When The World Ends

Cozy Up

Leo woke me before dawn. Not with a shake or a word, but by dropping my gear bag onto my cot with a heavy thud.

"You're up," he said, already dressed and strapped in for a run.

My stomach jolted. Multi-day runs weren't something I'd been invited to before.

The others were already moving in the prep room — tightening straps, double-checking mags, laying out gear in their practiced rhythm. The smell of oil and metal was thick in the air.

Mickey stood in front of the cracked mirror, smearing a streak of soot under each eye like some post-apocalyptic quarterback. "Gotta look the part," he muttered, catching my reflection with a smirk.

Without thinking, I grabbed my own blade and checked its balance, tightened the straps on my boots, ran a quick palm over the cloth covering my mouth and nose. I realized halfway through — I was doing exactly what they did, in the same order, without being told.

The tunnels gave way to open air, the sky a pale, washed-out blue. We moved through streets where weeds split the asphalt, where houses sagged inward like they were tired of standing.

Hand signals only. A raised fist to stop. Two fingers to split. A tilt of Leo's head to tell me you're on me.

When I matched a move just right — ducking through a collapsed fence in one fluid motion — Mickey caught my eye and grinned. Raph didn't hover like he used to; Donnie didn't correct my grip on the rifle. They let me move, trusted me not to get them killed.

We found it near the edge of a subdivision swallowed by tall grass. Two stories, roof sagging, porch half-eaten by rot. A wind chime dangled from the eaves, tinkling a lazy tune in the hot breeze. It made the hair on my arms stand up.

Inside smelled stale and metallic. Overturned chairs, a coffee mug on its side, toys scattered on the carpet. Family photos still hung crooked on the wall — frozen smiles watching us pass.

We found the first walker in the kitchen, its face slack, jaw clicking as it turned. Leo and I moved without speaking — I pinned it against the counter, he drove his blade through the temple. The second came from the pantry; I took that one myself, knife in the eye.

Raph swept the upstairs, boots heavy on the wood. Mickey disappeared into the basement. Donnie slipped into the garage. Leo stayed with me, scanning rooms with calm, methodical movements.

We made the place secure before the light went. Raph hammered boards over the windows, his forearms roped with strain. Mickey rigged a barricade at the front door out of a toppled dresser. Donnie scrounged up a stash of dusty candles from a kitchen drawer.

Leo tossed me a wool blanket. "Cold tonight," was all he said.

We ate on the living room floor — canned chili, stale crackers, bottled water. It was the first hot food I'd had in days.

Mickey pointed at the old cleaver I'd found in a drawer. "That's a raccoon move."

"She's not a raccoon," Raph muttered. "She's a feral raccoon with a knife."

I flipped him off. Leo smirked. Donnie... he just watched me laugh like he was filing the sound away somewhere private.

After dinner, we shoved the couch back. Leo called it "training," but it was more like sanctioned violence.

I held my own. I'd been practicing.

When I got cocky and tried to trip Leo, he used my own momentum to slam me to the carpet, pinning me by the wrists.

"If you're gonna grind like that, get a room," Mickey said from the couch.

I shoved Leo off, cheeks hot. Raph decided to be worse — he hauled me up and tossed me over his shoulder. "Checking for bites," he said, deadpan, while I cursed him out.