I pulled my gun from my backpack, my fingers trembling as I aimed it at the boxcar door. The thuds continued, steady and unnerving. Each sound echoed with hollow weight, like something heavy brushing or slamming against the walls.

"Do you think it’s a zombie?" Jill whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the train.

"I don’t know… but we need to be ready," I replied, swallowing hard.

We pressed our backs to the outside wall of the car, listening. Every creak, every rattle of the train made my heart pound faster. The scratching grew louder. Then… silence.

For several seconds, everything was still.

Then the boxcar door jolted.

I gasped and raised my gun higher.

"Be careful," Jill said, stepping to the side and crouching slightly, just in case we had to jump off the train.

I took a deep breath and reached for the handle. My palm was sweaty. My heart thundered in my ears.

"Okay," I said, "On three... One… two… THREE!"

I yanked the door open and jumped back, aiming straight ahead—

—and then blinked.

"Moooooo."

We both stared.

Inside the boxcar was not a snarling zombie… but a cow.

A big, brown-eyed, confused-looking cow, standing in the middle of the empty boxcar with straw scattered beneath its hooves. It stared at us, chewed something slowly, and then let out another unimpressed moo.

I lowered the gun, my whole body sagging with relief.

"Seriously?" Jill said, laughing in disbelief. "All that drama… and it’s a cow?"

I dropped down beside her and laughed too. "At least it’s not trying to eat us."

The cow blinked and took a slow step toward us, snorting gently.

"Well," I said, holstering my gun, "meet our new travel buddy."

We both stared at the cow for a while longer. It seemed calm, chewing away, completely unbothered by the chaos outside or the two girls sitting nearby.

"Should we name it?" Jill asked, nudging my arm.

"Hmm... how about Waffles?"

"Waffles the Cow? I love it."

Waffles let out a soft grunt, almost like she approved.

Not every day do you get a chance to travel in style. Okay, this wasn’t exactly style. Traveling in a boxcar meant for packages—or in our case, cows—wasn’t what most people would do. But it was faster. And with zombies, faster is better.

A few zombies had reached the tracks and stumbled toward the train. Thankfully, they didn’t run. If they had—like in Dawn of the Dead or World War Z—we wouldn’t be alive today.

We settled inside the boxcar, our bags rest beside us as we leaned against the wooden walls. One of the side doors was open just enough to let us see the trees and open fields rushing by. We decided to keep it like that in case we needed to escape quickly. It was our exit—and our window.

Jill sat beside me, hugging her knees. I could tell she was tired. We both were.

After a while, boredom started to settle in. I sighed, leaned back, and glanced at my hands.

"Ew!" I exclaimed. "My nails need cleaning."

"I know what you mean," Jill said with a small laugh. "I noticed mine too. They look like I’ve been digging through dirt all day."

"Well, we have been running through woods, rivers, and zombie dust," I pointed out, mock dramatically.

"True. Apocalypse beauty tips: always bring hand wipes and a nail file," she teased.

We both laughed.

"Maybe after this ride, we can find a nice clean lake and have a spa day—zombie edition," I added.

"With mud masks made of actual mud!" Jill giggled.

The cow let out another lazy moo, like it was joining in the conversation.

For a little while, we let ourselves forget the world outside the train.

Just two tired girls and one cow named Waffles, riding into the unknown.

I stared out the open boxcar door. Field after field of corn stretched as far as the eye could see—tall stalks waving slightly in the breeze, overgrown and untended. No one had plowed them. No one would.

In the distance, I spotted a dark figure moving through the rows. My stomach tightened. It was human-shaped, lurching unevenly. Probably a zombie. It staggered toward the tracks, too far to reach us now—but if the train stopped for any reason…

I shivered.

I looked up. The sun peeked through thin, scattered clouds. Judging by the light, it had to be a little past one o’clock, though it was hard to be sure without a watch.

A long, low train horn echoed across the empty land.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

But every peaceful sound out here risked drawing attention. The wrong kind.

I turned my eyes forward as the train curved along a bend in the tracks. From our spot in the middle, I could see the long line of cars ahead and behind—ten boxcars in front of us and about seven trailing behind.

We were in the belly of the beast now. Moving, but not safe. Never fully safe.

I tightened my grip on the edge of the door and kept watch, just in case.

