For a moment, my brain refused to focus on what was in front of me.
Everything blurred together.
The truck.
The road.
The gun in my hand.
The woman climbing out of the wrecked vehicle.
None of it felt real.
Instead, memories came crashing into me all at once.
Texas.
The compound.
The walls.
The arguments.
The screaming.
The blood.
Callahan barking orders like he always did.
Callahan standing guard.
Callahan laughing around a fire while everyone else tried to pretend the world hadn't ended.
Callahan.
Dead.
Or at least, I thought he was.
The memories hit so hard they almost knocked the breath out of me.
But eventually—
eventually I had to look at what was standing in front of me.
Callahan was different.
Not just because he was infected.
