

“Shut up and hold on.”

Kimi tightened his grip, bracing his feet harder against the beam. “On three,” he said. “You’re going to kick up, okay?”

Liam nodded once, jaw clenched.

“One—”

Above them, the bridge groaned again.

Louder.

Closer.

“Two—”

The metal beneath their feet vibrated.

“Three.”

Liam kicked.

Kimi pulled.

For one terrifying second, it felt like neither would be enough—

Then Liam’s arm cleared the edge, his chest slamming hard against the beam as Kimi hauled him the rest of the way up.

They collapsed there for half a second, breathing hard, bodies pressed flat against the cold metal.

“Okay,” Ollie said faintly. “Okay, that was—horrible.”

“You’re fine,” Kimi said, though his own breathing was uneven now.

Liam nodded, pushing himself up carefully. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m—”

He stopped.

Because the sound was getting worse.

Not just a groan now.

A crack.

Deep. Splitting. Structural.

Max’s head snapped upward. “We need to go. Now.”

They moved faster.

Careful still—but urgency had taken over now, overriding the slow precision from before. The beam rattled beneath them with every step, the vibrations no longer subtle.

Above, the infected were reacting more noticeably now.

Some were drawn to the edges, clustering where the noise was strongest. A few stumbled too far, slipping between gaps in the broken railing—

And falling.

Bodies hit the water below with heavy splashes, immediately swallowed by the current.

Isack made a strangled sound.

“Don’t look,” Liam said again, more firmly this time.

But Isack had already seen.

The way they moved even after hitting the water.

The way they didn’t stay under.

His breathing hitched sharply.

“Hey—hey, look at me,” Liam said, reaching out, grabbing his sleeve just enough to anchor him. “Focus, okay? We’re almost—”

Another crack split the air.

Louder.

Closer.

The beam dipped.

Actually dipped.

“Go!” Carlos shouted. “Go, go, go!”

That did it.

They ran.

Balance be damned.

Careful steps turned into quick, desperate strides as they bolted back the way they’d come, the support column forgotten, the idea of crossing abandoned completely.

Behind them, something gave.

A section of the bridge above shifted violently, metal screaming as it tore against itself. The infected clustered there stumbled, collapsed into one another—

And then the entire segment dropped.

The sound was deafening.

Concrete and steel crashing down, taking dozens—hundreds—of infected with it as the structure caved inward toward the river.

“Run!” Max shouted unnecessarily.

They were already running.

The beam bucked under their feet, throwing off their balance. Alex nearly went down, caught at the last second by George. Esteban slipped, slamming a knee hard against the metal but forcing himself back up with a gasp.

Behind them, the collapse spread.

Not the entire bridge—but enough.

Enough to make it clear that staying any longer would kill them.

They reached the embankment in a staggered rush, scrambling up the damp slope with shaking hands and slipping boots.

Lando was already at the top, waving them on frantically. “Move, move, move—!”

One by one, they cleared it.

Kimi last.

He didn’t look back until he reached solid ground.

And when he did—

The sight stuck.

A massive section of the bridge had torn away, collapsing into the river below in a twisted mess of metal and concrete. The water churned violently around it, dragging everything down—debris, cars, bodies.

So many bodies.

The infected that hadn’t fallen still crowded the remaining sections, their movements frantic now, disoriented by the sudden destruction.

It looked like the world breaking.

Like something final.

“Nope,” Ollie said, breathless. “Nope, we are not doing that again. Ever.”

No one disagreed.

Max turned away first. “We’re done here.”

Charles nodded once, pale but steady. “We turn around.”

There it was.

The thing none of them wanted to admit.

“We go through Waco,” Lewis said quietly.

Silence followed.

Because they all knew what that meant.

More risk.

More unknowns.

But there wasn’t another option anymore.

The bridge had made that decision for them.

They ran back to the vehicles.

Adrenaline carried them the rest of the way, shoving aside exhaustion and fear just long enough to get moving again.

Doors slammed.

Engines roared to life.