The train passed a herd of bison grazing quietly in an open field, their dark, hulking bodies barely flinching as we rumbled past. It was oddly comforting—something normal in a world that had gone completely wrong.

"I hope the zombies don’t get them," I muttered.

Jill looked up. "I doubt it. They're too big and strong, and zombies don’t exactly hunt in packs like wolves. Besides, who’s going to bite a bison and walk away from that?"

She had a point.

I leaned my head out just a little, letting the cool wind hit my face. It made me wonder: Where exactly were we? What state were we even in?

I knew we were traveling north. That much was clear from the position of the sun and the cooler air. My hope? That we were headed toward the Canadian province of Minnesota.

It still felt weird saying that—Canadian Minnesota. I couldn’t believe the U.S. actually sold it seven years ago. I was nine at the time. Now I looked younger than I did back then. Thanks a lot, George.

Minnesota wasn’t just a memory. It was where my friends Andrew and Ralph had moved after the change. We met during a summer camp right before the border deal. I wondered if they’d even recognize me now, seeing me like this. A six-year-old girl. Their old buddy Nathan, now Natalie.

I glanced across the boxcar. Jill was lying on her back, legs in the air, waving them back and forth like she was pedaling an invisible bike. Her hair was messy from the wind, but her expression was relaxed. Happy, even.

"What’s up with you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jill stopped her feet mid-air and looked at me with a grin. "Nothing."

"I doubt it’s nothing. I can tell you’re happy."

She sat up slightly, brushing a leaf from her sleeve. "Well, I was thinking... we’re heading north, right?"

"Yes…" I said slowly.

"And it’s almost winter, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"And what happens in the winter?"

I stared for a moment. Then it hit me. "Snow! And zombies don’t like the cold!"

"Exactly!" Jill said proudly.

I beamed. "You’re right! And I noticed the nights have been colder, too."

Jill giggled and flopped back down, resuming her air cycling. I scooted over and hugged her tightly, which wasn’t easy while she was lying on her back.

"Thanks for reminding me there’s still stuff to look forward to," I whispered.

She just smiled, legs still pedaling the air, as the train carried us deeper into the unknown—and, hopefully, into snow.

We must have stopped. All I remembered was shutting the boxcar door for the night. It was pitch black inside. What else could we do but sleep? The train was moving when we drifted off, but when I woke up, a sliver of sunlight peeked through a crack in the door—and the train wasn’t in motion.

"Jill," I whispered, sitting up. "Wake up."

She didn’t budge. Jill had always been a sound sleeper. Even as Jack, it was the same story.

I crawled over and shook her gently. "Jill, it’s morning, and the train has stopped."

With a grumble and a flutter of her lashes, she slowly sat up.

I peeked out through the crack. The world outside was quiet. Still. Not a person—or a zombie—in sight.

Grabbing my bag, I pushed the door open. It squealed loudly—too loudly. Every zombie within five blocks probably heard it. Jill jumped up, grabbed her stuff, and we both scrambled down onto the gravel.

We walked cautiously along the tracks. It was deserted. Towering buildings loomed nearby, but from where we stood on the tracks, we couldn’t get into any of them directly. We had to get past the train yard first.

As we crept forward along the length of the stopped train, a sign caught my eye.

"Minnesota’s Union Depot," I read aloud. "We made it to Minnesota."

"Yeah!" Jill said, her face lighting up. "But what city are we in?"

"Not sure," I said, staring up at the skyline. "But judging by all those tall buildings... definitely a big one."

Then I stopped.

"Wait. What about Waffles?"

We both turned and looked back at the boxcar.

She was still inside. Calm. Chewing. Watching us like she expected to be invited along.

Jill’s face fell. "We can’t bring her, can we?"

I sighed. "I want to... but she’d slow us down. We’ll be going through tight buildings, stairs... she wouldn’t fit. And if we had to run..."

Jill didn’t say anything. She walked back to the car and climbed up. I followed. Together, we gave Waffles one last hug.

"You were the best zombie-apocalypse travel buddy ever," Jill whispered, her voice catching.

I ran a hand along Waffles’ soft fur. "Stay out of trouble, okay? And if you see any zombies, just moo really loud and run them over."

Waffles blinked slowly and leaned her massive head into Jill’s chest.

We climbed down and backed away slowly, tears in our eyes.

"Goodbye, Waffles," I said softly.

