Izzy stared at the five not-quite-human figures blocking the exit to the neighborhood—about a hundred yards ahead.They looked like soldiers, or tried to. None of them had tucked their shirts in.
She closed her eyes for a moment, drew in a deep breath, shifted gears—then slammed the accelerator.
The engine roared like a beast. The whole cabin vibrated from the sudden surge of power.Tires squealed against the pavement, a sonic beacon that drew the creatures forward like linebackers charging a quarterback.
CRUNCH.
Gantsuke gripped the overhead handle like Tarzan in a jungle freefall.Three of the freaks vanished under the Hummer with a bone-splintering thud. They weren't dead—but their arms and legs twisted at grotesque angles.
One of them—some homeless freak in a red hoodie—leapt onto the hood.
Another—ex-military, maybe—grabbed onto Gantsuke's side mirror, clinging tight.
He rolled the window down fast and jabbed his pistol out, silencer first.The burst was quick and surgical—like a cobra strike.
POP. POP. POP. POP. POP. POP.Four rounds to the skull. Two to the wrist.The bastard lost his grip and scraped along the asphalt in a messy smear.
Izzy zigzagged the wheel. The tail end fishtailed, and the Hummer shot through the arch like a missile.
She slammed the brakes, letting the laws of physics take over.
Momentum flung red hoodie off the hood. He slammed into a lamppost with a meaty THUD and didn't get up.
She hit the gas again without so much as a glance back.
The Hummer tore down the empty road, tires eating up the blacktop.
Shattered cars, overgrown medians, and two-story buildings flashed past the windows.
Gantsuke rolled down the window, letting in the scorched air.He spotted two of the things still chasing them—running hard. Fast.
He smirked.
Unbuckled his seatbelt.
Izzy glanced at him—concern flickering in her eyes.
"Slow it down," he said, already climbing out, straddling the open door, facing backward.
He held the grenade tight in his right hand. Left hand gripping the roof handle.
With his teeth, he pulled the pin.
Gantsuke narrowed his eyes, gauging the distance.
Then he threw it.
A perfect pitch.
The grenade bounced three times across the pavement—like a skipping stone—landing just ahead of the two sprinting freaks.
One…Two…Three…
BOOM.
The blast ripped through them.The one on the left lost a leg below the knee.The other's thigh folded like paper, bone poking out at a right angle.
Gantsuke grinned and climbed back inside.Clicked his seatbelt.Slicked back his wind-tossed hair.
"All right, tiger," Limo's voice came over the comm. "Four trucks with mounted MGs are heading your way. Twelve o'clock. Five hundred meters out."
Izzy jerked the wheel hard to the right.
"We're rerouting," she said.
Gantsuke said nothing. His face said yes loud and clear.
"Driver's choice," he shrugged, reloading his silenced pistol.
On the other side of town…
Mari sat on the couch, watching through the one-way bulletproof glass.
The black Hummer pulled up, reversed into the slot between two buildings—the makeshift garage she and Gantsuke had helped set up earlier that morning.
"They're back!" she beamed.
Good thing. The food she'd kept warm hadn't gone cold yet.
Izzy's insane driving had shaved the detour down to just under twenty minutes.
Meenda stepped out slowly.
Her eyes were bloodshot. Tears streaked her cheeks through dried blood.The wild ride hadn't affected her much—she'd been in the back.
Gantsuke, on the other hand?
His prosthetic leg had nearly punched a hole through the floor from trying to brake with Izzy the whole way.
He wobbled as he climbed out—like a man who'd just ridden ten roller coasters back-to-back.
"I think I'm gonna puke," he muttered, steadying himself on the door frame like a drunk stumbling out of a bar.
"Let's go inside," Izzy said, climbing out in yoga pants and a bulletproof vest.She brushed past him.
He tried to admire her tight backside… but it didn't help his nausea.
"You okay?" he asked Meenda, who waited beside the truck.
She looked like a sandcastle at high tide—fragile, seconds from collapse.
Her eyes were full of sorrow, but not defeat.
Before he could say more, she stepped forward and hugged him tight.
"Thank you," she whispered, face buried against his chest, tears soaking his shirt.
"It's all right," he said gently, wrapping an arm around her and resting his other hand on her back. Her cold, trembling body pressed against him.
"My… my mom and dad… they're dead…"
Her sobbing hit him like a gut punch.
Everyone loses someone. But knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less.
"You're not dead. Keep living—for them."
He stroked her hair, and she nodded, wiping her face.
"Let me help," she said, crouching to pick up the light machine gun and body armor he'd leaned against the tire.
Even through the scent of blood, he caught a faint whiff of her perfume.Clean. Soft. Real.
It made him feel alive again.
"Let's go," he said with a smile.
She smiled back—through the tears.
She gets it now, he thought.
This world… isn't the one she used to know.
And he smirked at the truth of it.