#claimers

You freeze, hands raising just a bit.

The man holding it squints for a second before recognition clicks.

“It’s just the kid and his girl," he says to everybody inside.

He lowers the gun with a smirk as his eyes drag down your now relatively clean body and steps aside, gesturing to you both to come in.

The second you step through the door, every head in the place turns.

The men are scattered around the shop sitting in claimed cars, leaning against tool benches and sprawled on the floor. And now every single one of them is staring at you. Almost hungrily.

Your shoulders tense and it takes everything in you not to look afraid.

One of them lets out a low whistle. “Well I’ll be damned."

Another leans forward on the hood of a car, eyes dragging slowly over you. “Kid cleans her up and she’s a whole different picture.”

You feel JJ stiffen beside you.

Len is sitting on the hood of an old truck, his compound bow propped beside him. His eyes crawl over you openly, zero shame in it.

“Yeah,” he says with a crooked grin. “Didn’t realize what you were hiding under all those roamer guts.”

"I did," one says.

A couple of the others laugh.

You feel like you're gonna be sick.

Joe looks at you for a second but watches JJ harder.

The men don’t stop staring.

JJ’s arm tightens around your shoulders as he glares at the floor, nostrils flaring a bit in repressed anger and leads you toward his spot next to his backpack and rifle. You both sit, backs against the wall and he immediately pulls you a little closer, his arm draped firmly around you like he’s drawing a line.

One of them nods toward your neck. “Well look at that.”

Another leans forward, squinting. “Damn. Them bruises,” he says with a laugh. “That right there don’t look like just friends to me. You really had your way with her, blondie.”

A few of them chuckle.

Your hand instinctively lifts to your neck.

JJ’s expression darkens instantly.

Len tilts his head. “So what is she really, huh?” he asks. “Friend?” His grin grows. “Or somethin’ a little more fun than that?”

JJ’s jaw clenches even harder. For a second he says nothing, then his voice cuts through the room, sharp.

“Back off.”

The laughter dies down a little.

Len raises his eyebrows like he’s amused.

JJ’s arm tightens around you again, pulling you a little closer into his side as he looks directly at them.

“She’s mine,” he says flatly.

The words almost make you relax a little as you look up at him.

The room goes quiet for a second.

Joe, leaning against a workbench across the shop, watches the exchange with a small, approving smile.

Len holds JJ’s stare for a moment… then shrugs like it’s not worth pushing. “Relax, kid,” he mutters. But his eyes flick back to you one more time.

JJ notices.

His arm stays around your shoulders and it doesn’t move until you decide you need to eat.

JJ pulls the can of beans and a plastic spoon out of your backpack and shoves some in his mouth.

You keep your shoulder pressed against his arm, trying to look smaller than you are. Trying not to notice the way some of them keep glancing over.

You take a small bite, chewing slowly. Your stomach twists with nerves and disgust at your current situation more than hunger.

JJ tips the can toward you. “Here.”

After a second you lean a little closer to him, voice barely a whisper. “Do I need permission to eat these?”

JJ glances down at you, confused. “What?”

You nod toward the can. “Since they’re technically yours. And I’m... technically yours now.”

He huffs quietly through his nose when he realizes you're joking. “They’re beans.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, hiding a small smile. “But if we’re following the rules…” Your eyes flick nervously around the room before you lean closer to his ear. “I don’t wanna steal your property.”

JJ nudges your knee with his. “Stop,” he mutters, also trying not to smile.

You grin faintly and take another bite.

You suddenly remember something Carmen had said when you were in the sickbay together back at the prison.

"You deserve to be claimed, you know.”

You grin a little wider. Even if it's not what she meant at all.

He finally claimed me. You happy? You think. You gonna stop haunting me now?

Suddenly you hear a loud, irritated voice across the room that snaps you right out of your thoughts.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me. Christ.”

Len throws his bag down and pushes up from where he’d been sitting and stalks across the garage toward you both.

Your stomach twists as he stops right in front of JJ.

He gestures with his hand. “Give it here.”

JJ frowns up at him. “What? Step back, man.”

Len jerks his chin back to where he was just sitting. “My half of the snake was in that bag. Now it’s gone.”

Your eyes flick between them, pulse pounding. Around the room the other claimers start looking over.

Len’s voice rises. “Now ain’t nobody around here interested in no half a damn snake except you. Ain’t that right?”

JJ slowly pushes himself to his feet in front of you. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Len lowers his voice, stepping closer. “Empty your bag.”

Your stomach drops.

JJ’s hand closes around the strap of his backpack before Len can reach it. “I said step back,” JJ snaps, pulling it off the ground.

Joe appears out of nowhere then, strolling over like he’s just curious. Then he reaches out and takes the bag from JJ before he can stop him.

“Did you take his snake, JJ?” Joe asks calmly. “Just tell me the truth.”

“I didn’t take shit.”

Joe unzips the bag slowly and sticks his hand inside. “Then what do we have here?” he says lightly, pulling something out.

The half of the snake.

Your stomach drops through the floor. JJ couldn't have possibly been dumb enough to steal from them knowing what they do to people who do. Could he?

Joe holds it up between his fingers. “Well look at that.”

JJ’s head snaps toward Len, eyes blazing.

“You put that there, didn’t you?” he says.

Len smirks.

JJ shoves him hard in the chest. “Didn’t you?!”

Your eyes get even wider, heart pounding.

Len bares his teeth and shoves him back. “You lied. You stole.” Then his voice rises as he looks at Joe. “We gonna teach this fool or what? Huh?!”

You shrink back against the wall, breathing quick and shallow, mind going a million miles a minute.

Joe steps between them.

“Whoa, whoa,” he says mildly. “Now JJ says he didn’t take your half of the snake, so we got a little conundrum here.” He gestures toward JJ. “So either he’s lying… which is an actionable offense…” He chuckles softly. “Or you planted it on him like some pussy punk ass, cheating, coward cop.”

Len suddenly looks less sure of himself.

Joe tilts his head. “Cause while that wouldn’t be specifically breaking the rules… it’d be disappointing.”

Len nods stiffly, brows furrowed like he agrees. “It would.”

“Mmmhmm,” Joe hums.

Len leans close to Joe’s face. “I didn’t.”

Joe studies him for a second.

Then suddenly punches him square in the nose.

Len collapses backward and the other claimers immediately swarm him.

“Teach him a lesson, gents,” Joe says flatly. “He’s a lyin’ sack of shit. I’m sick of it. Teach him all the way.”

Fists start flying. Boots thud all over his body. Len groans under the blows.

You stare, horrified, as the men beat him on the concrete.

Joe steps closer to JJ, voice quieter now.

“I saw him do it.”

“Why didn’t you try to stop him?” JJ asks, trying to sound calm.

Joe shrugs. “He wanted to play that out. I let him.” Then he points at JJ. “You told the truth. He lied. You understand the rules.” Joe glances toward the pile of men still beating Len. “He doesn’t.”

You're relieved but your hands still shake in your lap as you watch.

Joe hands JJ the other half of the snake. “Looks like you get the head too,” he says before walking away.

JJ slowly sits back down beside you.

You’re still shaking.

Without saying anything he pulls you closer, arm wrapping around your shoulders.

Across the room the beating continues. Blows landing. Len groaning.

JJ gently pulls you down to lie beside him so you're in between him and the wall. He slides his backpack under his head and then pulls you against his chest. One of his hands comes up and covers your ear, pressing your head into him so you don’t have to hear it as much.

His other arm stays tight around you.

Your fingers clutch his shirt.

Eventually the sounds fade into the background.

Exhaustion drags at both of you and somehow, despite the violence echoing through the garage, you both fall asleep.

JJ wakes up the next morning with your face pushed into his chest. He blinks the sleep away and lifts his head slightly, looking behind him.

Men are already moving around the shop—packing bags, slinging weapons over their shoulders, muttering to each other as morning light creeps through the open garage doors.

Then JJ’s eyes drift down to the floor. The the concrete where Len had been beaten is smeared with dark, dried blood splattered everywhere. Across the side of an old tire. Even streaked where someone must’ve dragged him.

For a moment he just stares at it.

Then you shift beside him and your eyes blink open slowly. The first thing you see is JJ looking down at something.

“What?” you murmur quietly.

You push yourself up a little and follow his gaze. Your stomach drops when you see the blood and a small breath catches in your throat.

For a second neither of you say anything.

Then your eyes meet his.

There’s the same disturbed look in both of them. The same quiet realization that this is the group you’re stuck with.

But there’s something else there too.

Relief.

Because you’re both still here. Together.

You both sit there for another second before pushing yourselves up.

When you stand, your weight shifts onto your right foot and you wince a little.

JJ notices immediately. “How’s your foot?”

You test it carefully. “It’s… not great,” you admit. “But a little better. I’ll be okay.”

JJ studies your face for a second, clearly not totally convinced. “If it gets worse,” he says quietly, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, “you just say somethin'. I got you.”

Your lips twitch despite everything. “Thanks.”

One by one the claimers file out of the shop. You and JJ fall in behind them.

When you step outside, your eyes immediately catch on something in the dirt next to the building and you stop.

Len’s body lies there, crumpled and still, his face swollen beyond recognition and one of his own arrows sticking out of his head.

Your stomach twists.

JJ sees it too. His hand moves instinctively to your back, guiding you gently forward.

“C’mon,” he murmurs quietly.

You swallow hard and start walking.

The road stretches on ahead of you.

You walk beside JJ near the back of the group, doing your best to keep pace with the other men.

You try not to make it obvious how bad your limp is but JJ notices anyway.

Everybody does but they don't care as long as you keep up.

He glances down at you as you walk beside him, his pace slowing just enough to match yours while the others move a few steps ahead.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

You nod immediately and offer him a tiny smile. “Yeah.”

The smile is small. Brave. And JJ knows you well enough to see right through it.

But he doesn’t call you out because you both know that this might be the only way you ever find your friends again.

And the only way that you can protect them from these people.

If you can call them people.

The group walks in silence for a while until up ahead, Joe slows. “We’re getting closer,” he says.

You and JJ both look up and see a sign. Someone has painted words across it in thick black letters:

SANCTUARY FOR ALL.

COMMUNITY FOR ALL.

THOSE WHO ARRIVE SURVIVE.

