CHAPTER TWO

"YOU know," Frankie's voice cut through the silence, "you'd think with this big of a pile up, there'd be some fuckin' gas." She motioned around them, the vehicle pile up that extended for miles creating quite an eerie scene.

The harsh white lighting of the post-apocalyptic sun had seemingly flushed all color from the world, leaving everything effected by a hauntingly gray tint. They'd been scouring the wreckages for even a sign of gasoline, but each and every tank had been left bone dry after three years of sitting.

Doc chuckled at her frustration, wandering over to a red sedan. His voice cut through the quiet, addressing the young sharpshooter. "So what's your name, kid?"

"Ten Thousand," the boy responded coolly, his eyes focused on trying to siphon out some gas from a nearby car.

The man laughed softly, sparing a humored glance to Frankie. "That is not a name; that's a number."

"It's my name. Made it up myself," the boy said with an calm tone that fit his neutral demeanor.

"Well, I suppose you'd have to," Doc admitted. "Does it mean anything?"

The raven-haired boy nodded. "How many zombies I'm going to kill."

Doc raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's a whole lot of zombies."

"Already on 1,055," 10k informed them, prompting a surprised whistle from the girl as she approached.

"Damn," she said with a smile, meeting his gaze as he turned to look at her. "Looks like I've got some competition."

"So what happens when you get to 10,000?" Doc asked, finishing his scavenging of the sedan.

"Change my name," 10k replied with a casual shrug as he stood.

"To what? Twenty thousand?" Doc chuckled.

"Jeff," he stated calmly, making his way toward another car. "I like the name Jeff." As if on cue, a growl emanated from the driver's seat, a rotting Z reaching through the window. He stared at the creature with cold eyes, saying a quick "Ah, shut up," before drawing his knife and piking the Z with a precise strike to the skull. With a sigh, he wiped his blade clean and returned to the task at hand.

"Hey," a female voice spoke from beside him, causing him to meet the eyes of Francesca Murphy. "I'm sorry you had to witness that shit show earlier. It probably wasn't the best first impression..."

He shrugged, his expression unreadable as the three of them made their way back to the others. "I've seen worse."

"That's both a relief and kind of sad," she said with a tilt of her head. "I'm Frankie." She offered him a small smile.

10k simply nodded.

"Looks like we're walking," Frankie muttered, frustration edging her voice. Just when she was about to ask what their next move would be, a man crawled from one of the wrecked cars. She jumped, brandishing her machete with inhuman speed as the rest of the group aimed their weapons at him.

"What happened to your friend?" Garnett asked, standing at a distance as Warren check the man for bites.

"Turns out he had other friends of low morals." His voice held an edge to it, one that sounded practiced to Frankie's analytic mind. She kept her machete raised as he continued, "Took my ride. Horse thieves should be shot."

The new girl, Cassandra, glared at him, changing her stance ever so slightly. "You should choose better friends."

"Good advice."

She may not have been given the chance to graduate high school, or go to college, but Francesca Murphy wasn't stupid. Her oceanic gaze flickered between the man and Cassandra, sensing the underlying tension hidden within that brief exchange.

These two knew each other — they had to. No stranger would cause such a bright flicker of hatred to ignite in someone's eyes, and even though she held her composure, Cassandra's eyes gave her away. Not to mention the way his gaze lingered on her frame, until Warren's voice grabbed his attention.

"What can we do for you?" As the question ripped through the air, the brunette found herself wondering how her friends hadn't caught on immediately. "One peaceful group of humans to a lone traveler?"

"Could use a lift," he shrugged. "Sure don't wanna spend the night out here, alone."

"Sorry," Frankie spoke, feigning kindness as she maintained her grip on her blade. "You're a little late. Taxis went extinct, about three years ago."

"Which way you headed?" Garnett asked, leaving the girl's comment unacknowledged. Murphy smirked at her from behind him, as he was just about to make a similar comment.

She sent him a glare, seemingly knowing the thoughts that were running through his mind, as the man spoke once more.

