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The black SUV sped down the empty highway, its engine letting out a low, rhythmic purr that masked the silence of the surrounding forest.
Leon felt as if he were floating on a cloud of high-octane euphoria. Ada's kiss had set off fireworks in his brain, a display so brilliant it made the nightmare he'd just escaped feel like a distant, blurry memory. He could still feel the phantom pressure of her lips—cool, fragrant, and devastatingly aggressive. His heartbeat, which had been erratic since the first zombie lunged at him, was now racing for an entirely different reason.
A goofy, uncontrollable grin spread across his face. He began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping time with the raspy old-school rock blaring from the stereo. He felt like he'd just won the lottery and saved the world all in the same hour.
Noah, sitting in the passenger seat, was having a significantly less magical morning.
He had his tactical pack open on his lap, leaning toward the side mirror as he hissed through his teeth. He was dabbing iodine onto the jagged bite mark on his shoulder, his face twisted in a grimace.
"How's the weather up there on Cloud Nine?" Noah asked, catching Leon's expression in the mirror. His tone was thick with unabashed teasing.
"What? Oh, you know. Life's good," Leon replied, barely managing to look away from his own mental highlight reel. "How's the shoulder?"
"How do you think? It hurts like hell," Noah muttered. As the iodine hit the raw skin, he sucked in a sharp breath.
He glanced into the back seat to ensure his voice hadn't carried. Fortunately, both girls were out cold. Now that they were finally clear of the blast zone, the adrenaline had vanished, leaving only a crushing, bone-deep fatigue. Claire was leaning against the window, her head nodding with the motion of the car. Sherry was curled into her side like a kitten, a faint, peaceful smile on her face.
Looking at them, the tension in Noah's chest finally loosened. Even the sting of the bite felt a little duller.
Leon slowed down a fraction, steering carefully around a pothole to keep the ride smooth. His silly grin eventually faded, replaced by a lingering, quiet confusion. He stared at the road ahead, his fingers tightening on the leather-wrapped wheel.
"Noah... do you think Ada..." He paused, his voice sounding dry and uncertain. "Is she really FBI? Or was that just part of the act?"
Noah finished tying a knot in his bandage and sat back. He saw the conflict written all over Leon's face—the classic struggle of a rookie cop trying to find the line between black and white in a city that was currently nothing but ash-gray.
"Does it matter?" Noah asked.
"But..." Leon hesitated. "I'm a cop. Stance, identity... those things are supposed to be the rules. If she's a freelancer or... or something else, then what does that make me?"
"Don't sweat the labels, Leon," Noah said, his voice calm and grounded. "I can tell you one thing for sure: she's not part of the rot that built that city. As for the rest of it? She's got her own path. Some people just aren't meant to be pinned down."
Leon let out a long, heavy breath, as if Noah had just handed him a hall pass for his conscience. He nodded, the weight lifting from his shoulders. Noah was right. It didn't matter who she worked for. She had kissed him. For a rookie on his first day in hell, that was a win he was willing to take to the bank.
Three hours later.
CRUNCH.
The sound of shattering glass and folding metal tore through the quiet morning.
Leon sat cross-legged on the grassy shoulder of the road, his head buried in his hands. He looked like an ostrich trying to hide from its own embarrassment. A dozen yards away, the black SUV was buried nose-first into a massive oak tree at the bottom of a gentle slope. The hood was crumpled like a piece of discarded foil, and a thin, acrid plume of black smoke drifted into the sky.
Noah, Claire, and Sherry stood by the wreckage, their expressions a mix of disbelief, pity, and a very strong urge to laugh.
"So," Noah said, breaking the silence as he tapped a finger against a jagged shard of the windshield. "Were you having a stroke, or did you just decide the road was a suggestion?"
"Don't," Leon's voice came out muffled from behind his palms. It was the sound of a man who had lost his soul. "Just... don't."
"If you were tired, you could have asked me to drive," Noah added, crossing his arms. "You didn't have to attempt a tree-felling with a Ford."
Leon didn't move. He had been replaying the kiss in his head, envisioning Ada in her red qipao sitting right next to him, and then... well, the tree happened.
Eventually, Leon accepted his fate. He stood up, looking thoroughly defeated, and began the long trek toward an old gas station they'd passed a mile back. An hour later, a tow truck and a beat-up minibus arrived.
As they boarded the wobbly bus, Leon slumped against the window, staring blankly at the passing trees. The aura of dejection coming off him was almost physical.
"It's okay, Leon," Claire said softly, trying to be the bigger person. "It's just a car. At least we're safe."
"Yeah," Leon whispered. "Safe."
Sherry, who had been watching Leon with sapphire-blue eyes, tilted her head. "Leon? Did you buy that car with a loan?"
She paused, her voice innocent and helpful. "My daddy said that if you break something you're still paying for, it becomes very, very troublesome."
The air around Leon seemed to darken visibly. He turned into a stone statue, slowly weathering away in the wind.
Claire's eyes went wide. She immediately grabbed a chocolate bar from her pack, ripped it open, and stuffed it into Sherry's mouth to stop the "critical hit."
"Mmph!" Sherry protested through a mouthful of chocolate.
Claire wiped a smudge of caramel from the girl's chin, screaming internally. Sherry, you little angel, you just kicked a man while he was down in the bottom of a well.
The bus eventually dropped them off in front of Claire's apartment building. Leon leaned against the door, his spirit somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes.
"I won't come up," he said, offering a smile that looked more like a grimace. "I have to head back to the precinct and file a report. I really looking forward to explaining how I survived a bio-weapon outbreak only to drive into a stationary tree on a straight highway."
Noah grinned. "Come over for dinner tonight. I'll cook."
Leon's eyes brightened a fraction. "A lot? I could eat a whole cow."
"Bring an appetite," Noah promised, waving him off.
Inside the apartment, the smell of 'home'—dust, old books, and stale coffee—hit them like a warm blanket. Noah and Claire didn't stop to rest. They rolled up their sleeves, opening windows and scrubbing away the film of the city. They moved in a quiet, effortless harmony, a rhythm forged in the fire of the previous night.
Sherry stood at the threshold, watching them. She looked at the small, lived-in space—the open kitchen, the worn sofa, the sunlight catching dust motes in the air. Compared to the cold, sterile mansion of her parents, this place was tiny. Shabby, even.
But it had a pulse. It had 'life.'
She wanted to help, but she stood frozen, her hands clutching her shirt. She was afraid of being a burden, of breaking the fragile peace of this new world.
Noah noticed her first. He pulled off his cleaning gloves and walked over, his hand resting gently on her blonde hair. His voice was thick with warmth.
"Sherry," he said. "Welcome home."
Claire's eyes blurred with tears. She knelt beside the girl, pulling her into a soft embrace. "We're home, Sherry. This is yours now."
The dam finally broke. Sherry's shoulders shook, and she buried her face in Claire's neck, letting out a loud, ragged sob that carried the weight of every lonely night she'd ever spent. She was home.
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