Below the words, a map with a star beside a name.

TERMINUS

You and JJ both slow to a stop for a second, staring up at it.

Joe stops too, glancing back at you.

JJ gestures at the sign with his chin. “You seen this before?”

Joe snorts. “Oh yeah. I’ll tell you what it is,” he says. “It’s a lie. Ain’t no sanctuary for all. Ain’t nobody welcoming guys like you and me with open arms.”

The group starts walking again.

You and JJ fall back into step behind them.

JJ ignores the last comment.

“So that where we’re headed?” he asks.

Joe nods slightly. “We think that group is headed that way.”

Your stomach tightens. You glance at JJ then back at Joe. “What did these people do?” you ask carefully. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Joe chuckles a little.

“I don’t mind at all, darlin.” He walks with his hands hooked in his belt as he talks, like he’s telling a casual story. “We were in a house,” he says, “mindin' our business. And then this walking piece of fecal matter was hiding in there with all of them... he strangled our colleague Lou. Left him there to turn. Lou came at all of us.” He gestures vaguely down the road. “Guy that killed him ran out. Met that group outside. They ran. We tracked their footsteps down the road later. To one of those signs. It was obvious they stopped and read it.”

You and JJ stay stone faced.

“And thus… we got ourselves a destination.”

The Claimers push on even after the sun sets because Joe has a "feeling." He says that "If these people were smart, they'd already be camped near by for the night."

You're so exhausted and in so much pain that you hope he's wrong.

Ever since he said that, your heart hasn’t slowed down. JJ feels it where your chest presses against his back.

He’s carrying you now. You fought him on it at first, insisting you could walk, but after another mile your limp got worse and worse until you were practically dragging your foot so he crouched in front of you without even asking and you climbed on. Your arms loop around his shoulders, your cheek resting near his neck as he walks. Every once in a while he adjusts his grip under your thighs, steady and strong.

After another stretch of road, you lean forward slightly. “JJ,” you whisper in his hear.

“Yeah?”

“…I have to pee.”

He lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Me too.”

Up ahead, the claimers keep walking.

JJ clears his throat. “Hey,” he calls out casually. “We’re gonna take a leak. We’ll catch up.”

A couple of the men glance back.

One of them snorts. “Don’t take too long.”

“Yeah. No quickies," another one adds with a grin.

A few of them laugh.

JJ rolls his eyes and turns off the road without another word, carrying you into the trees. He walks a couple yards in and lets you slide off his back.

You both turn away from each other automatically like you always have.

You try to squat but your legs immediately shake. A small, miserable sound escapes you.

JJ zips his pants. “You good?” he asks over his shoulder without turning.

You attempt to lower yourself again and your thighs feel like they might give out completely. “…Not really.”

“You need help?”

You let out a tired little laugh. “What are you gonna do,” you say, “hold my hand?”

“Yeah,” he answers simply.

“…You’re serious?”

“Yeah.” He begins to back up towards you, hand out.

You sigh, embarrassed but too sore to argue, and reach forward.

His hand finds yours behind him and he braces himself while you slowly lower down, legs trembling the whole way.

“This is so embarrassing,” you mumble.

JJ scoffs immediately. “Are you kidding?” You hear the smile in his voice. “Y/N, I’ve seen every part of you. Who cares if I hold your hand while you pee?”

Heat rushes straight to your face. “Shut up,” you mutter, smiling softly even through your fear.

He just chuckles quietly and waits until you’re done.

When you stand again, he keeps hold of your hand to help pull you up the rest of the way.

You wince as you tug your pants back up. “God,” you whisper.

“Really sore?”

“Yeah.”

He steps beside you and automatically slides an arm around your waist as you start walking back toward the road.

You lean into him a little. “I’m scared,” you admit quietly. “If something happens… I can’t run.” You swallow. “I can barely fight right now.”

JJ sighs, heart beginning to beat a little faster. He squeezes your waist gently. “You’re okay.” His other hand taps the gun resting on your hip. “That’s why I gave you this. And if we find them, it'll be eight against five."

He says this as if there's no way the numbers on your side could be subtracted before the fight even starts.

“Yeah,” you say softly.

You reach the road but when you step out of the trees the claimers are gone.

Your stomach drops.

JJ scans the road quickly. “…Shit.”

He turns toward you immediately and bends in front of you. “C’mere.”

You don’t argue this time. You hop onto his back and wrap your arms around him again.

He hooks his arms under your legs and straightens then starts walking fast down the road, trying to catch up.

For a moment there’s nothing but the sound of his footsteps and the distant rustle of wind through the trees.

Then you hear yelling.

Joe yelling.

JJ freezes, you freeze, and your visions tunnel.

"Shit," you both say at once.

Yeah hear him yell again. Louder and Clearer. “Put your weapons on the ground!”

"JJ..." you breathe. "Run."

The Pogues sit in the middle of a dirt road off the main one. They're circled around a small fire by a truck they'd found.

Everyone looks tired.

Really tired.

John B leans back against his backpack. Sarah leans into his shoulder. Kiara sits with her knees pulled up to her chest. Pope absently turns a small rock over in his hands beside Cleo as she watches it.

“You think they’re alive?” Kiara asks, breaking the silence.

Everybody knows who she's talking about immediately.

They had all seen you and JJ run into the woods after the Governer attacked the prison, but there were too many biters in the way to get to the two of you.

John B nods. “Yeah. They're alive," he says with no hesitation.

Sarah looks at him. “You sound really sure about that.”

John B shrugs a little. “It’s JJ.”

That explanation somehow makes perfect sense.

Kiara nods. “And Y/N. They've always gotten out of impossible situations together."

Pope sighs, leaning his head back toward the sky. “If they are, what do you think they're doing right now?”

John B thinks for a second then huffs out a laugh. "JJ's probably making her some weird concoction with different cans of stuff that shouldn't be ate together. Like when he used to get high and make the weirdest things and swear it was the best thing he'd ever ate."

They smile at the memory.

Pope snorts. "And call himself Gordon Ramsay."

Kiara scrunches her nose. "He's probably eaten so many bugs. Like in the survival shows he was obsessed with."

"They're probably cuddling and acting like it's a totally normal 'best friend thing' for them to do," Cleo says without a doubt in her mind. "Because they're 'just really close.'"

A grin spreads across Sarah's face. “Oh... I bet I know what they’re doing right now," she says suggestively. "Other than just cuddling."

Everyone looks at her.

She wiggles her eyebrows. "They've been alone with each other for a week probably, come on. They've practically been forced to confront their obvious ass feelings."

John B groans. “Oh my god.”

Everybody nods in agreement.

“Yeah,” Pope says. “That checks out.”

“Absolutely,” Cleo agrees.

“If we see them again, watch them still not be together. Even if they did do...that...again," Kiara says, rolling her eyes but still smiling.

The whole group groans at once.

“Oh my god,” Pope says.

“Don’t even joke about that,” John B mutters. "I was so sick of that shit."

“Weren't we all?" Kiara laughs quietly, shaking her head again.

"I mean..." John B shrugs. "Kind of miss it at this point. Really miss it."

Sarah nods in agreement after everybody else. "Me too. The 'will they won't they' of it all. You guys' bets on them."

Cleo smiles sadly. “Carmen would lose her mind if they hooked up again and didn't get together. Would probably beat the hell out of them both until they admit they're in love with each other."

She then glances over toward Rafe, suddenly feeling bad for bringing her up.

Everyone does, actually.

Rafe sits a little apart from them, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the fire. For a second he doesn’t react. Then he lets out a quiet little laugh under his breath.

“Yeah,” he says. “She definitely would.”

There’s something softer in his voice than there used to be. Something almost fond.

He looks down at the ground again. He misses her. Even if he’d never admit it out loud.

Kiara nudges Sarah. “So what do you think?” she asks. “You think they’re heading to Terminus too?”

Sarah shrugs. “Maybe.”

Pope frowns a little. “If they saw those signs like we did, they might.”

John B leans forward slightly. “If it’s real.”

Cleo glances down the empty road. “I mean, ‘Sanctuary for all’? Sounds a little too good to be true.”

Kiara nods. “Still worth checking.”

Pope tosses the rock he’d been holding into the grass. “If they’re out there,” he says quietly, “maybe they’re already there.”

Everyone falls quiet again for a moment.

Thinking about you. About JJ. About whether you’re alive somewhere under the same sky.

Rafe exhales slowly. “We don’t even know if this place is legit. If it's even there anymore."

The words have barely left his mouth when something cold presses against his temple.

A gun barrel.

Rafe freezes.

A voice speaks softly behind his head. “Oh deary me.”

The accent sends a chill straight down his spine. He recognizes that voice.

The man from the house where he'd killed one of them to protect to Pogues.

Everybody's breaths catch in their throats ane they don't move.

Joe smiles. “You screwed up, asshole.”

Part 26

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Then his body gives up and he stops in the middle of the empty road.

Silence stretches for miles.

He's never known a quiet like this. He's always been surrounded by noise, positive or not. Or even just created by himself.

His hands start shaking so hard his rifle slips from his grip and clatters against the asphalt. And just like that, he drops too. He sinks down hard, sitting right there in the middle of the road like he doesn’t care who sees him. Like he doesn’t care what finds him.

Because what’s the point?

He sits there, elbows resting on his knees, face falling slowly into his hands. And then he breaks, letting out ugly, heaving sobs that tear out of him like something dying. His shoulders shake. His chest caves in on itself.

He couldn’t protect you.

He told you to go.

After telling you over and over that he'd always be there with complete certainty.

His worst fear wasn’t dying.

It was this.

You gone.

And he wasn’t there.

He cries until there’s nothing left. Until it hollows him out. Until the grief burns so hot it numbs.

Eventually, the sobs stop. Not because he’s okay, but because he physically can’t keep going.

He just sits there staring at the pavement between his boots, completely gone to the world.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed before he suddenly begins to hear several pairs of bootsteps. And he doesn't even look up when they circle around him.

“Well lookit here,” a man’s voice says casually. Whoever it is sounds relaxed and amused at the pitiful sight in front of them.

JJ’s eyes flick just enough to see the man's boots and a shotgun hanging loose at his side.

Then his gaze drops back to the road.

He doesn’t move.

He doesn’t care.

