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Tomorrow, we draw them out. Tomorrow, we hit the weak side. Tomorrow, we get what we need and get the hell out of Chicago.

Jacob falls into step beside me, rifle resting against his shoulder, his grin too bright for the dying light. “You know what I’m thinking?”

I glance at him.

“After this mall bullshit, we shoot straight to Trish’s family farm.”

Trish lifts one hand without turning around. “Preach it.”

Joanie cuts in. “But does it have cows?”

Carlos looks at her. “Cows? Seriously?”

“They are highly intelligent, social animals and can have best friends.” Joanie gives a sharp little laugh. “I want to be best friends with a cow.”

Carlos snorts. “Sounds like that’s the only way you’d ever have a best friend.”

“If that’s the case,” Joanie says, “then we should be the best of fucking friends, Peaches.”

Their bickering fades when an undead shuffles out from behind a rusted dumpster. I step forward and bury my hatchet in its skull before it gets close enough to matter. Bone gives with a dull crack, and the body drops at my feet.

Lyla shoots Joanie and Carlos a glare. “Will you two shut it? Stop drawing attention our way with cow talk.”

They both mumble under their breath before going quiet.

The streets narrow as we work our way back toward the vehicles, and the others spread into a loose formation without needing orders. Lyla takes the front, sharp-eyed and silent. Carlos moves behind her, watching windows. Joanie drifts near him with a knife in hand, probably contemplating where to put it in his back. Trish keeps to the left, med bag thumping against her hip. Jacob stays beside me.

My skin starts to prickle.

The feeling grows with every block. A tightness at the base of my skull. A wrongness in the air I can’t name. My pace quickens.

The vehicles should be visible through the trees by now. Max’s silver body. Bessy’s bulk. The ER van. Lucy’s dented maroon hood.

I see them.

I don’t breathe easier.

Something is wrong.

Mom comes out of the trees before we reach the clearing, sprinting. Mom never runs unless something is on fire or bleeding. Dirt kicks up behind her boots, and one hand clutches something against her chest. Her face is pale. Her mouth moves before she reaches us, but I can’t hear anything over the sudden roar of blood in my ears.

No.

I’m already moving.

Edith appears behind her, then Earl, both frantic in a way that turns my bones to ice. Mom stumbles, and I catch her by the arms. She grabs my shirt.

“Leon,” she says, breathless. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Carlos whips around. “Where’s Luis?”

“I’m here!” Luis bolts from near the vehicles and crashes into Carlos, who grabs him hard, one hand clamped around the back of his head.

The world narrows to Mom’s hands fisted in my shirt.

“Clair and Poppy,” she says.

Everything inside me stops.