Tommy squinted against the harsh midday sun, one hand on the wheel as he guided the van along the desert highway. Beside him, Laila was dozing, her head resting against the window.

In the back, Micky fidgeted restlessly, while Jimbo stared out at the scrubby vegetation passing by. The silence hung heavy in the van, the grim events of recent days weighing on them all.

“How much longer ‘til we reach Reno?” Micky asked.

“Should be there in an hour or so,” Tommy said, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Jimbo leaned forward, clapping a hand on Micky’s shoulder. “We’ll be resting our weary bones soon enough.” He glanced at Tommy. “Maybe even try our luck at the tables, eh?”

Tommy grunted. “I’d settle for a hot meal and a warm bed right about now.”

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure? We’re musicians, Tommy boy. Living life on the edge and all that.”

“Alright, one round of blackjack. But if I go bust, drinks are on you.”

“You’re on!” Jimbo settled back and turned to Micky. “So, how’d a scrawny bloke like you get into punk anyway?”

Micky brushed his shaggy hair from his eyes. “When I was about eleven, my big brother took me to see Green Day. I was totally blown away—the energy, the attitude, Billie Joe throwing himself all over the stage. I’d never seen anything like it. Soon as I got home, I decided I wanted to be the next Tré Cool. Asked my folks for a drum kit for Christmas and the rest is history.”

Jimbo snorted. “Green Day? They’re barely punk, dude. More like pop rock for sulky teens, if you ask me.”

“They were a gateway drug. Got me hooked on the sound, the ethos. After that, I dove deep into the real deal—Black Flag, Minor Threat, Bad Brains. Never looked back after finding those bands.”

Laila stirred, turning to look at them blearily. “We giving Micky a hard time about his questionable taste again?”

“Just gentle ribbing. No harm done.” Jimbo held up his hands in mock surrender.

Micky shook his head. “Laugh all you want, but if it wasn’t for Green Day, I’d probably still be playing in some Top 40 cover band back home.”

“And we’d all be the worse for it.” Laila reached over and squeezed his hand. “How you found punk doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re here now, with us.”

“She’s right, dude.” Jimbo nudged him again. “It’s the spirit that counts. And you’ve got that in spades.”

“Yeah…cheers. Just hope we can keep that spirit alive, you know? Despite everything, we’ve gotta believe there’s something better waiting out there.”

Tommy nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon. “We’ll make it to Reno first. Get some rest, see if we can find you something to help with the withdrawal. And then back to Philly.”

Jimbo tapped Tommy’s shoulder. “How about you, Tommy boy?”

Tommy shook his head with a small smile. “Goes back to elementary school.”

“Oh cool, you were one of those kiddy-punks?”

“Ha! Not quite. My third grade teacher, Mrs. Thrift, she used to play Blitzkrieg Bop every day when we were tidying up the classroom.”

“No way!” Micky said. “She played punk for a bunch of eight-year-olds?”

“She sure did. Said it was to get our energy out productively.” Tommy chuckled. “She’d challenge us to get the room straight before the song ended. It was always the highlight of my day—kids racing around, hopping over desks to put things away.”

Laila grinned. “That’s brilliant. What a cool teacher.”

“Right? I loved it. The manic energy of the music just spoke to me, even then. Got my blood pumping. Few years later, when I got to high school, I heard some of the older kids playing the same song. Asked what it was and ended up falling down the punk rabbit hole on YouTube.”

Jimbo leaned forward. “Yeah? What’d you find?”

“Started with the classics - The Clash, Generation X, Sex Pistols. But then I branched out, found bands like Minor Threat, Rancid, NOFX, Discharge, Operation Ivy, Jawbreaker, Fugazi. I must’ve spent hours every night discovering new songs, reading up on punk history and culture.” He shook his head. “It was like realising there was this whole underground subculture existing right under my nose. Blew my mind wide open.”

“I’ll bet,” Laila said. “Finding something you’re that passionate about so early…it sticks with you.”

“It really does.” Tommy nodded. “Those were formative years for me. Learned to play guitar trying to mimic those songs. Put together my first crappy band. Punk gave me an identity, you know?”

Micky laughed. “We all get you, man. It’s like finding your long-lost family.”