“Go!” Lando shouted into the walkie, already throwing the truck into gear.

Max didn’t wait.

The Suburban peeled out first, tires spitting gravel as it swung back onto the road. The truck followed close behind—

Too close.

The abandoned cars near the bridge created a bottleneck, forcing them to weave sharply between rusted frames and shattered glass.

“Careful—!” Oscar started.

Too late.

The truck clipped one.

It wasn’t a full collision—just a hard, glancing hit against a half-crushed sedan—but it was enough.

A sharp crack.

A hiss.

“Shit,” Lando muttered, gripping the wheel tighter.

“What was that?” Oscar asked, bracing himself.

“The radiator,” Lando said. “I think—”

The temperature gauge spiked.

Fast.

“Yeah,” he finished grimly. “That’s bad.”

Behind them, the bridge continued to groan and settle, pieces still falling intermittently into the river.

They didn’t slow down.

Not until they were far enough away that the sound faded into the distance.

Only then did Lando ease off the gas slightly.

The truck shuddered.

Coughed.

And then—

Died.

“…No,” Ollie said from the back. “No, no, no—”

Lando tried the ignition again.

Nothing.

“Fuck.”

Ahead, the Suburban slowed, then turned back toward them.

Max already knew.

Of course he did.

They all did.

The truck was done.

Which meant—

“We’re all squeezing in,” Gabriel said, voice hollow.

Ollie let out a hysterical half-laugh. “Oh, that’s going to be fun.”

No one else laughed.

Because there were too many of them.

And not enough space.

And the day wasn’t even close to over.

The Suburban looked smaller the moment they all turned toward it.

It hadn’t changed, not really. Same scratched paint, same dent along the side panel, same worn seats inside. But with the truck dead on the roadside behind them and sixteen people standing in a loose, stunned cluster, it felt… insufficient.

“Right,” Alex said after a long, quiet second. “That’s not going to work.”

“It will,” Max replied flatly.

Alex blinked. “There are sixteen of us.”

“Fifteen seats if we get creative,” Carlos corrected.

“That is not how seats work.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Lewis said.

That ended the argument before it could even start.

Because that was the truth of it.

It always was.

Packing them in took longer than anyone wanted.

Not because they were being careful—if anything, they rushed—but because there were simply too many bodies and not enough space to put them.

“Okay, no, that’s my leg,” Ollie protested as someone shoved past him.

“I know,” Pierre said dully. “It’s still going there.”

“It absolutely is not—”

“It is if you want to leave before nightfall.”

“That’s a threat.”

“It’s a fact.”

In the front, Max had already reclaimed the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel like if he let go for even a second, something else would fall apart. Charles slid into the passenger side with a quiet grunt, carefully angling himself to avoid bumping his bandaged arm.

“Don’t touch it,” he snapped immediately as Max’s elbow brushed too close.

“I didn’t,” Max shot back.

“You almost did.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It is when I only have one hand left, Max.”

Max went very still for half a second.

Then, quieter, “I know.”

The tension didn’t disappear.

But it shifted.

Behind them, the middle row turned into a negotiation zone.

Carlos climbed in first, pressing himself as far to one side as possible. Lewis followed, then George, who took one look at the available space and let out a low, unimpressed exhale.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Sit,” Carlos said.

“I am sitting. I’m just… overlapping.”

“You’ll survive.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Alex squeezed in next, effectively eliminating any concept of personal space. “We’re going to have to stack,” he said.

“We are not stacking,” George replied.

“We are absolutely stacking.”

In the back row, things were somehow worse.

Pierre slid in first, expression distant, movements mechanical. Esteban followed, wincing slightly as he adjusted his bruised arm. Kimi and Ollie climbed in after them, the two of them immediately pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with no room to move.

“Hi,” Ollie said weakly.

“Hi,” Kimi replied.

“I can’t feel my left arm.”

“That’s probably fine.”

“I don’t think it is.”

“Too late now.”

They made it work.

Barely.

And then came the rest.

