- Cars have alarms. Zombies love alarms.

  - Nothing screams “free meat” louder than a honking Honda.

  - If you really need transport, find a busted bus or an abandoned RV with open doors. Less drama, fewer jump-scares.

  ---

  We were moving through a small cul-de-sac, one of those eerie, too-quiet suburbs with pink flamingos still standing in the lawns like nothing ever went wrong.

  That’s when she saw it.

  A dark green Jeep, tucked under a collapsed carport. Dusty, a little dented, but intact. The kind of vehicle that screams “I survived longer than its owner.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Jules stopped cold.

  I almost walked right past her until I saw her expression—lips parted, eyes wide, like someone just sucker-punched her nostalgia.

  It's like she knew the car. And the people who used to use it.

  “You good?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer at first. Just moved toward the car. Slowly. Like it might vanish if she blinked too hard.

  Then she reached for the door handle.

  “Jules—”

  BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.

  I don’t remember jumping, but I was on the ground behind a mailbox before the second honk. I was holding onto Jules' wrist when I moved away from the Jeep. The door's all closed again. The car’s alarm howled through the dead neighborhood like a dinner bell.

  From far off, we heard groans.

  Jules didn’t move. She just stared inside the Jeep for a second longer. Then she backed away, quiet. Calm. Dead calm.

  We ran.

  Later, holed up inside a shuttered bakery, I asked her what she saw.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  But she didn’t sleep that night.

  Didn’t joke the next day.

  Didn’t add a sarcastic edit to this entry.

  It was just a car. Just a moment.

  But something changed.

  And I didn’t know what to do with that.