"Any direction but back. Word is, there's a horde on the move; south on the New York side. I see you're scrounging for gas. You know, like we used to say — ass, gas, or grass. Nobody rides for free. I know where you could fill up." He stated, his voice calm but with an edge that made Frankie's skin prickle with unease.

"Now would be the time to share that information." Garnett nodded.

"Place called Jersey Devil Refinery, maybe five miles off, just off the turnpike." He shrugged.

The brunette stepped forward, skepticism decorating her complexion as the tip of her machete gently poked the back of his neck. "And how do you know for sure that there's gas there?"

"Got overrun on day one." He shrugged, looking over his shoulder at the 5'7" girl. "All the tanks are still full, just rusting away."

The group shared glances, and Frankie didn't miss the pure, unadulterated despise that flashed across Cassandra's features. She wasn't a fan of the thought of following the man, either, but if he was being genuine then at least her nightmare of being stuck with her father would be over with sooner.

Besides, there's eight of them, and one of him.

"All right, take us to this refinery. And if there's gas there, like you say, you can ride with us to the next outpost."

"You won't be sorry." He smiled, crouching to pick up his discarded knife. Frankie saw 10k and Doc tense, preparing to shoot if he made a wrong move, before circling him and stepping on the blade. He looked up at her, frozen, as if he knew the guns were still trained on his back.

"Better not fuckin' be." She stated, flicking the knife up with the toe of her boot and catching it, before handing it to him as he stood.

"New guy's gonna ride with me and Warren," Garnett announced, "everybody else, load up in the truck."

The oceanic eyed girl narrowed her gaze as she watched him climb in the cab of the leaders' vehicle, noticing the way his eyes had constantly flicked to Cassandra. Each look was quick, barely a glance, but it was there — a brief look of recognition.

She had stood off to the side when he was speaking with Garnett, her expression carefully masked, but Frankie caught the slight shift in her stance, and the way her fingers curled ever so slightly.

Her mind raced as they made their way to the refinery, her instincts screaming that something wasn't right. She glanced at the ravenette again, who was doing her best to seem uninterested, but she could see the tension in her shoulders.

As they got closer, Frankie shifted away from her spot in the bed, sliding slightly closer to 10k. He glanced at her, blue eyes already scanning the area for any more Z's to increase his kill count.

"I don't trust him," she stated, keeping her face straight as she watched the truck ahead. She wanted to voice her suspicions to the others, but she felt like she had to keep them quiet. Everyone was already on edge, a simple bad feeling would only worsen the situation. "How good of a shot are you?"

10k smirked a little, spotting a stray Z in the distance. Without hesitation, he raised his rifle, aim steady even on the bumpy road, and squeezed the trigger. Frankie watched as the Z crumpled to the ground, dead.

"Impressive," she said with a nod. "Shit goes sideways, you got our backs?"

He nodded, just as the trucks entered the chain link fence of the refinery.

As the trucks stopped, Frankie's instincts were practically screaming at her to keep her guard up. She didn't trust the man, not one bit. She exchanged a quick glance with 10k, who simply nodded. His hand clutched his rifle, a silent affirmation that they were still on the same page. No one had survived this long by trusting the wrong people, and something about this guy set off all the alarm bells in her mind.

The abandoned refinery's vast, crumbling walls loomed against the sky like a fallen giant. The twisted smokestacks reached up like skeletal fingers, barely catching the harsh sunlight. The air was thick with the scent of old oil and decay, mingling with the earthy tang of overgrowth, and a loud thudding echoed through the atmosphere.

Several, maybe even dozens, of Z's were shambling toward the source; both trucks halted, and Frankie could hear her father's cursed voice through the window. "That's not a refinery. That's a zombie factory."

Frankie rolled her eyes, glancing at the sharpshooter next to her. They were both standing in the truck bed, leaning against the cab.