Franco hesitated before climbing in, eyes flicking once toward where the truck had been abandoned, like part of him was still stuck there. Then he forced himself forward, squeezing into whatever space remained, silent and distant.

Liam climbed in next, immediately turning to help Isack.

“Come on,” he said gently.

Isack stared at the vehicle for a second too long.

Too many people.

Too little space.

Too many ways something could go wrong.

“I—” he started, then stopped.

Liam didn’t push.

He just reached out, taking Isack’s wrist lightly. “Hey. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

That seemed to cut through it.

Barely.

But enough.

Isack nodded once and let Liam guide him in, the two of them folding into the cramped space together. There wasn’t room to sit normally, so Isack ended up half-leaning into Liam’s side, their legs tangled awkwardly with everyone else’s.

No one commented.

No one had the energy.

Finally, Gabriel climbed in last.

He hesitated at the door, glancing back once at the road, at the direction of the bridge, at the place they’d just barely escaped.

Then he shut the door.

“Everyone in?” Max called.

A chorus of reluctant, overlapping affirmations answered him.

“Define ‘in,’” Ollie muttered.

Max ignored that and started the engine.

The Suburban dipped slightly under the weight.

But it held.

“Seatbelts,” Carlos said automatically.

There was a pause.

Then—

“…That’s funny,” Alex said.

It was uncomfortable immediately.

Not gradually.

Not something they adjusted to over time.

Immediately.

Limbs pressed into limbs. Shoulders jammed together. Someone’s knee digging into someone else’s back. The air inside the vehicle warmed quickly from shared body heat, fogging the windows despite the cold outside.

“This is a nightmare,” Ollie said.

“You’re alive,” Pierre replied flatly.

“Debatable.”

From the front, Charles shifted slightly, wincing. “We need to rotate seats.”

“No,” Max said.

“Yes,” Charles insisted. “Someone tall is going in the middle.”

“I refuse.”

From behind them, George spoke without missing a beat. “Wonderful. I volunteer Max.”

A beat.

Then, despite everything—

A few quiet laughs.

Even Max huffed once, shaking his head. “Not happening.”

“Coward,” Alex muttered.

“Driver,” Max corrected.

“Temporary.”

“Do you want to walk?”

“…Driver.”

The moment passed.

Small.

Brief.

But real.

The farmhouse came into view just as the light began to shift.

Not dark yet.

But heading there.

It sat off the road, partially obscured by overgrown trees and a sagging fence line. From a distance, it looked intact—weathered, but standing.

“Could work,” Carlos said.

“Or it’s already occupied,” Esteban added.

“Everything is,” Lewis replied.

Max slowed the Suburban, eyes scanning the property carefully. No immediate movement. No obvious signs of a horde.

“Let’s check it,” he said.

No one argued.

They couldn’t afford to.

The house creaked when they stepped inside.

Old wood. Settling structure. The kind of sound that might’ve been normal once, before everything meant something else.

“Clear,” Alex called from the main room.

“Upstairs clear,” George added a minute later.

“Kitchen’s fine,” Carlos said.

It was… quiet.

Too quiet.

But safe enough.

For now.

“Basement?” Pierre asked.

There was a pause.

No one liked that word anymore.

Not after the river.

Not after everything.

“I’ll check,” Gabriel said.

Franco’s head snapped up slightly at that, something flickering in his otherwise distant expression.

“I’ll go with you,” Liam added.

Gabriel shook his head. “It’s fine. I’ll just—quick look.”

“Don’t—” Carlos started.

But Gabriel was already moving.

The smell hit first.

Damp.

Rot.

Water.

“Gabriel?” Liam called after him.

No response.

Just the faint creak of steps descending.

And then—

A splash.

Small.

But wrong.

Liam moved immediately, crossing the room in two quick strides and yanking the basement door open.

“Gabriel—?”

What he saw—

Water.

The basement was flooded, murky and still, rising halfway up the stairs. The surface rippled unnaturally, disturbed by something beneath it.

