"Hey."
A hand landed firmly on my shoulder, jolting from unconsciousness. My eyes snapped open as my head lifted, neck protesting the awkward angle I’d been slumped in against the reception desk.
Maribel stood above , her expression caught sowhere between concern and complete bewildernt.
"Did you just take a nap?" Her voice carried pure incredulity, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was witnessing. "Right here? Right now?"
"Huh... I don’t know," I mumbled, my voice thick and sluggish with residual sleep.
But even as I spoke, the evidence was undeniable. I could feel the embarrassing trail of drool that had escaped from the corner of my mouth, now drying uncomfortably on my chin. My eyes felt gritty and heavy, weighted down by exhaustion that hadn’t been satisfied by whatever brief unconsciousness I’d managed to steal. My entire body still scread with fatigue, every muscle aching as I remained slouched against the wooden desk at my back.
"What if an Infected had arrived?" Maribel’s tone sharpened, taking on an almost scolding quality that reminded oddly of a frustrated teacher. "Why are you being so careless? They could have torn you apart while you were sleeping!"
Her eyes flashed with sothing that looked suspiciously like genuine anger, though whether it was directed at or at the situation itself, I couldn’t quite tell.
"I would have known if any Infected got close," I replied after a mont, my voice gaining so steadiness even if my body hadn’t caught up yet.
It wasn’t bravado or empty confidence—it was simple fact. My Dullahan senses operated on a level that transcended normal human awareness, functioning even when my conscious mind had shut down for rest. They would have scread warnings at long before any shambling corpse could have gotten within striking distance. An instinctive alarm system that never truly slept, even when I did.
Besides, I was immune to the infection itself. A bite couldn’t turn , couldn’t spread the virus through my altered biology. At worst, an Infected might wake up by trying to chew through my flesh—unpleasant certainly, but not fatal. Unless one managed to tear out my throat before I could react, causing to bleed out to death. But I had confidence in my senses, in that supernatural awareness that had kept alive this long.
Though admittedly, perhaps it had been sowhat reckless. A Hybrid Infected would have presented an entirely different challenge, one that might have required more than passive awareness to survive. But exhaustion had made the decision for , pulling under whether I’d intended it or not.
Wait—I rembered sothing now. The fog of waking was clearing, and with it ca the mory of what had occupied my unconscious mind.
I’d been dreaming.
Briefly, fragntarily, but definitely dreaming. The images flickered through my mory like fras from an old film, disjointed but recognizable.
High school. It had been about high school.
A few months ago, back when that mundane world still existed. And of course, inevitably, the dream had featured Emily.
The realization felt strange, almost surreal now that I was fully awake and contemplating it. Back then—was it really only three months ago?—my entire world had revolved around such a small orbit. My mother had been the center of everything, the one constant that gave my life aning and structure. And high school... high school had been sothing I endured rather than enjoyed. An awkward, lonely existence for soone who couldn’t seem to make friends, who’d never quite figured out how to connect with his peers in any aningful way.
The only thing that had made those halls bearable, the only light that had broken through that social isolation, had been Emily. She’d been like so kind of ideal—the perfect girl who existed just beyond my reach, beautiful and kind and completely unattainable to soone like .
God, thinking about it now made cringe internally. The embarrassnt crept up my neck like heat, coloring my thoughts with uncomfortable self-awareness. Maybe it was the apocalypse that had forced to mature, to gain perspective I’d lacked before. But looking back at that version of myself, I could see how much ti I’d wasted. All those hours spent obsessing over a girl I’d never even had the courage to approach properly, held back by crushing self-deprecation and fear of rejection.
I could have done so many other things. Could have tried to build real connections, develop actual skills, pursue interests beyond my narrow fixation. Instead, I’d let myself stagnate in that comfortable misery, too afraid to reach for anything better.
"Be assertive, Ryan. Otherwise you’ll never enjoy your life enough. You’ll look back and realize you wasted it being too afraid to live."
That was what my mom used to tell .
Back then, I hadn’t really understood what she ant. Or maybe I had understood on so level but hadn’t been ready to accept the truth of it. I’d smiled, nodded, assured her I’d try harder, and then gone right back to my patterns of avoidance and hesitation.
But now? Now I understood perfectly.
The problem was that understanding had co too late, in a world where there was precious little life left to enjoy. I wanted desperately to live fully, to embrace existence without the chains of fear and doubt that had held back before. But what did that an when everyone I loved was either dead, missing, or in danger? When Elena was still out there sowhere, possibly suffering, while I remained powerless to find her? When the Starakians hung over this broken world like an executioner’s blade, waiting to fall?
A sudden sharp sting lanced through my wounded arm, yanking violently back to the present.
"Ngh!" I hissed through clenched teeth, my head snapping down to locate the source of pain.
Maribel had moved while I’d been lost in thought. She now knelt in front of , a white first-aid kit open beside her on the dusty floor. In her hands she held a piece of gauze soaked with what my nose identified as rubbing alcohol, which she was currently pressing against the bullet wound in my left arm with more determination than finesse.
