"No—no—no—" Jane thrashed against Miranda's grip.

  "Hey now, he peeked at you! Time to return the favor!" Miranda still wore her soot-blackened goggles, hauling Jane toward the tin shack.

  They lost their balance. Miranda's boot slipped on the sand, and she grabbed Jane's arm instinctively, yanking hard.

  Jane shrieked as she crashed into the flimsy wall.

  CRASH.

  Van stood naked, one hand holding the collapsing corrugated tin, staring down in blank confusion.

  Jane lay at his feet, blinking up at him.

  Miranda lifted her goggles. "Nice physique. Very, very nice."

  Water dripped onto Jane's face. She scrambled backward on all fours, fled to the scrap pile, and gripped her knees, her face burning.

  "What the hell are you doing!" Van shouted from behind the tilted tin wall.

  "Like we haven't seen it before! Hurry up and wash! Then come help!" Miranda snorted, snapping her goggles back down.

  She passed Jane and bumped her shoulder. "Well? How was it?"

  Jane took a deep breath. "Stay away from me."

  Miranda hummed smugly, crouching back to her welding, though she occasionally lifted her goggles to steal glances at Van.

  Van dried off quickly, tying his hair back with a band. He stepped out of the ruined stall.

  Jane, now in desert combat pants, her face still flushed, thrust a bundle at him. "Change into these..."

  Van grunted his thanks and dressed behind the tin. Miranda's voice drifted over: "Such a waste to cover that up."

  Once in combat boots and tactical gear, Van finally felt human again. He and Jane stood well apart, watching Miranda work on the truck.

  "What's with this rig? How'd you attach this mirrored stuff?" Miranda rapped on the Express's armored plates.

  Jane leaned close to Van, whispering in Mandarin, "Yào gàosù Mòfēi nǐ de chāonénglì kěyǐ ràng zàijū biànhuà ma(Should we tell Miranda your superpower can change the vehicle)?"

  Van blinked. "Zàijū?"

  Then he realized—she meant vehicle (zài jù), mangled by her accent.

  "Bié shuō ba (Not yet)," Van replied quietly. "Zhè shì zhǐ yǒu wǒliǎng zhīdào jiù xíng (Just between us)."

  Jane's lips curved up, clearly pleased to share a secret. Her accent thick, she pressed, "Dàn tā zǒng huì zīdào ba(But she'll find out eventually, right)?"

  Van eyed the welding sparks. "Dàoshíhou zhǎo gè lǐyóu tángsè guòqu ba. Jiù shuō wǒ huì mófǎ?(We'll make up an excuse. Say I know magic?)"

  Jane giggled. "Nǐ nà shì chāonénglì, bù sù móhuà(That's a superpower, not magic)."

  Van almost smiled at her butchered tones. Then he remembered the System notification: Life Restoration utilized. Remaining charges: 2/3.

  He flexed his hand. The lacerations from their first night had vanished without scars. He hadn't thought those cuts were fatal, but...

  Unless the wound had been infected.

  He stared at his palm. No difference from before.

  Had the virus entered his bloodstream that night? He stared at Miranda's welding torch, lost in thought.

  "Van! Van! What are you doing? Don't stare like that!" Jane's shout snapped him back.

  He realized he'd been gazing directly at the welding arc. He blinked. No afterimages. No spots.

  Storm clouds had swallowed most of the sky. At three in the afternoon, it looked like dusk.

  Van frowned. He'd been staring at the intense light in dim conditions without realizing it. He should have been half-blind, seeing nothing but a massive bright spot.

  Yet his eyes felt fine.

  "What's wrong?" Jane asked, concerned. "Are your eyes okay?"

  Van glanced around the gloomy yard. "Nothing's wrong."

  Miranda clapped her hands and jumped down from the truck. She ran toward them, gesturing wildly. "Come see my masterpiece!"

  Because of the armor plating, the Express's original windows now sat recessed behind the exterior shell. Miranda had cut one-centimeter steel bars into louvered blinds, welding them over every window.

  She hammered them with a wrench, grinning. "Solid! Those doggies can't get through now!"

  "Wait, I've got more!" She dashed into the warehouse. Rummaging sounds echoed.

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  "Help!"

  They found her dragging thick sheets of glass onto a dolly. "Bulletproof one-way glass!"

  "Where did you get this?" Jane gaped at the two-inch-thick panels.

  "Borrowed it from a shop in Lordsburg. Knew it'd come in handy!" Miranda loaded the glass.

  "But it won't fit," Van said. The Chevy Express used standard automotive glass.

  "Underestimate me?" Miranda dug through her racks. "I'm cutting new frames. We'll weld the ballistic glass directly into the hull. Side windows will still open—shooting ports!"

  Jane inspected the two-centimeter gap. "Limited firing angle."

  Miranda flipped a latch. The louvered grate swung outward. "Hinged. I think ahead."

  She kicked the windshield, cracking it, then whooped as she tore out the old glass. "Yes!"

  By sunset, the bulletproof glass was welded in place. Miranda had installed a jump seat behind the driver, complete with a fold-down rail. "My throne!"

  She stretched, cracking her back, then winked at Jane. "I'm showering. Watch him—make sure he doesn't peek."

  Van turned to look at the storm clouds gathering overhead.

  Jane nodded vigorously.

  In the small desert warehouse, Miranda emerged from her shower with her curls tied back in a knot. She'd changed into a T-shirt and overalls, walking out with Jane.

  Van rapped his knuckles against the ballistic glass of the driver's window. Miranda yanked the side door open and was immediately buried by sliding cargo boxes.

  She surfaced, scrambling to shove them back inside. "This mess is gonna crush me."

