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Kirby climbed into the rear, staring at the fire door as I slipped into the front. “We need food before we head back, remember,” she said.

Luke slammed the boot and jumped behind the wheel. “We’ll look for somewhere along the way.”

I forced my breathing to settle as he started the car, wondering why people scared me more than the infected.

“Are you all right?” he asked me.

“I will be as soon as we get out of here.”

He left the loading area and cruised through the car park, swinging back around to the main road.

As we headed into the older section of Bellmere again, I locked onto something I’d missed on the first pass. “There.”

A small general store sat wedged between a nail salon and a Subway restaurant.

“Door’s broken,” Kirby said, her tone suggesting it would be a waste of time.

Luke pulled up out front and turned off the ignition. “Might as well check it out while we’re here.”

An A4 printout had been taped to the window—Lockdown Special, Butter Chicken and Rice—and when we entered, the spices still hung in the air, as if the owners had kept operating until everything fell apart.

The smashed door chimed, and our shoes crunched over shattered glass.

The serving area on the left housed a deep fryer and a bain-marie, with a hallway leading into the residential part of the building. On the right, the shelves in the small grocery area had gaps where the obvious items had been taken. Chips and chocolate. Eggs. A couple of jam jars lay broken on the floor, the sticky contents oozing across the tiles.

Kirby went straight for the snacks, snatching up a packet of pretzels and a bag of salted popcorn.

“We should load up whatever we can,” I said. “We don’t know when we’ll find something like this again.”

And we did. Crackers. Protein bars. I snagged six tins of soup with ring tabs.

Luke slipped behind the counter and returned with an empty cardboard box and a twelve-pack of bottled water, setting them down in the middle of the floor.

We filled it too quickly to consider who it belonged to or what we were taking—and whether it was right or wrong.

When a thud came from somewhere in the building, I almost fumbled a jar of Vegemite, catching it before it dropped.

Luke’s head lifted, his eyes darting to the back hallway.

Another sound followed, a scrape, then a thump, like someone was walking with a limp.

Kirby’s mouth parted, but she didn’t say a word.

No voice called out to ask who was in here, and the scuffing grew louder.

Luke hauled the box into his arms and jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”

I dropped the Vegemite into the box and left.

I hugged the box of food and bottled water on my lap as Luke drove back to the house without incident.

When we pulled up at the Watsons’ place, everything looked the same as before.

Once we’d tucked the car back inside the garage and lowered the roller door again, we carried what we needed into the house and left the supplies on the kitchen table.

The three of us moved through the house quickly, checking behind doors and inside wardrobes, making sure every window was locked. Luke cleared the laundry and bathroom while Kirby and I took the bedrooms, opening cupboards that still smelled like the owners’ washing detergent, looking under beds where not a single dust bunny could be found.

When we returned to the lounge room and gathered near one of two latte-brown couches, I felt as confident as I could be that we were safe enough to relax.