“I can’t believe this piece of junk is still running,” muttered Sarah, patting the ancient dishwasher that hummed weakly in her basement bunker. Three months after the apocalypse, it was probably the last working dishwasher on Earth.

The machine gave a pitiful wheeze, spraying water in erratic patterns. Sarah smiled despite herself. In a world where the undead roamed the streets above, this fragile appliance had become her unlikely companion.

“You’re talking to it again?” Tom’s voice echoed from the darkness. Her brother emerged from the shadows, his flashlight beam dancing across the concrete walls.

“Don’t judge. At least Stanley doesn’t try to eat my brains.”

“You named the dishwasher Stanley?”

Sarah shrugged, arranging their meager collection of plates. “He’s more reliable than most people these days.”

The machine made an awful grinding noise, followed by a series of clicks.

“Sounds like Stanley’s on his last legs,” Tom observed, running a hand through his grimy hair.

“Don’t say that!” Sarah snapped, more sharply than intended. “He just needs… maintenance.”

Tom’s expression softened. “Sarah, it’s just a machine.”

“Is it though?” She placed her hand on Stanley’s warm surface. “In this hell we’re living in, he’s the only thing that reminds me of normal life. Of Sunday dinners and family gatherings.”

A violent thump from upstairs made them both freeze. The familiar sound of dragging feet and guttural moans filtered through the ceiling.

“They’re getting closer,” Tom whispered.

Stanley chose that moment to start his final cycle, the noise impossibly loud in their hidden sanctuary. The groans above intensified.

“Shut it off!” Tom hissed.

Sarah lunged for the power button, but Stanley had other plans. The machine shuddered, spraying water from every seam, its motor screaming in mechanical agony.

The ceiling creaked ominously.

“We need to go,” Tom grabbed her arm. “Now!”

“But Stanley—”

“Leave it!”

The first zombie crashed through the rotting floorboards above, followed by another, and another. Stanley’s lights flickered erratically, almost like a disco ball, illuminating the grotesque scene.

Tom pulled Sarah toward the emergency tunnel they’d dug months ago, but she resisted, transfixed by what happened next.

Stanley’s door burst open with explosive force, sending scalding water and soap suds everywhere. The zombies, caught in the spray, slipped and stumbled, their rotting flesh seeming to dissolve in the chemical-laden water.

“Holy shit,” Tom breathed.

Sarah laughed hysterically. “He’s fighting back! Stanley’s fighting back!”

The dishwasher gave one final, triumphant beep before exploding in a spectacular shower of sparks and porcelain shrapnel, taking out the remaining undead in its suicide mission.

In the sudden silence, Sarah wiped tears from her eyes. “He died a hero.”

Tom stared at the carnage, shaking his head. “Only you could turn a malfunctioning appliance into humanity’s last stand.”

“We should probably go before more show up,” Sarah said, finally turning away from Stanley’s remains. She paused at the tunnel entrance, giving a military salute. “Goodbye, old friend. May you find endless rinse cycles in appliance heaven.”

Tom rolled his eyes but joined her salute. “You know what’s funny? After all this time trying to survive the apocalypse, we were saved by a broken dishwasher.”

“Not broken,” Sarah corrected as they crawled into the tunnel. “Just different. Like all of us now.”

Behind them, in the flickering emergency lights, Stanley’s last spark faded into darkness, leaving behind a legacy of clean dishes and vanquished zombies.