The door closed without a sound.
Mari eased it shut inch by inch, breath held, every muscle tight, until the cheap lock clicked softly into place. For a heartbeat she and Ethan stood there in the dark exterior hallway, listening. The air outside smelled like mildew, old rain, and rot—stagnant and heavy. Somewhere below them, on the ground level, something dragged itself across concrete with a slow, wet scrape.
Ethan leaned close, voice barely there. "Straight out. No backtracking."
Mari nodded. She didn't trust her voice.
They moved together, slow and controlled, slipping down the exterior walkway with the thin metal railing cold under their palms. The apartment complex felt like it was holding its breath. No lights. No generators. Just the distant glow of Savannah burning in pockets farther east and the low, restless sound of the dead moving where they pleased.
Mari didn't look back.
Inside the apartment, the silence they left behind collapsed.
Tally stood frozen by the door for half a second after it shut, staring at the wood like she expected it to reopen immediately. Like this was some kind of sick joke and Mari would pop her head back in and say never mind.
Then she broke.
"I don't like this," Tally said, voice already climbing. "I don't like this at all. They shouldn't have gone. They shouldn't have—"
Renee turned on her fast. Not yelling. Sharp. Focused. The kind of tone that cut through panic.
"Tally. Sit. Down."
Tally flinched, startled by the command, but she didn't argue. She dropped onto the edge of the mattress hard, hands shaking, eyes already wet.
"They're going to die," Tally whispered. "Everyone who leaves dies. Justin. Marcus. Now them."
Renee closed her eyes for a brief second and counted to three. When she opened them again, she crouched in front of Tally, putting herself at eye level.
"Listen to me," Renee said quietly. "You spiraling right now doesn't help them. Or Dot. Or you."
Tally dragged her sleeve across her face, angry tears smearing. "You don't know that."
Renee did know. She just didn't say it.
Dot moaned faintly from the floor. Renee turned immediately, grabbed the damp rag from the sink, and gently pressed it back to Dot's forehead. Dot's skin was hot now. Too hot. Her lips were dry and cracked, breath shallow and uneven.
"Hey," Renee murmured softly, brushing hair off Dot's face. "Stay with us, okay? They're getting help."
Dot didn't respond.
Renee stood, jaw tight, and went back to the sink to re-wet the rag. The water still worked—thin stream, low pressure, but steady. That alone felt like a small miracle.
Tally watched her, eyes darting around the apartment like she was seeing it for the first time.
The place was bad.
Worse than she'd expected.
One room. A sagging mattress on the floor with mismatched sheets. A dresser with a broken drawer. A kitchenette that barely deserved the name—two cabinets, both empty, a rusted sink, and a microwave that hadn't worked in years. The walls were stained in places, the carpet worn down to almost nothing. It smelled faintly of old smoke and something sour that never quite went away.
Tally swallowed. "This is… this is where your sister lives?"
Renee stiffened.
"Yes."
Tally winced immediately. "I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did," Renee snapped, then stopped herself. She took a breath, slow and deliberate. "And I get it. You've never had to think about how people end up like this."
Tally crossed her arms, defensive. "I wasn't judging. I just—how do adults live like this? With no food? No anything?"
Renee laughed under her breath, humorless. "You think this was the plan?"
She leaned against the counter, eyes distant now. "Kimmie's twenty-three. She's my baby sister. Always has been. She didn't choose this."
Tally shifted uncomfortably. Renee could see it—the impatience, the discomfort, the unspoken thought that this wasn't her problem. Renee reminded herself again: she's a child. She's grieving. She doesn't know how the world actually works yet.
"Her husband," Renee continued, because if she stopped talking she might start screaming, "Troy was a pro golfer. Or he almost was. Had a real shot. Sponsors. Tours. The whole dream."
Tally looked up, surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah," Renee said. "Until he wrecked his shoulder. Surgery. Pain meds. Then more pain meds. Then booze. Then both."
Her hands clenched. "He got mean. Not all the time. Just enough."
Tally's face tightened. "He hurt her?"
Renee didn't answer right away. "Enough that I begged her to leave. Enough that she never did."
Tally swallowed hard.
"They lost their house last year," Renee went on. "Foreclosure. Medical debt. Rehab bills. You name it. Troy teaches golf now when he can hold a job. Private lessons. Country clubs that don't ask too many questions."
She laughed bitterly. "He's twenty-nine. Older than Kimmie. Always knew better. I never liked him."
"Why stay?" Tally asked quietly.
Renee's voice dropped. "Because when you grow up with nothing stable, you cling to whatever you've got. Even if it's broken."
She turned back toward Dot, kneeling again. "Our mom was a mess. Single mom. Drugs. Men in and out. We never knew our dads. Never even names."
Tally's throat tightened.
"She overdosed a few years ago," Renee said flatly. "Found her too late."
"I'm sorry," Tally whispered.
Renee shrugged. "I raised Kimmie. Fed her. Protected her. Screwed up plenty along the way, but I did my best. So yeah—this place?" She gestured around. "This is what happens when you survive instead of thrive."
Silence settled between them, thick and uncomfortable.
Tally shifted on the mattress again. "I didn't mean to sound… like that."
Renee looked at her. Really looked. At the mascara streaks. The trembling hands. The way she kept glancing at the door like it might explode inward at any second.
"I know," Renee said finally. "You're scared."
Tally nodded, eyes shining. "And everyone keeps dying."
Renee didn't argue.
Another sound drifted in from outside—a distant scream, cut short. Tally flinched hard.
"I need to pee," she blurted suddenly, voice high with nerves. "I—I think the bathroom works?"
Renee nodded. "It does. Door sticks. Jiggle the handle."
Tally hurried into the tiny bathroom, closing the door behind her. Renee listened as the toilet flushed successfully, the sound almost shocking in the quiet.
She went back to Dot, re-wetting the rag again, smoothing it over Dot's forehead with shaking hands.
"Please," Renee whispered under her breath. "Please don't die."
She didn't realize she was crying until a tear dropped onto Dot's sleeve.
Behind her, the bathroom door creaked open.
Tally stepped out, face twisted in irritation and disbelief.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" she snapped.
Renee turned. "What?"
Tally stared down at her jeans in horror. "My period. Of all times."
Renee closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.
Of course.