The parking lot of Westview General was a nightmare painted in broad daylight.
Jimmy killed the Suburban's engine fifty yards from the service entrance, the Duramax's rumble fading into an eerie silence. The mourning sun felt wrong. Too bright, too normal for a scene that looked like a warzone. Abandoned cars sat at crazy angles, doors hanging open like dead mouths. An ambulance had crashed into a fire hydrant, water still arcing into the air, pooling and mixing with something dark spreading across the asphalt.
And people. Dozens of them. Standing in clusters, wandering in slow circuits, sitting on curbs with their heads in their hands. Some in scrubs. Some in patient gowns. Some in civilian clothes.
Some of them were bleeding. Some had wounds that should have killed them. Gashes in their throats, limbs bent at wrong angles, skulls caved in. They moved away. Walked away. Reached away.
Nick stared through the windshield, his knuckles white on the shotgun. "Jesus Christ. Those are... they're still moving. How are they still moving?"
"I don't know." Jimmy checked his 9mm. Fifteen rounds, hollow points. He chambered a round and handed Nick two extra magazines. "Head shots. Only head shots. Body shots won't stop them."
"You sure about that?"
"I've watched almost every zombie movie ever made. I'm not taking chances."
Nick took the magazines, his hands steady despite the fear in his eyes. "Ashley's on the third floor?"
"East wing. Supply closet. She barricaded herself in." Jimmy opened his door, the sound deafening in the silence. "Stay close. Stay quiet> We go in, we get her, we get out. No heroics."
They moved toward the service entrance, keeping to the shadows, their footsteps deliberately soft on the blood-flecked asphalt. A figure in a patient gown stood twenty feet away, facing the wall, its head tilted at an unnatural angle. It didn't turn. Didn't react.
They slipped past.
The service door was propped open with a fire extinguisher. Inside, darkness. The smell of antiseptic and something else... something copper-sweet and foul. They stepped through, weapons raised.
The corridor stretched ahead, lined with closed doors and empty gurneys. A vending machine hummed in an alcove, its lights casting weak, multicolored shadows. A half-empty cup of coffee sat on the floor beside it, still warm.
Jimmy pointed toward the stairwell. Nick nodded.
They moved.
The stairwell was clear. They climbed fast but quiet, Jimmy leading, Nick covering their rear. Second floor landing. The door was closed. They kept climbing.
Third floor.
Jimmy pressed his ear to the cold metal. Listened.
Nothing. Just silence.
He pushed it open.
The third floor corridor was a slaughterhouse.
Blood painted the walls in arcs and handprints. Bodies lay scattered along the hall. Some still, some twitching, some trying to rise with limbs that bent the wrong way. A nurse lay against the wall, her throat torn open, her dead eyes staring at nothing. A doctor sprawled nearby, his white coat soaked crimson, his face frozen in a scream.
Nick made a sound, a choked gasp that he quickly suppressed. Jimmy grabbed his arm, pulling him forward.
"The supply closet's at the end. Stay behind me."
They moved down the hall, stepping over bodies, around pools of blood that hadn't yet dried. A fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting strobing shadows.
Then Jimmy heard it. A wet, tearing sound. Coming from up ahead.
He held up a fist. Nick froze.
They peered around a corner. Three figures stood in the hall, their backs to them. A woman in scrubs. A man in a patient gown. A teenage girl in pajamas.
They were feeding. Hunched over bodies on the floor, their faces buried in flesh, their jaws working with wet, rhythmic sounds. Blood ran down their chins, dripped onto the linoleum.
Jimmy's stomach lurched. He forced himself to breathe.
He raised the 9mm, aimed at the back of the woman's head. Glanced at Nick. Nick nodded, raised the shotgun.
They fired together.
The shots were deafening in the enclosed space. The woman's head exploded. The man dropped. The teenage girl spun, her filmed eyes locking onto them, her mouth opening in that wet, rattling moan.
Jimmy fired again. The bullet exploded out the back of her head. She dropped.
The hall fell silent.
Nick stood there, chest heaving, the shotgun still raised. "Holy fuck. Holy fucking shit."
"Keep moving." Jimmy grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. "She's close."
The supply closet was at the end of the hall, behind an overturned shelving unit. Jimmy called out softly: "Ashley? Ash. It's me. Nick's with me."
The shelving unit shifted. Ashley's face appeared in the gap, pale and streaked with tears, smeared with dust from hiding on the floor. When she saw them, her face crumpled.
"You came," she whispered. "Both of you came."
