The air buzzed with laughter and leftover adrenaline, the kind that sticks to your skin like sweat after a close call with the undead.
Firelight flickered across our tired faces, casting long shadows on the barricade Jax and Cole had built from scavenged cars and broken furniture.
We sat in a loose circle, passing around energy drinks that looked like they’d been concocted in a mad scientist’s lab—neon green, electric orange, and a shade of blue that could only be described as "radioactive."
Max held up his neon green can, squinting at the label like it was written in hieroglyphics. "What even is this flavor? It’s like... if a lime and a pineapple had a baby, and that baby got hit by a truck. But, you know, in a good way."
Clara sniffed her bright orange drink, her nose wrinkling. "This one smells like someone tried to make orange soda in a bathtub. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right?" She took a tentative sip, then shrugged. "Actually, it’s not terrible. Kind of... citrusy with a hint of regret."
Jax, ever the drama king, kicked his boots up on an ammo crate and raised his can like he was toasting at a fancy gala. "Y’all are sippin’ on luxury! Back in my army days, we drank swamp water from our helmets and called it a delicacy. This?"
He took a dramatic swig, then gagged theatrically. "Okay, yeah, this is pretty bad. But hey, it’s got electrolytes or something, right? Gotta stay hydrated for the zombie apocalypse."
Lila lobbed her empty can at his head, missing by a mile. "Tastes like battery acid had a baby with despair. But you know what? I’ll take it."
Ben added "Yeah who knows how long these things are gonna last once the factories stop running, this might be the last time we ever get to taste something this gloriously artificial."
I held up my can, the fluorescent blue liquid sloshing inside. "Cheers to that. Here’s to the end of the world and the last drops of overpriced, over-caffeinated nonsense."
I took a sip, and honestly? It wasn’t half bad. Sweet, tangy, and with a kick that made my tired brain sit up and take notice. "You know, this might actually grow on me. If we survive long enough, I might even start craving it."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Mira, are you saying you like it?"
I hesitated, then wrinkled my nose and took another sip. "It’s good, but not the best," I admitted, setting the can down. "My favorite was—and still is—orange juice, not energy drinks."
Jax leapt onto a crate like it was a stage, his energy drink sloshing dangerously. "Okay okay—STORY TIME!" he announced.
His voice booming like a carnival barker. "So there we were—me and Cole—deployed in the middle of nowhere. Sand everywhere. I mean everywhere. Found it in my boots six months later. It was like the desert was trying to claim us, one grain at a time."
Cole nodded, leaning back against the barricade with the ease of someone who’d seen it all. "Place was a nightmare. Hotter than a frying pan, and the locals hated us. Like, really hated us. We were basically walking targets."
"Right?!" Jax waved his arms like he was directing traffic. "So one night, we’re on patrol, and these insurgents ambush us. Bullets flying everywhere, and Cole here—" He slapped Cole’s shoulder like he was trying to dislodge something.
"This guy doesn’t even flinch. Just whips out a smoke grenade, pulls the pin with his teeth, and YEETS it into their hideout like he’s throwing the first pitch at a baseball game."
Cole smirked, the firelight catching the scar on his cheek. "Standard procedure."
"Standard awesome, you mean!"
Jax jumped down from the crate, pacing like a hype man at a concert.
"So the smoke’s everywhere, right? These guys are coughing like they just inhaled a campfire, and we’re booking it through the chaos. Cole takes out three guys with his knife, silent as a ghost, while I’m covering him with my rifle. We make it out without a scratch!"
Max’s eyes were wide. "Whoa. That’s insane."
Clara raised an eyebrow, her skepticism practically dripping from her words. "You sure you didn’t just trip over a sand dune and call it a mission?"
Jax gasped, clutching his chest like she’d shot him. "I’m wounded! Cole, back me up here!"
Cole scratched the back of his neck, his smirk turning sheepish. "Well... I did trip over a sand dune once. But it was a tactical trip."
Lila snorted, nearly spitting out her drink. "Tactical, huh? Did you ’tactically’ drop your rifle too?"
"Hey!" Jax pointed at her, his expression mock-offended. "You weren’t there! You don’t know the horrors of sand in your socks!"
"Uh-huh," Clara said, smirking. "Sounds like you two just sat around eating those gross military rations and telling tall tales."