"Frackin' zombies," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Frankie laughed, catching his attention. "Out of all the substitutes I've heard for 'fuck,' that one just became my favorite."

10k flashed her a small smile before they hopped out of the truck to join the others.

...

Frankie stood in front of Doc's truck, arms crossed, impatiently tapping her foot on the crumbling asphalt. She couldn't believe it — how could Garnett and Warren think leaving her with Doc and Murphy was a good idea?

In what universe would that ever be a good idea?

Inside the truck, the two men were playing Go Fish while waiting for the group to return. Doc glanced at the girl, frowning slightly.

"Got any threes?" Murphy asked, his tone bored as it echoed through the truck.

"Go fish," He sighed, looking back to him. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"You're gonna ask no matter what I say."

"Fair enough." Doc nodded, then glanced once more at the troubled eighteen-year-old pacing outside. "Why'd you leave her?"

Murphy knew someone was going to ask — going coast to coast was going to provide a lot of time to wonder — but he was not expecting it so soon. His eyes finally tore from the cards in his hand, landing on the brunette with a conflicted gaze. "Just did."

"I'm not one to judge, but that's a shit reason." Doc sighed, "Fours?"

"Go fish."

As the gray haired man drew another card, he knew he couldn't leave it at that. "She's a good kid. You missed out, man."

Murphy stayed silent, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before sighing and turning his focus back to the game.

A part of him was relieved Frankie had survived the fall of the world, but another part was disappointed that she had to endure what it had become. He didn't regret leaving, but he wasn't eager to spend this journey with her either. He didn't want the chance to bond, to make up for lost time, especially when either of them could die at any moment — and he wasn't even sure if he'd make it through this vaccine mission alive.

The girl was antsy, and had begun pacing in front of the vehicle. Her distrust of the situation was only one layer of the tension simmering within her. Beneath the surface, there was a deeper, older wound — one that ached every time she felt Murphy's eyes on her.

He walked alongside them with a confidence that made Frankie's blood boil. How dare he act like nothing had happened? Each stolen glance he threw her way felt like a slap in the face, a reminder of the father who had chosen to leave her behind.

Her fists clenched at her sides as she paced, hovering over her machete. She knew she needed to stay focused, to push down the anger that threatened to consume her, but it was hard with him so close.

His presence was a constant irritant, a reminder of the past she could never truly escape.

Her anger from earlier began to bubble over once more, and she was beyond thankful when the familiar snarling of the undead reached her ears. She rounded the truck, smirking to herself when she caught sight of Murphy panicking through the window, before plunging her machete into the rotting skull before her.

More of the undead started to shuffle toward her, and Frankie could hear the muffled sound of Doc trying to calm her cowardice father down inside the vehicle.

"Just what I needed," she muttered, smiling to herself as she swung her machete once more.

One after one, the dead fell at her feet; every complex emotion she'd felt within the past twelve hours were being poured into each swing she took. Murphy and Doc watched from inside the truck, both stunned as the decaying bodies piled up around her.

When the Z's that approached were beginning to be covered in oil, Frankie knew it wasn't a good sign. She sprinted to the truck, yanking open the passenger door. Doc and Murphy jumped, though one was very clearly more scared than the other.

"I think the others need backup," she said, giving Murphy a pointed look. "You stay here with him."

Before either man could respond, she slammed the door shut and took off, hacking her way toward the others.

Something pierced through the air, startling her as it whizzed past her ear, until she heard a thud behind her. Turning her head, she caught sight of an oil-covered Z with a fresh hole in it's forehead; smiling, she looked around for the ravenette.

When she found him, he was lowering his slingshot with a smirk. "1,056."

They locked eyes, small smiles adorning both of their faces, as she yelled, "Thanks!"

He nodded, his smile fading as he aimed at another Z creeping up behind her. She ducked just in time, and when the body dropped, she chuckled. "Damn, he's good with that slingshot."

Her grin faltered as she saw even more Z's shambling toward her. "You've got to be kidding me."

Frankie wanted to let her anger out on a few strays, not get overrun.