A hand reaches down toward JJ's rifle and without thinking — pure instinct — he lunges, grabbing his rifle and hitting the man in the face with the butt of the gun.

The man with curly gray hair stumbles back stumbles and drops to the ground, a little stunned, nose bleeding.

JJ is on his feet in a second, gun raised, jaw tight, breathing sharp.

Five more men level their guns at him instantly but he doesn’t flinch. Just keeps his sight on the man he hit. Almost like he hopes they'll pull the trigger.

“Dammit, hold up!” the man snaps from the ground, wiping blood from his nose.

One of the others snorts. “I’m claimin’ pretty boy’s rifle."

“Hold up,” the man repeats. He pushes himself up slowly, still bleeding — and then he starts laughing... Quiet at first and then almost manic. Thoroughly amused by JJ's bold recklessness.

JJ’s brows furrow, gun still trained on him.

The man straightens, blood smeared across his mouth, still grinning. “Well I’ll be damned,” he says. “Blondie’s got some balls.”

JJ says nothing.

“If you pull that trigger,” the man continues calmly, “these boys are gonna drop you several times over. That what you want?”

For a split second JJ thinks.

Yeah.

Maybe it is what he wants.

Maybe he doesn’t care.

Maybe that’s easier.

Then your face flashes in his mind.

The way you looked when you smiled at him across that candlelit table last night, nudging your foot against his and letting it rest there where he nudged back.

The way you whispered you were glad he was there.

The way you said you’d always be comfortable being close to him.

You might still be out there.

You might still need him.

He swallows.

The man watches him carefully.

“Come on, fella,” the man says. “Suicide’s stupid. Why hurt yourself when you can hurt other people?”

JJ’s grip tightens on the rifle at that.

He thinks about what you asked him once.

'Would you rather be alone… or with a group of people you can’t stand?'

He decides that if he’s going to find you, he has to stay alive.

So slowly, deliberately, JJ lowers the barrel of the gun. His face doesn’t change. It stays hard. Closed off and empty.

The man nods once, almost impressed. “The name’s Joe.”

JJ’s eyes meet his for the first time. “JJ.”

Last night

You kick and scream as you're dragged into the backseat of a Cadillac. The second you're in, the door slams shut and handcuffs are snapped around your wrists as the car speeds off.

You barely register the click before one of them yanks your backpack off your shoulder and tosses it into the front passenger's side. The other pulls the knife from your hip and pats you down thoroughly, checking your waistband. Your boots and pockets.

They’re both women dressed like police officers in clean uniforms with duty belts and way too calm faces.

“Let me go!” you shout, thrashing against the seat. “Let me out! Pull over!”

“You need to calm down,” the woman beside you orders, pushing you back. “We saved you.”

“You didn’t save me!” you cry. “Take me back! My friend is back there! Turn around!"

“We’ll go back and see if they're there later,” the driver says casually.

“No — No! just take me back!” you plead. “He’s back there! I need to be with him!”

They exchange a look.

“If we hadn’t picked you up,” the one beside you says, tightening her grip on your arm, “you’d be one of the rotters by now.”

You stare at her shaking your head, completely in shock.

“With that foot? You wouldn’t have lasted an hour.”

“You owe us,” the driver adds. “And you’ll be working that debt off.”

“What?!”

“We're taking you to Grady Memorial Hospital,” the woman beside you says. “You’ll be safe there. You’ll work. Help maintain order. Support the officers.”

The words feel unreal. You stare at her like she’s speaking another language.

“I’m not— I’m not working for you,” you whisper.

“You are now.”

You pull against the cuffs again, panic rising sharp and violent in your chest.

“Please,” you beg. “Just let me out. Please. I need to go back to him.”

They don’t answer.

The road stretches on as miles and miles of trees blur past the windows. Every second taking you farther from JJ.

Your breathing turns shallow.

Is he alive?

Did he make it out?

His worst fear was being alone.

What if he’s out there right now thinking you’re dead?

What if—

You clamp your jaw shut, forcing yourself to think. Because you can’t fall apart. Not yet.

In the front seat, the driver sighs, looking at the other woman in the rear view mirror.

“We should check those turtle traps Randy mentioned. Pond’s just off this road.”

The woman beside you unbuckles her seatbelt to lean forward and grab the map from the dash.

Your pulse spikes.

Her balance shifts. Her weight isn’t braced.

So you move without a second thought.

You slam your shoulder as hard as you can into her ribs. At the same time, you kick forward, your cuffed hands yanking down on her arm.

She jerks sideways and the driver swerves.

“What the f—”

The wheel jerks violently and the car veers off the road.

Everything happens at once. Trees rush toward you. You hear someone scream.

Then—

Impact.

Metal crunches and glass explodes.

Your head snaps forward, then back. White light floods your vision. For a second, there’s nothing but ringing as the world tilts sideways.

You finally come to and look up slowly to see that the woman who was beside you is halfway through the windshield, her body twisted unnaturally through shattered glass.

The driver is slumped over the wheel unconscious.

You fumble with your seatbelt, hands shaking violently, and manage to unclick it before stumbling out of the car, nearly collapsing when your injured foot hits the ground. Then you force yourself around to the passenger side and find the handcuff keys still clipped to the dead woman’s duty belt.

Your hands shake so badly you can barely unhook them.

Behind you a twig snaps.

You turn and see a biter stumble out from the woods and you drop the keys.

“Shit—”

It lunges and you kick it hard in the chest, sending it backward just enough to grab the officer’s gun from her holster.

You shoot and the recoil nearly knocks you over but the biter drops. Then you see two more coming and you scramble for the keys again.

Behind you, the driver groans as she begind to wake up.

Your heart slams against your ribs as you jam the key into the cuffs.

But it slips.

“Come on, come on—”

It clicks.

You rip the cuffs off just as you see her reaching blindly for her gun, but you fire first, hitting her right in the forehead and she drops back into her seat.

The other two biters reach you and you quickly shoot them both.

Your ears ring again.

You stand there shaking before collapsing against the side of the car and letting a broken sob tear out of you.

You’re alive.

You’re alive.

But you’re alone.

JJ's out there somewhere.

Or—

You squeeze your eyes shut.

No... He’s alive. He has to be.

You wipe your face hard and look at the bodies.

You can’t walk miles like this and survive. Not with your foot sliced open. Then you get an idea. You kneel beside one of the biters and your stomach twists.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to no one.

You start cutting.

It’s awful and thick and warm and disgusting. You smear blood and guts over your arms, shirt and neck to cover your scent. You gag but keep going.

When you’re done, you look like one of them. And smell like them. You stand slowly and test your foot. It hurts like hell. But at least you have the biter walk down. You don't even have to fake that.

You step onto the road and begin to move foreward one slow, dragging step at a time.

One of the dead emerges from the woods ahead of you and your fingers tighten around the knife at your hip as you keep limping, heart beating out of your chest.

It turns its head then keeps walking past you towards the car like you’re nothing.

The smallest, shakiest breath leaves your lungs.

You keep moving down the road, dragging your injured foot and not even realizing through your disorientation that you aren't walking the way you thought you were.

Later that day

JJ and the group that he's suddenly, reluctantly become a part of walk down the road for what feels like days when really it's just been a few hours.

A few hours with no sign of you

They stop when Joe says stop. They move when Joe says move.

JJ just follows, his rifle resting on his shoulder, face blank. He doesn’t talk unless spoken to. Because he’s conserving energy. Conserving emotion. Because if he lets himself think too hard about you or about the car disappearing down that road... he won’t keep walking.

Gravel crunches under their boots in uneven rhythm. Someone spits. Someone lights a cigarette. Someone laughs at a joke JJ didn’t hear. Someone kills a biter. Then another and another and another.

And they're having fun doing it.

Finally, JJ’s voice cuts through the quiet, coming out rough from disuse. “Where we headed?”

One of the men, Len, snorts. “Oh, he speaks.”

A couple of the others chuckle but JJ doesn’t look at him.

Joe keeps walking a few more steps before answering. “We’re searchin’ for somebody,” he says casually. Then he corrects himself. “Or a couple of somebodies.”

JJ’s grip tightens slightly on his rifle, but he keeps his face neutral. “What kind of somebodies?”

Joe glances over at him. “Group of six kids... Around your age. Early twenties.”

The description hits him like a punch. His heart slams once, hard enough he thinks they might hear it because he knows exactly who those six people might be.

John B. Sarah. Pope. Kiara. Cleo. And he's not sure who the sixth person is.

The world narrows for a second.

They’re alive.

Relief and hope flicker right alongside fear but he forces his expression to stay flat.

“Why?” he asks.

Joe’s jaw tightens just slightly. “One of ‘em killed one of ours.”

JJ doesn’t ask who or how. He doesn’t need to. He can imagine it: A fight. A supply run gone wrong. Someone defending themselves.

Len laughs behind him. “When we find ‘em,” he says, “I’m claimin’ the blonde girl.”

JJ’s stomach turns when he realizes just he's probably talking about Sarah. And what he means by that.

Another man scoffs. “Hell you are.”

Len grins. “Hell I am.”

The other mutters something bitter before adding, “Fine. I’ll take the curly haired mixed one.”

Kiara.

Someone else pipes up from behind them. “I’m claimin’ the island girl. The one with the accent.”

Cleo.

They’re talking about them like objects. Like supplies. And JJ feels sick to his stomach. His hands itch to turn around and put a bullet in every single one of them but there are too many.

And Joe is watching him and hasn't stopped all day.

JJ keeps his breathing steady. Keeps his face bored and detached. But inside, something cold settles in.

This is who he’s walking with. This is what they are.

If they find his friends first, they might not survive it.

And if they find you first—

His vision darkens for a split second.

No. Nope.

If he finds you, he has to be the first one to see you. The first one to speak. The first one to say it.

'Claimed.'

The word feels disgusting now but it’s the only shield he’s got, so he swallows hard and adjusts the rifle on his shoulder and keeps walking. With more reason to stay.

To not die.

To keep walking beside monsters.

It’s late afternoon now and they're still walking.

“Got a vehicle up there," Len says.

The car sits crooked off the side of the road, front buried into a tree.

JJ barely looks at it at first, but when his does, and he sees the white cross painted on the back windshield, his heart stops.

