The night wasn't empty.
That was the first thing Mari realized once they stepped off the exterior walkway and into the parking lot. It wasn't quiet, either—not really. It was layered. Distant screams carried on the damp air, some sharp and panicked, others long and breaking as they were cut short. Glass shattered somewhere to the east, followed by the hollow echo of something heavy being knocked over. A car alarm wailed, stuttered, then died like it had been throttled. Wind pushed trash across the asphalt—paper, plastic, something that might've once been a shirt—skittering in frantic circles like it knew where this was headed and wanted no part of it.
Ethan kept the Jeep lights off for a reason.
Light got you seen—by the dead and by the living.
They hugged the shadows, moving between cars with doors hanging open like broken jaws. Mari caught flashes through apartment windows along Abercorn—people pressed up against glass, hands smeared red, silhouettes pacing, praying, screaming at someone who wasn't coming back. In one window, a man beat his fists against the wall, blood slicking the paint. In another, a woman rocked back and forth on the floor, a child clutched to her chest, both of them too still.
Down the block, a horde burst from an alley, chasing a man and a woman who ran too slow, tripped too hard. The man shouted something over his shoulder—maybe a name, maybe an apology. The woman went down, palms scraping uselessly at the pavement as hands reached for her ankles.
The man didn't stop.
Mari didn't look away when the horde swallowed the woman. She heard the scream turn wet, felt it vibrate through her bones. Her stomach lurched, but she forced herself to keep moving.
Ethan's hand tightened once on her arm. Not a warning. A reminder to breathe.
They ducked behind a pickup just as the screaming dissolved into something final.
That was when the voice cut through it.
"Damn."
Low. Amused. Too close.
Mari's spine iced over.
A man stepped out from between two cars like he'd been waiting for them. Big didn't cover it—he was massive. Shoulders like concrete blocks, arms roped with muscle and old scars that came from fights, not gyms. Prison muscle. The kind earned the hard way. Sweat gleamed on his skin despite the cool night. A long knife hung loose in his hand, casual, familiar, nicked and stained like it had history.
His eyes locked on Mari.
Slow. Appraising. Lingering.
"Well look at this," he said, smiling like he'd already decided something ugly. "You lost, sweetheart?"
Ethan stepped in front of her immediately, crowbar lifting. His stance widened, knees bent—ready. "Back up."
The man laughed—loud, echoing off metal and glass. Too loud.
Behind him hovered a girl near the open bed of a truck. Young. Fit. Too pretty for this place. A body-hugging sundress smeared with grime, dirty tennis shoes, hair pulled back in a rushed knot. Her hands shook at her sides. She looked terrified and exhausted, like she hadn't stopped moving since yesterday and didn't know how to stop now.
"Darius," she hissed, glancing over her shoulder. "Lower your voice—"
He cut her a sharp look. "Shut up, Cherry."
Mari saw the flinch. The way Cherry folded in on herself, swallowing whatever she was about to say. Ownership without paperwork. Control without consent.
Ethan glanced past Darius at the shadows shifting at the edge of the lot—movement multiplying. "You're being loud."
Darius grinned wider, teeth flashing. He spread his arms slightly, like he was inviting the night to listen.
"Well," he said, voice rising on purpose, "let's see who gonna get eaten first."
Cherry's eyes went wide. "Darius—"
"Relax," he snapped. "I got this."
He turned back to Mari, gaze crawling over her in a way that made her want to peel her skin off. "You though," he said. "You look real useful."
Ethan moved.
Darius moved faster.
The knife flashed, slicing Ethan's side. Not deep, but enough. Fabric tore. Blood bloomed dark and fast. Ethan grunted and staggered as Darius slammed into him, driving him back into a car hard enough to dent the door. Metal rang out, sharp and loud, a dinner bell.
Mari lunged.
Darius planted a fist into Ethan's jaw with a sound like breaking wood. Ethan went down to one knee, crowbar swinging wild and clipping Darius's shoulder. Darius barely noticed. He smelled of sweat and old cigarettes and something metallic.
"Cherry," Darius barked, never taking his eyes off Ethan. "Get her."
Cherry froze.
"Now," he snapped.
She took a step toward Mari, panic all over her face, eyes darting between the knife in Mari's hand and the dead beginning to spill from the darkness.
Mari already had her blade out.
"Don't," Mari said, voice flat and dangerous.
Cherry stopped.
Darius roared and drove Ethan to the ground, knee crashing into his chest. Ethan gasped, crowbar slipping from his grip as Darius raised the knife high, arm muscles bunching.
Mari screamed and slammed into Darius's side, burying Justin's knife into his thigh with everything she had.
Blood sprayed—hot, thick, everywhere. It slicked Mari's hands, spattered her face.
Darius howled, more furious than hurt. He backhanded Mari, sending her skidding across the pavement. Her head cracked hard. Stars burst. The world rang.
Cherry screamed.
"Help him!" Darius roared at her. "Do something!"
Cherry backed away instead.
"No," she whispered. "No, no—"
Darius spun on her, face twisted. "You stupid bitch—"
The dead arrived.
They poured in from every direction—between cars, over fences, out of alleys—drawn by blood and noise like a tide answering a bell. Hands grabbed Darius's ankles. Then his wrists. Then his face.
Cherry ran.
She vanished into the dark without looking back.
Darius tried to follow. He made it three steps before he was dragged down. Teeth sank in. He screamed—long, high, wet—begging, cursing, promising everything.
Mari dragged Ethan, half-carrying him toward the dumpsters, both of them moving on raw instinct. She dove into a narrow pocket of shadow behind stacked pallets, pulling him with her. Mari clamped a hand over Ethan's mouth as he wheezed, every breath too loud, blood slick and warm against her palm.
Ten feet away, the horde tore Darius apart.
Bones cracked. Flesh ripped. His screams collapsed into gurgles and then nothing at all.
Something slammed into the pallets.
Mari didn't breathe.
She turned—
And locked eyes with Cherry.
Cherry crouched in the same hiding space, breath shaking, face streaked with tears and blood that wasn't hers. Her hands were empty—but then she slid a small knife from her ankle, grip tight and trembling. Her eyes flicked to Ethan's blood, to Mari's blade, back again—calculating, terrified.
Three people.
Two knives.
One crowbar.
No allies.
Mari raised her blade.
Cherry raised hers.
Ethan lifted the crowbar an inch, teeth clenched to keep silent.
Outside, the dead finished eating, jaws working, bones snapping like kindling.
Inside the shadows, all three of them waited—watching, listening, knowing—
Someone was going to make a move.
And whoever did might not be the one who walked away.