Appreciation coursed through her when a couple more Z's fell victim to 10k's lethal aim, smiling brightly before wildly slicing through a few decaying necks. Growls filled the air, fueling her adrenaline and adding even more power to every strike.

...

10k and Frankie finally regrouped with the others, running over to find six unhappy faces and a breathless Alvin Murphy.

The brunette found herself frowning at the knowledge that her dear father wasn't in the explosion.

"So, did we get the gas?" The man asked, standing up fully and looking to the others. When Warren shook her head, he scoffed. "Great. Who screwed that up?"

Frankie glared at the side of his head, shoving him roughly; he stumbled over, connecting the dots rather slowly as he did so. When he realized, he frowned. "Oh, right. Sorry."

"Sorry?" The blue eyed girl snapped, stepping toward him once more. 10k stepped between them, his hand on her shoulder to stop her from murdering the arrogant convict before them. "I didn't even think you knew that word."

Garnett was currently on the phone with Citizen Z, whom Frankie had learned was their navigator through this crazy mission, when his voice rose in volume. "Are they even still alive?"

Frankie's heart sunk. She already knew what this meant.

Citizen Z had lost contact with the lab — the one place that was supposed to be working on a cure. The one glimmer of hope they had in this hellish world. And without that connection, there was no way to know if Murphy, the man who carried devastation everywhere like it was his shadow, could actually save the human race. It meant she was stuck with him, with his arrogance and that smug look she wanted to punch off his face, for who knew how long.

The thought of it made her blood boil. She was tired — so damn tired of fighting, of barely scraping by, and now she had to deal with him on top of everything else.

Her frustration bubbled over, and before she even realized what she was doing, she was slicing through a couple of straggling Z's, venting her anger on the nearest targets. The dead fell at her feet, and she took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage simmering inside her.

The group watched Frankie in silence, their expressions a mix of concern and understanding. They knew she was far from happy about the situation, and who could blame her? She had every right to be angry. It wasn't just the exhaustion or the endless waves of zombies that weighed on her — it was the bitter reality of being forced into a mission to protect the very man who had walked out on her years ago. And now, with Citizen Z's unsettling news, the possibility loomed that all their efforts might be for nothing.

Frankie could feel their eyes on her, but she didn't look up. She didn't need their pitiful looks or their attempts at comfort. They didn't understand the full depth of what she was mentally going through. How could they?

They hadn't lived through the years of wondering what she'd done wrong, why she wasn't enough for her father to stay. They didn't feel the anger that had become her constant companion, growing stronger with each passing year.

Now, that anger was being tested as she was forced to protect Murphy, to rely on him in a twisted turn of fate.

She knew the others had their own reasons for being there, their own burdens to bear. But for her, this was personal. Protecting him felt like a betrayal of everything she'd promised herself over the years — like she was being dragged back into a past she'd tried so hard to leave behind.

And to top it all off, there was no guarantee that any of it would even matter in the end.

When she finally climbed into the bed of the truck, she was still fuming, but at least the physical exertion had taken the edge off her fury. 10k sat across from her, looking as awkward as ever, clearly trying to find a way to lighten the mood. He pointed hesitantly to her hair, his expression a mix of concern and slight amusement.

"Uh, Frankie... you've got a finger in your hair," he said, his voice tentative.

For a moment, she just stared at him, the absurdity of the statement not quite registering. But then she reached up and felt it — a severed zombie finger tangled in her chestnut hair.

Despite herself, a chuckle escaped her, sudden and unexpected. The tension that had been building inside her all day finally broke, and she shook her head, tossing the finger out of the truck with a wry smile.

"Thanks, 10k," she said, still chuckling as she leaned back against the side of the truck. The anger hadn't disappeared, but at least for a moment, it was manageable.

10k chuckled lightly as well, a hint of admiration swirling through his blue irises. He'd only known Frankie for a day, but he could confidently say that she was going to be his favorite member of the random group he'd joined.