Part 5

For a frozen second, no one moved. No blood sprayed. Tyler didn't fall.

Then they understood.

The sound hadn't come from the gun.

It came from above.

The man holding Tyler screamed as something massive crashed down. He disappeared in a cloud of dust and metal. Tyler stumbled free, collapsing to the floor as a heavy steel shelving unit lay twisted beside him—and beneath it, the crushed, unmoving body of the man who'd been holding the gun.

Silence rushed in.

Dust settled.

Then a voice spoke from the shadows.

"I told him not to fucking move."

An elderly woman stepped out from behind the fallen shelf, hands still on the edge of it like she'd just shoved hell itself over.

Alex stared.

"Mrs. Mary?" he croaked.

Old Lady Mary—his neighbor, the one who yelled at kids for stepping on her lawn—snorted.
"Damn right," she said. "And next one of you assholes lifts a gun in my mall, I'll drop the whole goddamn store on you."

She stood there with a length of metal pipe in her hands—thick, heavy, ugly—and she held it like it was part of her skeleton. Her gray hair was wild, her cardigan smeared with dust and something darker, and her eyes burned with the kind of anger that didn't fade with age. If anything, it fermented.

Tyler broke.

He rushed her like a child running home in a storm and wrapped his arms around her waist, sobbing into her sweater.

"Mary—"

She dropped the pipe, caught him, and held him tight. "I've got you," she said, voice low and steady. "You're safe. You hear me? I've got you."

Alex stared. "Mary?" he said.

She looked up at him and grinned—a real grin, sharp and warm at the same time. "Hey, sweetheart. Hell of a night, huh?"

Tyler pulled back just long enough to squint at Alex. "You look like shit," he said thickly.

Alex laughed, and it came out broken. "Yeah. Feel like it, too."

Mary wiped Tyler's tears with her thumb, gentle as a grandmother tucking in a kid after a nightmare. "I survived raising three boys and two divorces," she said. "The end of the world wasn't going to take me out." Her gaze hardened. "And I sure as hell wasn't going to let some punk put a bullet in my favorite kid."

She scanned the group, eyes sharp, missing nothing. When she saw the girls—Aliyah clinging to Alex, Keira shaking, Sadie staring into nothing—her jaw tightened.

"You got them back?" she asked.

Alex nodded. "Yeah. They were being—" He stopped, bile rising. "They hurt them."

Mary spat on the floor. "Animals." She looked toward the bodies, then back at the living men still breathing somewhere in the dark. "Sounds like you boys interrupted just in time."

Alex swallowed. "What do we do now?"

Mary didn't hesitate. "First," she said, voice turning brisk and iron-hard, "you get those girls somewhere quiet. Bathrooms, back offices—anywhere with doors. Water. Blankets. Time." She softened just a little when she looked at them again. "They need to breathe."

Then she picked up the metal rod.

Her eyes went cold.

"And the men who did this?" she said. "They don't get another chance."

Stanley's grip tightened on a rifle. Dacre nodded once, face pale but resolved.

Tyler turned away, staring at the floor, jaw clenched—because some things, even when necessary, still cost you something to witness.

Mary planted the rod against the tile. "The world already ended," she said quietly. "No reason to let monsters keep walking around in it."

Alex turned away from the bodies and faced the girls. His voice came out rough, like it had been dragged over gravel.

"There's a bathroom down that way," he said, pointing. "You can lock the door. Wash up. Take your time." He swallowed. "I'm... I'm sorry. For what they did to you."

None of the girls cried then. That was the worst part. They nodded like sleepwalkers, eyes empty, moving together as if a string still tied them. The bathroom door closed behind them, the lock clicking into place—small, fragile, but something.

Mary waited until the sound faded.

Then she turned.

"Boys," she said.

Stanley stiffened. Dacre straightened despite the pain. Alex met her eyes.

"Yes?" Alex asked.

Her voice dropped, old and sharp and final. "Don't be quick about it."

She lifted the metal rod and rested it against her shoulder, not offering it—just reminding them what justice looked like now.

Stanley and Dacre moved forward. The men started talking all at once, voices cracking, promises spilling out like loose change. They said words like sorry and mistake and won't happen again.

Alex didn't hear any of it.

"Do it," he said quietly.

The sounds that followed were ugly and human and over too fast for forgiveness. When it was finished, the mall felt heavier somehow, like the air itself had decided to remember.

Mary stepped in, knelt, checked what needed checking. She rose again, face carved from stone.

