"Understood."
I don't trust him. Don't like him. Don't care about either of those things.
Allie is dying, and this tattooed stranger is my only hope.
two
Stephan
Ihavethreerulesthat have kept me alive for two years.
One: travel alone. Two: stay fast. Three: never get involved.
Taking passengers breaks all three. Taking desperate mothers with dying daughters shatters them so completely I might as well burn the whole rulebook.
I watch the woman, Iris, run back toward the settlement, blonde hair whipping loose from its tie, clutching her medic bag like it's the only thing keeping her upright. She moves like someone who's learned to survive but hasn't lost all her softness yet. The way her shoulders shake when she thinks no one's looking. The crack in her voice when she saidten years old.
Dangerous combination. The soft ones either get hard fast or they die.
She's not built for this run. Too desperate, too emotional. The kind of person who makes bad decisions when fear takes over. The kind who hesitates at the wrong moment and gets everyone killed.
But she looked at me with those storm-blue eyes and saidthen my daughter and I die together, and I knew exactly what she meant.
Because I said the same thing once. Right before I lost anyway.
Sabrina was eight when she died.
Different kid, same end. A bacterial infection that spread too fast, medicine I couldn't find in time. I tore apart three towns searching for antibiotics that didn't exist anymore—pharmacies already raided, hospitals already burned, every medical supply claimed by people faster and more desperate than me.
I held her in my arms while she burned up from the inside. Whispered promises while her eyes glazed over. Told her I'd be better, do better, save someone.
That was year one. Before the Wolves went bad. Before the club I'd ridden with for fifteen years became something I couldn't stomach—raiders, murderers, monsters wearing my brothers' faces. Before I walked away from the only family I had left and became a man who travels alone.
I've been running ever since. Running from the club, from the memories, from the weight of a promise I've never been able to keep.
Iris returns with a full pack and that same desperate determination burning in her eyes. She's changed into practical clothes—jeans, boots, a jacket that'll block the wind. Smart. At least she's not completely useless.
"Instructions," I say, keeping my voice flat. Professional. "You ride behind me. Arms around my waist, tight. Lean when I lean—if you fight the turns, we both go down."
"Okay."
"If zombies come, you stay on the bike. You do not get off. You do not try to help. I handle them."
"I can fight."
"You stay on the bike." I meet her eyes, making sure she understands this isn't negotiable. "Fort Nelson General is a warzone. Heavy zombie concentration, unstable building. We get in, grab the antibiotics, get out. And if I tell you to run, you run. No arguments, no hesitation. Your daughter needs you alive."
She nods, jaw tight. Good. She can follow orders.
"One more thing." I wait until she's looking at me again. "The Wolves, my former club, they're hunting me. Have been for two years. The bike's engine signature is distinctive; if any of them are in the area, they'll know I passed through." I let that sink in. "Anyone with me is in danger from more than zombies."
"I don't care."
"You should."
"My daughter has hours to live. I don't have room to care about anything else."
Fair enough.
