We wander.
With the kazoo kid gone and no fresh meat on the menu, the horde slinks deeper into the woods. The pace is slow—molasses on a cold day—and every step is a test of patience.
I am so bored I could die.
Again.
There's no goal. No fire. No music. No scent. Just the same dirt path dragging out beneath my rotting shoes. My zombie body trudges forward, twitching like a busted animatronic, while my mind floats in the dull gray between sleep and screaming.
It's been two days.
I think.
Maybe more. Maybe less. Time's gotten slippery. The sky doesn't care about consistency. Clouds roll over, blotting out the sun half the day. Nights are silent, save for the occasional groan, bark, or owl shriek. The forest just breathes—slow and wide—like it's watching us without blinking.
Has it been a week since I woke up?
Since I came back?
Since this rotten shell of mine started twitching with thoughts again?
Feels longer.
Here's what I know so far:
The world ended.
It happened fast.
I died.
Came back.
And now I'm here.
I can sometimes twitch a finger. Maybe pause for a second mid-step. Once, I blinked on purpose. It took everything I had. Felt like lifting a piano with my eyelids.
Progress.
The herd's smaller now. We've fanned out a little—enough space to breathe, if any of us still needed to.
Red's still nearby. Always drifting somewhere just ahead or to the side, like a bloodstained moon in a slow, groaning orbit. Tyson's still around too. Still smug. Still upright.
I miss Jacket.
I miss the kazoo kid.
Something the Hendersons said has been bouncing around my skull ever since. Their voices. The rhythm. The words.
Southern.
Real southern. Not the TV kind. Not yeehaw cowboy hats. Country. Dust-road country. Porch swings and cornbread.
Are we in the South?
The trees are thick, old, and gnarled like they've seen generations come and go. The air's damp. Cool. The ground's uneven. Mountains nearby?
Appalachia, maybe.
That makes sense. Could be Kentucky. West Virginia. Northern Georgia. Somewhere quiet enough to fall apart without the world noticing.
A gunshot cracks in the distance.
Sharp. Clean.
I wait for the horde to react.
Nothing.
Maybe a few heads twitch. Maybe a low moan. But it's too far. Too faint. Not close enough to matter.
I try to imagine what caused it. A survivor? A fight? A mercy killing?
Then—
My foot catches a root.
My whole body lurches forward, and I can't stop it.
WHAM.
My forehead hits a low stump with a thud that echoes through my skull like a church bell struck by a sledgehammer. Darkness pours over my vision. Heavy. Absolute.
And suddenly, I'm somewhere else.
Inside.
Warm.
Soft yellow light spills through a kitchen window. The curtains are white and floral. There's a couch. A TV. Stacks of board games leaning against a bookshelf.
An apartment.
My apartment.
I know it like you know the inside of your own mouth.
I turn. A girl is standing near the door. Small. Maybe tnine. Her hair is chestnut brown and pulled into a messy ponytail. She's wearing Bluey pajamas—her favorite, I remember. One knee has a hole in it from the time she tripped chasing our old cat down the stairs.
Her eyes are wide.
Worried.
"It's okay," I say, and my voice is real again. Full. Human. "It's just another week off school. You're basically on vacation."
Another explosion echoes in the distance.
Gunfire follows.
I try not to flinch.
I go to the window. We're on the third floor. Across the street is a strip mall with a smashed grocery store window. Further out, tall city buildings. Some are on fire. Pillars of smoke climb into the sky like dirty spears.
A Blackhawk helicopter passes overhead—low, loud, its rotor blades slicing the air like God's lawnmower. A loudspeaker cracks to life.
"MANDATORY CURFEW EXTENDED. STAY INSIDE. AWAIT ASSISTANCE. FOOD DISTRIBUTION WILL RESUME IN FORTY-EIGHT TO SEVENTY-TWO HOURS."
Cassidy.
Her name was Cassidy.
She stands beside me now, fingers curling into the hem of my shirt. Her eyes stay fixed on the sky.
She was brave.
She didn't cry much.
She just wanted to know if we were going to be okay.
I wish I remembered what I told her.
The vision shudders.
Flickers.
The kitchen light fades. The noise quiets. Cassidy starts to blur, like a photo left out in the rain.
No. Wait. Just a little longer—
But it's gone.
I wake up groaning in the dirt. My forehead feels like it wants to thob, but there's no pain. Just pressure. Dampness. Blood, maybe.
The world is gray again.
The trees don't care.
The herd shuffles on several paces ahead.
Shakily rising to my feet on its own, my body continues after them.
Thinking.
Remembering.
Hurting in a way the others can't.