After the room settled again, Jules leaned back in her chair and stretched like a cat, arms over her head, bones popping.

  “Well, I guess it’s my turn now, huh?”

  I raised a brow. “You’re not gonna dramatically stand and stare into the distance like I did?”

  “Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “My back hurts too much for drama.”

  Gail snorted.

  Jules tapped her fingers on her thigh a few times, then started.

  “I had a weird childhood,” she said, tone light but hollow. “Distant. Like… emotionally. Not physically. My parents were there. Technically. But also, like, not really.”

  Alex tilted her head. “Divorced?”

  “Yup. But get this—they still lived in the same house.”

  I blinked. “Wait, what?”

  “Oh yeah. Real sitcom nightmare fuel. Turns out, my dad was already married. Like, full-on different family in another city kind of married.”

  “Jesus,” I muttered.

  “Yeah. Mom found out, lost her mind, kicked him out, then took him back. Because rent’s expensive and trauma is cheap, I guess.”

  Gail leaned forward. “So they just… stayed under the same roof?”

  “Yup. Barely spoke to each other. And even less to me. I was just… there. Floating around the house, kind of invisible unless something broke.”

  Alex made a soft noise of sympathy.

  “I did great in school, too,” Jules added, voice dry. “Like, honor roll level good. But they never noticed. So after a while I just stopped trying. I made sure I hit the average scores. Enough to pass, not enough to stand out.”

  “That’s so…” I frowned. “Sad.”

  Jules smirked at me. “I wasn’t fishing for pity, captain apocalypse. Let me finish.”

  She leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling.

  “High school ended, and I was lost. Like, directionless. No dream, no grand vision. Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing—nursing, law, computers. And I was like… ‘What if I just vibe until I die?’”

  Alex chuckled. “Honestly, mood.”

  “So I didn’t pick a college course. Instead, I started hopping. From one job to another. One website gig to another. Part-time here, freelance there. Promised myself I was just finding myself. But really? I was just floating. Same way I always had.”

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  Gail gave a small nod. “Learning things along the way, though?”

  “Oh yeah. I picked up all sorts of skills. Learned Photoshop. Fixed car batteries. Waitressed. Painted murals. Almost got recruited by a pyramid scheme—don’t laugh, Elliot.”

  I snorted. “Too late.”

  “But,” she went on, smiling wryly, “I never stayed long enough at any job to get promoted. Or respected. Or even noticed. Just a blur in someone else’s background.”

  “That’s not how we see you now,” Alex said softly.

  Jules smiled at that, genuinely. “Yeah, well. It took the world ending for me to finally feel seen.”

  “Funny how that works,” I muttered. “Zombies, blood, betrayal… and now I’m surrounded by three of the most competent people I’ve ever met.”

  “You better include me in that compliment,” Jules said, pointing.

  “You’re the most competent. You fixed my rib cage with duct tape and rage.”

  “Damn right I did.”

  Gail lifted his drink again. “To the wanderers,” he said. “Lost or not, you made it here.”

  Jules clinked her can with his. “To the apocalypse, baby. Best midlife crisis I’ve ever had.”

  ---

  The fire glowed dim now. It wasn’t cold, but none of us made a move to leave. We sat in the warm silence, a little lighter after unloading our histories like emotional luggage.

  Then Gail shifted. Leaned forward with a quiet sigh.

  “I guess it’s my turn,” he said.

  I sat up a bit, instinctively paying more attention. Alex glanced at me, and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing—we knew the basics. But not the depth.

  “I grew up in Ohio,” he started. “Strict, military parents. Both of them. Real hardcore types. Mom served. Dad was an instructor. I didn’t have a childhood. I had a schedule.”

  He lifted his hand and started ticking fingers. “Wake up at four a.m. Two-hour workout. Shower, clean room, breakfast by 7:30. Homeschool till eleven. Lunch and monitored free time till one. Then more homeschooling until six. Another shower. Dinner. In bed by 7:30. Lights out. Repeat.”

