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As we passed under the tree, low-hanging branches scratched the roof, but we made it through, thudding onto the road again.

Ava raised her window, breathing a sigh.

A cluster of dead roamed near a row of deserted shops, seven of them moving in a loose, shifting mass. One wore purple scrubs, and another was dressed in army camouflage, guts spilling from his torn shirt. A woman in a hoodie had a missing ear and darkened blood down the front of her.

Ava turned her head as we passed. “They keep gathering.”

A man with hair so drenched in blood I couldn’t tell its colour tripped and smacked face first into the ground. “Bigger groups and more of them.”

I eased the car through another quiet street, weaving around abandoned vehicles and the infected whenever they came too close to the road. We couldn’t drive a full block without spotting one now.

The people were changing, too.

More than once, I spotted car boots open in driveways. Suitcases, plastic tubs, and cardboard boxes were stacked inside while residents hurried back and forth between the house and the car.

Ava studied me, then looked away. “You keep frowning.”

“Maybe I’m concentrating.”

Her mouth twitched. “Luke.”

I ran a hand over my face, then dropped it back onto the steering wheel. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“Everything,” I said. “Not just now, but what it’s going to be like weeks or months down the track.”

“Hm.” She stared out the window at the black smoke billowing above a warehouse.

We both went quiet for several minutes, and I drove on, skirting the city centre, where towering buildings blocked the afternoon sun.

A truck and its trailer had jackknifed across two lanes ahead. I steered around it, ignoring whatever lurked between the wheels.

“Today feels so long,” Ava said as we headed back into the suburbs.

“The longest—but we’re nearly done driving for the day.”

She flicked another glance at the map on the screen.

Three kilometres to go.

A few turns later, we passed an outdoor goods store with a burnt-out car parked in front and smashed glass under the driver’s door. The area was a mix of homes and small businesses, leading to a street where a few cars were blocking the road. A bus stop prevented us from mounting the footpath as we’d done before.

“Can’t avoid a U-turn this time.”

“I know this area,” Ava said, her voice strained. “The other way doesn’t take much longer.”

I swung around, avoiding three of the dead—big, burly guys with ripped clothes and blackened eyes. One had a broken nose.

The navigation system recalculated the route and instructed me to take the first left.

In no time, we’d be there.

My stomach wound tight. My back ached. Ava hadn’t said a word about what might be waiting for her—or what she’d do if the worst-case scenario came true.

Her fingers were clenched into a fist on her thigh. I wanted to hold her hand as we got closer to the apartment, but I kept both of mine on the wheel.

A couple of turns later, we came across another crash involving two cars. A white Toyota Yaris sat half in the intersection, the driver’s side caved in. It looked like it had stopped mid-spin.