“Get a grip.” Aaron’s voice cut through the heat.
John stood at the edge of the street, staring at what had once been his family. The bodies lay where they fell. The sun had already begun its work. No one left to tell the story. Aaron stepped closer, laid a hand on his shoulder.
John reacted before he thought. He twisted, grabbed Aaron’s wrist, almost dropped him to the pavement. A breath.Recognition. Shame.
“Sorry. Blacked out.”
Aaron rose slowly. Anger flickered — then passed.
“You need control,” he said quietly. “Out here, that gets someone killed.”
John nodded once. They walked. Neither looked back again. The highway felt wrong. Too quiet. Not peaceful, quiet. Vacant quiet.Birds chirped like nothing had happened to the world. John drew his pistol near the treeline. Aaron mirrored him. Training took over. Angles. Breathing. Foot placement.
Voices ahead.
Low. Laughing.
John held up three fingers.
Two.
One.
They stepped around the brush.
Four strangers stood around the cruiser. Two men. Two women.Armed. The bigger man had a shotgun, but he held it loose — one-handed. Amateur. The thinner one gripped a revolver sideways, finger too tight on the trigger. John almost smiled.
“Easy,” he called. “That’s our ride.”
The skinny one barked something about it being his yard. It wasn’t. No one owned yards anymore. Guns rose. Distance closed. Adrenaline sharpened everything. John saw it clearly:
The big one’s arm was shaking. The revolver wasn’t aimed.They were scared. Aaron stepped forward.
“Fight for it,” he said.
Silence. The shotgun lowered first. Then the revolver. Weapons hit pavement.
Fools.
The fight was fast. Aaron broke the big man’s nose with the first punch. John stepped offline, trapped the smaller man’s arm, drove a fist into his chest. Air left him in one violent gasp.Ground. Five strikes. Enough. A scream cut through it. Metal clicked. John looked up.
A pistol aimed at his face. Time slowed.
“Aaron,” he said carefully. “Safety?”
The girl pulled the trigger. Nothing. Again. Nothing. John moved. The knife flashed instead. He twisted her wrist hard. The blade fell. Chaos broke loose. Another swing came from the side — brass spikes grazing air where his skull had been a second earlier. Aaron dropped her with a single punch.
Silence.
Heavy breathing.
One woman sobbed. The two men didn’t move.
John stared at them — then at the cruiser.
“We had a deal,” he said.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. They left. Aaron turned the cruiser over. The engine sounded too loud in the dead neighborhood. John stared ahead, jaw tight.
“You feel bad for them, don’t you?” Aaron asked without looking at him.
John didn’t answer.
“They tried to kill us.”
Silence.
“Chick almost shot you in the face.”
John exhaled through his nose. “If she knew how to take the safety off, I’d be dead.”
“Exactly.”
Another pause.
John flexed his swollen knuckles. “You keep your weapon on safe unless you’re ready to end something. Don’t forget that.”
Aaron glanced at him. “I know.”
A crackle cut through the cruiser.
Both froze.
Voices.
Foreign.
John’s eyes narrowed. “Russian?”
Aaron swallowed. “That would track.”
Another voice broke in.
“ENGLISH. PLEASE.”
Gunfire exploded through the speaker. Five shots. Fast. Aaron jerked the wheel and pulled into a driveway near Highway 16. They stared at the CB like it might reach out and grab them. For the first time since everything fell apart, neither of them knew what came next.
“Remember when you tried to fight me over a card game?” John said suddenly.
Aaron blinked at him. “America’s collapsing and that’s where your brain goes?”
“I’m diversifying the panic.”
“You always were a sore loser.”
“You cheated.”
“I was twelve.”
“You knew what you were doing.”
Aaron shook his head. “Brother … your timing is criminal.”
The radio screeched again.
“Alex. That you passing by?”
Both men went still. John picked up the mic.
“10-4. Just making rounds.”
He let go of the button and dropped it like it might explode.
Aaron stared at him. “You just faked being a traitor.”
“Seemed efficient.”
The voice returned.
“You ain’t getting cold feet, are ya? America’s done. We’llrebuild it. However many gotta die.”
John’s face went cold.
“Roger that,” he answered evenly.
A long pause. Then faint whispering through the speaker:
“When he comes in, we kill him. He’s crackin’.”
Static. Silence. Aaron’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“They’re killing their own.”
John nodded once.
“Turn left. We’re done with the main roads.”
They drove. Bodies lined the streets. Some burned. Some shot.Some looked like they’d just laid down and quit.
Aaron swallowed hard. “This is a massacre.”
John didn’t answer. His silence was louder than anger.
“Aaron.”
“Yeah.”
“If we’re about to die, I want a Coke.”
Aaron stared at him.
“You’re serious.”
“And a candy bar.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“If we go out, I want sugar in my bloodstream.”
Aaron shook his head slowly.
“Whole country collapses and you’re planning snacks.”
“Priorities.”
A beat.
Aaron finally cracked. “You are the goofiest man I’ve ever known.”
“Yet here I am. Keeping morale high.”
“That’s what we’re calling it?”