Part 4

"Guys?"

The word scraped out of Alex's throat, raw and cracked, like something dragged over broken glass. He half-expected only echoes in return—mocking, empty echoes—but instead he heard movement. Shuffling. A cough. A stifled sob.

Figures emerged from the shadows like ghosts who hadn't quite decided whether to stay dead. Stanley crawled out first, one eye swollen shut and purple, his face tilted like it didn't quite sit right on his skull anymore. Dacre followed, cradling his arm tight against his chest, jaw clenched so hard his teeth creaked. Tyler wiped blood from his nose with the back of his hand, smearing it across his cheek. Nathan came last, eyes red, face hollow, like he'd cried until there was nothing left to give.

They looked at Alex. And for a moment, no one said anything.

"Fuck," Alex whispered. "The cheerleaders... they're not—"

Stanley nodded once. Slow. Final.
"Yeah. All of them. We saw it last night. Aliyah. Keira. Sadie. Avril." His good eye flicked up to meet Alex's. "All gone."

The words landed heavy into Alex's chest.

"And it didn't have to happen like that," Stanley went on, anger bleeding through the pain now. "You charged in like an idiot. No backup. No plan."

Alex looked down at his hands. They were shaking. He hated that.
"She was being dragged," he said quietly. "What was I supposed to do? Just watch?"

Tyler let out a humorless breath, raking a hand through his matted, bloody hair.
"We know why you did it, man," he said. "But now look at us. No food. No supplies. And our girls are God-knows-where being..."
He stopped. Swallowed. Turned his head away.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

"What do we do now?" Nathan asked. His voice was barely there.

Alex lowered himself onto a nearby bench, the pain blooming instantly, white-hot and merciless.
"I don't know," he admitted. And that scared him more than anything else.

They gathered around him anyway. Angry. Hurt. Still looking to him. Leadership wasn't something you could bleed out, apparently.

Then came the sound.

A low, wet moan.

It slithered through the mall, slow and hungry. A shape shuffled out from behind a collapsed clothing rack—skin gray, jaw hanging wrong, arms stretching.

Alex's stomach dropped.
"I don't think we can take it," he said. "Not like this."

Dacre shook his head, sweat beading on his forehead as he tightened his grip on his arm.
"We can't. We'd lose."

Stanley nodded grimly.

The thing took another step. And another.

"Back to Kai's car," Nathan whispered urgently.

Tyler nodded. "Yeah. That's the move."

They didn't run. They couldn't. They moved carefully, painfully, every step a negotiation with broken bones and torn muscles. Alex leaned heavily on Stanley, each breath stabbing his ribs.

Behind them, the zombie moaned again.

By the time Alex reached the car, his hand on the dented door, he heard it.

A scream.

High. Ragged. Female.

It cut through the mall like a blade.

Alex froze. His blood went cold.
"Was that—" His voice cracked. "Was that Aliyah?"

The sound came again, closer now, unmistakable. Terror threaded through it, raw and breaking.

Dacre swallowed hard. "That's her," he whispered. His voice sounded scraped thin.

Then came something worse.

Laughter.

Men's laughter. Low. Cruel. The kind that didn't belong anywhere people still pretended to be human.

Tyler's face drained of color. "It's them..."

"The ones who took them," Nathan said. His jaw tightened. "They're hurting them."

Stanley turned slowly toward Alex, his good eye burning. "We can't leave her."

Dacre nodded, even as pain twisted his features. "No. We can't."

Tyler looked at Alex. They all did. Waiting.

Alex's hands curled into fists. His ribs screamed. His head throbbed. None of it mattered.
"We go back," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it was solid. "Right now."

They turned as one.

Alex limped toward the sound, every step a fresh argument with his body. The mall felt different now—smaller, meaner. Like it knew what was happening and approved.

When he rounded the corner, he saw them.

The men. The girls.

Aliyah was on the floor, wrists bound behind her back, sobbing so hard her whole body shook. Keira and Sadie were nearby, faces empty with shock. Avril stared at nothing at all. The men circled them like animals around a kill, laughing, taking turns doing things that made Alex's stomach twist and his vision blur with rage.

"This is insane," Alex breathed. The word didn't even begin to cover it.

One of the men looked up.

His eyes locked on Alex and the others. His mouth curled into a slow, delighted grin.

"Nathan," Alex said quietly, not looking away. "Knife. Hide it."

Nathan's hand slipped into his pocket. When it came back out, the blade was gone from sight.

The man stepped forward, pulling a hunting knife from his belt, the metal catching the dim overhead light.
"Well, look at that," he said. "More fresh meat."

"Let them go," Alex said.

The man laughed. The others paused, watching, amused.
"Why would we do that?" He moved closer. "We're just having fun."

"They don't deserve this."

The man snorted. "Deserve?" He leaned in, pressing the knife flat against Alex's chest. "They were asking for it."

Time slowed.

"Nathan," Alex shouted. "Now."

Nathan moved.

The blade flashed once—quick, desperate—and drove into the man's eye. The scream that followed was wet and animal, tearing out of him as he dropped the hunting knife and staggered back.

