The house was silent save for the muffled shuffling and groaning just outside the walls. Since the initial chaos, the zombies had settled into a restless perimeter, encircling the two-story, almost completely barricaded house. Ponyboy had since gone upstairs and sat next to Johnny's sleeping form on the bed. He stayed put for maybe a little over an hour before finally getting up to stretch his cramping legs, wandering over to the window.

Pulling back the edge of the heavy drapes, he peered outside. The yard below was littered with scattered bodies. Their movements were slow, almost lazy as they shuffled around the house, brushing against one another in a mindless sea of decay.

Ponyboy watched the nearest one, its arm twisted at an unnatural angle, fingers curled like claws scraping against the siding. The windows, doors, every opening they could find downstairs had been boarded up tight. They'd reinforced everything, making the house into a fortress. Regardless of all that, Ponyboy couldn't shake the feeling that all that hammering and drilling had only drawn more of the undead. Ponyboy began to wonder when he thought about the dead eyes of the zombies, if perhaps they were blind and hunted on sound.

Maybe this had not been the right move after all.

With a small, bitter laugh, Pony wondered if they'd only built themselves a prison.

The zombies continued their silent, relentless march around the perimeter, bumping into each other, reaching out with hands that could no longer feel. Pony's stomach twisted. This could have been a mistake. Staying here, barricading themselves in, it was like they were just inviting them in, waiting for the moment one of those boards on the windows finally came loose.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear Darry come up behind him. He felt his brother's presence before he saw him, sensed his quiet strength like a wall of calm, even when everything around them was falling apart. Darry looked out the window with him, his face set in a grim, silent line.

"They're so slow," Pony began, trying to keep the worry from his voice. "We could just walk right past them. We wouldn't even have to run." He shifted his gaze up to Darry's, his voice urgent. "We have guns. If we're careful, we could get away."

Darry took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling in a heavy sigh as he looked down, not meeting Pony's eyes.

"I'm not panicking." Ponyboy insisted as he went on, his voice tightening. "This place is not safe, upstairs or down. Maybe we should leave before it's too late."

"I know you want to get out of here," Darry softly replied, mindful of the sleeping teen just a mere feet away. "And so do I. We all do, and we're going to." Darry finally turned, and Pony saw something in his eyes that made his own pulse quicken. Darry's expression softened, and he placed a reassuring hand on Pony's shoulder. "You're doing fine, alright? We're all doing just fine." He continued on, trying to steady Pony's fears even as his own lingered. "We'll make it if we're careful. Like you said, we have to be careful."

He hadn't seen fear in Darry's eyes, not when their parents had died, not even when the zombies had first appeared. Now there it was, staring back at him, barely contained beneath the surface. A chill settled over Pony as he realized that if Darry was afraid, things were much worse than any of them had admitted. Pony shifted his gaze back to the horde outside, feeling his resolve harden.

"I don't know if I can just sit here, Darry," he whispered. "I can't wait for Johnny to…turn into one of those things." His voice broke, but he held Darry's gaze. "I just can't."

Tilting his head back, Darry stared at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes.

"I don't know what to tell you."

Ponyboy swallowed the lump in his throat, hard. He did have an idea. Pony had thought this through, had weighed the risks and the benefits. He just hoped his brother would see the sense in it too. "We can take the truck, get some fuel at the station the three of us passed on the way here."

"You, Dally, and Johnny were lucky the first time you passed it." Darry insisted as he finally looked back at his youngest brother, skepticism etched across his face. He guided Pony of the room and into the hallway. "It'll likely be worse now. And anyways, can't even be sure that there's still gas in those pumps."

"I know," Pony said quickly, "but this time we can be ready for them. We can go, and if there's fuel, fill up the truck and drive it back here. Pick up Johnny and drive out to the nearest military checkpoint for aid. They'd have to help him there, right?" Pony's voice wavered with the tiniest hint of desperation.

Darry leaned back, closing his eyes again for a moment before sighing deeply.

"And how do we get all nine of us on that truck?" His tone was firm, but the exhaustion underneath it was impossible to miss. He was carrying the weight of everyone's survival, and it was starting to show.

Pony hesitated, but he pushed forward.

"Not all of us have to go," he reasoned. "A few could go and send back help while the rest stay here and keep the place secure. I know the truck doesn't have enough space, but Johnny can't wait much longer. If we don't move now, we might lose him."

Darry's face softened just slightly as he glanced back toward the room where Johnny lay, unconscious and barely clinging on.

The thought of leaving the house, splitting up their group, it was written all over his face. The unease, the worry, and a sense of responsibility so heavy it practically hung in the air between them. However, Ponyboy saw something else, too. Something deeper in his brother's eyes.

Understanding.

As much as Darry hated to admit it, deep down he knew Pony was right.

"Maybe…maybe a small group could make it," Darry muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He was processing it all, turning it over in his head the way he did with everything. "Take Johnny to the nearest checkpoint. The military's gotta have something set up by now, some plan. They'd know what to do with him. You're right, Pony, he doesn't have a lot of time left."

Pony let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. This was Darry's reluctant way of agreeing. He nodded quickly, his own resolve strengthening now that his brother was on board, even if only halfway.

Upon telling the rest of the gang, they needed to figure out a way to clear out the front yard so they could get to the truck as safely as possible. Dally glanced around the living room, where everyone sat in a near standstill, trying to come up with something, anything, that would get them out of this mess. His gaze fell toward the shed through the small, smudged window and narrowed as an idea slowly began to take form.

