“Because I need to know if I ruined your life or just your day.”
Her eyes show real concern. Not pity. Worse. Genuine interest.
“I wasn’t,” I say. “We were friends as kids because our parents had a business together. Nothing more.”
She leans against the counter, studying me. “So you’re not heartbroken?”
“About Cameron?” I shake my head. “No. About my sister’s treatment getting canceled because we lost the money? That’s another story.”
A low groan echoes from somewhere outside—distant but unmistakable. We both freeze, listening.
After a few seconds of silence, Sienna musters a smile. “If this whole zombie thing ends, Cam will help with the money for your sister. He feels terrible about everything.”
I doubt my father was only after the money.
“Do you really think this will be over?” I ask. “That we’ll go back to normal and file insurance claims for the zombie apocalypse?”
“They won’t give us a dime.” She laughs. “But I’d like to think that maybe some good came out of it? Maybe a new friend I can trauma bond with?”
She watches me, waiting. There’s no pressure in her gaze, just openness. It’s disarming.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“Why not?” She grins, teeth flashing white in the dim kitchen. “You seem badass.”
Badass is the last word I’d ever use to describe myself. “That word fits you better.”
“Thanks.” She hops up on the counter, swinging her legs like we’re at a slumber party instead of hiding from the walking dead. “So now that we’re friends, want to tell me what happened between you and Julien in that room?”
My hands fumble with a plate as I continue dinner prep. “Nothing happened.”
“Fine.” She smirks. “Too soon. Dakota?”
“Hmm?”
“I really do think you’re pretty badass. Not everyone could’ve done what you did back there.”
A knock on the doorframe startles us both.
Cameron leans against it, his eyes finding Sienna immediately, a smile blooming across his face. “Food ready?”
I nod, arranging the last plate. “Yeah.”
“Here.” Sienna grabs a tray. “We’ll help carry.”
I grab the last try with bottles of water and follow them back through the corridor we cleared earlier, to what used to be a meeting room but now serves as our makeshift camp. It took hours to drag bodies out and mop floors, but necessity overruled disgust. My father complained the entire time about his back, his expensive suit, and his ruined shoes, while my mother refused to help entirely.
Now, the room is almost cozy, in a post-apocalyptic way.
Blankets and pillows, salvaged from various rooms, cover the floor, sofas are placed against the walls, and no electric lights, just the warm glow of candles placed around the room, low enough not to attract attention from outside but enough to see.
Julien stands by the window, peering through a gap in the curtains. His shoulders are rigid under his ruined dress shirt, the rolled-up sleeves revealing forearms corded with muscle. He turns as we enter, eyes tracking our movement before returning to his vigilant watch.
Rosa sits in an armchair, knitting. Apparently, there’s a weekly group meeting at the church—was—from which she got the yarn.
The reverend huddles in the far corner with a bible on his lap, and my mother arranges pillows behind my sister, while myfather arranges the blankets in the sofa section they claimed. She looks better after her medication, but is still too pale.
“Dinner,” Sienna announces with forced cheerfulness.
