Benny scooped Milo up without a second of hesitation, tucking the boy tight against his chest.
"Come on—back door. We gotta try."
Milo buried his face in Benny's shoulder, tiny fists gripping his shirt as Benny sprinted toward the rear exit. Rain pounded against the metal roof; every step echoed off the empty shelves.
Benny shoved his shoulder into the back door and forced it open—
—and froze.
Dozens.
Not five. Not ten.
A lot of infected, packed together in the overgrown alley behind the station. Twisted shapes. Broken faces. Wet, shaking breaths. And the moment the door cracked, every single head snapped toward them.
For one long heartbeat, the world went silent.
Then everything exploded into screaming.
Not human screaming—animal, furious, hungry howls that made Milo's whole body jolt in Benny's arms.
Benny's eyes went wide.
"NOPE—nope, nope, nope!"
He slammed the door shut so fast his hand stung, twisted the lock, and ran back inside, stumbling as he kicked it fully closed.
Milo clung to him like he was drowning, the boy shaking violently now. His breath came in hiccuping gasps, tears running down his cheeks.
"P-Penny… I wared… I wared…" Milo sobbed.
"I know, I know—shh—hey, hey, listen to me."
Benny dropped to one knee, holding him tighter. "You're okay. You're okay, I got you. I'm not letting anything hurt you."
BANG—!
Something slammed into the back door so hard the hinges rattled.
Milo screamed and pressed his head into Benny's chest.
"Shh—shh—don't cry, kiddo, please—please—just keep quiet, okay? I got you," Benny whispered, trying to steady his voice even though panic clawed at his ribs. "Shhh, it's fine. It's fine…"
But Milo's sobs got louder—raw, scared, uncontrollable.
And the infected outside heard.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
More hands. More bodies. More growls layering over each other.
From the front of the store, the five clawed infected jerked their heads toward the noise. Slow at first. Then all together. Their claws scraped against the pavement as they turned fully toward the gas station.
Benny felt the blood drain from his face.
He crouched all the way down until he was eye-level with Milo, hands on the boy's trembling shoulders.
"Milo… look at me—look at me—"
But Milo was crying too hard to lift his head.
Outside—
The infected gathered.
Inside—
Benny tried to steady his shaking breath.
And the door rattled again.
Benny didn't think—he just ran. Tight grip on Milo, boots slipping on the dirty tile, he pushed through the bathroom door and ducked straight into the far stall. He shut the door gently but fast, locking it with a soft click.
Milo was still crying, little body shaking hard enough to rattle the metal walls.
Benny knelt and pulled him close, whispering fast:
"Shhh—hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay—Milo, you're safe, I promise, just breathe—shhh…"
But Milo's sobs wouldn't stop. Panicked, high-pitched breaths. His tears soaked Benny's shirt.
Then—
CREAK…
The main door to the gas station swung open.
Benny froze.
Footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Dragging.
Too heavy to be human.
Milo whimpered, a tiny squeak, and Benny immediately cupped a hand over the boy's mouth, whispering shakily:
"Milo—please—please be quiet, bud. Please. You gotta trust me. You gotta be quiet…"
Milo tried… but little choked sobs still pushed against Benny's palm.
The thing wandered inside. Its claws scraped across tile. Wet breathing. Sniffing. Searching.
Benny held Milo tighter, feeling his own heartbeat slam against his ribs.
Then everything changed.
BANG—BANG—BANG—BANG—BANG!
Gunfire erupted—loud, sharp, rapid. Way louder than the pistols Benny usually found. Sounded almost like an AR. Maybe more than one.
Voices shouted—multiple people—but Benny couldn't make out the words through the chaos.
The infected shrieked, clawed at something, then—
THUD.
A body hit the ground.
Then another.
Silence followed, broken only by boots stepping carefully across glass.
Benny let out a breath he'd been holding for too long. He slowly moved his hand from Milo's mouth.
"Shhh… hey… it's okay," Benny whispered. "The monsters are gone now. You hear me? They're gone."
Milo sniffed, still trembling, but he nodded.
He slid down a bit in Benny's lap, tiny hands unclenching, breath evening out into slow, shaky inhales.
"Me… me scawed…" Milo whispered.
"I know, bud," Benny said softly, brushing Milo's hair back. "But you did good. Real good. Just keep breathing with me, okay?"
Outside, the unknown voices moved closer.
Benny tightened his grip on Milo and listened but The bathroom stayed quiet.
Too quiet.
Benny pressed his ear to the stall door, trying to pick up anything—breathing, growling, footsteps, voices. But everything outside blurred together into faint echoes he couldn't understand.
Hours passed.
When Benny finally opened his eyes, everything hurt.
"Ugh… damn…" he muttered, rubbing his neck. He glanced down.
Milo still slept, mouth slightly open, hair sticking up everywhere.
Benny shifted carefully, scooping Milo into his arms. The boy stirred but didn't wake—just mumbled something and pressed his face into Benny's shoulder.
Benny pushed open the stall door.
The gas station was different now—quiet. Still. Too still.
Bodies everywhere.
He stepped over a sprawled infected, careful not to slip on the blood. More of them lay scattered across the floor, bullet holes through skulls and chests. Whoever had done this, they'd done it fast.
Spent shell casings littered the tile—5.56 rounds, dozens of them. Benny bent down, picked one up. Still faintly warm.
His stomach twisted.
That kind of ammo. That many shots. That clean.
Not scavengers. Not random survivors.
He looked at the clawed infected—three of them, all blown apart. One had taken what looked like a full burst to the chest. Another had half its skull missing.
Boot prints tracked through the blood. Heavy treads, all the same pattern. Moving in formation.
Benny muttered under his breath, "Whoever you are… thanks."
But his voice was quieter than before. Uncertain.
Military? Maybe. Or just someone with military gear. Either way, they were long gone.
He glanced at the counter. Drawers still open. Nothing taken. They hadn't even searched the place.
Too organized to be looters. Too fast to be settlers.
Just came, killed everything, and left.
Benny adjusted Milo higher on his hip and moved toward the door, stepping carefully around the carnage.
The rain had thinned to a drizzle. The woods beyond were quiet—no movement, no voices, no engines.
He walked to the car, opened the back door gently, and laid Milo across the seat. Tucked Officer Crunch under the boy's arm. Milo mumbled and gripped the bear tighter without waking.
Benny closed the door and slid into the driver's seat.
He sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring at the empty road ahead.
Military.
If they were still out here, that meant… what? Safe zones? Rescue camps? Or just patrols cleaning up the mess?
And if they found him and Milo…
His jaw tightened.
Would they help? Or would they take Milo away? Put him in some orphanage or foster system while Benny got questioned about how a sixteen-year-old ended up alone with a six-year-old?
He didn't know. Didn't want to find out.
"Alright…" he whispered. "Let's get the hell outta here."
The engine coughed, then started.
Benny didn't look back. Didn't linger. Just drove forward down the wet forest road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the seat behind him—close enough to feel if Milo stirred.
The storm thinned.
The world felt bigger again.
And they kept moving.