Page 95 of My Undead Love Life

“Stay close,” I murmured. “No splitting up.”

“No shit,” Oxi scoffed.

Our boots moved carefully across the concrete floor, each step echoing too loudly in the open space. The sound bounced off the high ceilings and exposed beams. The front bay stretched out ahead of us. The fire engines were still there, but dust coated them, dulling the once-bright red into something muted. One of the side mirrors hung broken, swaying slightly as a draft slipped through the building.

The gray light from outside was our only light source, and it wasn’t enough.

We moved forward slowly, and I held my axe ready.

My gaze flicked everywhere.

The habits drilled into me years ago were always with me.

Check left.

Check right.

Clear every angle before moving.

We passed the lockers. Several of the doors hung open, and a jacket lay crumpled on the floor. The reflective strip caught just enough light to glint faintly, but I didn’t look at the name stitched across the back.

My grip tightened on the axe as a wet, uneven breath came from deeper in the station. “Get ready.” I stepped forward, angling toward the source. The darkness thickened near the hallway leading deeper into the station. The smell of rot grew stronger before another zombie lurched from the shadows.

I reacted on instinct. The axe came down in a brutal arc. The skull gave way beneath the blade, and the body collapsed at my feet with a heavy, lifeless thud. I didn’t stop or look down. I followed another sound that echoed from farther in. Then, another.

My throat tightened, but I pushed myself forward. I had to keep going. Each step took us deeper into the station. We moved past the kitchen area where overturned chairs lay scattered, past the table that held way too many memories.

Another figure staggered into view, closer than the others had. Light from the bay caught its face just enough for recognition to hit me like a punch to the chest.

Eddie.

My brain supplied the name before I could stop it. Eddie, who had three daughters and kept their drawings taped inside his locker. The same man who told me I was going to get someone killed by making them afraid of everything. I fucking hesitated. But Oxi didn’t. His cane sword struck through the eye socket and into the brain.

Eddie’s—no, the zombie’s body—dropped.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I lied.

We finished clearing the station within the hour without any more mistakes or hesitation on my part. We took it room by room. By the time we reached the base of the stairs leading to the loft again, I was confident we’d killed them all.

I stood there, chest heaving, staring down at what was left of the bodies at my feet. I knew every damn jacket and who they used to be. These were the people I had tried to keep alive. People who had called me paranoid while I begged them to lock doors, track routes, ration supplies, and stop letting strangers inside without checking them.

“Mad…” Spencer’s voice was soft behind me.

I didn’t turn toward her. I couldn’t. “They were my original group from when the outbreak started,” I said roughly. “What’s left of them.”

I warned them this would happen.

I told them loose rules got people killed. I told them skipping watch shifts was a death sentence. I told them every entry point mattered, every route mattered, and every unchecked person was a liability. They hadn’t listened. Instead, they’d pushed me out.

“Fuck, Mad, that’s heavy,” Luck murmured. His flashlight clicked on, the beam cutting through the gloom and landing on a streak of old blood across the floor.

“Let’s make sure everything’s locked up.” I turned and moved as if I were on autopilot.

Locks.

Doors.