“Exactly! The music, the ethos, the energy…it just resonated with me on some deep level.” Tommy glanced at each of them and found himself grinning. “And now here we are, all these years later. Band of punk misfits roaming the wasteland.”

Jimbo lifted his fist. “United in our love of sticking it to the man, be he living or undead.”

“Yeah, man!” Micky bumped his fist.

Jimbo turned to Laila. “What about you? What got you into punk?”

Laila’s eyes lit up. “That would be AFI. They were my everything back when I was a moody teenager.”

She reached around and pulled down the back of her shirt, revealing a tattoo of AFI’s signature black rabbit logo on her upper back.

“AFI, huh? What is it about them that drew you in?”

“So many reasons,” Laila said. “I love how they blend different styles—punk, goth, hardcore. The lyrics are so poetic but also deep and emotional.” She ticked off her fingers as she talked. “Their live shows are insane. Davey Havok has this intense, manic energy on stage. And they’ve managed to evolve their sound so much over the years without losing that distinct AFI essence, you know?”

Tommy nodded along. “They’ve got a real strong visual aesthetic too. Very punk meets goth.”

“Exactly!” Laila said. “The visuals pair perfectly with the music. And the community is so passionate. We all feel this deep connection to the band and each other. But more than anything, I respect how they’ve stayed true to their artistic vision after all these years. The integrity and authenticity really comes through in the music.”

“Huh,” Jimbo said. “I always thought they sucked.”

Micky burst out laughing while Laila swatted Jimbo’s arm in mock outrage.

“You take that back!” She wagged a finger at Jimbo. “Admit it, they’ve got some damn good tunes.”

Jimbo held up his hands, chuckling. “Alright, alright, maybe they’re not so bad. But they’re still no Black Flag in my book.”

Tommy glanced over at Jimbo. “What about you then?”

Jimbo smirked. “Funny enough, I’ve got my mom to thank for that one.”

Laila raised her eyebrows. “Your mom? She’s a punk?”

“Ha! Hardly. She’s about as un-punk as you can get—total Karen, on the school board and everything.” Jimbo shook his head, grinning. “No, this was back when I was just a kid.” He leaned back and smiled. “She went and bought Siren Song of the Counter Culture. Said she wanted it for that one acoustic song.”If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Swing Life Away,” Tommy said.

“That’s the one.” Jimbo snapped his fingers. “Anyway, mom pops the CD into the car stereo, all ready for her light rock tunes.”

Micky frowned. “We’re talking Rise Against here, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not what I’d call light rock.”

“Right? Not what she was expecting at all. She gets through the first few seconds of the first few tracks, hitting skip every time. State of the Union, skip. First Drop, skip.” He mimed his mom frantically stabbing the skip button as they all laughed. “She barely lasts 15 seconds into Dancing for Rain before moving on. Finally breathes a sigh of relief when Swing Life Away starts playing.”

“Oh man, she must have been so confused,” Micky said, shaking with laughter.

Jimbo nodded “Mom pops the CD out after that one song and never listened to it again. But I happily took it off her hands and just played it on repeat. I still get goosebumps thinking about that album. It really opened the door to punk for me.” He sat back with a sigh. “So yeah, never thought my mainstream mummy would be the one to set me on this path, but hey—life’s funny like that sometimes.”

Tommy glimpsed the ‘Welcome to Reno’ sign up ahead. He raised his arm and signalled to the other vans to slow down. The streets, which should have been teeming with life, were silent, each casino they passed a darkened shell.

It was as if Lady Luck herself had abandoned ship, leaving behind nothing but shadows and silence.

“Reno, the graveyard of dreams,” Tommy muttered.

“Must’ve been one hell of a party,” Jimbo said from the backseat.

“More like a funeral,” Laila shot back, her fingers drumming on the dashboard..

Tommy glanced back at Micky, curled up and shivering on the backseat, his clothes soaked through with sweat.

“Keep your eyes open, everyone.” Tommy scanned the streets ahead, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “We can’t afford any surprises.”

“Surprises are overrated anyway,” Laila said. “Let’s just grab what we need and get the hell out of here.”

“Preach, sister.”

