Morning came gray and cold, the sun struggling to pierce a ceiling of clouds that promised rain by afternoon. Jimmy has slept in fits. An hour here, thirty minutes there, always waking at a sound, a moan, a creak, his hand reaching for the rifle before his brain caught up.
Ashley was already awake, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of instant coffee, staring out the window at the fields. She'd found clean clothes somewhere. A pair of jeans that fit her okay and a flannel shirt that didn't, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was pulled back, her face still pale but more focused than yesterday.
"Anything?" Jimmy asked, sitting up, his back protesting from the night on the hard floor.
"Quiet." She didn't turn. "Too quiet. I don't like it."
Nick came down the stairs, moving quietly for a man his size. "Jenna's still sleeping. She woke up twice during the night screaming. Took an hour to get her back down each time."
"She will get better," Ashley said. "Give her time."
"Time we don't have." Jimmy checked his watch. "We need to move. Process the grease, hit the road, put more miles behind us. We're maybe halfway to where we need to be, and winter's not waiting."
Nick nodded. "I'll get the filtering gear. You want to wake her?"
Jimmy looked toward the stairs. "Let her sleep another hour. She's going to need it."
An hour later, Jenna came down on her own.
She looked better than she did yesterday. Still pale, still hollow-eyed, but steadier on her feet. She'd found clothes too, an old sweater and jeans that were too big for her, the sleeves hanging past her wrists. Her hair was a mess, tangled and unwashed, but she'd tried to pull it back.
Ashley smiled at her. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I watched my husband get eaten by zombies and then spent the night in a stranger's house." Jenna's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "So, you know... fucking fantastic."
Nick snorted despite himself. "I like her."
Jimmy handed her a cup of coffee. "We're aiming to be heading out in an hour. You're welcome to come with us, or we can leave you here with supplies. Your choice."
Jenna looked at him, really looked at him for the first time. "You're serious? You'd just... leave me?"
"If that's what you want. We're not in the business of forcing people to come with us." Jimmy met her eyes. "But we're heading south, away from the cold, away from the cities, away from as many of those things as we can get. You're welcome to join."
She was quiet for a long moment, sipping the coffee. Then: "What's your name?"
"Jimmy. That's Ashley, that's Nick."
"Jimmy, Ashley, Nick." Jenna tested the names. "And you're all just... surviving? Driving south? That's the plan?"
"That's the plan."
"No government? No military? No safe zones?"
Jimmy shook his head. "Haven't seen any. Heard rumors on the radio the first few days, but nothing since. I think we're on our own."
Jenna stared into her coffee. "My husband, Derek... he was a planner. Always had a backup plan, a backup for the backup. When things started going bad, he grabbed me and we ran. He said we'd find a military base, that they'd have to protect us." Her voice cracked. "He was wrong."
Ashley reached across the table, taking her hand. "I'm so sorry."
"He didn't suffer long. That's what I keep telling myself. It was fast. It was-" She stopped, swallowed. "It doesn't matter. He's gone. I'm here. I'll go with you."
Nick nodded. "Good. We need all the hands we can get."
They processed the grease for three hours, filtering it through layers of fabric and coffee filters, heating it on a camp stove, letting it settle in clean containers. It was tedious, messy work, but necessary. The Suburban could run on diesel for now, but eventually they'd need the backup.
Jenna worked alongside them without complaint, learning fast, asking questions when she didn't understand. She was stronger than she looked. Not physically, but mentally. The kind of person who'd been through hell and decided to keep moving anyway.
Around noon, Nick looked up from a bucket of filtered grease. "So, Jenna. Where are you from originally?"
She paused, a faint frown crossing her face. "Originally? I... I don't know, actually. I mean, I grew up in Millbrook. That's where Derek and I lived. But before that..." She trailed off, thinking. "I don't really remember. Isn't that weird? I never really thought about it before."
Jimmy and Ashley exchanged a glance.
"What do you remember?" Ashley asked carefully.
Jenna shrugged. "Normal stuff. High school. Meeting Derek. Getting married. My first job was at the diner in town. But before that..." She shook her head. "It's like a blank. I remember my parents, sort of, but if I try to picture their faces, I can't. Just... shapes. Impressions." She laughed, a short, humorless sound. "Maybe I hit my head at some point. Would explain a lot."
Jimmy's blood ran cold. Knew that feeling. Knew it immediately.
"Well," he said, keeping his voice casual, "Doesn't matter now. What matters is the present."
Jenna nodded, accepting that, and went back to work.
Ashley caught Jimmy's eye and raised an eyebrow. He gave a tiny shake of his head - not now, not here - and she let it drop.
By mid-afternoon, they were back on the road, the Suburban loaded with filtered grease and fresh supplies. The clouds had darkened, threatening rain, and the wind had picked up, rattling the trees along the roadside.