  "Help me sort this!" Miranda called to Van and Jane. "You two handle the boxes. I'll find netting."

  Once the cargo was secured under a web of bungee cords, Miranda nodded with satisfaction. "Much better."

  She turned to Van, hands on her hips. "Captain. Where to?"

  Van studied the cloud-choked sky. "We rest here tonight. Tomorrow, we head northeast, bypass the wire, and hit Bayard."

  "We'll resupply there, then cut west back to California."

  Miranda dug through the supplies and produced three cups of instant noodles. They built a fire beside the truck, the flames casting long shadows across the sand.

  Van stirred the noodles in Miranda's metal mess tin while Jane kept watch from the roof with the rifle. Miranda crouched beside Van, watching the noodles boil with curious eyes.

  "Good stuff. Needs more heat, though." Miranda puffed out her cheeks, blowing on the noodles.

  Van smirked and added a spoonful of Lao Gan Ma chili crisp to her bowl.

  "That taste..." Miranda's eyes lit up. "Just like the restaurant back home!"

  Then she fell silent, tears welling in her eyes.

  She drained the broth, wiping her face with her sleeve as she picked at the vegetables with a plastic spork:

  "Hurley was small, but the people were solid." She paused. "Except that thug shopkeeper."

  She handed the tin to Van and stood, dusting off her overalls. "They're all in heaven or hell now. I'm the unlucky one stuck here suffering."

  "But they can't eat this anymore." Miranda patted Jane's hip. "My turn on watch. Go eat."

  Jane climbed down with the rifle. Miranda scrambled up and turned back. "Weapon?"

  Jane handed up the shotgun. "You know how to use it?"

  "Here, eight-year-olds know how to shoot. We're neighbors with Texas and Mexico." Miranda checked the chamber, grinning.

  She settled onto the roof with the shotgun cradled in her arms.

  As the temperature dropped, fog crept across the desert again.

  Van stamped out the fire. The three of them squeezed into the armored shell for the night.

  Noticing that Jane had contributed another survival point, Van entered the Passenger Module to check the status. He found Miranda's comfort rating now sat at 1.

  She was perched on her welded throne, a pile of rags cushioning her seat. Van almost smiled. The girl knew how to endure.

  For once: no Rotters. No dogs. No Shadow.

  Van woke to Miranda's snoring. He removed his neck pillow and stretched, cracking his vertebrae.

  The fog was lifting. After confirming the perimeter was clear, he relieved himself and brushed his teeth.

  Jane woke next, untangling herself from Miranda's embrace and the shared blanket. Van tossed her a sealed toothbrush. "I keep spares in the glove box. Go wash up."

  Biting into a bread roll, Jane pinched Miranda's nose. "Wake up. We're rolling out."

  The Express kicked up a plume of dust as it tore across the desert. Miranda stuffed her face with bread, squeezed into the passenger seat beside Jane.

  They passed burned-out vehicle frames and dense clusters of tire tracks.

  Jane switched on the radio. "...unknown pathogen detected in New Mexico... CDC has dispatched expert teams..."

  The broadcast confirmed it: the infection had spread beyond Hurley.

  Van's jaw tightened. "Bayard's probably compromised too. We bypass it and head northwest to Silver City instead?"

  "Stick to the highways," Miranda advised, lowering the volume. "This beast is heavy loaded. Snap an axle in the sand and we're dead."

  Van nodded. The upgraded truck carried tons of armor and cargo. A breakdown in the dunes would be fatal.

  "We'll take the asphalt northwest, bypass Bayard if we can." Van handed Jane his phone. "Plug this in for me."

  Jane connected it to the charger cable linked to the cigarette lighter. "Signal!"

  Van unlocked the screen. "Let's see the situation."

  Miranda leaned over. "Barely one bar..."

  "Better than nothing in the desert." Van activated the voice assistant in Mandarin: "Xiǎo ài tóngxué(Hi, Siri)."

  "Listening."

  "Open maps."

  "Head east," Jane said, reading the GPS.

  "This Chinese phone of yours?" Miranda asked, patting Van's seatback. "Where'd you get it?"

  "A countryman brought it from the mainland." Van gripped the wheel.

  Miranda had lost her phone days ago. She used Van's device to navigate, combining the GPS with her knowledge of the terrain.

  Jane powered on her own phone and checked social networks. "Nothing about the infected."

  "They're censoring it," Miranda muttered, not looking up.

  Then she tensed. "You think those towns that got hit... they'll get erased like Hurley was?"

  "One town can be a gas leak. Multiple outbreaks..." Van spotted the paved road ahead. "Can't hide that forever."

  They bounced onto the asphalt. The ride smoothed out, giving their battered bodies relief.

  The radio crackled: "...CDC advises New Mexico residents to minimize outdoor activity... fever symptoms require immediate isolation..."

  "It's really spreading. What about that Shadow thing?" Jane scrolled through her phone.

  "Found a video!" She searched using AI with keywords in Mandarin: corpse, bite, monster.

  Miranda leaned over her shoulder. The footage showed chaotic handheld video—screaming in the background, intermittent gunshots, the camera shaking violently.

  "I'm in Walsenburg. Nine PM. Someone just tackled a pedestrian and started biting."

  Miranda checked the timestamp. "Posted yesterday... Why wasn't it deleted?"

  Jane stared at the platform watermark. Her eyes widened: "He uploaded it to a Chinese social media app!"

  She opened an app she hadn't used in months.

  The feed exploded with videos.

  Infected swarming streets. Military checkpoints firing on civilians. Cities burning in the night.

  The truth, unfiltered and raw, filled the screen.