She gave one last, low moo that echoed through the empty train yard.

We turned to walk away, but after a few steps, we heard the soft clunk of hooves behind us.

Waffles had stepped down from the boxcar and was slowly, hesitantly following us.

Jill froze. "No… oh, Waffles..."

We both turned, hearts sinking as she took another step forward, her big eyes watching us with quiet trust.

"She thinks she’s coming with us," I whispered.

Jill covered her mouth. "This is the worst."

We walked back to her. Jill gently pressed her hands to Waffles’ broad forehead. "You can’t come with us, girl. It’s too dangerous. You’re safer here."

Waffles snorted softly but didn’t resist.

We coaxed her gently back up the small ramp and into the boxcar. She turned once, looking over her shoulder with those huge, sad eyes.

"I know," I whispered. "I don’t want to leave you either."

Jill leaned against the boxcar wall for a moment, wiping her eyes.

Then together, we slid the heavy door closed—just enough to keep her safe but leave a sliver of light.

The moment the latch clicked shut, we heard a rumble from the front of the train.

The engine chugged. Wheels squealed. The whole train began to shift.

It was moving again.

We stepped back and watched as Waffles’ boxcar slowly pulled away, her silhouette visible through the crack we’d left.

She let out one last, soft moo.

We stood in silence until the end of the train disappeared down the tracks.

"Goodbye, Waffles," I whispered again, barely able to say the words.

Then we turned and walked away.

Toward the depot. Toward the city. Toward whatever came next.

We entered a tunnel that led into another building. This one seemed a little newer than the Union Depot, which felt ancient. I wondered how old these buildings really were. Had anyone even done maintenance in years? The floors were dusty and grimy, but I kind of expected that. The outbreak had been going on for nearly a week—there wasn’t anyone left to sweep the floors.

The building had no power, so the only light came from the tall, dirty windows. We must have been on the second floor because we crossed into a skyway that connected to another building across the street. I pressed my hand against the glass and peered down through the smears of dirt and streaks of dried blood. Zombies wandered aimlessly below on what looked like light rail tracks. The overhead lines confirmed it—definitely a light rail system.

Going outside right now would be suicide.

The silence was eerie, and I felt like I was watching a scene from season one of The Walking Dead, when Rick and Glenn snuck through the buildings of Atlanta.

Jill was already ahead of me, motioning for me to follow. When I reached her, I saw what she’d stopped for—a few bodies on the floor, unmoving. I instinctively knelt and stabbed one in the forehead. Better safe than sorry.

We kept going, passing through another skyway. No matter where we went, the streets below were crawling with the undead. We were trapped above it all.

"I’m hungry," Jill complained. I had a feeling she’d say that soon—I was getting hungry too.

"If we’re careful," I said, "we might find a place that hasn’t been looted or spoiled."

We wandered the upper halls of what seemed like an office complex. Most of the doors were locked, which was both good and bad. Good, because it meant zombies couldn’t get in. Bad, because neither could we. Especially if we needed to hide quickly.

Some of the doors were the sliding kind—the ones that only worked with electricity. We had to force one open just to keep moving.

"Hey, Natalie!" Jill called from up ahead, excitement in her voice.

She was pointing at a faded directory map on the wall.

"Saint Paul?" I muttered, reading the text. "We’re in Saint Paul—the former capital of Minnesota, now part of Canada."

Jill blinked. "Wait, this was Minnesota’s capital?"

"Yeah. When Minnesota was sold to Canada seven years ago, they voted on a new capital city. Saint Paul, Minneapolis, Duluth, Bloomington, Rochester, and Saint Cloud were all considered. But they chose Blackduck. People wanted a smaller city."

"Well, I’m getting my history lesson even in the apocalypse," Jill grinned.

"Yeah, but I doubt any of that matters now," I said. "There’s probably no capital left. If some guy was on the streets with a sign, it’d say ‘THE END IS HERE.’"

I looked down again at the walking corpses below.

"Guess what, Natalie," Jill said, pulling my focus back.

"What?" I said, still watching the street.

"I have good news and bad news."

"Okay... what’s the good news?"

"I found a little store we can get food from!"

"That’s amazing!" I lit up. "So, what’s the bad news?"

She pointed toward a broken-down door, its automatic function dead. On the other side, through cracked glass and shadows, we saw them.

At least twenty zombies.

All of them… waiting.