With Micky’s worsening condition and the unsettling quiet of the city, there was no time to waste. They needed something to ease Micky’s withdrawal, and soon.

As they navigated the lifeless streets, Tommy couldn’t help but feel a lingering sense of unease. The looming casinos seemed to mock them, as if daring them to enter and face the horrors within. But he had no choice. He needed to get back to Niamh and Sean. And if that meant taking risks and swallowing his doubts, then so be it.

Tommy sped up, driving deeper into the city. They passed more casinos, their once-bright lights now extinguished. Boarded-up shops lined the streets, their windows dark and lifeless.

“Dude, this place is deader than disco,” Jimbo said.

“We’ll be in and out before you can say ‘Anarchy in the U.S.’“

“Ha, good one, Tommy.” Micky coughed out a laugh.

“Alright,” Tommy said. “Keep an eye out for a pharmacy or a hospital—anywhere with medical supplies.”

“Do you think we’ll make it out of this alive?” Laila asked.

“Of course we will.” He forced a grin. “We’re punks, remember? We’ve been defying the odds our whole lives.”

“Damn straight,” Jimbo said. “Let’s just make sure we don’t end up like Kim.”

Tommy shuddered at the thought, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

Micky thrashed on the back seat for a few seconds then stopped.

Laila leaned over to check on him, her brow furrowed with concern. “He’s looking worse.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

Tommy pulled the van into an empty parking lot outside one of the larger casinos. He put the vehicle in park and turned to Micky, who was still passed out on the back seat.

“Mick. Hey, Micky.” Tommy gently shook his friend’s shoulder.

Micky’s eyes fluttered open and he let out a pained groan. “Wha…where are we?”

“We’re in Reno, just stopped to check things out and scavenge supplies. How you holding up, man?”

Micky sat up straighter, wincing. “I’ve felt better. But don’t worry about me, I’ll manage.”

Tommy frowned. They needed to find something for the withdrawal and fast. “Alright, just hang in there a bit longer. We’ll find what we need.” He gave Micky’s shoulder a reassuring pat before stepping out of the van.

The other two vans pulled up on either side. As Roxy and Zero stepped out, the hot desert wind whipped around Tommy, carrying with it the faint stench of decay. He tensed, scanning the area. The streets appeared empty but anything could be lurking just out of sight. He gripped his bat tight, the worn leather handle familiar in his palm.

The area was devoid of both the living and the undead, the only movement a fast-food wrapper skittering across the asphalt.

Tommy strained his ears for any sound—a groan, a shuffle, a cry—but was met with silence. It set his teeth on edge.

“Doesn’t seem to be any zombies around…for now at least,” Roxy said, machete held loosely in her hands. Her bored tone didn’t match her darting eyes.

Zero nodded, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. “Let’s move quickly and quietly. Grab medical supplies, food, water, gas. The basics. No unnecessary risks.”

Tommy’s skin prickled. The stillness felt unnatural, like the desert was holding its breath, waiting. He glanced back at the van where Micky lay. They were running out of time.

Roxy shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Well what are we waiting for? This place gives me the creeps.”

“Keep it together, Rox,” Tommy said under his breath. But he felt it too. The longer they stood exposed out here, the more his gut twisted.

With a final scan of the streets, Tommy gestured to the others. “Zero, Rox, you guys ready to move?”

“Right behind you, Tommy,” Zero said, his tone cool and collected.

“Stay close,” Tommy said, his voice tense. “I’ve got a feeling we’re not alone here.”

“Since when did we let feelings dictate our plans?” Zero said.

Roxy laughed. “It’s just his version of punk intuition.”

“Hey, don’t knock the punk intuition,” Tommy said, managing a smirk. “It’s gotten us this far, hasn’t it?”

Zero sniffed. “Debatable. Just stay focused, alright?”

“Always do.”

Laila, Jimbo, and Micky climbed from the van. Spike, Dee, and Nix joined them.

On Zero’s signal, they crossed quickly to the casino’s side entrance, eyes, and ears alert for any signs of movement.

Gripping his bat tighter, Tommy steeled himself for whatever they might face inside.

The darkness seemed to press down on them, masking potential threats. He focused on the tap of his boots on the floor, the familiar weight of the bat, pushing back the tension.

