(STEPHANIE POV)
The hospital rose out of the haze like a tombstone. Twelve stories of gray concrete, windows shattered, the red cross on the front long since faded to a rust-colored stain. Ambulances sat in the lot, doors open, skeletons inside. Stephanie killed the bike's engine and listened.
Wind. Distant crows. The low moan of something inside.
She looked at Reilo. He was already scanning, his eyes moving too fast, that unnatural stillness settling over him. The black veins on his neck had receded a little—rest was helping—but she could still see them, spidering under his jaw.
"How many?" she asked.
He tilted his head, listening. "Four. Maybe five. Shamblers by the sound. But there's something else. Deeper."
"Infected?"
"Human."
Stephanie touched the rifle across her back. "Ashford's men?"
"Don't know. But they're moving like they own the place."
She dismounted, checked her weapons. Colt on her hip, six rounds. Karambit in her boot. Tactical knife on her belt. The M24 was loaded, five rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber. She didn't want to use it indoors. Too loud, too slow.
"We go quiet," she said. "Find the market, get what we need, get out."
Reilo nodded. He had the machete on his back, the Glock on his hip, the hook gleaming in the gray light. He looked like something from the old world—a pirate, a killer, a ghost.
They moved.
The main entrance was blocked, gurneys and debris piled high. Stephanie circled left, toward a service entrance she'd spotted from the road. The door hung open, darkness spilling out. The smell hit her first: rot, antiseptic, and something sweet underneath. Bodies. Old ones.
She slipped inside, Reilo behind her. The corridor stretched into darkness, emergency lights flickering every twenty feet. The floor was slick with something she didn't want to identify. She pulled the karambit, the curved blade whispering against her palm.
A Shambler stood at the end of the hall, facing away, its head cocked like it was listening to a sound only it could hear. Stephanie moved. Three silent steps, the blade up, and she drove it into the base of the skull. The thing crumpled without a sound. She caught it, lowered it to the floor.
Reilo's eyes were on her. He didn't say anything, just nodded toward a stairwell.
They climbed to the third floor. The market—if it was still there—would be in the old cafeteria. Survivors liked open spaces, multiple exits. Stephanie had been to a dozen markets like this. They were always the same: desperation, paranoia, and someone with a gun pretending to be in charge.
The stairwell door was propped open. Light filtered through. Voices.
She peered through the gap.
The cafeteria was a ruin. Overturned tables, shattered glass, but in the center, someone had cleared a space. Blankets on the floor, a few crates, a lantern burning low. Four people huddled around it. Three men, one woman. None of them looked like soldiers. Just survivors. Dirty faces, hollow eyes.
Stephanie relaxed a fraction. Not Ashford's.
She pushed the door open, stepping through with her hands visible, the karambit tucked away. Reilo followed, his hook hidden under his jacket.
Four heads snapped toward them. A man with a shotgun raised it, hands shaking.
"Hold it right there!"
"Easy." Stephanie kept her voice flat. "We're not here for trouble. Looking to trade."
The man's eyes darted between her and Reilo. "We don't got nothing."
"I've got meds. Antibiotics. Painkillers." She pulled a small pouch from her jacket, held it up. "I need fuel and information."
The woman—older, gray hair, a nurse's uniform under her coat—stood up slowly. "How do we know it's real?"
"You don't." Stephanie tossed the pouch. The woman caught it, opened it, sniffed. Her eyes widened.
"This is… this is good."
"I know. Now talk."
The man with the shotgun lowered it, just a little. "What do you want to know?"
"Ashford. His bikers have been pushing west. Why?"
The survivors exchanged glances. The woman spoke. "He's looking for something. Someone, maybe. A few weeks ago, his men came through, asking about a woman. A survivor who was at some gas station north of here."
Stephanie's stomach tightened. She didn't move. "What woman?"
"Don't know. They didn't say. But they were real specific. Burn scars on her left arm. Sniper rifle. They said she was dangerous. Offered a reward for anyone who turned her in."
She kept her face blank. Reilo's eyes flicked to her, but he said nothing.
"Anyone claim it?" she asked.
The man shook his head. "We don't deal with Ashford. But there's a group east of here—used to be military. They've been working with him. They might know more."
"Military?"
"Remnants. Called themselves the Guard. They're the ones running the markets now. Take a cut of everything."
Stephanie filed the name away. "Anything else?"
The woman hesitated. "There's… there's something else. A rumor. People say Ashford's not just looking for her. He's hunting her. And there's a bounty. Big one."
"How big?"
"A thousand rounds. Fuel for a year. Your pick of his slaves."
A thousand rounds. Stephanie almost laughed. Ashford wanted her so bad he was willing to bleed his own supplies dry.
"Why?" she asked. "What does he want with her?"
The woman shrugged. "No one knows. But whatever it is, he wants her alive. That's the strange part. Not dead. Alive."
Alive. That was new. Stephanie had always assumed Ashford wanted her dead—a loose end from the squad he'd sold out. But alive meant something else. Something worse.
She stepped back, pulling a small canister from her bag. Fuel. She tossed it to the man with the shotgun. "Thanks for the talk."
"Wait." The woman stepped forward. "If you're going east, you should know. The Guard's got a checkpoint at the highway. They're stopping everyone. Looking for her."
Stephanie paused at the door. "What's the Guard's base?"
"Old police station. Four miles east. You can't miss it."
She nodded and slipped out, Reilo close behind.
---
In the stairwell, he grabbed her arm. His grip was cold, even through her jacket. "They're looking for you."
"I heard."
"Why?"
Stephanie pulled free. "I don't know. But I'm going to find out."
"How? By walking into a checkpoint?"
"No." She started down the stairs. "By walking into their base."
Reilo caught up, his footsteps echoing. "That's suicide."
"Maybe." She pushed through the ground floor door, into the gray afternoon light. "But Ashford wants me alive. That means I have leverage. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that people who want you alive are scared of what happens if you die."
Reilo stared at her. The black veins on his neck pulsed, just once.
"You're insane."
"Yeah." She swung onto the bike, kicked it to life. "But I'm still breathing."
He mounted his own bike, shaking his head. "We could go around. Avoid them."
"And learn nothing. No." She revved the engine. "I'm done running. Ashford wants me? Fine. I'll come to him. But I'm bringing the fight."
She shot him a look. "You in?"
Reilo's jaw tightened. For a moment, she thought he'd refuse. Then he nodded, slow and deliberate.
"I'm in."
They hit the road, heading east. Behind them, the hospital disappeared into the haze. Ahead, the Guard's checkpoint waited.
Stephanie's hand touched the rifle across her back. Seventeen names. Twelve crossed. She thought about the bounty, about Ashford's obsession, about the word "alive." Whatever he wanted, it wasn't just revenge.
She was going to find out what. And then she was going to make him wish he'd killed her when he had the chance.