The air leaves his lungs so fast it almost makes a sound. His eyes widen and his stomach drops so violently he thinks he might throw up.

Before anyone can say anything else, he’s moving. Then running.

“Hey, what are you doin'!?" someone calls behind him.

JJ doesn’t answer. All he can think is please don’t be inside. Please don’t be inside.

He reaches the car and nearly slips as he rounds the back door.

His chest tightens when he sees that the backseat is empty.

He moves to the front.

The driver is slumped against the seat, a clean gunshot wound centered in her forehead, blood dried in dark streaks down her face. The other woman is halfway through the windshield.

JJ’s breath comes shallow and fast as he begins to scan the ground.

There's two dead biters nearby with bullet wounds.

Then he sees the third one gutted. Deliberately. And his brain catches up slowly.

You did this.

You crashed the car.

You killed them.

You unlocked yourself.

You covered yourself in guts.

A shaky breath escapes him that sounds almost like a laugh. “You’re so damn smart,” he whispers under his breath.

Relief crashes into him so hard it hurts.

You weren’t dragged off again.

You fought.

But then the next wave hits.

How far did you get?

Which way did you go?

He looks up and down the road.

No backpack. Your bag isn’t here. That means you took it.

Good.

Good.

But how far could you have walked on that foot?

Did you head back toward him?

Or away?

Did you make it a mile?

Five?

Did something find you after this? Or someone?

His chest tightens again, hope once again tangling painfully with fear.

Behind him, boots crunch closer.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Len mutters, looking at the women in uniform. “Lady cops.”

Another guy snorts. “Guess they weren’t so tough.”

Someone else laughs. “Didn’t save themselves from nothin’.”

Joe steps up beside JJ, surveying the scene quietly. His eyes flick from the windshield, to the gunshot wound, to the gutted biter. Then to JJ.

“This the car that took your friend?” Joe asks.

JJ doesn’t look at him. He keeps staring at the road, like he might be able to see you if he looks hard enough.

“Yeah,” he says finally.

Joe nods slowly. “She ain’t in there.”

“No."

They keep walking the same direction they were already headed and every step feels wrong.

He doesn’t know if you went this way or if you tried to go back toward the funeral home. He doesn’t know if you stuck to the road or disappeared into the woods. He doesn’t know if you’re still walking.

You couldn’t be.

Not on that foot. Not after a crash like that. Unless you’re worse off than he thinks. Unless you hit your head. Unless you’re bleeding somewhere in the trees right now. Unless you made it a mile and collapsed.

His stomach twists so violently he almost stumbles. He forces himself to breathe evenly.

You killed two women and three biters. You gutted one. You were thinking. You were fighting. That means you were strong enough.

It has to mean that.

They walk another half hour before Joe finally lifts a hand. “We’ll camp in the woods tonight.”

They move off the road and build a small fire in a clearing.

The men eat. Laugh. Tell stories that are funny to them but downright disturbing for the most part.

JJ sits apart from them and stares into the fire.

He can't sleep. Every time he closes his eyes he sees what you could've went through and you limping down that road.

By the time exhaustion drags him under, it’s only because his body gives out.

He’s dreaming immediately that you're there beside him, smiling that soft, quiet smile you’d given him by the river just yesterday. That you're in bed with your legs tangled and your faces close, lips inches away from each other's.

He reaches for your cheek—

And wakes up clutching his backpack. His arms tighten instinctively like he’s trying to pull you closer.

For a second he doesn’t move. Then his breath shudders and his vision blurs.

His eyes fill and he stands abruptly and walks into the woods before anyone can wake up and see his face.

He makes it to the river before he has to stop and sit on a rock at the edge of it, staring into the water and wondering, once again, how nature just keeps going on.

Yesterday you were at a river like this with him, both of you sitting naked in the water, washing off sweat and dirt and talking about old memories like the world wasn’t ending. Like you were each other's worlds entirely. Like you had time.

Now the water just looks cold.

Empty.

His thoughts are interrupted by the soft sound of a slither against wet rock. He turns his head slowly to see a banded water snake pull itself out of the water and onto the bank.

JJ slowly stands, unsheathes his knife, steps forward—

But an arrow thunks through the snake’s body, pinning it to the dirt.

JJ whips around to see Len with his compound bow raised and that smug, crooked grin he's always wearing.

“What the hell are you doing?” JJ snaps.

Len shrugs. “Catchin’ me some breakfast.”

JJ shakes his head once. “Nah, man. That’s mine.” He walks over, crouches, yanks the arrow out of the snake and tosses it aside.

Len’s smile fades into something meaner. “My arrow’s the one that hit first,” he says. “It belongs to me. It’s claimed, boy. Claimed whether you like it or not.”

JJ straightens, snake hanging from his hand.

Len steps closer. “So if I was you,” he continues, voice lowering, “I’d hand it over. Now. Before you get to wishin’ you ain’t never even got outta bed this mornin’.”

JJ keeps walking toward him then stop right in front of him less than a foot away. “It ain’t yours.”

Len laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You know,” he says slowly, “I’ll bet this bitch got you all messed up, hm? Am I right?”

JJ’s jaw tightens. He turns and starts walking back toward camp.

“Got you walkin’ around here like a dead man... who just lost himself a piece of tail.”

JJ stops but he doesn’t turn around.

“Must’ve been a good’un,” Len adds, raising an eyebrow. “Now tell me somethin’… was it one of the little ones?”

JJ’s eyes widen just slightly in realization of what he meant by that.

These men are even worse than he thought. Way worse.

Len keeps talking. “’Cause theyyy don’t last too long out here.”

Behind him, leaves crunch and Joe appears out of nowhere, grabbing JJ’s arm before he can move. “Easy, fellas. Easy.”

JJ slowly unclips the knife at his belt, back turned to him, and pulls it free.

Men like that don't deserve to keep walking.

Len laughs as he sees the JJ’s knife pulled out of the sheath.

Joe looks between them calmly. “Let’s just put our weapons down and figure out what’s really the problem here.” He glances at Len and nods at the snake. “You claim it?”

“Hell yeah,” Len says.

Joe nods once, then looks at JJ. “Well there you go. That critter belongs to Len.”

Len plants his hands on his hips. “Yep. So let’s have it.” He gestures for the snake in JJ’s hands.

JJ doesn’t move. He stands there, confused and furious and sick of every word coming out of their mouths.

Joe watches him carefully. “Looks like you may be wantin’ an explanation,” Joe says. “See, goin’ it alone... that ain’t an option nowadays. Still, it is survival of the fittest. That’s a paradox right there.” He steps closer. “So I laid out some rules of the road. Keep things from goin’ Darwin every couple hours... Keep our merry band together and stress free.”

JJ’s grip tightens around the snake.

“All you gotta do is claim,” Joe continues. “That’s how you mark your territory. Your prey. Your bed at night. One word: Claimed.”

JJ meets his eyes. “I ain’t claiming nothin'.”

Len steps forward again. “We’re gonna teach him, right?” He says it to Joe, but he doesn’t look away from JJ. “The rules say we gotta teach him.”

Joe is quiet for a moment. Then he looks back at JJ. “Now it wouldn’t be fair to punish you for violatin’ a rule you never knew existed.”

Len lets out an angry laugh at that.

JJ’s voice comes quick and sharp. “There ain’t no rules anymore.”

Joe tilts his head slightly. “Oh... there are.”

He reaches out and calmly takes the snake from JJ’s hand and then with one clean swing of a hatchet against a tree, he chops it in half.

He hands one piece to Len.

The other to JJ.

They both stare at what they’re holding.

“There,” Joe says. “Claimed. That’s all you gotta say.” His eyes flick down to JJ’s piece. “Hey,” he adds mildly, “ass end’s still an end, right?”

By late afternoon they’re back on the road.

Joe falls into step beside JJ, lighting a cigarette.

“So what’s the plan, JJ?” Joe asks suddenly.

JJ doesn’t look at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re with us now,” Joe says. “But you ain’t soon?” He exhales smoke slowly. “So what’s the plan?”

JJ shrugs like he hasn’t thought about it every second since he joined them. “Just, uh… lookin’ for the right place is all.”

“Ah,” Joe hums. “So we ain’t good enough for you, huh?”

JJ snorts softly. “Some of you ain’t exactly friendly.”

Joe laughs at that. “You ain’t so friendly yourself.”

JJ doesn’t answer. He just keeps walking, boots steady against pavement.

Joe takes another drag. “You know you need a group out here,” he says. “You should be with us. People don’t gotta be friendly. We don’t have to be nice. We don’t have to be brothers in arms.” He shrugs. “Just gotta follow the rules.”

“You claim.” Joe continues. “If you steal, you keel... I know that sounds a little funny, but nobody laughs when somethin' goes missin’. And you don’t lie, ’cause that’s a slippery slope indeed.”

He passes the cigarette over.

JJ hesitates, then takes it, then brings it to his lips, inhales, and tries not to cough when the smoke burns his throat.

It's been a while since he's smoked anything.

JJ ashes the cigarette and hands it back. “What happens if you break the rules?”

Joe takes a drag, thinking. “You catch a beatin’,” he says plainly. “The severity of which depends upon the offense… and the general attitude of the day.” He shrugs. “But that don’t happen much. ’Cause when men like us follow rules and cooperate a little bit… well... the world becomes ours.”

JJ says nothing.

Joe suddenly whistles to get everybody's attention and points at a building beside the road. “Right there. That’s our abode for the evenin’.”

An auto shop sits just off the road. Garage doors half open. Faded sign hanging crooked.

But he doesn’t argue.

JJ’s brows knit together, because it’s not even close to sunset yet. Too early to stop.

They move toward it.

As JJ steps inside, he glances back over his shoulder one last time at the road, like it’s his final chance to see you walking toward him before night falls.

Nothing. Just empty pavement.

Inside, the men spread out, checking corners.

“They ain’t here,” one of them mutters. “Nobody’s been here for a while.”

JJ’s heart kicks hard in his chest realizing they’re talking about his friends.

Joe nods slowly. “We’re gettin’ closer. I can feel it.”

JJ swallows.

The men start wandering through the garage, tapping on car hoods.

“Claimed.”

“Claimed.”

“Claimed.”

Each one picks a vehicle to sleep in like they’re choosing bunks.

