The undertunnel to New Orleans loomed ahead — a dark throat choked with a wall of rusted, crumpled cars. Decades of wreckage piled into a jagged barricade.
Clayton's eyes went wide in the driver's seat. "Shit." His hands tightened on the wheel. He didn't slow down — but Arthur could see the truth in his face.
Even at a full gallop, Arthur's horse could weave through the gaps. The car couldn't. The metal would tear them apart before they even made it halfway in.
Beside him, Rory kept firing out the back, unaware of the math Clayton was doing in his head. Meeve stared ahead, her lips parting, a quiet no slipping out.
The bloater's roar rolled down the road behind them, rattling the air. The few remaining sprinters pounded the pavement in a nightmare tide.
Clayton's jaw worked, as if chewing on words he didn't want to spit. Then he turned, shouting over the engine and the chaos. "Rory! Get on the horse!"
"What?!" Rory's eyes darted from Clayton to Arthur, disbelief written across his dirt-streaked face.
"You heard me!" Clayton's voice cracked — not from fear, but from the weight of what he was giving up. "Now! There ain't space for more'n one, and you're the youngest — you got a damn shot out here!"
Rory shook his head, face flushed. "Hell no! I'm not leavin' you!"
Meeve's eyes brimmed. "Rory—" she began, but her voice faltered. She knew. She knew.
Arthur's horse was pulling even with the car, his hand outstretched. "Kid, move it! Now!"
Rory stayed frozen for one heartbeat too long — then Meeve's hand clamped around his arm, shoving him toward the window. "Go!"
Arthur grabbed him, hauling him onto the saddle behind him. Rory twisted, yelling over Arthur's shoulder. "Clay! Don't you do this!"
Clayton's eyes met his in the side mirror — one last look, all the words they couldn't say packed into it.
"Arthur!" Clayton's voice was rough, urgent. "How much dynamite you got?"
Arthur's gut sank. He didn't even need to ask why. He reached into the satchel — pulled out three sticks, then another two, then three more. He tossed them into Meeve's lap.
Clayton's mouth twitched into something like a smile. "That'll do."
The bloater was close enough now that its steps sent shudders through the pavement. The sprinters flanked it, eyes fixed on the car like wolves scenting blood.
Arthur yelled over the wind. "You ain't gotta do this!"
Clayton gave the smallest shake of his head, his eyes still on the tunnel ahead. "Ain't no other way, cowboy."
Arthur glanced once at Meeve. "Look after him."
Meeve's lip trembled, her hands clutching the dynamite.
"Go." Her tone softened for the first time since they'd met. "Go live."
Arthur's horse surged ahead. Rory twisted again, screaming over the thundering hooves and the roaring behind them. "CLAY!"
The last thing they saw in the mirror was Clayton slamming the gearshift, Meeve already lighting the fuses with trembling hands. The car hurtled straight into the darkness of the undertunnel, the infected right on its tail.
Then — a blinding flash lit the tunnel's mouth.
The sound came a breath later, a deafening roar that swallowed the bloater's scream as the shockwave rolled out, lifting dust and scattering crows from the overpass.
The roar of the explosion ripped the air apart. Fire surged from the tunnel mouth, licking the night sky before choking into a thick column of black smoke.
Then the world groaned.
Metal screamed. Concrete cracked.
The entire overpass shuddered and folded in on itself, sealing the tunnel in a single, thunderous collapse.
And with it… Clayton and Meeve were gone.
Arthur's horse bucked at the shockwave, hooves clattering against fractured asphalt. He reined it in hard, his own ears ringing from the blast. Behind him, Rory sat frozen — eyes wide, staring into the settling dust like he could will them both to come walking out.
Arthur's voice came rough. "Kid… we gotta move."
Rory didn't answer. His jaw was tight, his breath short.
Arthur didn't need to ask what was running through the boy's head — he'd seen that look before. "Ain't no comin' back from that," he said quietly. "Best thing we can do is make sure it wasn't for nothin'."
For a long moment, Rory stayed still, eyes locked on the wreckage. Then, almost reluctantly, he gave a short nod.
Arthur turned the horse toward the rusted railway line running parallel to the highway. They galloped down the slope, hooves clattering over the loose gravel, the rails stretching ahead into the shadow of the woods.
Rory clung to the back of Arthur's coat — not from fear of falling, but like he was trying to anchor himself to something that wouldn't vanish.
After a while, Arthur broke the silence. "I didn't know 'em long… but Clayton and Meeve? They had grit. Takes a hell of a lot to do what they did."
Rory's voice came out small, cracking at the edges. "They weren't just… people I traveled with. Clayton was… he was the closest thing I had to a dad. And Meeve… she— she always made sure I ate before she did."
Arthur's grip on the reins tightened. He stared ahead at the rails stretching into nowhere. "Then you remember 'em that way. Not just in your head — in how you live. That's how you keep 'em with you."
Rory didn't answer, but Arthur felt the boy's hold on him tighten.
They rode until the tracks curved wide around the collapsed tunnel, the smoke now just a smear on the horizon. The ruined highway stretched toward a city still hidden by haze.
Arthur didn't know what waited for them there, but right now, one thing mattered — keeping the kid alive long enough to see it.
The wind shifted, carrying with it the sharp scent of burnt metal and ash.