Chapter 18: The End of the World Tastes Like Ramen
After taking some deep breaths (and aggressively shoving my hormonal panic into a mental dumpster), I finally clawed back control of my sanity. Only to immediately lose it again.
Two zombies and five humans were arguing over how to cook ramen.
Elliot waved a dented pot like a conductor’s baton. "You have to crack an egg into the broth while it’s boiling! It’s science!"
Alex rolled her eyes. "Tactical cooking only. Boil the noodles, drain the water, then add the seasoning. Prevents soggy mush."
Lila hip-checked her away from the stove. "Y’all are animals. Real ramen needs butter and a splash of sweet tea. Southern fusion, baby."
Ben timidly raised a spice jar. "S-Sorry, but what if we... um... toast the noodles first? For extra crunch? And add chili oil? A-And maybe—"
"NO," everyone shouted.
Clara leaned over the pot, her dangling eyeball nearly plopping into the broth. "Cold brew coffee as the base. Caffeine enhances flavor... and alertness."
Max nodded, his neck creaking. "Or protein powder. Muscle gains. For... chewing."
Jake stared at his unopened ramen packet like it held life’s secrets. "M-Maybe... j-just... follow the i-instructions?"
I stood frozen, my nihilistic worldview crumbling faster than a stale ramen brick. They’re debating recipes. With zombies. While the world ends. And Elliot’s grinning like this is a damn cooking show.
"Are you kidding me?!" I finally exploded, snatching the pot off the stove. "We let literal zombies into our apocalypse sleepover, and now you’re playing MasterChef?!"
Elliot shrugged, licking seasoning dust off his thumb. "Priorities, Mira. Zombie allies need carbs too."
Clara nodded, her smile unsettlingly serene. "Also, brains are overrated. Sodium intake is truly terrifying."
Max flexed a decaying bicep. "Gains don’t stop for the apocalypse."
I opened my mouth to scream—about viruses, and death, and how is everyone so calm—but Elliot caught my eye, his smirk softening.
Hormones. Just hormones, I chanted silently.
The chant faltered when he nudged me with his elbow. "Relax. We’re aliveIsh. And you’re cute when you’re mad."
Damn hormones. Damn ramen. Damn zombies.
The world was ending.
But the broth did smell kinda good.
"It’s okay, Mira. Chill," said Elliot, leaning back like he was on vacation instead of in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
"There are zombies outside, the world’s ruined, and stressing ourselves out won’t help with anything. Don’t you agree, guys? We need to relax our minds."
Everyone nodded and chimed in with a collective, "Yeah."
I stood there, dumbfounded, unsure of what to do. Were they serious? Were zombies serious?
Then Alex spoke up, her tone oddly casual. "Let’s all think of things we wanna do before becoming zombies. Survive while enjoying our lives, yeah?"
She pointed at Clara and Max. "You guys should also think of something before you go full BAGAGHAGHAGA insane mode. Let’s just enjoy life to the fullest."
I blinked. This was Alex? The rational, calm-minded Alex?
Have these guys gone insane? Are we really doing this? Planning bucket lists in the middle of the apocalypse? With zombies? What’s next, a spa day? Manicures while the undead claw at the windows?
Elliot nudged me, snapping me out of my shock. "Alright, let’s start with Mira. What do you want to do? First thing that comes to mind."
I opened my mouth, ready to say something serious—like "not die" or "find a cure"—but Lila cut me off. "Nope. No planning serious stuff. We’re taking a break. Fun only."
I hesitated, my brain short-circuiting. Fun? In the apocalypse? What even was fun anymore?
After a moment of internal screaming, I finally gave up. "Okay... I think I want to ride a motorbike."
Max perked up, his head tilting at an unnatural angle. "Easy as heck. I’ve got a bike in my garage. It’s a little far from here, but we’ll reach it if we plan properly."
I frowned. "Wait, wasn’t planning serious things prohibited?"
Alex shrugged. "It’s okay as long as we have a fun goal. Isn’t that right, guys? I’m sure you all want to experience riding a bike too."
Everyone nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, that would be nice."
Elliot grinned. "Alright, so our first goal is set—Mira’s wish, because she’s stubborn. Second turn will be decided by draw after we finish this one. Any problems?"
He paused, then added, "And no, Mira, I’m not asking you."
I opened my mouth to protest, but Clara clapped her hands (one of them slightly detached), her voice dripping with excitement. "Ooh, I’ve always wanted to ride a bike! Do you think I can still balance with one eye dangling?"
Max flexed his decaying bicep again. "I’ll carry the bike if I have to. Gains don’t stop for the apocalypse."
Lila smirked. "Y’all are ridiculous. But fine, I’m in. Just don’t expect me to share my sweet tea stash."
Ben raised a trembling hand. "Can I ride on the back? I promise I won’t fall off."
Jake nodded, his stutter momentarily forgotten. "M-Me too. B-Bikes are... cool."
Elliot slung an arm around my shoulders, his grin widening. "See? Fun. You’re welcome."
I stared at him, my brain still struggling to process the absurdity of it all. "You’re all insane."
He shrugged. "Maybe. But at least we’re not bored."
As the group argued over bike logistics and zombie-proof helmets, I stared at Jake’s unopened ramen—peak apocalypse insanity.
This is it. The world ends not with a bang, but with idiots debating chili oil while zombies lick walls. Elliot’s grinning like he won the apocalypse lottery, and I’m stuck wondering if motorbiking through undead chaos is a life goal or a death wish.
Clara balanced her detached eyeball on a spoon. Max flexed like a Zombie Bodybuilders Weekly contestant. Nihilism was my thing, but somehow, this felt like the ultimate road trip.
I couldn’t help but feel a tiny flicker of... something. Not hope, exactly. More like resignation mixed with a hint of curiosity.
Elliot smirked. "You good, Mira?"
No, but maybe I’m curious.
I sighed, grabbing the ramen. "Fine. But we’re adding the egg and butter. And someone find me a helmet that isn’t dorky."
Elliot grinned. "Deal."
The world was ending.
But maybe, just maybe, riding a motorbike through the apocalypse wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
Damn hormones. Damn ramen. Damn zombies. Damn Elliot.
And damn that tiny flicker of something.