Jenna sat in the back with Nick, watching the landscape roll by. She'd perked up some, the work and the company pulling her out of her grief, if only temporary.
"How far south are we going?" She asked.
"Eventually? Florida, maybe." Jimmy kept his eyes on the road. "Somewhere war. Somewhere without winter."
"That's a long way."
"Yep."
"And you think we'll make it?"
Jimmy thought about the rumors, the hordes, the close calls. Thought about Kevin in the vents, about the gas station, about all the things that had almost killed them.
"I think we're going to try," he said. "That's all anyone can do."
They hit their first roadblock an hour later.
A semi truck had jack-knifed across both lanes, its trailer split open, cargo scattered everywhere. Beyond it, a dozen cars sat abandoned, some crashed, some simply stopped. And among them, figures moved. Slow ones, mostly, their stiff gaits eating up the pavement.
But there were runners too. At least three, maybe more, circling the edges of the herd like wolves.
Jimmy killed the engine a quarter mile out, and grabbed his binoculars. "Fuck. That's a lot of them."
Nick leaned forward. "Can we go around?"
"Maybe. Fields on both sides, but they're rough. Could tear up the undercarriage."
The Suburban fell silent as they all considered the options. Then, so quietly Jimmy almost missed it, Jenna murmured from the back seat:
"You could tear up my undercarriage anytime."
Nick's head snapped toward her. "Did you just-"
"What?" Jenna's face flushed crimson. "I didn't say anything. I was just...no. I didn't say that."
Ashley's mouth twitched. Jimmy kept his eyes firmly on the roadblock, his jaw working.
"You absolutely said that," Nick said, a grin spreading across his face. "You just made a sex joke. About your undercarriage. While we're looking at a horde of zombies."
"Oh my God." Jenna buried her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry. I don't know why I said that. I'm not... I don't... my husband just died and my brain is broken and I'm sorry."
Ashley reached back and patted her knee. "Honey, we've all been there. Well, not there exactly but-"
"Can we please focus on the roadblock?" Jimmy's voice was strained, but there was a hint of amusement underneath. "Please?"
Nick was still grinning. "I'm never letting you forget this."
"Nick."
"What? She made a joke. A dead husband joke. About her undercarriage. That's-"
"Nick."
"Okay, okay." He held up his hands. "Roadblock. Focus."
Jenna peeked through her fingers. "Are we going to talk about this later?"
"Absolutely," Nick said.
"No," Jimmy said at the same time.
Ashley snorted.
Jimmy put the Suburban in reverse. "Side road it is."
The side road led them through a town called Oakdale, population 2,000 according to the sign. It was smaller than Jackson Creek, more residential, with houses lining the main street and a small commercial district at the center.
It was also crawling with the dead.
They were everywhere. Shambling through yards, standing on porches, clustered around cars. A group of them had gathered outside the elementary school, their filmed eyes fixed on the windows where something or someone must have been hiding.
Jimmy slowed to a crawl, weaving through the streets, trying to find a path through. The figures turned as they passed, some reaching, some shuffling after them, but they couldn't keep up with the Suburban's speed.
Then a runner came from nowhere.
It burst out of a side alley, launching itself at the passenger door. Jenna screamed. The thing's face pressed against the glass. It was a woman, mid-thirties, her skin gray, her eyes filmed, her mouth open in that wet rattling moan. It clawed at the window, nails scratching, leaving marks.
Jimmy floored it. The thing clung for twenty feet before losing its grip and tumbling away. In the rearview, he watched it rise, watched it run after them.
"Fucking hell," Nick breathed. "They're everywhere."
"Not everywhere." Jimmy pointed ahead. "Look."
The street opened up, leading out of town, and beyond it, open road. No figures. No obstacles. Just pavement and freedom.
They continued on.
By late afternoon, they'd put another sixty miles behind them. The land had flattened, the trees giving away to fields and farms. They passed through more small towns, always moving.
Jenna had stopped flinching at every moan. She was learning, adapting, becoming one of them.
The sun was starting to sink towards the horizon when Nick spotted it. "Pull over. There."
Jimmy slowed, following his gaze. A mobile home park sat off to the left, a collection of single wide and modular homes arranged in loose rows. Most looked abandoned, doors hanging open, windows smashed. But near the back, tucked against a treeline, sat a camper. A twenty-foot travel trailer, white with a faded blue stripe, hitched to nothing.
"It's still on it's wheels," Nick said. "If it's clear inside, we could take it with us. Always have a place to sleep that we know is safe."
Jimmy considered it. The Suburban could tow it easily. And Nick was right, a consistent safe space, somewhere they could always retreat to/ That would change everything.
"It's worth checking out," he said.
He pulled into the mobile home park, threading slowly between the abandoned trailers. Figures moved in the distance. Slow ones, shambling between the homes, but none close enough to be an immediate threat.
The camper was in decent shape. A few dents, some rust, but the windows were intact and the door was closed. Jimmy killed the engine.