"You know," Dally said, a grin growing as he turned to the others, "I think I know a how to clear the yard. It's out in the shed."

"Yeah?" Two-Bit lifted his head, eyes darting in interest. "You hidin' a bazooka out there or something?"

Dally shook his head, slightly amused.

"Better. There's a bunch of glass Coke bottles. And we've still got plenty of that vodka you brought with you." Dally then pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flicked on a small flame out of it. Two-Bit let out a low whistle, catching on immediately.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" He asked.

"Molotov cocktails," Dally confirmed. "Light those babies up, toss 'em out the windows, and we clear ourselves some space."

There was a pause as the gang absorbed his plan, then Sodapop nodded, a gleam of approval in his eyes. Darry still looked a little wary, his big-brother instincts warring with the knowing that they had no other real options. Finally, he agreed.

"Alright. Let's do it. But no heroics. We light 'em, and toss 'em. Everybody stays close and watches each other's backs."

Dally and Two-Bit headed out the backdoor of the house, ducking low as they reached the shed to avoid drawing attention from the surrounding horde. Inside, Dally grabbed an old crate and began stacking empty Coke bottles, laying them neatly next to the tools they'd been too busy to use for repairs.

"Beats using 'em to trade for gas money," Two-Bit muttered as he packed the crate, his usual humor muted by the tension. Once loaded up, they hurried back to the house, barely avoiding the clawed, bloody hands that reached for them from the dark.

Inside, Dally quickly set up the assembly line. He poured the vodka carefully, leaving room for the rag wicks, which they'd torn from old clothes, whatever they could find lying around. A stack of matches lay in the center of the coffee table, a dangerous pile of hope that could backfire if things went wrong. They quickly headed up the stairs, where the windows were still unboarded and headed to different rooms so they could get all sides of the house.

Each of them picked up their cocktails, the small bundles feeling heavier than they expected. Darry struck a match, holding it over his bottle. One by one, the others followed suit, lighting their makeshift grenades.

All of them counted to three before throwing them out.

The cocktails shattered on impact, flames licking greedily at the ground and leaping to life against the broken glass. The alcohol-fueled fire quickly spread, taking out the closest zombies. Grotesque figures stumbled forward, their clothes and skin igniting like dry leaves. The moans of hunger turned to howls of pain, and the house filled with the sickening scent of burning flesh. It was working, the once-solid line around the house broke as the undead were forced to retreat from the searing heat.

"That's it! We've got an opening!" Darry shouted, his voice hoarse with effort and relief.

As the flames burned low and some of the zombies wandered away, Dally's mind turned back to Johnny, who lay silent and too pale in the back room, his shallow breaths the only sign he was still clinging to life. The rest of them were holding on fine for now, but Johnny was fading fast, and they needed to get him help before it was too late.

Dally stood up, as he made himself another Molotov for the road.

"Alright, listen." Dally stood up as he addressed them all. "Two-Bit and I are going back to the gas station. Last time I went out there with Johnny and Pony, it was still clear enough to get supplies. We'll get gas and see if there's anything else we can grab."

Sandy, who had been quiet but vigilant at the corner of the room suddenly stepped forward.

"I'm coming with you."

The room fell silent as everyone turned to her. Soda's face immediately darkened as his brows furrowed with confusion and worry. He started to shake his head before she could say anything more. "Sandy, no. It's too dangerous."

"Sodapop, listen to me." Sandy didn't back down, her eyes steady as she met Soda's concerned gaze. "You're going to need three people; one to drive, one to pump the gas, and one to keep watch. If it's just Two-Bit and Dally, it's not going to be enough."

Pony stepped up, glancing between Sandy and the others, clearly not wanting to stay behind.

"I can go," he offered quickly. "I'm fast, and I know the way."

"No way, kid." Dally shook his head. "You're not going out there. Besides, we need you here to keep an eye on things if we're not back."

Darry put a firm hand on his brother's shoulder, his voice gentle but unwavering.

"Ponyboy, stay here with Johnny. He needs you close by."

Pony tried to protest, but Darry's look was final. With a frustrated sigh, he relented, though he couldn't hide the disappointment in his eyes. Sandy folded her arms, waiting for the tension to settle. She owed this to them, to Sodapop for what she had done. The betrayal that he still didn't even know about. She had missed her chance to tell him the night everything went to hell. Maybe in some way, this could make things right.

"I can handle myself, alright? I know how to shoot, and I know how to stay calm. Let me help." She insisted.

Soda opened his mouth, ready to argue, but something in her expression made him stop. She'd always been strong-willed, but there was a newfound determination in her that left him speechless. Finally, he gave a tight nod, his reluctance clear, but his respect for her choice even clearer.

Dally nodded approvingly, reaching out to grip her shoulder.

"Alright, Sandy. But we all stay together, no matter what. No going off alone. Got it?"

"Got it," she agreed, and with that, the plan was set.

The three of them gathered supplies and weapons, packing a small bag of essentials. Dally checked the revolver he'd brought along, and Two-Bit slipped a kitchen knife into his waistband. They didn't know what to expect out there, but they weren't about to take any chances.

As they opened the door, the others crowded around, tense and silent. Darry gave them each a firm nod, his jaw set. "Be quick and be careful. We'll be ready for you when you get back."

Soda pulled Sandy into a quick, fierce hug, his voice barely a whisper. He then handed her a gun to take with her.

"Stay safe, alright?"

"I will," she promised, her hand lingering on his cheek for a moment before she pulled away. With a final glance back, the three of them slipped out into the dark, slipping past the still-smoldering remains of the earlier battle and into the quiet, moonlit night.