JJ doesn’t say it. He just drops his backpack on the concrete floor near the wall instead. And when he does, something catches his eye:

Footprints. Uneven.

They're faint, but fresher than the dust around them and leading toward the office in the back.

His heart begins to beat a little faster on sheer intuition.

“You need to learn to act fast,” Joe says to JJ casually. “Or you’re gonna get the bottom of the barrel of everything.”

JJ ignores him and starts following the prints.

“JJ?” Joe calls after him.

The office door creaks as JJ nudges it open.

A biter stumbles out slowly from the darkness, covered in blood and he reacts instantly, knife flashing into his hand—

His world stops.

Then he sees it's clothes and his breath leaves him because

Those are your clothes. The shirt. The jeans. The boots.

The biter lifts its head, eyes dragging up his body, and blinks.

It's — your — eyes are alive. Exhausted and tired but alive.

And so beautiful.

You stare at him like you’re not sure he’s real. “JJ?”

The men behind him shift, confused.

JJ doesn’t hesitate.

“Claimed.”

Part 24

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Your feet barely touch the ground before you see them.

For a split second your brain can’t even process what you’re looking at. Then you realize it's your friends. All of them. Alive.

And Rafe.

Everybody's heads snap toward the two of you.

This definitely isn't the reuinion either of you wanted.

You want to run to them, to ask them what they've been up to. To tell them how much you missed them. But that definitely won't be happening when there's guns pointed at everybody.

JJ raises his hands slightly. “Hold up.”

“You’re stoppin’ me on eight, JJ," Joe says, irritated.

“Just... hold up.”

“This is the guy who killed Lou. So we got nothin’ to talk about," one of the Claimers, Harley, says.

Joe tilts his head. "The thing about nowadays is we got nothin’ but time... So say your piece, JJ.”

JJ swallows once. “These people…” he says. “You’re gonna let em go. These are good people.”

Joe just stares at him. Then he smirks. “Now... now I think Lou would disagree with you on that. But I’ll of course have to speak for him and all… because your friend here…” He nudges the gun harder into Rafe’s head. “…strangled him in a bathroom.”

JJ nods slightly. “You want blood. I get it.” He slowly drops his backpack. Then his rifle. “Take it from me, man. Come on.”

Your voice slips out before you can stop it, eyes blurring and heart beginning to pound straight out of your chest. “JJ… no.”

He glances at you sadly, just for a moment, taking you in. Then he looks back at Joe.

Joe studies him again. “This man killed our friend. You say he’s good people... Now that... that right there is a lie.”

You reach for JJ’s hand and squeeze it hard. He squeezes back for a second as if it might be the last time and then lets go.

“It’s a lie!” Joe shouts.

Everything starts happening so fast that you brain can hardly catch up.

Two claimers slam into JJ.

A rifle butt crashes into his ribs and he grunts as the air blasts out of him. Another man kicks him while he's down.

“STOP!” you scream, eyes filling immediately. "Please!"

Someone shoves you violently to the ground beside the fire. Kiara grabs your arm to steady you. Pope and Cleo are pinned beside you. Sarah crawls over shakily to hold your hand.

JJ’s SIG is ripped from your holster and thrown into the dirt and another gun is pointed at all of you.

Sarah, John B, Pope, Kiara and Cleo stare at you for a moment.

Confused.

Terrified.

Shocked that you’re even here.

Sarah squeezes your hand but your eyes never leave JJ as he gets pummeled, flinching at every hit.

Joe watches calmly. “Teach him, fellas. Teach him all the way.”

Then one of the claimers walks toward Sarah.

One man punches JJ in the face. He spins and slams into the hood of the truck before they yank him back up.

Blood sprays from his lip as they punch him again.

“Claimed,” he says. He grabs her shoulders and yanks her up, her hand slipping out of yours.

“No!” you cry. "Leave her alone!"

Sarah struggles. “Let go of me!”

He lets her fight back even though he could easily pin her because he’s thoroughly enjoying her terror. Enjoying dragging it out. And he laughs. A lot.

Then suddenly his knife presses against her throat.

Sarah breaks into terrified sobs. “Please—”

John B lunges forward. “LEAVE HER ALONE!”

The man who has the gun on all of you pistol whips him and forces him back down.

“STOP!” Rafe shouts. "Don’t fucking touch her!" He looks up at Joe, angry and desperate. “You need to stop this. Now.”

Sarah is shoved to the ground. The man on top of her continues to laugh as she struggles to try to push him off.

He looks down at Rafe for a moment, amused, then gestures toward JJ getting beaten. “First we’re gonna beat JJ to death. Then we’ll have the girl. Then the other girls. Then the two guys on the ground are gonna go bye bye.” Finally he taps his cheek with the Smith & Wesson. “Then I’m gonna shoot you. And then we’ll be square.”

Rafe’s eyes go dark. Completely dark.

“Let her go.”

The man laughs harder, maniacally.

You feel like you're going to be sick, completely dizzy with fear.

The gun goes off right beside his ear and Rafe falls foreward, ears ringing violently.

Rafe’s voice lowers. “Let her go.”

Then suddenly he throws his head back and slams it into Joe’s face, straight into his nose.

Joe recovers instantly and his fist connects with Rafe’s cheek. He then kicks him in the ribs the second he hits the ground.

“Oh it’s gonna be so much worse now,” Joe sneers.

Nearby, you try to smack the gun out of the hands of the man that's pointing it at you all and it fires into the ground. He punches you across the face immediately and you fall back into the dirt.

Joe gestures at Rafe. “Get up.”

Rafe struggles.

“Come on. Let’s see what you got.”

Rafe staggers to his feet and lunges.

“What the hell are you gonna do now, sport?”

Joe easily grabs his arms and wrenches them behind his back. They're face to face now.

Chest to chest.

Rafe doesn’t hesitate. He leans forward and bites straight into Joe’s throat like a biter would, teeth tearing into his jugular, and pulls back just as fast.

Joe tries to scream as blood sprays everywhere.

Rafe spits a mouthful of blood onto the ground as Joe collapses, gurgling before going completely still.

Silence crashes over the clearing. Everyone stops what they’re doing and stares.

Your jaw drops. Then, realizing the man holding the gun on you is distracted, so you move. You grab JJ’s gun from the dirt and fire without hesitation, killing him immediately. Then you aim it at one of the men that had been beating JJ and kill him too.

JJ slams his fist into the other claimer and he drops. Then he stomps on his face over and over until it no longer looks like a face.

The last claimer still alive is now standing, holding Sarah with the knife back to her throat.

John B grabs his gun from the ground and aims. “Let her go!”

The man panics. “I’ll kill her!”

Rafe grabs Joe’s knife and walks toward the him. "He’s mine."

He sees Rafe's face and it terrifies him so bad that he lets Sarah go and backs away, hands raised.

Sarah runs straight into John B’s arms and he pulls her tight against his chest as they both keep their eyes on the scene in front of them.

Rafe doesn’t stop walking. He reaches the man and drives the knife into him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

"Hey," you whisper before wrapping your arms around him carefully.

Nearby, you see JJ collapse to the ground.

You quickly limp over and drop beside him instantly. He’s breathing hard, blood running down his face.

“Hey. Easy… easy,” he groans.

You hold his bruised and bloody face in your hands as gently as possible. “I’m here. You’re ok. You scared the hell outta me.”

“Yeah… well…” He coughs. “Guess we’re even.”

You press your forehead softly to his. “I’m here."

He squeezes your arm weakly. “I know.”

You both pull back as you hear the continuous sound of a knife going into flesh.

Across the clearing Rafe keeps stabbing. Over and over. Long after the man stops moving.

You all just watch in stunned silence.

The sky is barely beginning to lighten when exhaustion finally pulls you under. You fall asleep curled against JJ in the bed of the truck, your head tucked into his chest. One of his arms is draped around you.

Sarah sleeps beside you, hugging John B, who's on his back staring up at the pale sky. Her hand is still gripping his shirt as she frowns in her sleep.

Neither JJ or John B have slept.

Inside the truck, Kiara, Pope, and Cleo are still asleep, slumped awkwardly against the seats.

On the ground beside the truck, Rafe sits with his back against one of the tires, blood still streaking his mouth and chin. He hasn’t moved. His eyes are fixed somewhere far away, like he’s looking straight through the trees in front of him.

John B slowly turns his head and looks at JJ.

JJ looks back.

John B winces a little when he really takes in JJ’s face in the morning light — the swelling, the bruises, the split lip.

JJ notices and huffs out a quiet breath through his nose that's almost a laugh.

John B carefully slips out from under Sarah’s arm and climbs out of the truck bed.

JJ pushes himself up too, repressing a groan. Everything hurts. Every single thing. But he swallows it down, climbs out of the truck, and grabs a rag and a his bottle of water. He pours a little water onto the cloth, then walks over and holds it out to Rafe.

“Here. For your face.”

Rafe looks at it for a moment then nods and takes it. “Thanks.” He presses the damp cloth to the blood on his chin.

Without JJ’s warmth beside you anymore, you instinctively shift closer to Sarah, curling into her side. She murmurs softly in her sleep and turns toward you but doesn’t wake.

John B walks over and sits down beside Rafe in the dirt and for a minute neither of them say anything.

The truck door opens quietly and Pope climbs out before shutting it gently behind him. He walks over and sits beside John B.

JJ lowers himself to the ground between John B and Rafe, wincing as he sits.

For a moment the only sound is the quiet rustle of trees. Then JJ glances over at Rafe and speaks quietly.

“Thanks for doing that.”

Rafe glances back at him as he cleans the blood off his chin.

John B and Pope nod slightly.

JJ continues, voice rough, in more pain than he'd ever admit. “Seriously, man. Thank you.”

Rafe just nods once.

“I didn’t know what they were. At first," JJ says quietly.

Rafe finally looks over. “How’d you wind up with them?”

JJ exhales slowly. “I was with Y/N. We got separated when a group of biters came through this funeral home we were staying in.” He swallows. “I ran to the road to meet up with her and I saw her get taken. I tried to go after them." He shakes his head. "As if I could outrun a car. Ran into those guys while I was on the road the next morning. Y/N had gotten away from the ladies that took her... Killed all the people in the car... Then we ran back into each other two days later... I had to 'claim' her so none of the other guys would... because if they did, to them, she’d be theirs. Because of their dumbass code.”

