I knew better than to listen to Greg. I knew it, and yet—like an idiot—I followed him anyway.

  Sure, the pce had food, sure, it had weapons, but it also had a dozer horde that would’ve been better off in a WWE ring than anywhere near me.

  I was pissed. Not just a little angry but the kind of rage that could make a guy start thinking about what it’d be like to smash someone’s skull with their own gun.

  I managed not to throttle him when we first met, but now? There was no w stopping me, no survival instinct telling me to stay calm.

  As we approached the old building—one that looked like it’d been repurposed into some makeshift bunker—Greg noticed the way I was staring at him, my fists clenched, my jaw tight.

  "Uh, hey... you good?" Greg asked, his voice ced with nervous humor.

  I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I just kept walking toward him, the rage rising in me with every step.

  "We can clear them, right?" he asked, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, my body going stone cold. I turned to face him, forcing every word out with as much calmness as I could muster. I couldn’t risk drawing the zombies in.

  "Do you hear yourself, Greg?" I said, my voice low but controlled. "We’re talking about over thirty dozers, each one with the strength of five men. You think two people—hell, even three—can take them on? You’re out of your mind."

  His face twitched, the realization hitting him like a truck. He froze for a second, eyes darting around nervously.

  "There are three of us," he muttered, trying to salvage his pride.

  I couldn’t help it. I ughed—a bitter, almost maniacal ugh. "Yeah, right. We both know you won’t help. You’re just gonna book it to the stash while we get torn to pieces."

  Greg’s eyes flickered with guilt, but it was only for a moment. That weasel was too used to throwing others under the bus to care for too long.

  And then I saw it—the new dozer.

  It was fresh—just turned, probably less than 24 hours old. I could tell because its movements were more sluggish, more uncoordinated, but it was still deadly. Its body was massive, arms bulging with unnatural strength, and its eyes—frenzied, like it was looking for its next target.

  Greg already had his eyes on it. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. "We can’t take that on."

  I shook my head. "No shit, Sherlock."

  Then I noticed something that made the blood rush to my head—an exit. A way out of this mess without becoming lunch for a bunch of steroid-fueled monsters.

  "Wait," I said, stopping Greg mid-rant. "There’s a way around this."

  He looked at me, confusion on his face. "A way around what?"

  I pointed toward the far corner of the building, where an old dder was leaning against a side window, half-hidden behind some overgrown vines.

  "See that? That’s our ticket out of here."

  Greg stared at me, skeptical. "A dder? You’re out of your mind."

  I smiled, and for once, it wasn’t because I was mocking him. "Follow me, and I’ll show you how we can use that dder to make a bridge into that broken window."

  He looked at me like I was speaking a different nguage. "A bridge?"

  I nodded, already heading in that direction. "A bridge. The window’s just high enough that we can’t climb directly into it. But the dder can give us just enough reach to swing in and get inside. No dozers, no zombies—just a safe spot to regroup."

  Cire, who’d been silent up until now, spoke up, clearly more willing to trust me than Greg. "He’s right. Let’s go."

  Greg hesitated, eyes flickering between me and the dder. "You sure this is gonna work?"

  "Better than your pn, I guarantee it," I said, already pulling the dder free from its hiding spot and positioning it against the building’s side.

  I gnced up at the window—it was broken, but it was big enough that we could get in without getting stuck. The dder’s rungs were sturdy, and with a little creativity, we could definitely use it to get close enough.

  As I moved to set it up, Greg stood back, looking at me like I had just suggested we walk across a tightrope over a pit of fire-breathing zombies.

  "You’re gonna trust that?" he asked, his tone filled with doubt.

  I turned to face him, giving him a mock salute. "It’s either this or we get shredded by a horde of freakishly strong zombies. What’s it gonna be, Greg?"

  Cire nodded in agreement, already halfway up the dder. "We don’t have time to argue. Let’s go."

  I followed Cire up, gncing at Greg one st time. He was still hesitating, but eventually, with a heavy sigh, he climbed up after us.

  Once we were all on the ledge, I braced myself. This was either going to work, or we were going to get swarmed by the dozers. No pressure.

  With one st gnce at the path ahead, I said, "Let’s move."