"Good," she said. "They won't hurt anyone else."

Then her shoulders softened.

She crossed the room to Tyler, who was sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, shaking like a leaf that hadn't realized the storm was over.

Mary crouched beside him and touched his arm.

"You okay, sweetie?"

Tyler nodded once, then broke, leaning into her like a kid again.

Alex turned to Nathan and really looked at him this time.

Nathan's face had gone pale in a way that had nothing to do with blood loss or fear of zombies. This was something deeper. His eyes were unfocused, like he was watching the last few minutes play again on the inside of his skull. He met Alex's stare, searching—maybe hoping—to find the same guy he'd known back in the cafeteria, back when the biggest worry had been missed shots and pop quizzes.

"You good?" Alex asked.

Nathan swallowed. It took effort. "Yeah," he said. Too quick. Too flat. "I'm fine."

Alex didn't call him on it. Some lies were mercy.

He clapped Nathan lightly on the shoulder. "Hey. At least Keira's gonna remember who showed up for her."

That did something. Just a little. Nathan's shoulders eased, and he glanced toward the bathroom as the door creaked open.

Keira stepped out, washed and quieter, like a house after a fire—still standing, but changed. When she saw Nathan, her eyes filled again, not with panic this time but something softer. Gratitude, maybe.

She mouthed thank you.

Nathan nodded, lips pressed tight, then went to her. He moved carefully, like she might shatter if he touched her wrong. When he put an arm around her, she leaned into him without hesitation, all the strength gone from her legs. Together, they walked toward the exit, slow and steady.

Alex watched them go.

"Go get em, tiger," he muttered. "You did good."

Outside, the car waited.

"Everyone ready?" Alex asked. "Mary— you coming?"

Mary thumped over, cane striking tile with each step. "You kidding?" she said. "I didn't fight my way through hell to stay behind in a mall."

Tyler followed, stitched together with scraps and stubbornness, eyes still shadowed but alive.

They packed into the car again. Aliyah ended up on Alex's lap without either of them commenting on it. She curled into him like she'd found the last safe place in the world.

Dacre pulled out, tires crunching over broken glass.

No one talked.

Aliyah's arms slid around Alex's neck. He let her stay. Nathan held Keira's hand.

The world outside rolled past in ruins.

After a couple long days of just staying the night in the crammed car, Alex spoke.

"So," he said quietly, staring out the windshield. "Where do we go now?"

Mary cleared her throat from the back seat, and when she spoke the car seemed to listen.

"We need somewhere solid," she said. "Someplace that'll hold through the night."

Alex rubbed his eyes. They felt full of sand. "What about a hotel?"

Dacre barked a short laugh. "Yeah. And maybe room service will bring us towels. Hotels'll be packed—or crawling."

"Restaurant, then," Alex said, almost to himself.

Mary nodded, pleased. "Now you're thinking like someone who wants to live. Kitchens are built to take abuse. Thick doors. Storage. Usually only a couple ways in."

She leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. "Left. Up here."

The Seminole Diner rose out of the dark. Chrome trim. Wide windows. A neon sign that flickered DINER DINER DINER, stuttering like a bad heartbeat. No movement. No shadows dragging themselves across the lot.

Dacre eased the van in. "If this place is a trap," he said, "it's a polite-looking one."

Inside, the booths felt wrong immediately—too open, too visible. Mary didn't even consider them. She followed the building's edge until she found a heavy steel door, paint chipped, lock thick as a fist.

"Kitchen," she said. The door swung open with a sigh. "We'll take it."

The kitchen smelled faintly of old grease and disinfectant. Mary threaded them through prep tables and dead fryers, straight to the walk-in freezer.

She opened it. Cold rolled out like breath from a corpse.

"In here," she said.

Alex frowned. "So we're... pairing up?"

No one argued.

Keira took Nathan's hand immediately. Tyler hovered, then went to Mary without a word. Stanley and Sadie settled near the far shelves. Dacre and Avril stood awkwardly, then sat back-to-back.

Aliyah slid against Alex, small and shaking, arms around his waist like he was the last thing holding her to the world.

The door shut.

Darkness. Cold. Quiet.

Alex lay there, staring at nothing, Aliyah's breathing soft against his chest. His body hurt in places he didn't know had names. Somewhere deep inside, a strange calm settled in—heavy, final.

He had the sudden, unreasonable thought that this was the last time he'd ever fall asleep like this.

Aliyah shifted, murmuring his name.

"I've got you," Alex whispered, though he wasn't sure who he was saying it for.