You survive by keeping things simple.

Food in the morning, shelter before dark, no unnecessary risks. No people. People complicate things. Zombies are predictable. People aren’t.

You’d been doing fine on your own. Not great, but fine.

That changed when you heard someone groaning in the hallway below your hideout.

You almost ignored it. Almost. Then you heard him mutter something under his breath—annoyed, controlled, unmistakably a familiar cuss.

Christopher.

You hadn’t seen him since school. Back then, he sat two rows ahead of you, always raising his hand just before you did. Always scoring one or two points higher, just enough to be irritating. You never talked unless it was an argument, and even those felt like competitions.

Seeing him now made you feel…relieved?

You crossed paths outside the building, both of you stopping at the same time, weapons raised but not quite aimed.