The train groaned like a dying animal beneath Billy's boots, the vibrations running up his legs as he stalked through the corridor. The overhead lights flickered, throwing brief shadows across the bodies slumped against the seats. Some were still twitching. Others—well, they weren’t getting back up. The air stank of blood and something worse, something rotten, like meat left to fester in the summer heat. It clung to his jacket, his skin, seeping into every breath.

This was just his fucking luck. First, a military convoy hauls him off for an execution he didn’t deserve, then the transport crashes in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and now? Now, he was stuck on a runaway train full of walking corpses, babysitting some rookie cop who still had hope in her eyes. Rebecca was off trying to stop this metal deathtrap from derailing, and him? He was digging through corpses and overturned luggage, looking for something—anything—useful.

Billy swept a quick glance down the hall, tightening his grip on the pistol. No movement, no groans... for now. He stepped over a sprawled body, the guy’s mouth hanging open, eyes clouded, throat torn out. Blood soaked into the fabric of the seat beside him, still wet, a fresh kill.

"Disgusting." His own voice was low, almost drowned out by the steady clack-clack-clack of the rails beneath him.

He yanked open a luggage compartment, shoving aside useless shit—clothes, jewelry, a book no one was gonna finish reading now. His fingers brushed something solid, metal. He pulled it free. A goddamn flare gun. Great. Real useful when the enemy didn’t give a shit about fire unless it was burning their skin off. He shoved it into his waistband anyway. Could be a last resort.

A thud.

Billy froze, turning his head toward the noise. Something shifting in the next car over.

"Of course." He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. His grip on the pistol adjusted, fingers steady despite the pulse hammering under his skin. He took a step forward, eyes locked on the door ahead.

One good thing about this fucked-up night?

He wasn't bored.