CHAPTER XXXVII
"The Weight of What We've Lost"
Blue's death cast a heavy shadow over the entire bus.
No one spoke.
No one cried.
We were all too stunned — too hollow — to process what had just happened.
Alex was behind the wheel, driving through the silence, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. But suddenly, without warning, his voice broke through — rough, cracked, filled with the weight of grief.
> "Do you all really believe we're going to make it?"
His question hit like a punch to the chest.
> "Do you really think we'll survive this?
Because… I don't know anymore."
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, like it was the only thing anchoring him to the present.
> "Look at what we've already lost… how many of us have lost people we loved?
Parents. Friends. Brothers. Sisters.
Children."
He shook his head, and for the first time since we'd known him, Alex sounded truly broken.
> "And yet… we keep walking.
Why?
Because we hope.
We hope that maybe, somehow, the sun will rise after this night.
But this night — this Zombie Night — it doesn't end.
It just keeps dragging on… darker, deadlier, crueler."
He exhaled sharply, the pain in his chest almost visible in the tremble of his voice.
> "You all don't know the full story.
When this virus first started spreading in Germany… I took Evelyn and fled. I brought her to America — I thought it was the safest place.
I thought we could find a cure here.
I was wrong."
His voice cracked, and the bus grew colder with every word.
> "I tried. God, I tried to warn them.
I used every contact I had. Every backchannel. Every favor I could cash in.
I sent message after message to the global system:
Don't send anyone to Germany. It's not safe.
But they didn't listen."
He slammed the dashboard once, not out of rage — but out of helplessness.
> "Within a few months, the virus spread here too.
And then — all the countries started sending their own officers to help.
But none of them… not a single one… offered a way back.
No rescue teams. No extractions.
Because now, no one wants anyone from America to enter their land."
He looked back at us, his eyes hollow.
> "Even if they're citizens of another country — if they're here, they're infected. That's what the world believes now.
And in their fear… they've locked us all out."
A long, painful silence filled the bus again.
Everyone sat with the weight of his words — the reality that we were truly alone.
> "We've become a group now," Alex said, softer. "A family, even.
Trying to survive in this apocalypse.
But we're losing members… one by one.
We never know who's next. Whose name death will whisper tomorrow."
He paused, looking straight ahead again.
> "But we can't stop moving.
Not because we're fearless.
But because we have no other choice."
His next words came like a vow, heavy with purpose.
> "We have people to save.
And somewhere out there…
There has to be a cure.
We just have to survive long enough to find it."
No one replied.
But for the first time since Blue's sacrifice…
We all felt the same thing in our bones —
The same fire she died with.
We would not let her death be in vain.
We would walk forward.
Together.
Until the end.
"When Pain Speaks Louder Than Hope"
Alex's words cast a deep, aching silence over the entire bus.
His voice, once steady and commanding, had broken — and with it, something inside all of us had shattered too.
You could hear the pain trembling in his throat, the weight of loss dragging behind every syllable he spoke. It wasn't just a man talking anymore — it was a soul unraveling.
Evelyn, sitting quietly just a few seats behind him, couldn't bear it any longer.
She rose and slowly walked to the front, her footsteps soft but determined. She placed a trembling hand on his shoulder and whispered,
> "Brother… please.
Please don't say any more. Not like this."
But her voice only cracked something deeper in him.
Alex's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his jaw clenched — and then, without warning, he slammed his palm against the dashboard, his voice rising in anguish.
> "How can I NOT say it, Evelyn?!
HOW?!"
"How do I stay silent when everything inside me is screaming?!"
He suddenly brought the bus to a screeching halt, the tires skidding against the gravel road. The sudden jolt pulled us all back into the present — but Alex… Alex was stuck in a memory he couldn't escape.
He stood up, turned toward his sister, and pointed toward his chest, his eyes red and swollen from the tears threatening to fall.
> "Do you even remember how old he was?
Our baby brother…
He was only twenty-three, Evelyn.
Twenty-three!"
His voice cracked into pieces as he yelled again, this time not out of anger — but grief. Raw. Real. Crippling.
> "What was his crime, huh?
That he wanted to see the world?
That he dreamed of a world tour, of stepping out into the unknown to LIVE?"
Alex's voice dropped to a whisper then…
A whisper so hollow it felt like it could collapse under the weight of its own pain.
> "And what did he get for that dream?
Death.
He got death."
Evelyn's eyes filled with tears.
She reached out, placing both her hands on Alex's face, trying to ground him.
Her voice trembled as she spoke, trying to carry strength in her softness.
> "He was my little brother too, Alex.
Don't think for a second I've forgotten.
I still hear his laugh in my dreams…
I still see him waiting for us at the train station, with his stupid travel bag and that goofy smile."
Her own tears fell now, trailing down her cheeks as she added,
> "But we can't stay frozen in that memory.
We can't let his death be in vain.
We have to think about the ones who are still here.
We have to make sure no other family loses someone the way we lost him."
Alex dropped to his knees.
And finally… he cried.
Not the silent kind of cry. Not the kind you hide behind walls and clenched jaws.
He sobbed.
Loud, unfiltered, shattering sobs — the kind that only come when you've been strong for too long.
And Evelyn was there, on the floor with him, holding him the way only a sister can — like she was trying to hold together every broken piece of his heart with her hands.
The rest of us sat silently, witnessing something sacred.
It was grief, yes.
But it was also love.
The kind of love that refuses to die… even when people do.
And in that stillness, in that heartbreak, one truth stood tall above the rest:
We weren't just fighting zombies.
We were fighting loss.
And guilt.
And regret.
We were fighting for the memories of the ones we had lost —
And for the hope that we might still save someone else.
Even if it was just one.
Even if it was the last one.
Because sometimes…
That's enough.
To be continue....