The Jeep hadn't moved in hours.
No engine.No vibration.No comforting sense of going somewhere.
It sat in the middle of the parking lot like a stranded animal—tall, heavy, useless. Expensive glass. Thick doors. High clearance that had felt reassuring earlier and now just made it feel more visible, more obvious against the ruined landscape.
Everyone inside felt it in their bodies.
Not fear first.
Pain.
Tally lay stretched awkwardly across the floorboard, the hard plastic digging into her spine, the edge of the seat pressing into her ribs. One hip had gone numb hours ago. The other burned constantly. Every time she shifted even a fraction of an inch, pins and needles shot down her legs like punishment.
Her back screamed.
She clenched her jaw and stared at the underside of the seat, fury simmering hotter than the ache. She hadn't chosen the floor. She'd been put there. Humiliated. Slapped. Treated like a child.
She could still feel it—her cheek, the heat of it, the shock. And worse than the pain was the memory of everyone watching and not stopping it.
Kenzie's legs had long since cramped into a dull, throbbing knot in the trunk area. She and Lila sat folded together, knees pulled tight to their chests, joints aching, circulation long gone. Lila's foot had fallen asleep completely, tingling painfully now as blood tried to return. Every breath felt shallow, careful, like breathing too deeply might be loud.
Barbie shifted restlessly in her carrier, sensing the tension, the fear-sweat, the gasoline. Kenzie kept one hand wrapped tight around the straps, fingers sore from gripping the same place for hours. It was the only thing keeping her grounded.
Marcus's lower back burned from being hunched forward too long. His neck ached from holding his head still, from staring out the same narrow field of view through tinted glass. He rolled his shoulders slowly, carefully, wincing when a sharp pain shot down his spine.
Dot's knees felt like rusted hinges. Every minute in the same position made it worse. She pressed her cane between her palms, whispering prayers not just for safety—but for the strength to stay still.
Renee's jaw ached from clenching it. Her shoulders were tight, pulled up around her ears, muscles screaming from holding tension with nowhere to release it. She hadn't moved more than an inch in hours. Every instinct in her body wanted to run. Every part of her knew running would kill them all.
Mari sat rigid in the front seat, hands resting uselessly in her lap, knuckles white. Her shoulders were stiff, her legs cramped, her bladder aching from hours without relief. But she didn't shift. Didn't stretch. Didn't lean back.
She was afraid that any movement might draw attention.
She was afraid to look too long at the parking lot.
Because the parking lot was changing.
The gas pump had been turned off long ago, but the smell lingered—sharp and nauseating, coating the inside of the Jeep. Gasoline had pooled earlier beneath the vehicle, soaking into cracks in the asphalt, spreading out in oily rainbows that caught the light. Now it just sat there, invisible but present, like a threat waiting for a spark.
The dead wandered through it.
Shoes dragged through the slick. Bare feet smeared it. Some slipped and fell, clawing back to their feet with wet, animal sounds. Their moans rose and fell, but they were fewer now.
That was the thing.
There were fewer of them.
Mari noticed it first.
Then Renee.
Then Marcus.
The sea of bodies that had once pressed tight against the Jeep had begun to thin. Zombies drifted away in ones and twos, pulled by distant sounds—sirens, explosions, engines screaming past somewhere far off. A group broke into a clumsy run toward a noise down Abercorn, arms flailing, mouths open.
The pressure eased.
Hands slid off the glass.
The Jeep stopped rocking.
Silence crept back in—thin, fragile, precious.
Hope.
It bloomed cautiously, terrified to be acknowledged.
Kenzie dared to breathe a little deeper.
Lila pressed her forehead to Kenzie's shoulder, eyes closed, whispering, "They're leaving."
Dot crossed herself.
Marcus swallowed hard and whispered, "Jesus."
Mari closed her eyes for half a second—not to pray, but to steady herself. To hold onto the idea that Justin and Ethan might make it back. That this nightmare might move forward again.
Someone's stomach growled.
The sound felt enormous in the quiet.
Every head snapped toward it.
Nothing reacted.
Kenzie carefully reached into the trunk storage, fingers shaking slightly as she passed out food and water. Plastic crinkled softly, and everyone winced.
"Small sips," Marcus whispered. "You don't wanna have to pee."
Dot leaned closer, murmuring, "Honey… that ship left the dock a while ago."
A few quiet, broken smiles flickered and died.
For one brief moment, it almost felt survivable.
That was when Tally lifted her head.
Her eyes tracked the thinning lot.
Tracked the empty front seat.
Tracked Mari.
Her resentment flared hot and sharp.
"I can move up front," she whispered.
Mari didn't hesitate. "No."
"There's room," Tally whispered, bitterness dripping through every word. "My back is killing me."
"So is everyone's," Renee whispered back.
"The front windows aren't dark enough," Marcus added. "Any movement—"
"So you're just gonna leave me on the floor?" Tally hissed.
"Yes," Mari said quietly. Firm. Final.
Something snapped.
Tally pushed up.
Fast.
"Tal—" Renee breathed, reaching out too late.
Tally shoved past Mari, hard.
Mari's elbow jerked forward instinctively—
The horn screamed.
The sound tore through the lot like a gunshot that wouldn't stop, echoing off buildings, bouncing between cars, ripping the fragile quiet apart.
Every dead thing turned.
Heads snapped. Bodies pivoted. Moans sharpened, rising into a hungry chorus.
"Oh my God," Lila whispered, choking.
Hands slammed into the Jeep.
The vehicle rocked violently as bodies surged, metal groaning under the assault.
Kenzie crushed Barbie's carrier closed as the dog barked once, whispering frantic apologies and prayers.
"TALLY!" Renee screamed—but it vanished under the noise.
The Jeep shook harder.
Windows rattled.
And beneath them, the pavement still reeked of gasoline—silent now, pooled and waiting.
Hope shattered.
The thinning lot refilled.
The warning had run out.
And the Jeep was no longer invisible.