  Jules blinked. “That’s not a schedule. That’s a hostage situation.”

  “Didn’t have friends. No toys. No gadgets. Internet was forbidden. My parents thought email was from the devil.”

  Alex snorted. “Okay, that’s extreme even for military types.”

  “They watched everything I did. Read everything before I could. If I wanted something—no. I wanted a dog. Always did. Guess what the answer was?”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “They gave you a broom instead.”

  “Close. They gave me a discipline chart.”

  Jules groaned. “Oh my god, that’s so bleak.”

  Gail didn’t laugh. He just nodded. “After fifteen years of that... I ran away. Took a bus. Found a guy who didn’t ask questions. Got into a military program by pretending I was eighteen. I was already six feet tall. Broad. Nobody questioned it.”

  Alex looked at him in disbelief. “You really faked your way into the military at fifteen?”

  “It was safer than my house,” Gail said simply. “Less rules. More freedom. And that’s saying something.”

  I shook my head. “That’s insane, man.”

  “But not surprising,” Jules added. “Makes so much sense now. You don’t flinch at anything.”

  “I trained. A lot. Then I got deployed. By eighteen, I was in it for real. Missions. Combat. Dirty work.” Gail stared into the fire. “I got good. Too good. They started sending me on ops nobody else wanted. Suicide runs. Things we weren’t supposed to come back from.”

  I noticed Alex sit up straighter. She’d heard about this part, but never in detail.

  “Made it back every time,” Gail continued. “Started carrying this tattoo.” He pulled up his sleeve to show the faded ink on his wrist—two of clubs and seven of diamonds. “Worst poker hand in the game. But somehow, I kept playing it. And winning.”

  I gave a half-smile. “You’re like a walking bluff.”

  “Or the apocalypse’s cheat code,” Jules added.

  “By 33, they let me go. Honorably discharged. I think they realized I wasn’t all there anymore. Didn’t blame them.”

  He paused. His jaw tightened. This was the part I knew.

  “I moved to Columbus. Got a roommate. Kinda a... situationship, I guess. No labels. Just comfort. Had a dog too. Big mutt. Loud, lazy, full of love.”

  Jules smiled softly. “What was the dog’s name?”

  “Chowder,” Gail said.

  “That’s a perfect name.”

  “I was happy, for once. Then... Unity Group happened.”

  Alex’s face fell. Even though she’d heard it in passing, hearing it now made it real.

  “They ambushed us outside Cleveland. Wanted us to ‘join up.’ Said they needed talent. We said no. They didn’t like that.”

  He stared at the fire again, darker this time.

  “They killed Chowder first. Then... they killed my friend. In front of me. I ran. Not bravely. I just ran.”

  “Gail—” Alex began, but he held up a hand.

  “I ran. That’s the truth. I got away. Barely. And I made a promise. That no matter how long it took, I’d tear Unity down. One piece at a time.”

  Silence settled like dust.

  “I’ve seen a lot of horror,” Gail muttered. “But nothing’s stuck in my brain like that day. That scream. That dog’s whimper. I keep thinking... maybe if I was just a little faster, a little better...”

  “You survived,” I said. My voice came out firmer than I expected. “And now you’re not just surviving—you’re fighting. You got three people who’ll bleed with you.”

  Jules raised her bottle. “Damn right.”

  Alex bumped her shoulder to his. “And hey... if you ever want another dog, I’ll help build it its own room.”

  That got a tiny smile out of him.

  “Chowder 2.0,” I said. “Revenge edition.”

  Gail finally exhaled and leaned back.

  “Thanks,” he said, voice low. “For listening. For being here. I don’t talk about this much.”

  “None of us do,” Alex said, nodding.

  “But we do now,” Jules added.

  And with that, the night grew quiet again—but the bond between us? Stronger than steel.