And Gabriel—

Was slipping.

His foot went out from under him on the submerged step, his body pitching forward into the dark water with a sharp gasp.

“Shit—!”

He surfaced for half a second—

Then something grabbed him.

Not visible.

Not clearly.

Just movement.

A force pulling him down.

His hands broke the surface again, clawing at nothing, at air, at the edge of the step—

“Help—!”

The word cut off into a choked scream as he was dragged under.

The water swallowed the sound.

“MOVE!” Liam shouted.

He lunged forward, but strong hands grabbed him from behind—Max, Carlos, someone—yanking him back before he could throw himself in after him.

“There are infected in there!” Carlos snapped.

“We have to—!”

Another splash.

Then—

Nothing.

Just ripples.

Just dark water.

Just silence.

Franco didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t react.

He just stared at the surface like if he looked hard enough, Gabriel would come back up.

He didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

And everyone knew it.

The basement stayed still.

Like it had swallowed him whole.

No one suggested going down there.

No one suggested retrieving the body.

Because they couldn’t.

Because they wouldn’t make it back up.

“Upstairs,” Lewis said quietly. “We stay upstairs.”

It wasn’t comfort.

It wasn’t reassurance.

It was survival.

And it came at a cost.

Franco still hadn’t moved.

Kimi stepped closer slowly, careful, like approaching something fragile. “Franco…”

No response.

Ollie hovered nearby, unsure, eyes flicking between the basement door and Franco’s face.

“Hey,” he tried softly.

Nothing.

It was like something had shut off inside him.

Like the part that reacted had just… stopped.

Across the room, Isack’s breathing had gone uneven again.

Not loud.

But sharp.

Too fast.

Too shallow.

“I—” he started, voice breaking. “I can’t—he just—he was right there—”

Liam was there immediately.

“I’ve got you,” he said, pulling Isack close without hesitation, one hand steady against the back of his neck.

Isack didn’t resist.

Didn’t pull away.

He just grabbed onto Liam like he needed something solid to prove the world hadn’t just disappeared out from under him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Liam murmured, low and firm. “Okay? I’m right here.”

Isack nodded against him, though his hands didn’t loosen.

Not even a little.

Around them, the group stood in the aftermath.

One more gone.

One more loss they couldn’t fix.

One more reminder—

That nowhere was safe.

Not the road.

Not the water.

Not even a house that looked untouched from the outside.

Especially not that.

Outside, the light continued to fade.

And inside—

No one felt like they could breathe properly anymore.

Night settled slowly, like it wasn’t sure it wanted to touch the house either.

The last of the light filtered weakly through the dirty windows, turning everything a dull, washed-out gray before finally giving in to darkness. No one turned on lights—not that there were any working ones left—but even if there had been, they wouldn’t have risked it. Darkness was safer.

Or at least, it felt like it was supposed to be.

They stayed upstairs.

No discussion. No vote. Just an unspoken agreement that no one was going anywhere near the basement again.

The door stayed shut.

Someone—Max, maybe Carlos—had dragged a heavy cabinet in front of it. Not to keep anything out.

To keep something in.

That thought sat with all of them, whether they admitted it or not.

They spread out as best they could across the upper floor, which wasn’t saying much. The house had maybe three rooms that were usable, all of them small, all of them too close together. The floor creaked with every shift of weight, every step, every reminder that the structure beneath them was old and tired and not entirely trustworthy.

Still better than outside.

Still better than the basement.

“Pair up,” Carlos said quietly. “No one alone.”

No one argued.

They didn’t need to be told twice.

Max took the spot closest to the stairwell.

Not sleeping.

Just sitting with his back against the wall, one knee up, something heavy resting across his lap like he expected to need it at any second. His gaze stayed fixed on the hallway, on the door at the end of it, on anything that might move.

Charles sat a few feet away, leaning against the opposite wall. His injured arm was cradled carefully against his chest, the bandage already needing to be redone, though he didn’t have the energy to deal with it now.

“You should sleep,” Charles said after a while.

