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In Atlanta, Jill had met up with Claire and Carlos and dumped everyone off with them, saying she was sick of people. At first, Mikey had thought that he’d annoyed her too much—and admittedly, his attempts to hit on her were lame as hell, but she’d literally saved his life, and it was hard not to be grateful and smitten at the same time, especially with someone as amazing-looking as Jill—but Carlos had assured him that Jill had always been like that.

He’d quickly proven his use to the convoy with his programming skills. For the first time in his entire life, he was appreciated, wanted, needed, and even liked.

Pity it took the end of the world to happen.

His love life hadn’t gotten any worse, not that there was anywhere to go from zero. If only those women who’d all told him they wouldn’t date him if he were the last man on Earth were here now, he could call their bluff.

That, however, was the least of his concerns right now. It had been bad enough dealing with all the zomboids. At this point, Mikey had pretty much gotten used to them. But crows? And now these souped-up zomboids—it was just wrong.

Carlos had covered Mikey’s retreat into the news truck. The kids had all been put in the ambulance, leaving Mikey alone in the truck, which suited him fine. He didn’t say anything, but he’d never liked kids and hadn’t relished the idea of his truck—his refuge, his haven, his Fortress of Solitude—replacing the school bus for babysitting duty.

And now it was just as well, because one of the big, scary monsters was heading right for the truck.

Slamming it into reverse, Mikey backed the truck away, not bothering to look where he was going. Besides, the side-views were all covered in sand.

He winced as the truck collided with—something. It didn’t keep the truck from moving, so he didn’t care all that much.

Then it slammed into something that jolted him right out of his seat, bringing the truck to a sudden and painful halt.

Throwing it back into drive, he floored it.

The truck didn’t move.

“Come on, come on!” To quote nobody in the world except geeks like him, Mikey put the pedal to the metal, but nothing happened. He could hear the back wheels spinning, probably on sand.

Mikey was really learning to hate sand.

A rhythmic pounding indicated that the zomboids were now taking out their frustrations on the truck itself. Within seconds, and with an ear-splitting rending of metal and shattering of glass, they removed both doors, one window, and an entire side panel. Mikey tried not to think about how impossible it would be to replace the equipment they were shredding—which proved easy, as his primary thoughts were of how he was going to live another ten seconds.

Then he remembered—he had guns! Thanks to Carlos, he even knew how to use them! Bringing up the. 22s he’d been entrusted with—Carlos had said that anything more powerful would be “unwise”—he fired them at the two nearest zomboids.

Four more took their place.

Whirling around, Mikey saw that there were no undead at the rear door. Jumping out of his seat, he made a beeline for the back. He threw the back doors open and ran as fast as he’d ever run in his life. Faster even than he had when Butch Mowbry went after him in search of lunch money. (And who named their kid Butch, anyhow? That was his given name, on his birth certificate and everything. He’d grown up to be a janitor, which Mikey had always considered poetic justice. Mikey wondered if he survived the apocalypse. He hoped not.)

Something crashed into Mikey’s back, and he fell to the floor, hated, evil sand getting into his nose and mouth and eyes. The weight on him was tremendous, and for the first time in his life, Mikey understood the phrase dead weight.

A big woman zomboid rolled Mikey over and craned her mouth open, ready to feed on him.

Then her head exploded.

Looking past the decapitated zomboid, Mikey saw Claire holding a smoking gun.

“Mikey! Over here!” she screamed.

As if he had to be told twice. Mikey had been secretly in love with Claire Redfield from the moment he first met her but hadn’t said