[38] Burn

Jordan and Brad walked down a dusty, cracked sidewalk near the edge of town, keeping an eye out for anything that moved. The silence felt heavy, and Jordan, never one for keeping his mouth shut, broke it with a snicker.

"Man," he said, giving Brad a sideways glance, "I still can't believe Chloe dumped you. I mean, don't get me wrong—she's a total thot, but even a girl like her must need a little... extra to drop the star quarterback." He grinned, clearly enjoying the jab.

Brad's jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the handle of his Desert Eagle. "Shut up, Jordan," he growled, glaring at him.

Jordan held up his hands, smirking. "Hey, hey, just sayin'. Maybe she realized she wanted a real man. You know, someone who could actually keep up with her, if you know what I mean."

"Keep talkin' like that," Brad muttered, his voice low and deadly, "and you're gonna be eating lead."

Jordan snickered, unfazed. "Oh, come on. What're you gonna do, big guy? Beat me up? Pullin' the tough-guy act doesn't make you less pathetic."

Brad turned, his face a mask of barely-contained rage. "I swear to God, Jordan, one more word, and I'm putting a bullet in your ass."

Before Jordan could make another snide remark, a loud, piercing car alarm blared from the center of town, shattering the tense silence between them. Both of them froze, glancing toward the source of the noise, their expressions quickly shifting from irritation to alarm.

"What the hell?" Brad muttered, his eyes wide as he scanned the horizon.

"Shit," Jordan whispered, all humor draining from his face. "That's gotta be Morgan and the others. You think they set it off?"

But they didn't have time to think about it. Just then, the sound of shuffling footsteps and low, guttural groans reached their ears. Jordan and Brad turned to see a horde of zombies emerging from an alley nearby, staggering toward the sound of the alarm with dead, hungry eyes. Dozens of them. Maybe more.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Brad hissed, stepping back as he raised his gun.

Jordan's face drained of color, and he took a shaky step back, his usual smug grin nowhere to be seen. "Dude, we need to get the hell out of here."

"No shit!" Brad snapped, his voice laced with panic. He fired a quick shot at a nearby zombie, the blast echoing in the quiet street as it hit its mark, but it did little to slow the horde.

More zombies appeared, spilling out of side streets and alleys, drawn by the alarm's relentless wail. The undead staggered toward them, a wall of rotting flesh and hungry eyes that seemed to grow by the second.

"Run!" Brad yelled, grabbing Jordan by the shoulder and shoving him forward. "Head for the bus—now!"

Jordan didn't need to be told twice. He turned and bolted, his heart pounding as he sprinted down the street, the weight of his Smith & Wesson revolver bouncing against his side. Brad was right behind him, his breaths ragged as they weaved through the narrow alleys, dodging overturned trash cans and debris littered across the ground.

The alarm blared louder, echoing down the empty streets, and the sound of the horde grew closer with every step. Jordan threw a quick glance over his shoulder, his stomach churning as he saw the mass of zombies shuffling toward them, their decaying faces twisted in a grotesque mockery of hunger.

"Jesus Christ, they're everywhere!" Jordan gasped, pushing himself harder.

"Shut up and keep running!" Brad barked, his face grim as he fired another shot at a zombie that had lurched too close. The creature collapsed, but there were too many to fight. Shooting one only made room for more to close in.

As they sprinted through the streets, Jordan tried to keep his breathing steady, but his mind raced with panic. Every shadow felt like it was reaching for him, every alley a potential ambush. He stumbled, nearly losing his balance, but Brad grabbed his arm, hauling him back up.

"Don't you dare fall behind, Jordan," Brad snarled, his voice harsh. "I'm not babysitting your ass out here."

"Dude, I got it!" Jordan snapped back, trying to shake Brad's grip. "I don't need your help."

"Good," Brad said, releasing him. "Then prove it by not dying."

They darted around a corner, the bus finally coming into view at the far end of the street. Relief flickered in Jordan's chest, but it was short-lived. More zombies were spilling into the road, blocking their path. The horde closed in from all sides, drawn by the piercing wail of the alarm that seemed to get louder with every second.

"We're not gonna make it!" Jordan yelled, his voice shaking.

"We don't have a choice!" Brad shouted back. He raised his gun, firing at the closest zombie as they pushed forward, forcing their way through the throng of undead. The gunshots were loud, almost deafening, but the alarm drowned out most of the noise, leaving only the horrible, wet sounds of rotting flesh hitting the pavement.

They pushed through the horde, dodging the grasping hands and snapping jaws. A zombie lunged at Jordan, its skeletal fingers brushing against his arm, but he twisted out of its grip, nearly losing his balance as he stumbled back.

"Watch it, Jordan!" Brad yelled, pulling him out of the way of another lurching corpse.

"I'm trying, okay?!" Jordan shot back, his face pale with fear. "This is not exactly my idea of a fun time!"

Brad fired off another shot, taking down a zombie that had gotten too close for comfort. "Then stop bitching and keep moving!"

They managed to break free of the horde near the bus, but the undead were closing in from all sides, a relentless wave of decay and death. Jordan's heart pounded in his chest, his breaths coming in gasps as he sprinted toward the bus, his mind blank with panic.

The sounds of the horde, the blaring of the alarm, the smell of rot—all of it pressed down on them, suffocating in its intensity. Every instinct screamed at them to keep running, to not stop for even a second, or they'd be swallowed up by the swarm.

"Come on, man!" Brad yelled, his voice hoarse as they closed in on the bus. "We're almost there!"

Jordan didn't respond, too focused on putting one foot in front of the other, on ignoring the gnashing jaws and grasping hands that lurked at the edges of his vision. The bus was their only shot at survival, their last refuge in a town overrun with the dead.

With a final burst of adrenaline, they pushed forward, dodging the last few zombies as they closed the distance to the bus. It loomed ahead like a beacon, a small sliver of hope in the chaos surrounding them.

But as they reached the bus, the sounds of the horde grew louder, and they knew—this wasn't over yet. They still had a long way to go if they wanted to make it out alive.

Q: Do you know anyone like Brad?