Jax opened his mouth to argue, but Cole cut him off. "Okay, fine. Maybe we... exaggerated a little."
"What?!" Jax looked betrayed. "Cole, my dude, my brother-in-arms, my—"
"Jax," Cole said flatly. "You once said you took out a tank with a spork."
"IT WAS A VERY STRONG SPORK!"
The group burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the barricade and into the night.
Even Clara cracked a smile, though she tried to hide it behind her can.
Before Jax could defend his honor, a metallic
CLANG echoed from the perimeter. The laughter didn’t stop, but it did quiet down as heads turned toward the sound.
Jax and Cole exchanged a glance, their expressions calm, like they’d been expecting this.
"Right on time," Cole said, leaning back against the barricade.
Jax grinned, raising his can in mock salute. "Took him long enough. I was starting to think he got lost."
The rest of us looked confused, but before anyone could ask, he walked in.
The guy looked like he’d been dragged through every warzone since the apocalypse started. Scarred face, a sniper rifle crusted with... something best left unidentified, and the vibe of a grumpy bear who hated Mondays.
He grabbed a drink from the crate, crushed the can in one hand, and drank it without blinking.
"Whoa," Max whispered. "Dude’s got a face like a dropped meatloaf."
Lila snorted. "Bet he’s fun at parties."
Roarke’s gaze swept over the group like a drill sergeant inspecting recruits. "Name’s Roarke. Former Lieutenant, 7th Infantry. And if you’re gonna survive," he said, voice sharp enough to cut steel, "you’ll learn discipline. Fast."
He jabbed a finger at one of Jax’s half-finished traps. "This? A stiff breeze could take it down and you newbies too listen, you guys are not surviving because you’re clever—you’re just lucky the dead are even dumber than you."
Lila bristled. "Excuse you—!"
"You’re excused," Roarke snapped, not even glancing her way. "From now on, you eat, sleep, and breathe by rules. No more clown shows."
He glared at Jax, who was mid-mime pretending to swordfight with a twig. "And you. Save the circus acts for the zombies. They’ll appreciate the comedy."
Cole cleared his throat, uncharacteristically formal. "He’s right. Roarke outranks us both. By... a lot."
Jax saluted with his energy drink, spilling neon blue liquid down his arm. "Sir, yes sir! Permission to not die horribly, sir!"
Roarke’s eye twitched. "Permission denied."
The stranger—Roarke—suddenly locked eyes with Max and Clara. Stared like they were math problems he couldn’t solve.
Clara glared back. "What? Never seen zombies before?"
"Friendly zombies," Cole added quickly. "They don’t bite. Usually."
Roarke’s gaze didn’t waver. The silence got so thick you could chew it.
Jax fake-whispered, "He’s gonna do a magic trick! Abracadabra, motherfu—"
"Long as they don’t try to eat me," Roarke finally grunted. "Don’t care."
The whole group exhaled, the tension breaking like a snapped rubber band.
Alex swallowed hard before tossing Roarke a granola bar. "Welcome to the team, Lieutenant."
As Roarke settled against the barricade like a moody statue, I hid a grin. Tonight just got way more interesting.
But my attention wasn’t on Roarke, or the banter, or even the energy drinks. My eyes kept drifting to Elliot, sitting a little apart from the group, his face half in shadow.
He was quiet, like he always was, but there was something in the way he looked at me that made my stomach do flips.
I took a deep breath, my heart pounding like it was trying to escape my chest.
Okay, Mira. You can do this. Just... walk over there. Sit down. Say something. Anything.
I stood up, my legs feeling like jelly, and walked over to Elliot.
He looked up as I approached, his expression unreadable. I sat down beside him, my hands trembling slightly.
"We need to talk," I blurted out, my voice barely above a whisper.
I could feel my face heating up, my internal monologue going into overdrive.
I’m doing it. Oh god, I’m actually doing it. But how? What am I even doing? Do I like him? He clearly said he likes me, but what if I mess this up? What if—
I took another deep breath, trying to calm the storm in my head.
Calm down, Mira. Pack down those hormones and think clearly. You’ve faced zombies, for crying out loud. You can handle this.
Elliot tilted his head, his eyes searching mine. "Mira? You okay?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat.
The firelight flickered across his face, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The barricade, the group, the apocalypse—none of it mattered.
"I..." I started, my voice trembling. "I just..."