Tally was done being ignored.
Done being talked over. Done being treated like the problem when she was clearly the only one thinking straight.
The Jeep had barely stopped rolling before the tension snapped inside her chest like a rubber band pulled too far. Hours trapped in that car—hours of blood-slicked streets, screaming strangers, Justin's jaw locked in that infuriating I know better than you way—had stripped her patience raw.
Everyone had sided against her.
Again.
Her idea had been simple. Clean. Efficient. The front window was cracked, the night-drop glass thin and already damaged. She could see it clearly from the car earlier—no alarms, no movement, no bodies pressed up against it like in the movies.
But Justin hadn't even considered it.
No, he'd said.Too exposed.Too risky.
As if sneaking around back like idiots was any better.
Kenzie had agreed with him. Mari too. Of course she had—quiet, hovering Mari, always watching Justin like he was gravity itself. And Kenzie… Kenzie didn't need babysitting. She never had. But somehow Tally was expected to stand around and "cover" her like this was some kind of team-building exercise.
It was insulting.
She stared out the passenger-side window as Barbie squatted near the back of the Jeep, Kenzie murmuring softly to the dog, the sound barely audible over the distant sirens and the crackle of fire somewhere down the road.
This is stupid, Tally thought bitterly. I could already be inside.
She tugged her hoodie tighter around herself, arms crossed hard, nails digging into her sleeves. Her reflection stared back at her in the dark glass—mascara still perfect, curls wild but intact, lips pressed into a thin, furious line.
She was not scared.
She was angry.
And anger made her reckless.
Kenzie turned away for just a second—focused on Barbie, murmuring encouragement like the world hadn't gone to hell around them—and that was all it took.
Tally opened the door quietly and slipped out.
Cold air slapped her skin, sharp with smoke and something sour underneath. The parking lot was dim, lit only by the moon and the orange glow of a fire burning a few blocks away. Shadows stretched long and distorted across cracked asphalt.
No one noticed her leave.
Good, she thought. They don't deserve to.
She moved fast but light, sneakers barely scuffing the pavement as she rounded the corner of the gas station, keeping close to the wall. Her heart thudded—not from fear, she told herself, but from adrenaline. From being right.
She peeked around the edge of the building.
Nothing.
The front lot lay eerily still. One car sat crooked near the pumps, door hanging open. The smell of gasoline mixed with smoke and rot made her nose wrinkle.
She scanned left. Right.
Still nothing.
Then she saw the body.
A man lay sprawled near the curb, half in shadow, half in moonlight. His chest was open—opened—ribs shattered outward like broken gates. What was left of his throat glistened darkly, torn down to muscle and bone. Flies already clustered, buzzing softly.
Tally gagged and turned her head sharply away, bile burning the back of her throat.
"Jesus," she whispered.
She forced herself to breathe through her mouth. The body didn't move. It wasn't getting up. It was just… meat now.
See? she told herself, heart racing. Clear.
Beyond the parking lot, smoke curled into the sky in slow, lazy spirals. A fire burned somewhere down the road—an overturned vehicle, maybe a building—casting a flickering orange glow that made everything look unreal, like a bad filter over reality.
Farther out, movement.
Figures running.
Some chased.
Some fled.
She couldn't tell which was which anymore.
Tally swallowed hard, adrenaline buzzing through her veins. This wasn't a place to linger—but she didn't need long. Just enough time to prove she was right.
The front of the store loomed ahead, glass windows dark but intact. The night-drop window beside the door sat low, just wide enough.
I can fit, she thought. I'm not a kid.
She crouched near the window, hands braced on the cold brick. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she ignored it. That was just the cold. Just excitement.
She glanced back toward the Jeep.
Still no movement. Justin and Mari would be at the back by now. Kenzie would be buckling Barbie back into the seat.
Perfect.
Tally reached up and tested the window.
It shifted.
Just a little.
A smile tugged at her lips.
I knew it.
She imagined their faces when she popped the door open from the inside—Justin's surprise, Mari's wide eyes, Kenzie's apology. She imagined the smug satisfaction warming her chest.
Next time, listen to me.
She leaned closer, peering into the dark interior. Shelves barely visible. No movement. No sounds except the distant chaos of the city dying piece by piece.
Her heart pounded faster as she worked her fingers into the gap, pushing harder.
The glass creaked softly.
"Come on," she muttered under her breath.
She didn't hear the footsteps.
Didn't hear the wet drag of something too small, too uneven.
Didn't notice the faint shadow stretching across the concrete behind her, growing longer as it crept closer.
Her entire world had narrowed to the window. To proving a point. To being right.
She shifted her weight, one foot braced against the wall, hands tightening as she forced the opening wider.
"I've got this," she whispered, a grin breaking through despite everything.
Behind her—
Something exhaled.
A thin, reedy sound. Child-sized. Wrong.
Tally didn't turn.
Didn't look.
Didn't feel the small, blood-slick fingers reaching for her ankle.
All she saw was the dark interior of the store opening up to her—
—and she smiled.