Everyone absorbs that silently.

JJ looks down again. “I knew they were bad.”

Pope nods slightly. “But you were alone,” he says, understanding.

JJ nods back. “Yeah. That’s why at first. I thought about leaving but they said they were tracking a group... Six people our age. And then they described the girls.” His jaw clenches. “And how they were gonna… ‘claim’ them.”

Everybody's stomachs sink.

“I couldn’t let that happen. And I wanted to find you guys.”

Silence settles over them.

JJ’s shoulders slump slightly and his voice cracks just a little when he speaks. “I should’ve just killed them all... I’m so sorry.”

John B immediately shakes his head. “It’s not on you, JJ." He squeezes his arm. "Hey.”

JJ looks up, eyes wet.

“It’s not on you,” John B says again.

Pope nods firmly. “It’s not.”

John B leans forward slightly. “You being back here with us… right now? That’s everything.”

JJ just stares at them for a second. Then he looks down again, blinking out a tear.

John B reaches over and squeezes the back of his neck. “You’re my brother.”

Pope nods again. “Mine too.”

JJ’s face crumples for a second before he can stop it. He takes a shaky breath. Then he nods.

After a while, the truck door creaks open again and Cleo climbs out, stretching slightly as she wakes up. She looks at the four of them sitting there completely exhausted.

“I’ll take watch,” she says quietly.

None of them argue with her. One by one, they lay back down where they had been. Rafe finally gets in the driver's seat and leans it back.

"I'm glad you're back," John B whispers over to JJ as he wraps his arms around Sarah, whose still hugging you, whose now hugging JJ again.

"I'm glad to be back," he says quietly. "We really missed you guys."

"We missed you guys," John B smiles sadly. "A lot."

JJ smiles back.

"Ok, we need to try to sleep. Goodnight."

JJ snorts. "It's morning."

John B rolls his eyes, still smiling. "Good n'morning then... I guess."

JJ's eyes flutter shut and he hugs you tighter, despite the pain. "Good n'morning."

Part 27

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You frown at the empty shelves. "Figures."

A hopeful idea tugs at you. You drift a few steps away, scanning the lower shelves and then drop to your knees to look underneath them.

You gasp. Your hand flies to your mouth as you grin so wide your cheeks hurt. Cans. Dozens of them. Soup. Beans. Chili. Candied yams shoved all the way back like someone hid them and never came back.

“JJ,” you whisper sharply, excitement vibrating through you. You scramble to your feet and wave him over, barely able to contain yourself. “Look. Look under there.”

JJ crouches, then freezes. “Oh my god,” he breathes.

Then he stands in one smooth motion and pulls you into him, laughing, relief spilling out of him all at once. He lifts you off the ground without thinking, spins you once, and you laugh—real, bright, happy—the sound echoing in the hollow store like proof that good things still exist.

You know as long as he's around they will.

He sets you down but doesn’t let go right away. “Oh my god,” he says again, shaking his head, eyes lit up. “I could kiss you right now.”

It’s half a joke. Half not.

You huff out a shaky breath, still smiling, heart thudding harder than it should. Then boldly, you smirk at him. “You won’t.”

Something changes.

His grin softens. Slows. His eyes drop to your mouth, then flick back up to yours. “Oh,” he murmurs. “I won’t, huh?” He leans in just a little, like he’s testing gravity.

You shake your head even as your pulse spikes, daring him, because you hope he will. You’ve hoped he would for years.

“Gonna prove you wrong,” he whispers, still smiling, voice low and teasing, “that okay, princess?”

"Yeah," you nod, eyes practically twinkling up at him. "That's okay."

His lips hover just above yours—so close you can feel his breath, so close it makes your chest ache—

Then boots scrape behind you.

The moment shatters and you break apart.

You expect it to be John B, Pope and Cleo, who have been searching another building a few stores down.

You maybe even expect zombies.

Instead it's men. Which are worse than zombies. Much worse.

There are five of them. Dirty, smiling wrong, very much armed. One of them looks you over in a way that makes your skin crawl, like you’re inventory.

Another grins and says it casually and quickly. Almost cheerfully.

“Claimed.”

Your stomach drops. “What?”

"Aw, come on, man," one of them groans to the other after saying the same thing a little too late.

JJ steps in front of you instantly. “Back the hell up. What does that even mean?!”

They laugh. The one who said it explains, slow and smug, like he enjoys watching it land. Like he enjoys your fear.

“Claimed means exactly what it sounds like,” he says, tilting his head like he’s amused by how confused you look. "Food, things...people. Whichever one of us claims it first, it's theirs. We keep what we want. Share when we feel like it. So technically..." he looks at you. "You're mine now."

Your blood turns to ice.

JJ doesn’t hesitate. Not even a breath.

“She’s already been claimed,” he snaps suddenly. “By me. Years ago. She’s my girlfriend.”

The lie hangs there—fragile, desperate.

They exchange looks. Then one of them chuckles. “Ohhh. Your girlfriend.”

Another adds, “We like to watch too.”

Guns rise.

"Get on the floor. Both of you."

Your knees give out before your mind catches up. The floor is cold and filthy beneath you. JJ drops with you, shaking his head angrily, jaw clenched so hard you think it might crack. His shoulder brushes yours, solid and shaking.

"We're gonna take your weapons now."

They do. Then they stare at the two of you for a moment that feels like an eternity.

“Kiss each other. Like you were about to earlier,” one of them says. “Go on.”

JJ shakes his head harder. “Hell no, man. We ain't doin' that for ya'll.”

A gun presses closer.

Your heart is trying to tear out of your chest. You can barely breathe. You look at JJ and see the terror he’s trying to swallow for you.

You nod. Just once.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, angry and terrified but trying and failing to sound calm. Not because it is ok, but because you’re alive and you want to stay that way.

The kiss is brief, unsteady, more fear than anything else—but the men scoff.

He finally nods. His hands shake when he cups your face. His forehead presses to yours first, like he’s asking permission even now.

You nod slowly.

“Do it right. Deeper. Make it real.”

You don’t think. You just hold onto JJ’s jacket like he’s the last solid thing left in the world.

He whispers, broken, “I’m sorry,” against your mouth. "Never wanted it to be like this.”

“I know,” you breathe back. “I know. Just—just stay with me.”

“Undress her," a man orders.

JJ pulls back from you an inch and lets out a short, broken laugh. It sounds wrong even to his own ears—sharp, bitter, like something snapping inside him. He starts to rise without thinking.

“No—JJ, no,” you sob, reaching for him.

“Get the fuck back down!” one of the men snarls, stepping in close and pressing the cold weight of a Glock to JJ’s temple.

Time freezes.

“Please, JJ,” you whisper, voice shaking, pleading him to listen. Begging him to not get himself hurt. Or worse.

He sinks back down beside you immediately, hands braced on his knees like they’re the only thing keeping him upright.

“Well?” another man says, smirking, nodding toward you. “Let’s see her.”

JJ stares at the ground. His vision tunnels. He feels sick—like he might black out right here and that somehow would make everything worse.

You reach for the hem of your shirt with trembling fingers, beginning to slowly pull it up, desperate to get it over with before they can say or do something impossibly worse.

“No,” one of them says sharply, snapping JJ out of his trance. “That’s not how this works. He does it. Not you.”

Your breath catches. You look at JJ—wide eyed and terrified. He looks back at you, completely shattered.

You nod, forcing yourself to be brave for both of you.

“Do what they say,” you whisper. “Everything they say.”

And he does. And so do you.

Every order.

Every command.

Every time they force closeness that makes JJ's stomach churn and his head scream.

Everything they say to do with your mouths and hands and bodies.

He doesn’t look at you unless he has to but when he does, his eyes are full of apology and horror and love all tangled together.

“I’m sorry,” he keeps whispering, voice barely holding together. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just—just do it.” you whisper back through tears every time, even when your cheek is pressed to the floor. “I’m glad it's you.”

And it’s true—because you trust him. Because he’s gentle even when he’s breaking. Until they tell him not to be.

Because if you’re going to survive this, you’d rather survive it with him.

But you also hate it. You hate that he has to carry this. You hate that they’re doing this to him too.

"I'm sorry it's you."

Your body feels distant, like you’re watching this from somewhere above yourself. You think about better times before all this started. You and him playing in the waves back when you were kids together. Sitting on the dock of the Chateau. Or by the fire. Laughing at something dumb he's done.

Then it's over.

He refuses to look at you afterwards—keeps his eyes on the floor, covered in your tear drops. His shoulders are tight, like looking at you would break him.

You both stay there. Waiting. Wait for what? Neither of you know. And that's the scariest part.

“All right,” one of them says finally as he zips his pants up. Casual. Like he’s calling time on a game. “Good work.”

Your heart jumps violently, wondering what's next.

“Get dressed,” the man continues. “Both of you.”

You blink, dazed, frozen. JJ hesitates—then carefully, mechanically, he helps you, hands shaking so badly you feel it through the fabric. He still won’t look at you.

When you’re both dressed again, the silence stretches, thick and wrong.

Another man steps closer, crouching slightly so he’s eye level with JJ.

“We’re not done with you,” he says, smiling. “You’re comin' with us.”

Your stomach drops through the floor.

“Both of you,” he adds. His gaze locks on JJ. “You did good. Real good.”

JJ’s breath stutters. His brows furrow. “No. You can have me. Just leave her.”

The man laughs softly. “You think that’s a choice?” He straightens, addressing the others. “Guy like this? Loyal. Follows orders. Does what needs doing.” A pause. “You’re gonna make a great member of our group.”

Panic floods JJ’s chest so fast it hurts. His hands curl into fists at his sides. He finally looks up—just long enough to find your face.

Your eyes are wide. Glassy. Terrified in a way he’s never seen before.

“No,” he says again, louder now. “You’re not taking her.”

The man tilts his head. “Relax. She’s claimed now.” A grin. “By you, right? That’s how it works... And me, since you weren't a member of the group yet. But I'll share—”

Then the gunshots come tearing through the store.

Bodies hit the floor.

Silence crashes down just as hard.

John B’s voice. Pope. Cleo.

JJ moves instantly, ears vibrating, hands gentle but frantic as he helps you up and wraps his arms tightly around you like he needs to undo every second of it. He pulls back to look at you face, pale, eyes vacant. He wipes the dirt and tears from your cheeks and does his best to fix your hair.

