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“Today, we’re making… not dying.”

Nailed it.

Serve and accept compliments graciously, even if the compliment is just someone saying, “Well, it’s food.”

Cast Scratch Memo: A ruler is a good option for reaching some itchy places, but it does not turn as easily as one might hope. There is also an itch near my ankle that it cannot reach, which feels personal. Need to avoid Trish. I think she’s on to me.

FIFTEEN

CLUB MEMBERS

LEON

We push back into the city early.

Same plan.

Same result.

For the past five days, every car we check is bone-dry. Tanks siphoned clean. Caps hanging loose. I crouch beside a rusted sedan half crushed against the curb, shove the hose deeper, and get nothing but the hollow scrape of plastic against metal.

Not a drop.

I yank the hose out and slam the gas cap shut harder than I need to. The sound cracks through the street and bounces off the brick buildings around us.

Jacob drags a hand over his face. “Where the fuck is all the gas?”

No one answers.

How is this even possible in a city this big?

Chicago should have had something. Garages. Delivery trucks. Emergency vehicles. Construction sites. Maintenance yards. A city this size should have had more chances than every stripped-out town behind us.

My mistake sits heavy between my ribs.

We’re running out of time.

Running out of safe choices.

Lyla scans the street ahead, knife loose in one hand. “Next block.”

A sharp scream cracks through the buildings.

High.

Panicked.

Human.

Close.

Every head snaps up.

Another scream follows, rougher this time, cut short by the echo of gunfire.

Jacob’s posture changes instantly. “Direction?”

Lyla points two streets over, already turning. “East.”