The world felt distant, muted, as if I'd been shoved underwater. I didn't know how long I'd been holding my mother's lifeless body. Her blonde hair was still tangled in my fingers, as though she refused to let go. Her skin, once warm, was cold now—cold enough to seep into and hollow out whatever was left inside.
I couldn't rember when the tears had stopped. Or when the laughter, the fractured, hysterical laughter, had begun spilling out of . At so point, they had blended together. Crying and laughing felt the sa now: pain wearing different masks.
All I truly knew was that sothing inside had shattered beyond repair, and I had no idea how to put myself back together.
Maybe I shouldn't have let myself get so close to this family. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt this much. I hadn't even realized how quickly they had beco important—how desperately I'd clung to them after my grandfather died. Maybe I had been lonely. Maybe I still was.
All I knew was that I hated this feeling—this feeling of losing soone I loved.
I wasn't angry.
I wasn't even sad.
Or maybe that was a lie.
I couldn't tell anymore.
The only truth that remained was simple and cruel:
I had lost sothing I should never have lost.
The room reeked of smoke, blood, and gunpowder. Fire crackled below us, smoke creeping through the vents, but I couldn't bring myself to care. A small part of wished the whole motel would burn down—with in it.
"Max!"
A voice cut through the ringing in my ears. Footsteps stumbled across splintered boards. Soone entered the room behind .
"Max… oh God."
It was my father.
I didn't look at him. Didn't move. My throat released strange, broken sounds—sothing between laughter and choking sobs.
His boots creaked as he ca closer. He knelt beside and turned toward him. I finally saw his expression—fear, panic, disbelief—but none of it reached .
"Max, co on. We need to go. The horde is coming."
I didn't answer.
Whatever he saw in my eyes made him flinch.
It felt like sothing essential had been cut out of and left on the floor beside her.
Then his hand cracked across my cheek.
"Max! I said it's ti to GO!"
The slap pierced the fog in my mind. I blinked. The room swayed. Flas licked the walls, growing taller, hungrier. The motel was burning.
I couldn't die here.
She wouldn't want that.
I gently laid Ava on the floor, smoothing her hair one final ti. I wasn't ready to let her go—but I had to. Then I stood.
A pistol lay on the ground, as if waiting for . My fingers closed around it. The tal felt warm—too warm.
John said sothing behind —his voice trembling—but I didn't hear it. Or maybe I didn't want to. He grabbed my arm and dragged out into the burning hallway.
Half the motel was already engulfed in flas.
Ahead, a horde of undead pushed toward the building.
Nine bandits sped away in a jeep.
I lifted my gun.
Fired.
Three tires exploded.
The jeep spun out and slamd into a tree.
Without thinking, I jumped from the second floor and bolted toward the wreck. I didn't hear my father shouting behind .
"Max! What are you doing?! GET IN THE CAR!"
Uncle Matthew was behind the wheel, his injured arm clutched to his chest. His eyes widened when he saw .
"Max, get in! Where is everybody?!"
But I couldn't answer.
I just kept running.
The bandits crawled from the wreck—dazed, bleeding. When they saw coming, they reached for their guns.
I fired first, knocking their weapons from their hands.
I grabbed the closest man by the throat and slamd him to the pavent. His skull burst open across the concrete. He didn't get up.
Two more reached for their weapons. I shot them before they could lift their arms. Their heads snapped back, blood spraying across the grass.
Another tried to run. My gun clicked empty.
I hurled the pistol.
The tal smashed into his temple with a sickening crunch, lodging into the bone. He collapsed instantly.
Two bandits had died in the crash.
Three were still alive—barely.
I dragged them out of the jeep, ignoring their pleas.
"P-Please don't kill us! Let us go!" one begged.
And hearing him beg—
I smiled.
I punched him so hard his jaw shattered.
But it wasn't enough.
I hit him again.
And again.
Until his face caved in—just pulp and bone.
A broken laugh escaped . Hearing it made my stomach turn. My hands dripped with blood—warm and disgusting.
The two remaining bandits trembled violently, wetting themselves when they saw turn toward them. I wanted to rip their throats out with my bare hands. But the roar of the undead reminded I didn't have ti.
I grabbed a shotgun from the ground and left them there, screaming.
They would serve as bait.
They would buy us ti.
I turned toward the car. My father and Matthew were waiting, faces twisted with panic.
"MAX! GET IN THE CAR!" my father yelled.
I glanced over my shoulder.
The wounded bandits were already being dragged into the swarm, screaming.
But the undead didn't stop.
They kept coming.
From every direction.
The car had no way out.
My father kept yelling.
But I knew the truth.
If we stayed together, we'd all die.
I couldn't lose any more family.
So I turned and ran the opposite way—arms waving, shouting—anything to draw the horde toward .
"MAX! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! GET BACK HERE!"
I fired into the sky.
The horde turned toward .
Most of it.
I ran, firing until the shotgun clicked empty. Then I threw it aside and sprinted, a tidal wave of undead roaring behind .
It was enough.
Behind , I heard the engine roar to life.
My father and Matthew sped away through the gap I'd created.
I reached the forest and plunged into the trees. Branches tore at my arms and legs as I ran. Only when the undead groans faded did I stop.
They were gone.
But now...
I am alone again.
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