Max didn’t look at him. “You first.”

Charles huffed quietly. “That’s not how this works.”

“No?” Max replied. “Feels like it is.”

A beat.

Then, softer, almost reluctant: “I’m fine.”

Charles didn’t call him out on it.

Didn’t point out that none of them were fine.

He just shifted slightly, letting his head fall back against the wall, eyes half-closing despite himself.

“Wake me in a few hours,” he murmured.

Max didn’t respond.

In one of the bedrooms, the rest of them tried to make something resembling sleep happen.

It was crowded.

Of course it was.

Bodies packed together on the floor, against walls, wherever there was space to sit or lie down without overlapping too much. Jackets and hoodies became makeshift pillows. Someone found an old blanket in a closet—thin and scratchy, but better than nothing—and it got passed around until it covered as many people as possible.

Ollie ended up wedged between Kimi and Alex, one arm trapped awkwardly under him.

“I can’t feel anything,” he whispered.

“You say that like it’s new,” Alex murmured back.

“I’m serious. If I wake up and it’s gone—”

“It’s still attached,” Kimi said quietly. “I checked.”

“Great. Fantastic. Reassuring.”

A pause.

“…Thanks,” Ollie added, softer this time.

Across the room, Franco sat against the wall, knees drawn up slightly, eyes open.

Unblinking.

He hadn’t spoken since the basement.

Hadn’t reacted.

Hadn’t done anything except exist in the same space as everyone else, like his body had shown up but everything inside it had stayed somewhere else.

Esteban sat near him, close enough to reach if he needed to, but not touching.

Not pushing.

Just… there.

“You should try to rest,” Esteban said quietly.

No response.

Franco didn’t even seem to register that he’d spoken.

Esteban exhaled slowly, glancing away.

There wasn’t anything else he could do.

Not tonight.

On the far side of the room, Isack hadn’t let go of Liam.

Not fully.

Even now, hours later, after the panic had dulled into something quieter but no less heavy, he stayed close—pressed into Liam’s side, one hand loosely gripping the fabric of his sleeve like he needed that point of contact to stay grounded.

Liam didn’t pull away.

Didn’t comment on it.

He just adjusted slightly so Isack could lean more comfortably, one arm draped loosely around his shoulders.

“You should sleep,” Liam murmured.

Isack shook his head against him. “Don’t want to.”

“Yeah,” Liam said. “Me neither.”

They sat like that for a while.

Listening.

To the creaks of the house.

To the quiet, uneven breathing of everyone around them.

To the occasional shift from downstairs—the kind that might’ve just been the water settling.

Or might not have been.

Isack’s grip tightened slightly.

“Liam?”

“Yeah?”

A pause.

“…You won’t—” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “You won’t just disappear, right?”

The question sat there, fragile and heavy and too real.

Liam didn’t hesitate.

“Right,” he said, voice low but certain.

Isack sighed, the faintest laugh audible, though he didn’t lift his head.

“Okay.”

Liam’s hand moved slightly against his shoulder, a small, grounding pressure.

They stayed like that.

Closer than they’d ever been before.

Not rushed.

Not forced.

Just… necessary.

Eventually, exhaustion started to win.

Not fully.

Not peacefully.

But enough that people’s eyes closed, heads dipped, breathing evened out just slightly.

Sleep came in fragments.

In short, restless stretches.

In half-dreams that snapped apart at the smallest sound.

No one slept deeply.

No one slept well.

But they slept.

Max was still awake when the house finally went quiet.

Still watching.

Still listening.

The fog outside had thickened again, pressing against the windows like something alive. The world beyond the glass had disappeared entirely, swallowed whole by gray.

Behind him, he could hear the others.

Shifting.

Breathing.

Existing.

Fewer than before.

Always fewer.

His gaze flicked, just once, toward the door that led downstairs.

Toward the place they’d blocked off.

Toward the water.

Then back to the hallway.

He adjusted his grip slightly.

And waited.

For morning.

Or for something worse.

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