The others stare at you both—horrified, pale, shaking. Knowing something terrible happened or was going to happen but not to what extent.

You don’t remember leaving. Or telling everybody to grab the cans of food. You don’t remember the walk back. You only remember JJ never letting go of your hand.

That night, the camp is dead quiet and smells like canned food you'd usually love but now can’t stomach. You sit in your tent, knees to your chest, staring at nothing as you finally let yourself cry quietly.

JJ hesitates outside. Then softly, “Hey.”

You don’t answer.

He comes in anyway, guilt written all over his face like it’s eating him alive. “I just— I wanted to check on you.”

That’s all it takes.

You break.

Sobs tear out of you. You place a hand on your mouth to try to muffle them, and suddenly he’s there—arms around you, stiff at first like he’s afraid to do the wrong thing, then tightening when you curl into him. His own tears soak into your hair, silent and furious.

“There are men like that,” you choke. “Everywhere.”

“I know,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “I know.”

He wipes your tears with his sleeve, pushes your hair back the way he’s done a thousand times since you were kids. His eyes are wet too, and that somehow hurts worse. You wipe his tears.

You breathe, shaking. “I meant it,” you say quietly. “What I said. I’m… I’m glad it was you.”

The words land in his chest like a blow.

JJ swallows hard and pulls you closer, arms locking around you like he’s afraid the world might try to take you again if he loosens his grip. Your head fits under his chin like it always has. Your heartbeat thuds against his ribs, fast and uneven, and he focuses on it because it means you’re alive.

He wants to say it.

I’d never let anything happen to you. Ever.

The words sit right there, burning his throat. But they won’t come out, because some twisted part of him feels like something he could've stopped did happen. Like no matter how many times he replays it, no matter how clearly he sees the guns, the numbers stacked against him, the reality that five armed men isn’t something you fight your way out of—his body still reacts like he failed.

He didn’t run or leave.

He stayed with you every second.

And still, it doesn’t feel like enough.

His arms tighten just a little, his breath hitching. He presses his face into your hair, breathing you in like it might settle the sickness curling in his stomach.

That night you fall asleep tangled tightly together, his chin resting on your hair, one hand still shaking slightly, tensing every so often as it strokes your back—both of you holding on, because the world is terrifying and disgusting, and tonight, at least, you survived it together.

The next morning, JJ wakes up warm.

That’s the first thing he notices—your body tucked against his, your arm thrown over his chest like it belongs there. Your hair is in his face. You’re breathing slow, deep. Safe.

And then it all comes back.

He freezes, stomach turning violently and terrified that moving will wake you. Terrified that staying will mean something worse—that touching you at all means he’s crossing a line he doesn’t deserve to cross anymore.

He eases out of the tent like he’s escaping a crime scene.

Doesn’t look back.

You wake up alone. The cold hits first. Then the soreness between your legs. Then the absence.

All you want is him. His arms. The proof that you didn’t go through it alone. But when you find him later, he won’t meet your eyes. Won’t stand close. Won’t touch you.

It hurts in a quiet, hollow way.

The others notice through out the day.

Kiara watches the space between you grow wider with every hour. Finally she asks softly, “Are you okay?”

You force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah," you breath, nodding stiffly. "I’m fine.”

"What happened out there?" Sarah asks quietly.

You shake your head, shrugging, trying to dissociate. "Doesn't matter. It's over now."

They don't believe you. None of them do. They don’t know what the men forced you to do — only that whatever happened was enough to leave scars they can’t see.

JJ disappears into the woods with an armful of rope and an excuse about firewood.

The farther he walks, the tighter his chest gets as his thoughts spiral, ugly and relentless.

I touched her.

I hurt her.

I did what they wanted.

Even if it saved your life.

Even if he had no choice.

His vision blurs. He stumbles against a tree and slides down it, gasping like the air’s been stolen from his lungs. His hands slide up into his hair, fingers curling, dirt streaking his face. His ears buzz. The world narrows to the sound of his own broken breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to no one. “I’m so sorry.”

A twig snaps.

“JJ.”

Your soft voice cuts through the noise. He jerks violently, panic flaring. “Don’t— don’t come closer,” he pants. “I’m fine. I just—”

You ignore him and sit beside him anyway, your back against the same tree. You don’t say anything at first. You just put a hand on his shoulder.

That’s what breaks him.

The sob tears out of his chest, raw and ugly. He folds forward, shaking, trying to hold it in and failing completely.

“I hate myself,” he chokes. “I hate that I— that I let them— that I—”

You’re crying too now. “You didn’t let them,” you say, voice shaking. “You saved me.”

He shakes his head violently. “I touched you. I did what they said. I should’ve— I don’t know. I should’ve found another way.” He continues to sob quietly but uncontrollably.

“There wasn’t one,” you assure him, tears streaming down your face. “If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been one of them. You stayed with me. You didn’t leave me alone.”

You wrap your arms around him, and this time he doesn’t pull away. He clings to you like he’s drowning.

“I’d never leave you like that,” he says hoarsely. “Never.”

You pull back just enough to hold his face in your hands. His eyes are red. Ruined. Terrified.

“Look at me,” you whisper. “Please.”

He does.

And for a moment, everything else fades.

You don't know when it happens or who made the move. He doesn't either. Maybe both of you.

You kiss each other and it’s desperate and messy and full of everything you haven’t said. His hands begin to tangle into your hair as he kisses you back just as hard, like he’s trying to pour something into you—love, apology, grounding, all of it at once. Like if he kisses you the right way, it’ll overwrite the other memory of what he had to do to you completely.

For a few seconds, it works.

And then suddenly he pulls away like he’s been burned.

“Shit— I’m sorry,” he blurts, panicking. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have— I don’t want to mess you up more than—"

“JJ,” you say quickly, reaching for him. “Please don’t do that.”

He shakes his head, eyes shining. “I don’t trust myself. Not after— not when I think about what I—” He covers his face, cursing under his breath.

You grab his wrists gently and pull his hands down. “It’s okay,” you say, breathless. “You didn't hurt me, Jayj. Please don’t shut me out.”

He looks at you again, unsure.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss you,” you whisper, trying to smile. “I hate how the first time had to happen. I hate that it was stolen from us. Hate what they forced us to do. But I—I love you, JJ. More than you know. And I don’t want fear to be the only thing we remember.”

He freezes.

“You—you love me?”

“Yes,” you say through tears. “Always have. And I always will. And what happened didn’t just happen to me. It happened to you too. You’re allowed to hurt.”

His breath shudders. “I love you too,” he says, stunned. “God, I love you. I just — I'm supposed to be the strong one.”

You shake your head. “We can be strong together. It'll be ok.”

You sit there for a long time, arms wrapped around each other, the forest quiet and forgiving around you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For not leaving me.”

He presses his forehead to yours, voice shaking. “I never would.”

You smile softly. But still sadly. “I know.”

You clutch him back just as tight before your whole body starts shaking. The tears come fast and hot and uncontrollable, and you bury your face into his shoulder.

He tries not to cry. He doesn't want the men to see him as weak. You can feel him trying as his chest stutters once. Then twice.

He swallows hard like he’s forcing it down.

After a moment he pulls back just enough to look at you, but your hands stay fisted in the fabric of his shirt.

He cups your face in both his hands, eyes moving over you frantically. Over your neck, your shoulders, your arms, checking for bites, checking for blood that isn’t something else's.

Then he leans his forehead against yours and his eyes squeeze shut.

It’s just you and him breathing the same air again.

For a second, everything else disappears: The shop. The men. The world.

“You bit?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head, your forehead still pressed to his. “No.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for days.

You both open your eyes at the same time.

And then you’re laughing. Soft and disbelieving and almost hysterical.

Joe’s voice cuts through it. “That your friend?”

All of them.

You both turn to see the men are staring.

Their eyes drag over you in a way that makes your stomach tighten. Even covered in gore, even exhausted and shaking they’re looking at you like they’re measuring something.

You swallow and JJ sees it.

You see it too — the way his shoulders subtly shift, the way he angles himself just slightly more in front of you.

“Yeah,” he says, voice steady now.

Joe stares at him, a small, approving smile pulling at his mouth. “Good,” he says. “’Bout time you claimed somethin’.”

JJ doesn’t respond to that. He just keeps his hands on you. “I’m gonna take her down to the river we passed, close by,” he says instead. “Clean her up real quick. We’ll be right back.”

One of the men snorts. “Yeah, I bet you will.”

Another chuckles low under his breath.

You don’t miss the implication. Your fingers tighten on JJ’s shirt and you glance up at him, nerves creeping in.

He feels it immediately and his hand squeezes your shoulder — firm and grounding.

“I’ll be back before sundown,” he says to Joe.

He grabs his soap, rag, med kit and a can of beans from his backpack and puts them in yours. Then he leaves his bag on the floor: A silent promise that he's not running.

Joe nods once. “Don’t take too long.”

JJ doesn’t answer. He just wraps an arm around your waist and helps you toward the door.

The second it closes behind you, cutting off the sound of their voices, you both crash into each other. He holds you tight but careful and this time, he lets himself cry, just for a second. His face presses into your shoulder and you feel his breath hitch.

You wrap your arms around him harder. “I thought I was never gonna see you again,” you whisper.

His hands flex against your back. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I kinda didn’t either.”

You pull back slightly. “Who are those people, JJ?”

He glances toward the shop and his jaw tightens. “I’ll tell you at the river.”

You nod.

He studies your face one more time then crouches in front of you. “Hop on.”

You hop onto his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders, legs hooking carefully around his waist, clinging to him as tight as you can manage.

It doesn't take long to get there. He walks off the road toward the river, following the bank until the trees grow thicker and the road disappears behind them.

“Alright,” he murmurs, crouching so you can slide off his back and onto the cool sand.

Your legs almost give out when they touch the ground, despite having rested a few hours in the auto shop.

“Thanks,” you whisper, smiling, the relief of finding him outweighing every other feeling in your chest.

He turns toward you and for a moment he just stares. Because you look beautiful as always, but also... awful. Even worse than him.

