The auto shop smelled of rust and gasoline, every surface slick with years of grease and dust. Emily held her breath as she sat up, listening. Outside, the chorus of moans dragged on, like a storm battering against the thin metal walls.
The garage was dark, only streaks of moonlight cutting through the high windows. A few cars sat abandoned on lifts, their hoods open as if the mechanics had dropped everything mid-job. Tools were scattered across benches and floors—wrenches, screwdrivers, a crowbar half-buried in grime.
Emily's eyes locked on the crowbar. She crawled across the floor, her hand shaking as she wrapped her fingers around the cold metal. It was heavier than the pocketknife, and far more useful.
"Em?" Lily whispered. Her little sister was curled beside a pile of tires, her doll clutched to her chest.
Emily forced her voice to stay calm. "It's okay, bug. We'll stay here for a bit. The bad guys can't get in."
The lie rolled off her tongue smoothly, but she didn't believe it herself. The garage door shuddered again under the weight of hands pounding outside
Emily needed a plan. They couldn't stay here forever. Supplies were limited, and the noise outside would only grow. She glanced at the cars—old sedans, a half-fixed pickup. If she could get one running, maybe they had a chance.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden crash from the far side of the shop.
Emily whipped around, crowbar raised. A tool had clattered to the ground, echoing through the cavernous space. Her stomach clenched.
Someone—or something—was inside with them.
She pulled Lily closer, shielding her with one arm, crowbar in the other. "Stay behind me," she whispered.
Footsteps echoed softly, uneven but deliberate. Then a voice—raspy, human—cut through the silence.
"Don't swing. I'm not one of them."
Emily froze. From behind a rusted car, a figure stepped into the pale moonlight. A man, maybe mid-thirties, with unshaven stubble and a mechanic's jacket stained with oil. His hands were raised in surrender.
Emily's grip tightened on the crowbar. "Stay back."
The man nodded. "Fair enough. Name's Mark. Been holed up in here since yesterday when… all this started. I heard you come in. Figured if you were breathing, you weren't one of them."
Emily's eyes narrowed. Trusting anyone now felt dangerous, but she couldn't ignore the relief in hearing another voice. "It's just me and my sister," she said carefully.
Mark's gaze softened when it landed on Lily. "You got her this far? That's impressive."
Emily didn't respond. She wasn't ready to let her guard down.
Mark took a slow step closer, still keeping his hands visible. "Listen… I've been trying to get that truck running." He nodded toward the half-repaired pickup. "If we can fix it, we can get out of here. There's a place on the outskirts—heard on the radio they're setting up some kind of shelter. Might be safer than sitting here waiting to die."
The word shelter hit Emily like a spark of hope. Somewhere safe. Somewhere Lily could sleep without waking to screams and shadows.
But hope was dangerous, too.
She looked at Lily, who was staring at Mark with wide, fearful eyes. Then she looked back at the man. "If you try anything—" she lifted the crowbar higher—"I'll kill you."
Mark gave a grim smile. "Fair enough. You've got the right instincts."
For the first time since the outbreak began, Emily realized they might not have to do this alone.
But as the pounding outside grew louder, she also knew something else: if they were going to survive the night, they'd have to work together.