Jimmy pulled her out of the closet, into his arms. She was shaking, her fingers clutching the back of his jacket. She smelled like lavender soap and fear-sweat and the faint, clean starch of her uniform, and beneath that, the copper tang of blood from the hall.
He held her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did any of them touch you?"
Ashley pulled back just enough to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face a mess of tears and grime. "I'm okay. They didn't get near me." She shifted, wincing slightly. "I guess it's a good thing I'm a nurse and can hold it. I woke up late this morning and I've had to pee since I left the house. Still haven't gotten a chance to go."
Nick let out a strangled laugh - half relief, half hysteria. "Jesus, Ashley. Only you."
Jimmy almost laughed too. The absurdity of it, the sheer human normality of needing a bathroom while the world ended around them. He pulled her close again.
"We need to go. Now."
She nodded, pushing herself up. "I'm ready."
They moved back toward the stairwell, Ashley between them, her hand gripping Jimmy's arm. They stepped over the bodies, past the pools of blood, through the flickering light. The stairwell was clear. They descended fast. Third floor, second floor, first floor.
The service corridor. The vending machine. The abandoned coffee cup.
The loading dock doors ahead, gray morning light spilled through.
Then Ashley stepped. Grabbed Jimmy's arm.
"Jim. Look."
A figure stood in the shadows near the loading dock. A woman in a patient gown, her back to them. She was swaying slightly, her head tilted at that unnatural angle.
"We can can go around," Jimmy whispered. "Stay close."
They moved along the wall, as silent as they could. The woman didn't turn. Didn't react. They were ten feet from the door. Five feet.
Ashley's foot scuffed against the concrete.
The woman's head snapped around.
Her face was a ruin. Half of it was gone. Her cheek was torn away, teeth exposed through a gaping hole, one eye missing, the socket a dark, empty pit. The remaining eye, filmed and dead, fixed on them. Her mouth opened, and that wet, rattling moat emerged from somewhere deep in her ruined throat.
She lunged.
Jimmy shoved Ashley toward the door and raised the 9mm. The woman was fast, too fast. She hit him before he could fire, her gray hands grabbing his jacket, her teeth snapping at his face. He smelled her. She reeked of rotting flesh, stale blood, something sweet and foul.
Nick grabbed her from behind, yanked her back. She twisted, clawed at him. Nick shouted, stumbled.
Jimmy brought the gun up, pressed it against her temple, and pulled the trigger.
The shot was deafening. Her head exploded, spraying him with blood and brain matter. She dropped.
Jimmy stood there, chest heaving, covered in blood. Nick stared at him, blood spattered across his face, his eyes wide.
"Go," Jimmy said. "Go now."
They burst through the loading dock doors into the gray morning. The Suburban sat fifty yards away, a dark, solid shape in the chaos.
They ran.
Figures were converging from all directions, drawn by the gunshots, by the sound, by the smell of living flesh. A man in a business suit, his tie hanging loose, his face a mask of blood. A woman in yoga pants, her leg broken, the bone protruding, dragging it behind her as she came. A child. Jesus, a child no more than eight, her small face blank, her hands reaching.
Jimmy fired twice, dropping the man and the woman. The child kept coming.
"Don't!" Ashley screamed. "Don't shoot her, she's just a -"
The child lunged. Jimmy caught her by the shoulders, held her back as her teeth snapped at his face, her small body writhing with inhuman strength. Her filmed eyes stared into his.
He shoved her away hard, and she stumbled, fell. Nick grabbed Ashley, threw her toward the Suburban.
"Get in! Get in the truck!"
Ashley scrambled for the passenger door. Jimmy fired one more shot. Not at the child, but over her head, and ran.
He dove into the driver's seat, slammed the door. Nick piled into the back. The child was already rising, already coming. Others were closing in.
The Duramax roared to life. Jimmy floored it.
The Suburban shot forward, plowing through the figures like they were made of paper. Bodies bounced off the reinforced grille. Limbs crunched under the wheels. One clung to the side, its face pressed against the glass, its dead eyes staring at Ashley. She screamed, shrank back. The thing held on for twenty feet before losing its grip and tumbling away.
Jimmy didn't slow. Didn't stop. Didn't look back.
They drove.
Ashley was crying, silent tears streaming down her face, her body shaking. Jimmy reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently.
"You're alive," he said. "You're alive and you're here."
She nodded, unable to speak.
Nick leaned forward from the back seat, his face pale, blood still spattered across his cheek. "That was... that was a little girl. She couldn't have been more than eight."
"I know."
"How is that possible? How does this happen to a little girl?"