Your hair is tangled and dirty, strands stuck together with sweat. There’s dried blood smeared along your neck and chin and arms, and more of it stiffening the fabric of your shirt. Your shoulders sag with exhaustion, like you’re barely holding yourself upright.

But you’re smiling up at him anyway. Your tired eyes almost twinkle with it.

He shakes his head a little, like he can’t quite believe you’re really here. That you're smiling despite everything.

He crouches down in front of you and carefully reaches for your boots to pull them off. When he peels your socks off, they’re damp with sweat and dirt, the fabric rough after being worn for days straight.

The skin of you feet is pale and wrinkled from being trapped in the damp socks, rubbed raw in places. Blisters have formed along your heels.

The gauze he wrapped around it two nights ago is dingy now, stained through where the cut reopened a little while you were limping. The skin around it is swollen and pink, irritated from the constant pressure of walking on it.

JJ exhales quietly through his nose.

“Jesus, Y/N…” he mutters under his breath.

His fingers are gentle when he lifts your injured foot, turning it slightly to inspect it. Like he’s afraid even touching it might hurt you.

You try to smile a little. "Yeah, probably should've changed into my other pair of socks. It's alright, though. I'm sure your feet are a little fucked up too."

He huffs and looks up at you. "'Lil bit." Then he's quiet for a second, thinking. "Have you eaten anything?”

You nod. “Yeah. I've eaten.”

“Eaten what?”

You shrug weakly. “A turtle.”

He blinks. “A turtle.”

You nod again. “Found him crossing the road,” you say. “Didn’t help him cross it that time.”

For a second he just stares at you, then he huffs a tired laugh. “Kiara would be so mad at you.”

You shrug again, smirking just a little, heart squeezing with how much you suddenly miss her. “She’ll get over it.”

He smiles and tucks his fingers under the hem of your shirt. “Arms up,” he murmurs gently.

You obey, swaying slightly as he lifts the fabric over your head.

He kneels and undoes your belt, unbuttons and unzips your jeans before pulling them down just as carefully.

His eyes scan your body for injuries and there’s nothing weird or awkward about it. Just quiet concern.

There’s something about the way he takes care of you—so natural, so instinctive, so protective—that makes warmth bloom deep in your chest.

You love this about him.

You love him. So much it hurts.

You watch the top of his head while he works, swallowing past the sudden tightness in your throat, your chest aching in that quiet, overwhelming way it always does when he’s like this.

When you’re finally bare, he guides you towards a fallen tree to sit and reaches for your foot. “Let me see it.”

He unwraps the cloth and winces.

The cut is small but deep, red around the edges.

“It’s not that bad," you say, even though it feels terrible.

“It is when you’ve been walking on it for two days... or however long it's been."

He quickly washes your clothes as best he can, hangs them to dry then strips off his own clothes quickly before guiding you into the river, one hand wrapped around your waist, a rag and the bar of soap in the other.

You both scan the bottom carefully for more stupid broken bottles as you wade until the water is up to your chest.

“C’mere.”

You step closer to him and he starts gently washing the dirt and blood off of you.

The soapy rag moves over your arms, your shoulders, your back. Cool river water runs down your skin, carrying away streaks of blood and grime.

JJ wrings the rag out in the river, tosses it over his shoulder and glances back down at you.

“Lean back a little,” he says quietly.

You turn slightly and lean back, the cool water sliding higher along your shoulders as you tilt your head. His hand slips behind your neck to support you, steady and warm against your skin. Then he starts working the soap gently through your hair.

He looks down at your neck and sees the slightly faded but dark hickeys that he'd left along it four nights ago.

His jaw tightens immediately. Because he already knows exactly the kind of comments those men would make about them.

His fingers move slowly through the tangled strands, careful not to pull too hard. He works the soap in with small circles, then starts combing his fingers through it, separating the knots one by one.

Your eyes drift shut almost immediately, humming at the feeling.

“What?” he smiles.

“That feels so good, JJ," you breath.

The words do something to his body under the water that makes him glad you can't look down.

“Yeah?” he says softly, fingers sliding through your hair again, slower this time.

You nod, completely relaxed now, the tension in your shoulders fully easing for the first time since right before you were snatched up. “Feels like I’m at a salon or something,” you mumble.

He snorts. “A salon? In a river?"

“Mmhmm,” you hum lazily, eyes still closed, still smiling. “You’re doing great. Five stars. Maybe even six.”

He shakes his head, laughing quietly as he rinses the soap out with cupped handfuls of river water.

“Glad to know I found my calling in the apocalypse,” he mutters.

You sigh softly, completely relaxed in his hold.

His eyes drift down without thinking.

You’re floating right there in front of him, the water lapping just under your breasts, your body loose and trusting in his hands.

He immediately feels bad about it. He tries to look away—but he’s still human.

“Are you staring at my boobs?”

JJ freezes. Then his eyes snap back up to your face.

You’re looking up at him with a tired little smirk, eyes barely cracked open.

“Uh… yeah,” he admits after a second. “Sorry.”

You shrug faintly, like it’s the least important thing in the world, then your eyes drift closed again.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “I don’t care.”

Because you don't. You honestly kind of like it. Really like it, actually.

JJ huffs out a quiet, embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, well… still.”

“You’ve seen them before,” you add casually.

That makes him shake his head with another quiet laugh, cheeks a little pink as he focuses on rinsing the last of the soap from your hair.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Don’t remind me.”

You just smile, eyes still closed, clearly pleased with yourself while he carefully lifts your head a little higher to pour one last handful of water and run his fingers through your hair one more time to smooth it out.

He slowly lifts you back up and neither of you talk for a minute.

Then you look up at him.

“I missed you,” you say quietly. "So bad."

His head lifts immediately and something in his face softens the way it only ever does with you. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “Worst three days of my life... or two... or however many it was.”

You nod quickly. “Same. Worse than the outbreak.”

He huffs out a laugh and nods.

You both just look at each other for a second before you step forward and wrap your arms around him.

He hugs you back instantly. Tight. Hand sliding up your back to hold your head to his chest.

After a minute he pulls back a little.

“I saw the car,” he says.

You go still. Your eyes drift down toward the water, like the memory is already creeping back. The two dead women. Your hands inside the stomach of the biter.

“Me and those guys were walking a while after I met them and…" he swallows. “I — I was so glad you weren’t inside.”

Your throat tightens.

"What you did..." he pauses.

You wait, completely still.

He smiles a little. "It was really badass." Then he frowns. "I'm sorry you had to do it though."

For a second you just stare at him. Then your mouth twitches and a small, shy smile pulls at your lips because while you're absolutely sick and traumatized over it, him saying that soothes it just a little. You duck your head, suddenly studying the water like it’s very interesting.

“Yeah?” you mumble.

He nods once, serious. “Yeah. Took down two cops. Looked like you were in handcuffs too," then his smile comes back. "Remind me not to piss you off”

"I kinda panicked, honestly." Your smile lingers for a second before it fades a little. “They said I owed them because they 'saved me.' Said they were taking me somewhere called Grady Memorial Hospital to work for them to 'pay them back for it.'”

JJ’s jaw tightens. “Yeah, well that sounds like bullshit.”

“I kinda thought so too. But it's ok, I don't think that's happening anymore."

JJ nods.

Then another moment of silence.

“Hey,” you say.

He glances up. “What?”

“I didn’t like how those men were looking at me,” you admit quietly.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes hardening. “Me neither."

You swallow. "They reminded me of the guys in the feed store."

JJ's brows furrows remembering it, heart beating a little faster. But he tries to shove the memories down, for you. He squeezes your hand. "They won't touch you. They know not to."

You glance up at him. "How do you know they know?"

He hesitates for a second like he almost doesn’t want to say it. “Because of their 'rules.'”

"What 'rules?'"

He glances down at where your fingers are laced with his under the water, then back up at your face.

“C’mon,” he says quietly. “Let’s get dressed and clean your foot up and I’ll tell you everything.”

You take his hand and head back to the shore.

He gets dressed and helps you pull on your still slightly damp underwear, jeans and shirt. Then he puts bandaids on your blisters, pours some of his clean water on your cut, disinfects it and wraps it back up.

You pull on new socks, your boots and sit on a big rock beside him.

“So... they have this stupid code,” he explains. “About claiming things.”

You frown. “What?”

“If someone says something’s theirs… nobody else messes with it. Or they get their ass beat. Or worse.”

Your eyebrows lift slowly.

“You heard me say 'claimed' back there?”

You nod.

“Well that means… technically…” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “…to them I own you.”

You stare at him. Then you giggle. “You own me?”

“Not like that,” he says quickly, laughing a little too now. "Well, I mean, to them... yeah."

You tilt your head, clearly amused. “So what, do I need to start introducing myself like: Hi, I’m Y/N. Property of JJ Maybank.”

He laughs despite himself. “Stop.”

You grin wider. “Yes sir, Mr. Maybank. I will behave like a good piece of property.”

He nudges your shoulder with his. “Alright, that’s enough.”

“But that’s the rule, right?”

He runs a hand through his hair and tries very hard to ignore the tiny, traitorous part of his brain that… kind of likes the sound of it.

“So,” you say quietly. “Why do you still want to be with them?”

He exhales slowly. “First of all, I don't want to be with them. Like, at all. But it's because of something they said.”

“What?”

“They’re looking for some people.”

Your stomach tightens. “What people?”

“They described a group of six. Our age.”

Your breath catches, heart beginning to thud in your chest as it clicks.

“They said… one of them killed one of their guys.”

Your eyes widen.

“And the way they described them…” he continues slowly. “…sounds exactly like the Pogues.”

“You think it’s them?” you whisper.

“I'm pretty damn sure,” he says. “And Joe thinks they’re getting close to them. They're tracking them somehow.”

Fear crawls up your spine. But underneath it there's hope.

You look at him. “If it is them and we find them…”

“They'll want to kill them,” he finishes. Then he takes a deep, slow breath before speaking again, not even sure if he should tell you. "They already claimed the girls."

Your heart drops, breath shuddering a little. But you process it. You inhale sharply through your nose, furious now. And your voice is steady when you say it.

“So if we find them... when we do, we have to kill those men first.”

JJ meets your eyes, terrified but sure.

He pulls his Sig out of the holster on his belt, hands it to you so you can stick it in your backpack and nods right back.

"Yeah. Yeah, we do."

Part 25

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