That was the spark.

Alex's hand closed around the dropped hunting knife like it had been waiting there just for him.

He turned—and a man was already on him.

There was no thinking. No fear. Just motion.

Alex drove the blade forward, hard and low, and felt it slide into soft resistance. The man's throat opened with a wet, bubbling sound, blood spraying warm across Alex's face and hands. The man dropped, clutching uselessly at the ruin of his neck, gurgling like a clogged drain before going still.

For half a second, the world held its breath.

Then everything exploded.

Men shouting. Someone screaming in pain. Furniture crashing over. Alex and his friends surged forward, feral now, fighting with the kind of strength that only shows up when there's nothing left to lose. The guns—thank God—were still lying on the floor near the girls, forgotten in the men's arrogance.

One of them backed away, shaking, eyes huge. He pulled a handgun from his waistband and aimed it with trembling hands.

"Back off!" he shrieked. "Back the fuck off!"

The gun went off.

Pain tore through Alex's arm like fire, the bullet grazing flesh. His body jerked, but he stayed upright.

"Go!" Alex shouted. "Get the girls!"

Another shot.

This one hit his shoulder. The impact spun him sideways, white-hot agony flooding his chest. He tasted copper.

Stanley and Dacre didn't hesitate. They ran, tearing at the girls' restraints, dragging them away. Nathan stayed, horror etched into his face as Alex staggered, blood soaking his shirt.

The man raised the gun again, closer now. Steadier.

"You're dead," he said. His mouth twisted. "You fucking bitch."

Nathan moved.

He slammed into the man just as the trigger was pulled. The shot went wild, cracking into the ceiling. They hit the ground hard, rolling, fists flying, the gun skittering across the tile.

Alex dropped to one knee. The mall spun. His shoulder screamed. His vision tunneled.

Not yet.

He crawled.

Each movement felt like dragging himself through broken glass. He tightened his grip on the knife, knuckles white, breath coming in ragged pulls. Ahead of him, Nathan managed to pin the man, struggling, teeth bared, barely holding him down.

Alex rose just enough.

And struck.

The blade went into the man's chest, deep. Alex twisted it with everything he had left. The man made a sound like air leaking from a punctured tire. His eyes went wide—then empty.

Alex fell onto his back, staring at the ceiling, lungs burning.

"Everyone... alright?" he croaked.

Nathan was at his side instantly, hands shaking as he tried to steady him. "Jesus, Alex—you're bleeding like crazy."

Stanley and Dacre came back then, half-carrying the girls. The cheerleaders were alive. Shaking. Broken—but alive.

Aliyah saw Alex and tore free, throwing herself onto him, sobbing into his chest like she might crawl inside him if she could. Alex wrapped one arm around her weakly, his heart cracking at the sound of her cries.

He didn't want to imagine what they'd done to her. To any of them.

After a moment—too quiet now—Alex frowned.

"Where's Tyler?"

No one answered.

Stanley turned in a slow circle, panic rising fast. "Tyler?" he shouted.

His voice echoed through the ruined mall.

Nothing came back.

A sound drifted out of the dark.

Not loud. Not close. Just a faint scrape, like something being dragged across tile.

Dacre stiffened. He shifted his weight and limped toward the noise, every step careful. He leaned into the doorway of a nearby store and peered inside.

Alex swallowed. "Is it him?" he asked. His voice barely made it out of his throat.

Dacre didn't answer right away. When he did, his face had gone the color of old paper.
"It's Tyler," he said. Then, quieter: "But he's not alone."

They moved in together.

Tyler was pressed flat against the far wall, eyes wide, shaking so hard his knees barely held him up. Three men stood around him, guns in their hands. One had his pistol jammed tight against Tyler's temple, the barrel digging into skin.

"Shit," Alex breathed.

The men turned as one.

The one holding Tyler grinned, all teeth and hate. "Well, look at that. More of you fuckers. Perfect." He pushed the gun harder into Tyler's head. "Drop whatever you're holding or I paint the wall with him."

"Easy," Nathan said, stepping forward just enough to be seen. The rifle in his hands looked wrong on him, like a toy that had learned how to kill. "We don't want trouble."

The man laughed. It was sharp and ugly. "You already gave us trouble. You murdered my friends." He yanked Tyler forward, hard. Tyler cried out, pain breaking through his fear.

Aliyah took a step toward him, but Stanley caught her, pulling her back, his jaw clenched.

"Tyler," Alex said, forcing calm into his voice. "Look. We got them back. They're okay."

Tyler's eyes flicked to him. He saw the girls—alive. He saw Aliyah standing. Then he saw Alex's blood-soaked shirt, the way he leaned just slightly to one side.

Hope and terror fought across his face.

The gun pressed tighter.

"Stop!" Alex shouted.

The man didn't even look at him. "Last chance," he said softly. "Drop the weapons."

Tyler squeezed his eyes shut. Tears ran down his cheeks. His lips moved, silent.

Bang.

Alex's heart dropped through the floor.

"No," he whispered.