"Same drill. We clear together."
They moved as a unit. Nick with the shotgun, Jimmy with the AR-15, Ashley and Jenna covering the flanks. The camper's door was locked, but the lock was cheap, and one kick from Nick's boot shattered it.
Inside, darkness and the smell of dust and old carpet. Jimmy's rifle light swept across a small living area, a kitchenette, a bedroom in the back, a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in.
Empty. No bodies. No blood. No signs of struggle. Just an abandoned camper, its owners long gone.
"Clear," Jimmy called out.
Ashley let out a breath. "This is... actually nice. Cozy."
"It's a tin can on wheels," Nick said, but he was grinning. "And it's perfect."
They spent the next hour hitching the camper to the Suburban, checking the tires, making sure everything was secure. Jenna found a toolbox under the dinette seat and handed up wrenches as needed. By the time the sun touched the horizon, they were ready to move.
Jimmy climbed back behind the wheel, feeling the extra weight behind him. "Alright. Let's see how she handles."
The Suburban pulled out of the mobile home park, the camper trailing behind. It swayed a little, tracked a little wide on turns, but it was solid. Usable.
Jenna looked out the back window at their new home. "We're really doing this. We're really towing a camper through the zombie apocalypse."
Nick snorted. "We're really doing this."
"We're really doing this," Ashley echoed, a smile tugging at her lips.
Jimmy glanced in the rearview at the three of them. His girlfriend, his best friend, the new girl who'd stumbled into their lives. They were battered, bruised, running on adrenaline and spite. But they were alive.
And now they had a home on wheels.
"Let's find someplace to park it for the night," he said. "Somewhere with a view."
They found a clearing an hour later, tucked away in a stand of pines, hidden from the road. Jimmy backed the camper into position while the others checked the perimeter. Clear.
For the first time since the world ended, they had a space that was theirs. A door that locked. A place to sleep that didn't require clearing room by room every night.
Ashley lit a candle on the tiny dinette table, the flame casting warm shadows on the walls. Jenna found blankets in a closet and passed them around. Nick cracked open a can of beans and heated them on the camp stove.
It felt almost normal.
Jenna sat on the bench seat, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the candle. "Derek and I talked about getting a camper. He wanted to travel, see the country. I always said next year." Her voice was quiet, distant. "Next year never came."
Ashley sat beside her. "I'm sorry."
"It's just... fuck." Jenna wiped her eyes. "I don't even remember my parents' faces. I don't remember my childhood. All I have is Derek, and now he's gone, and I don't have anything else."
Jimmy and Ashley exchanged a look.
"What do you mean," Ashley said carefully, "you don't remember your parents?"
Jenna shrugged. "Just what I said. I remember growing up in Millbrook, meeting Derek, getting married. But before that? It's like someone erased the tape. I know I had parents, I know I had a childhood, but if I try to picture it..." She shook her head. "Nothing. Just static."
Ashley reached across the table and took her hand. "Jenna, Jimmy and I have the same thing. We don't remember anything before high school. It's all blank."
Jenna stared at her. "What?"
"It's true." Jimmy leaned forward. "Our lives start junior year. Everything before that is gone. We've never been able to explain it."
"That's not normal."
"No," Ashley said. "It's not."
Jenna looked between them, her eyes wide. "What does that mean? What are we?"
Jimmy shook his head. "I don't know. But we're going to find out."
Nick stirred the beans, not looking up. "You three are weird as hell. I'm just glad I remember my mom's meatloaf. That woman could burn water."
Despite everything, Jenna let out a small laugh. "Thanks, Nick. That helps."
"What? It's true. Weirdos." He grinned at her, and for a second, the weight of everything lifted.
Then Jimmy's head snapped up. He blinked, his face going pale.
"Jim? Ashley touched his arm. "You okay?"
He stared at nothing for a long moment. "I just... I saw something. A flash. Like a memory, but not mine."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It was blurry, like watching someone else's home movies through fog. There was a woman... I think. Maybe. I couldn't see her face." He rubbed his temples. "It's already fading."
Nick frowned. "You think it's real? Like something coming back?"
"I don't know what it is. It felt real. But also not." Jimmy shook his head. "Probably just stress. We're all running on fumes."
Ashley watched him, concern in her eyes. She didn't push.
Jenna pulled the blanket tighter. "So we're all fucked up in our own special ways. Great."
Nick held up the pot of beans. "Anyone want some? They're hot, they're beans, and they're the only thing on the menu."
Jenna snorted. "Give me the fucking beans."
They ate together, the candle burning low, the camper creaking around them. Outside the moans began their nightly chorus, distant but ever-present. Inside, four survivors huddled around a small flame, trying to hold onto what made them human.
Jimmy kept staring at the wall, trying to catch that flicker again. It didn't come.
But he knew, somehow, that it would.