– Emotional loot counts too.

  – Sometimes it’s closure. Sometimes it’s regret. Sometimes it’s a flamethrower.

  – And sometimes… it’s a memory you don’t know what to do with.

  ---

  The sun was just starting to rise as we walked away from the bandit base.

  Or what was left of it.

  Gail had his Intel—thick manila envelope tucked under one arm like a high-stakes book report. He hadn’t said what was in it, just gave it a once-over, nodded to himself, and let out the sigh of a man who'd been holding his breath for ten years.

  Alex had her haul, which she carried like a goblin that’d just won the lottery. Seven backpacks. Each bulging. Food, tech, tools, a PS5, and what looked suspiciously like a bag labeled “Jerry’s Emergency Socks.”

  As for me?

  I had Jules in the back seat.

  Alive. Quiet. And not in handcuffs, which honestly felt like a bigger risk than I was willing to admit out loud.

  We stood in the shadow of the compound, right where the Peachmobile was parked—grimy, dented, and still purring like a kitten that learned how to purr from an old chainsaw.

  Gail stood in front of us.

  “If you need help again,” he said, “you know where to find me.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  We nodded.

  He paused, eyes flicking to me, then Alex. “And I’m sorry. For dragging you both into this.”

  “You didn’t drag us,” Alex said. “You just… offered chaos, and we happen to be connoisseurs.”

  I gave him a shrug. “At least you didn’t recruit us while wearing spandex. That’s usually how these things go.”

  He gave a single, grateful nod.

  Then, of course, we looked away for half a second.

  “Wait, Gail, do you want a—”

  Gone.

  “Goddammit,” I muttered. “He Batman’d us.”

  Alex snorted. “You think he uses smoke bombs or just sprints really fast?”

  “Pretty sure he just rolls into a tactical somersault and vanishes like a rogue raccoon ninja.”

  ---

  The drive back was quiet.

  Suspiciously quiet.

  As in, no-zombies-chased-us quiet.

  Maybe because the Peachmobile—despite being built like a Mad Max extra—was surprisingly smooth. Silent, too. No rumble. No clunk. Not a single groan of rust or rot. Zombies didn’t even glance at us as we slipped through the streets.

  Alex drove like she was in a video game. One hand on the wheel, one elbow on the windowsill, sunglasses on even though the windshield had a dead bug streak right through her line of sight.

  “So,” she said, “let’s talk about how I carried that entire op.”

  “You turned the lights off,” I replied, “and looted snacks.”

  “I turned the power off,” she corrected. “Which meant no alarms, no cameras, no tripwires—you're welcome, by the way. And also? I got a car.”

  “Technically, you stole a car.”

  “Legally, everyone’s dead. So…”

  Jules made a tiny noise from the back. A small snort of laughter.

  Alex turned to look at her through the rearview mirror. “Right? I mean, seriously. Anyways, check out the loot." She says gesturing me to take the duffel bag.

  “I got two car batteries, a box of nails, nine cans of peaches, and a still sealed bag of marshmallows. Oh, and this.” She pulled a dusty PS5 out of a duffel. “For morale.”

  “You do know it’s the apocalypse, right?” I asked. “Electricity’s basically a cryptid now.” I say.

  She shrugged. “I like to be optimistic.”

  “You looted like a raccoon on Red Bull.”

  “Flattery gets you nowhere.”

  We bantered all the way to the freeway. Took the long route back to Overhole, just in case.

  Somewhere around mile marker six, I glanced at the rearview.

  Jules was watching us. Just... smiling.

  Not wide. Not smug. A small smile, like a ghost of one. The kind you wear when a memory crashes into you like an old song on a lonely night. She looked at us like we were a rerun of a sitcom she used to love.

  She used to smile like that with me, back when it was just us, a stolen gas card, and a list of stores to loot before someone else got there first.

  She caught me catching her in the mirror.

  She didn’t look away.

  I didn’t say anything.

  We just drove on.

  Back to Overhole.

  Back to whatever version of peace this world pretended to offer.

  Alex cracked open a can of peaches with her multitool, held it out to me like a trophy.

  “For your bravery,” she said. “And your lack of impulse control.”

  “I am honored.”

  I took a spoonful, even as I caught Jules’ expression shift again in the mirror.

  This time?

  Just tired.

  Just human.

  Just like the rest of us.