Zero’s flashlight cut through the gloom.

Tommy squinted to adjust to the dimness after being out in the glaring sun.

The cavernous space stood silent, the once bright and noisy slot machines now cold and dead.

Tommy gestured ahead. “Let’s find a pharmacy, or medical room, or something.”

Roxy shuffled close, her eyes scanning the shadows. “Maybe back that way, where the offices are?”

They moved cautiously through the casino, flashlights dancing across the walls and booths. Tommy’s heart pounded as his light revealed dark smears that may have been blood. Someone had fought here, lost here. He quickened his pace.

A raspy groan echoed suddenly to their left. Zero swung his light towards the sound as Roxy raised her machete. But the beam only illuminated a flickering slot machine..

Tommy released a shaky breath. “Come on, stay focused.”

They reached a hallway labelled ‘Staff Only’ that led to the administrative offices.

Roxy put her shoulder into a stubborn door, cursing under her breath as it reluctantly opened.

Beyond was a medical office, cabinets raided and supplies strewn about.

Tommy’s heart sank, but he rummaged through the remnants, desperate to find anything useful. In a toppled drawer he spotted some packets of antibiotics and basic medical supplies. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

“Let’s grab what we can find and get out of here,” Tommy said.

Roxy shoved packets and bottles into her pack as Zero kept watch.

As they gathered the medical supplies, Tommy noticed a locked metal cabinet on the wall. He jiggled the handle but it didn’t budge. “There’s gotta be more stuff behind here.”

He tried kicking at the lock, but only succeeded in bruising his foot. “Damnit, this thing won’t open.”

Laila shoved past him, tyre iron in hand. She wedged the tyre iron into the cabinet lock and pried with all her strength, letting out a string of curses. But the lock refused to give. “No good, this thing is solid.” Laila panted, wiping her brow.

Zero stepped forward, rifle in hand. He took careful aim at the lock and fired off a single shot.

The lock exploded in a shower of metal and the cabinet swung open.

“Jackpot!” Laila grinned. “Now we’re talking.”

Tommy let out a shaky laugh. “Nice shooting, Zero.”

Zero nodded, eyes scanning the room for any more threats. “Let’s load up and get out of here.”

“What do we have here…” Laila rifled through the cabinet. “Bandages, gauze, surgical tools, gloves…”

Roxy picked up a few labelled bottles, reading the names aloud. “Oxycodone, morphine, hydrocodone. These could really help Micky. Methadone, dilaudid.”

“Grab all of those,” Tommy said. “The stronger meds too. We just need to ration them to Micky.”

Laila squinted at more bottles. “Amoxicillin, azithromycin, doxycycline. These should cover us for infections.”

“We need to get him started on the methadone right away,” Tommy said.

Roxy shoved the bottles into her pack then searched through more of the cabinet. “Medical marijuana…not sure if that’ll help but I’ll take it. Ooh, Xanax!”

Laila laughed. “Focus, Rox.”

Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. “Grab it all, let’s move.”

Working quickly, Laila and Roxy loaded up their packs. Tommy stood guard by the door, bat at the ready, as Zero kept watch in the hall.

Laila and Roxy gave a nod and gestured towards Micky.

Micky stood leaning against the doorframe, his breathing ragged, his eyes unfocused.

Tommy opened the methadone, helping Micky take some.

“Really, man?” Zero stepped up, a stern look on his face. “You really think giving a junkie more drugs is the solution here?”

Tommy faced Zero. “It’ll help with the withdrawal. Right now, that’s good enough.”

“He’s a liability, Tommy. His condition puts us all at risk. We need to think about the group.”

A tense silence filled the room.

“Then we’ll help him kick it after this. But for now, let’s just focus on surviving.”

Micky closed his eyes and pressed his back against the wall. “Thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver.”

Tommy placed a hand on his shoulder. “I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll kick this habit for good. Or at least try.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Micky offered a weak thumbs-up.

“Good man.” He turned to the others. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Zero shook his head. “I think we should keep looking around.”

“But—”

Zero fixed Tommy with a glare. “This isn’t a discussion.”

“We’ve got what we came for.”

“And I came here to find food. How are your supplies looking?”

Tommy shrugged. “Whatever, man. You win.”