Jimmy had no answer. He just kept driving.
The shop came into view twenty minutes later. A low, concrete block building with two garage bays and a small office. Jimmy pulled the Suburban inside and killed the engine. Nick jumped out and slammed the roll-up door shut behind them.
They sat in the sudden silence, breathing hard, listening to the distant moans that still echoed from somewhere down the street.
Ashley slid out of the passenger seat, her legs unsteady. She leaned against the Suburban's hood, her face pale, her hands shaking. "What are they? What do we call them?"
Jimmy looked at her. At Nick. At the blood spattered across all three of them.
He thought about the little girl with the blank face and reaching hands. About Dr. Chen, covered in blood, lunging at a woman. About Mr. Krasinski running at the truck like a predator.
He's watched almost every zombie movie ever made. Read the books. Studied the scenarios. He knew what this was. He's known since the first text from Ashley.
"I've got an idea," he said quietly. "And you're not gonna like it."Nick's hand tightened on the shotgun. "What kind of idea?"
Jimmy met his eyes. Held them.
"The kind where this isn't something we fight. The kind where we don't get to win. The kind where everyone we know, everyone we didn't get to... is already dead or joining them right now."
Ashley's voice was barely a whisper. "Jim..."
"I've spent seven years preparing for something like this. Reading about it, watching it, running scenarios in my head. I know the signs. The vacant eyes. The biting. The way they keep moving after they should be dead. The way it spreads." He paused, letting the weight of it settle. "This isn't a disease. It's not a riot. It's not something we can wait out. This is the end of the world. The real end. And those things out there?"
He nodded toward the roll-up door, where the distant moans still echoed through the metal.
"They're what's left."
Ashley stared at him, her face pale. "What do you mean? What are you saying?"
Jimmy turned back to her, met her eyes. "I'm saying that if I'm right, and I think I am... we're dealing with something out of every horror movie I've ever watched. The vacant eyes, the biting, they way they keep moving when they should be dead. The way it spreads. I've spent years preparing for this exact scenario, and I know what it looks like."
Ashley's voice was barely above a whisper. "What?"
Jimmy held her gaze. "Zombies. They're actual fucking zombies. And the only way to stop them is to destroy the brain. Nothing else works."
The word hung in the air between them. Ashley's face was still pale. Nick's hand tightened again on the shotgun.
"That's insane," Nick said.
"Is it? Look at what we just went through. Look at that little girl. She should have been dead three times over, but she kept coming. Kept reaching. Kept trying to bite. What else do you call that?"
No one had an answer.
Jimmy grabbed the map from the Suburban and spread it across the hood. "Nick and I talked before we cam to get you. We head south. Look at the date. It's October. Winter's coming. In a month, maybe less, this whole region freezes over. We don't have winter gear. We don't have time to stock up. If we stay here, we die. We die either from them or from the cold."
He traced a line on the map. "Back roads. Avoid cities. I've got every alternate route marked, every fuel stop, every place we can hole up."
Ashley stared at the map, processing. "How long?"
"A week. Maybe two. Depends on the roads. Depends on how many of those things are out there."
Nick was quiet, staring at the floor. When he spoke, his voice was raw. "My mom. My sister. They live in the city. I didn't even try to call them."
Jimmy looked at him. Saw the guilt, the grief, the dawning horror.
"We couldn't have saved them bro. There were too many. Too fast."
"I know. But I should have tried."
"There was nothing you could have done." Ashley's voice was quiet but firm. She'd stopped crying, her face set in determined lines. "Nothing any of us could have done. All we can do now is survive."
Nick stared at the map. Then he nodded. "Okay. South. When do we leave?"
Jimmy looked toward the roll-up door. The distant moans were getting closer. More of them, converging on the area.
"Now. We leave now."
They moved.
Three minutes later, the Suburban rumbled to life. Ashley rode shotgun, Nick in the back seat, surrounded by the supplies they'd spent years gathering. Jimmy pulled out of the shop, eased onto the street, and pointed the massive truck south.
Behind them, figures emerged from side streets, from driveways, from the shadows between houses. They turned as one, their dead eyes tracking the retreating vehicle, their gray hands reaching.
Jimmy watched them in the rearview until the road curved and they disappeared from sight.
Ashley's voice came from beside him, soft and lost. "What about everyone else? Our families? Our friends? Everyone we know?"
Jimmy didn't answer. He couldn't.
Nick stared out the window at the passing devastation. "They're gone. All of them. We're it."
The words settled over them like a shroud.
They drove south.