The garage disappeared behind them in pieces.
Metal screamed as the Jeep tore into the street, tires skidding over splintered wood and shattered glass that hadn't been there an hour ago. The vibration rattled through the frame and into their bones, like the world itself was breaking apart under pressure. The engine roared too loud in the sudden quiet, the sound ricocheting off houses that should've been alive with ordinary noise—music bleeding through walls, a TV too loud, someone yelling at a kid to come inside.
Instead, the cul-de-sac swallowed the sound and gave nothing back, the silence pressing in heavy and unnatural, like a held breath that refused to release.
Tally twisted in her seat, heart slamming, eyes locked on the rear window until the house vanished behind a bend. She didn't know what she was looking for—movement, pursuit, proof that what she'd seen hadn't been real—but all she caught was smoke drifting low across the street like fog that had lost its way, curling around mailboxes and lawns that suddenly felt unfamiliar.
Her mouth tasted like copper, sharp and metallic, like she'd bitten her tongue too hard and couldn't stop noticing it.
Justin didn't speak. His hands were locked on the wheel, knuckles white, shoulders rigid. Sweat dampened the collar of his shirt despite the cool night air seeping in through cracked windows. He kept his eyes forward, jaw set tight. He didn't look back.
Mari sat stiff in the passenger seat, one hand braced against the dash, breathing shallow and fast. Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat. She didn't cry. Not yet. The restraint felt fragile, like glass stretched too thin.
Tally hugged herself in the backseat, nails biting through her sleeves, grounding herself in pain she could control as everything else spun beyond reach.
"Okay," she said finally, voice cracking. "Okay. That—whatever that was—"
She couldn't finish.
Justin exhaled hard. "Eyes up. Both of you. If you see movement, say it."
"Movement like… people?" Tally asked.
He didn't answer.
The street ahead wasn't their street anymore.
Cars sat abandoned at wrong angles, some still running, others dark and silent. Doors gaped open. Blood smeared the pavement in wide arcs and narrow trails—drag marks, handprints, footprints overlapping like panic had a pattern. One body lay half on a lawn, half on the sidewalk, throat torn open so badly Tally had to look away.
"This looks like after a hurricane," she whispered.
Justin shook his head. "Storms move through."
Figures moved in the street.
Not away.
Toward.
Their movements were fast but broken. Jerky. Wrong. One dragged a leg behind them, bone shining white through shredded skin. Another tripped, hit the pavement face-first, then pushed themselves up again with a wet crack and kept coming, as if pain no longer registered.
Mari swallowed hard. "Why aren't they helping each other?"
"Because they can't," Justin said.
A dog burst from between two houses, ribs visible, fur matted with blood.
Something followed it.
Low. Fast.
Tally screamed.
Justin floored it.
The Jeep surged forward as something slammed into the side with a hollow thud. The impact rocked them hard enough to rattle teeth. Mari cried out, fingers clawing at the grab handle as the vehicle fishtailed, tires shrieking before Justin forced it straight again.
Across the street, a man tore into a woman pinned against a fence. Teeth sank into her neck. She screamed once—then choked as blood sprayed against the wood slats.
Tally gagged. "Oh my God—"
"I'm not stopping," Justin said, voice ironed flat.
They hit the main road.
It was worse.
Cars stacked like toys. Smoke hung low and gray, stinging the eyes. People ran in every direction—some screaming, some silent, some chasing anything that moved. Two figures were hunched over a body near the median, shoulders pumping as they ate. The sound—wet, ripping, animal—cut through everything else.
Mari sobbed softly, the sound barely audible over the engine, like she was afraid even grief might draw attention.
They cut down a side street.
And then—
"STOP!" Tally screamed.
Justin slammed the brakes.
A girl stood on the sidewalk, frozen in place, clothes soaked dark, hair tangled and stiff with blood.
"Kenzie!" Tally screamed, throwing open the door. "Kenzie, get in! NOW!"
Something made a noise behind her.
Kenzie turned and ran.
She dove into the backseat as the Jeep lurched forward again.
Kenzie collapsed against Tally, shaking so hard her teeth chattered. "It's gone," she whispered. "Everything's gone."
Mari twisted around carefully. "Kenzie… what happened?"
Kenzie stared straight ahead, eyes empty, voice flat like she was reading from a script she couldn't stop replaying.
"My grandma was sick," she said. "Bedridden. She hadn't gotten out of bed in weeks."
Kenzie swallowed hard.
"I was in the kitchen when I heard the bed creak. That didn't make sense. She couldn't sit up by herself."
Her breathing hitched.
"I ran to the hallway. She was standing. Just… standing there. Her nightgown was ripped. Her mouth was red."
Tally squeezed her.
"She grabbed my mom," Kenzie continued, voice shaking now. "She bit her. Right here." She pressed shaking fingers to her own neck. "She didn't scream long. I watched her fall."
Mari covered her mouth.
"I ran to the bathroom," Kenzie sobbed. "I locked the door. I heard the nurse screaming downstairs. I heard bones break."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"My brother came home. I tried to warn him. I banged on the door. I screamed his name."
Kenzie sucked in a sharp, broken breath.
"He saw me. He saw me before they grabbed him." Her voice shattered. "They ate him. He was screaming my name."
Tally sobbed openly now.
"I don't know how I got out," Kenzie whispered. "I just ran. My mom—" She choked. "She was behind me. She wasn't my mom anymore."
Silence filled the Jeep, thick and suffocating, broken only by uneven breathing and the low growl of the engine.
Justin drove.
A small movement broke the quiet.
A tiny head popped up from Kenzie's lap.
Barbie the Yorkie blinked, tail wagging weakly.
Kenzie let out a broken laugh through tears. "I forgot she was there."
Tally clutched the dog like it was proof of something still good, something untouched by blood and teeth and screaming.
Justin tightened his grip on the wheel.
They drove.
Past bodies. Past blood. Past a city tearing itself apart.
Behind them, the screams blurred into one endless sound.
Ahead of them—
There was no clear road.
Only motion.
And guilt sat heavy in Justin's chest, because every mile put more distance between them and a little girl who never made it home.