The door slams shut as a loud boom ricochets on the other side of it. The door rattles on its hinges and I freeze with my hand on the handle. I hiss and let go when it burns my palm. My heart is pounding, tears pooling in my eyes. Why would he do this? We had a deal. Me and him. Ride or die. That was it. Why would he do this?

I pull my top over my head and use it to grab the handle. It doesn't budge. With a frustrated cry, I shove all my weight behind it. The door opens but bumps up against something. I slam my shoulder against it and it gives enough that I can peer through a small gap.

Sky. I see sky. The entire building is gone.

I shove my weight against the door over and over until it opens enough for me to squeeze through. I stand in the middle of utter destruction. Rubble and bodies. I frantically scan everywhere, looking for Jude. With each passing second my heart beats harder and tears pour down my cheeks. He's not dead. He can't be dead. I would know. I would know. My eyes land on a body ten feet away, and I stumble toward it. I recognise the tattoo on Jude's forearm, and a sob breaks from my throat. He's not moving. I shove a piece of wood off his chest and drop to my knees beside him.

"Jude. Jude!" Nothing. With trembling hands, I feel his pulse. I think I can feel it, but I can't be sure with my own pulse hammering through every inch of my body. I stroke his hair away from his face and press my lips to his. "Please."

He's Jude Pearson. He can't be dead. Cayla needs him. I need him. My mind frantically scrambles through years of medical training only to falter. Hysteria clings to the edges of my consciousness and my vision blurs with tears as panic holds me in its clutches. "Jude!"

This isn't how it was supposed to go. He went against our agreement—I had prepared for both of us to die, not just him. I hadn't once thought that I may survive without him. I wasn't ready for this.

Hysteria rises in my throat, my heart banging against my chest. "You lied to me," I whisper, and just like a twig snapping, a bolt of anger jolts through me. I slap his chest hard enough that my palm stings from the impact. "You lied to me!" I repeat before I fall onto his chest. I breath in the dust covering his body and cough.

His chest rises sharply before relaxing. "What kind of woman slaps a dead man," he says before he goes into a coughing fit.

"Oh my god." The relief is over-whelming. I crawl up his chest, resting my forehead against his cheek as my tears drench his shirt. His hand lands on the back of my head and he strokes my hair. When I glance up at him, he smirks through another cough. I lift my face from his chest and glare at him. "You're an arsehole," I cry.

"Don't I know it?" He attempts to sit up but fails. "Not like I intended to live or something."

I sit up and swipe at the tears on my face. "Why would you do that to me? You promised we'd be together." I can't help but feel hurt and betrayed. I should be happy we're both actually alive, but it's all I can focus on.

"Because I love you."

I sniff. "I really want to hate you right now."

"It's a thin line between love and hate doll. A thin fucking line."

"You could have just walked through that door with me," I say.

"Armor plated, doll. Phone signal won't get through it. Besides, dying was the plan."

I lean forward and grab his chin, kissing him hard. "You do that to me again, and you won't be waking up."

"Fine," he tries to sit up again, and groans. "We gotta get out of this shit though."

I throw his arm over my shoulder and help him up, staggering under his massive weight. "What now, Jude? Clearly you have some plan. Or was it just that you die and I have to figure it out?"

"God, give me a break." He shakes his head as we stumble over the rubble.

I help him through the remnants of the destroyed warehouse, glancing around the surrounding desert. "And was I just supposed to fucking walk through the desert? Nice, Jude. Real nice."

"Woman..."

I hear an engine in the distance, and I turn to stare out over the barren landscape. A cloud of dust swirls behind a truck speeding toward us. "That's Marney, isn't it?"

"Of course." Jude smiles.

I look at him, all beat up and covered in dust. And it really hits me. We're alive! I'm starting to think Jude Pearson truly can't be killed, and I'm grateful for it.

The beat-up truck sputters to a stop, the brakes screaming. Marney pinches his smoke between his lips as he reaches across and shoves the passenger door open. "Come on in," he says before he takes a puff from the cigarette.

I go to pull myself into the cab of the truck and the door pops loose from the hinges. I glance back over my shoulder at Jude as I climb in. "You couldn't have gotten something made before 1972?"

"I mean, I could have..." He smiles as he gets in behind me and closes the door. "But where's the fun in that?"

"Well, you look like shit, boy," Marney says before he shoves the gear into drive. The engine grates before the truck lurches forward in the sand.

"Fuck you," Jude grumbles.

Marney laughs and digs around in his pocket. "Thatta boy." Seconds later, he hands Jude a smoke, and I sit back against the seat, encouraging him to lie down and put his head in my lap. Grumbling under his breath, he glares but does it. His head must be pounding. He inhales on his cigarette and I stroke my fingers through his hair as I watch the desert pass us by.

We survived. Against all the odds, we survived, and the air suddenly feels clearer in my lungs, the sun just a little warmer, and Jude's presence all the more vital.