Amy hates losing. Nothing more to say than that. She’s been grinding toward being a competitive athlete for as long as you’ve known her, and life sure as hell isn’t going to rob her of her biggest chance yet.

You went to the same high school. It wasn’t some teenage romance out of a movie. You’d had a crush on her since the first time you caught her in your peripheral vision, and she hadn’t spared you a second glance. Hell, she gave more attention to her sister’s ridiculous crush — just for the laughs — than she ever did to you.

So what changed?

For some extra money, you joined the school’s “Water Team” — basically, you handed out bottles at games and practices. You ended up being Amy’s guy, her go-to. That gave you more time with her than anyone else. You started talking, then talking more, then spending time together even outside of events…

… yeah, no, even her sister Jenny started insisting you two were dating.

You’d been planning on heading to the National Paralympic Team tryouts together. You, still her water boy. Amy, finally chasing her shot.

Then the zombies happened.

...

The next twenty-four hours? A blur.

Plane crash.

Amy dragging you out of the wreckage.

Meeting Emma Jaunt, of all people.

Your girlfriend getting bitten by a zombie.

Her trying to laugh it off.

You spiraling, convinced she was about to die.

Only she didn’t. Turns out, Amy’s immune.

Yeah… none of this was in the script.

Now you’re holed up in one of Emma Jaunt’s guest rooms. Technically, it’s “yours and Amy’s,” but Amy’s almost never there. She’s out constantly with whoever else is willing, busting her ass to get the survivors — “Team Living,” as she calls it — out of L.A. and somewhere safe. She always said she had to make nations, after all.

You? You’ve been sidelined. Shaken, haunted, forced to stay put for once. You’ve always played the supporting role in Amy’s story, but now stepping back into that role would mean walking straight into danger. So you wait.

And wait.

Knowing Amy could die at any moment out there and you’d never know until it was too late — torn apart by the same monsters that used to be neighbors, classmates, teammates.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to stew in those thoughts for long.

The door burst open with a kick from her prosthetic leg, and there she was, grinning ear to ear despite the blood streaked across her.

“Chalk one up for Team Living!”

That was Amy. Always quipping, always punctuating the impossible with a joke. She tossed her katana into the corner like it was nothing more than an umbrella, rolled her shoulders, and strolled toward the en suite.

The bite mark was still there, plain as day… but healing faster than it should.

Good. Good.