Solan said calmly, "Don't go out later. Stay in the car." "Solan, I… Ugh—" Orren tried to speak but gagged violently, inhaling sharply before his stomach emptied with a force like a broken faucet, spewing uncontrollably. No one waited any longer. Solan stepped out from the other side of the car and unleashed a fire-based ability straight at the zombies crowding nearby. The rest of the team followed, getting out one by one. Each of them unleashed their unique abilities, cutting down the horde surging toward them with ruthless efficiency. "Ms. Hall, what's the plan now?" Solan asked. "You all stay here," Theresa said. "Create some noise in a bit—draw a group of zombies toward us." "Got it!" Solan answered, full of confidence. "Theresa, what about us?" Louisa and a few others climbed out of another car. The four of them drove their own vehicle. Theresa sized them up. "You're coming with me. Wait inside the station and, on my signal, toss bombs to cover my escape." "No problem!" Louisa and the others' eyes gleamed with determination. Theresa handed out bombs, finalized the ambush points and timing, and everyone sprang into action. Solan focused on luring the zombies first. Once their setup was secure, Theresa climbed into Louisa's car and headed toward the tracks below. At that moment, Orren—still stained from vomiting—followed them up into the car. "I'm coming with you," he announced. "This is really dangerous. We'll be down there a long time, Orren—don't go," Flora warned. "Since when do you get a say?" Orren shot back. He jabbed her with a glare, snatched the passenger seat, and planted himself in it. "Orren, you're not allowed to go!" "Solan, stop trying to control me! If you keep hovering over me, I'll never grow up—and that'll be on you!" Solan fell silent. He studied Orren's stubborn look for a moment, then let it go. His gaze landed on Theresa. "Ms. Hall, he's my brother-in-law." "I'm not your babysitter," Theresa said flatly. "This is the apocalypse. If someone wants to die, that's on them—no one's going to coddle them." "I'm not trying to die—I'm getting experience," Orren insisted. Theresa didn't bother to give him a look. She sat in the back and addressed everyone the way she always did. "Take care of your own lives. If anyone threatens you, kill them—do it, and I'll take responsibility." She was blunt and to the point. Killing was something she'd done too often to be sentimental about it. Stupid people earned no mercy from her. In this world, she spoiled no one. Louisa and the others stared at Theresa with bright, admiring eyes. Solan felt the murderous edge in her voice. After years in the military, he recognized it—the kind of tension that made every muscle in him tighten. He looked at Theresa with renewed seriousness. She was unmistakably the leader of the whole alliance, not just a pretty face. He turned back to Orren. "You heard her. Nobody's going to watch you—get out of the car." "Solan! I don't need anyone watching me! I'm done living under your protection!" Solan, a man who spoiled his wife but was just as iron-willed as any soldier, listened to Orren's stubborn outburst and silently agreed. "Fine. Go ahead." He let Orren leave with Louisa and the others. "Keep an eye on what's down there. No retreat—support them whenever they need it." Letting go didn't mean abandoning him. Solan still had to make sure Orren stayed safe. They abandoned the plan to directly retreat after covering Theresa. Meanwhile, Theresa raced ahead, her car kicking up dust as she returned to the tracks. The zombies in front of her were multiplying—far more than the dozen or so that had climbed from the high ground. Hundreds of them were drawn by the roaring engine of her car, their guttural moans and shrieks merging into a cacophony that seemed ready to summon a tidal wave of undead to engulf everything in its path. Then, a thunderous explosion split the air nearby. The charging zombies shifted direction, their attention irresistibly pulled toward the booming blasts echoing down the tracks. The air filled with a chorus of guttural roars, a deep, feral sound that rattled the ground itself. But the noise soon faded as the horde thinned, leaving the road ahead almost clear. Theresa's car shot forward, racing straight toward the old station. At the entrance, a zombie with half its skull missing twisted its mangled neck in jerky, unnatural motions. Its jaw hung open, the torn remains of its throat flapping as it lurched toward her. The creature staggered closer, head tilting at an impossible angle, its one remaining eye fixed on her. Theresa pushed the car door open—and didn't even bother to move aside.