"Where did you get that?" I asked.
"Here," she replied shortly, not bothering to elaborate as she continued cleaning around the wound site.
"Is that why you stord off earlier?" The question erged with a note of genuine surprise coloring my tone.
I’d assud she’d left in a huff after my laughter at her ’superhero’ comnt, maybe gone to sulk in another part of the building or to put distance between us while she cooled down. The possibility that she’d actually been searching for dical supplies to help hadn’t even crossed my mind.
"Don’t move," she said instead of answering, her focus entirely on the task at hand.
She dabbed carefully at the dried blood crusting around the entry wound, her movents slow and thodical. The alcohol burned like liquid fire as it worked its way into the damaged tissue, making my muscles tense involuntarily. I watched her work, noting the slight furrow of concentration between her brows, the way her teeth worried at her lower lip as she tried to clean the wound without causing unnecessary pain.
When she reached for the roll of bandages, her inexperience beca even more apparent. Her fingers fumbled slightly with the wrapping, uncertain of the proper tension or technique.
"This is your first ti doing this, isn’t it?" I said, unable to keep a faint note of amusent from creeping into my voice despite the circumstances.
It was completely different than Ivy’s careful and perfect work.
Her hands stilled imdiately. Her eyes flicked up to et mine, flashing with irritation. "Then do it yourself," she shot back sharply, starting to pull away from .
"Wait, sorry," I said quickly, my hand shooting out to catch her wrist before she could fully retreat. The contact seed to surprise her, her eyes widening slightly as they dropped to where my fingers circled her arm. "I didn’t an it like that. I’m just... I’m on edge. About everything. But I appreciate this. Really. Thank you."
The words ca out more earnest than I’d intended. She’d gone looking for supplies to help when she could have just left to deal with my own wounds. That ant sothing, even if I wasn’t entirely sure what.
Maribel held my gaze for a long mont, sothing unreadable flickering across her features. Then she gave a small nod and returned to her task, her movents gentler now as she resud wrapping the bandage around my arm.
"You’ll need to have Shawn remove that bullet," she stated after a stretch of silence, her tone matter-of-fact as she secured the bandages more carefully now. "This is just to stop the bleeding and keep it clean. The bullet’s still lodged in there, and it needs to co out properly."
"Yeah," I agreed absently, my thoughts already drifting again despite my best efforts to stay present.
Maribel finished with the bandage, tying it off with a final tug that made wince slightly. Then she sat back on her heels, her hands resting on her thighs as she looked at with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.
"Did you know that girl?" The question erged quietly, carefully, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she should be asking but couldn’t help herself. "The one from before. Emily."
"Yeah."
I could feel Maribel’s eyes on , waiting for elaboration. The silence pressed down, expectant and patient. I knew I should probably say more, should explain at least the basics so she could understand why I’d reacted the way I had and everything supernatural but the words felt stuck sowhere in my chest.
Her gaze intensified. It was clear she wasn’t going to let this go without more information.
"She was my classmate," I finally continued. "At my high school. We escaped together when everything started falling apart. That was... that was three months ago now."
Maribel’s hands, which had been thodically repacking the first-aid kit, suddenly went still. Her head snapped up. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again as if she struggled to process what I said.
"Y... You’re a high schooler?" she stamred, disbelief coating every words. "You’re—you’re what, seventeen? Eighteen?"
"Seventeen..." I trailed off, letting the number hang in the air between us.
That made it what—three tis now soone had reacted like this? Molly, Carn and Shannon... and now Maribel. Each one had looked at like I’d just claid to be an alien masquerading as a teenage boy.
Did I really look that old? Like Twenty‑five, maybe? I an, sure, I’d grown taller over the last few months—probably another side effect of the awakening—but there were plenty of guys my age just as tall.
Maribel blinked at , still trying to wrap her head around it. "You’re not lying, are you?"
I frowned. "Why would I lie about that?"
She crossed her arms, her tone shifting from disbelief to sothing sharper. "Fine then, tell the truth—are you even human?"
I t her eyes. "I am human."
"Then explain how you ran like that," she shot back without missing a beat. "And how you barely flinched after getting shot. You’re still walking around with a bullet in your arm like it’s nothing!"
I sighed heavily, dragging a hand down my face. I’d been hoping to avoid this conversation altogether. The less anyone from the Boardwalk community knew, the safer they’d all be. As Margaret had said, people already had enough to deal with—constant hunger, raiders, sickness, Callighan’s group breathing down their necks. They didn’t need the added complication of knowing two alien factions were fighting a hidden war right in the middle of their broken world.
"Do you really want to know about it?" I asked.
Maribel’s eyes didn’t change. "I want to know."
Her seriousness made hesitate, but I shook my head. "It’s better if you don’t. It won’t change anything except fill your head with more questions and darker thoughts."
"What darker thoughts than the ones I already have?" She asked. "People die every week, and there is Callighan. You really think there’s worse news than that?"
"I think you already have enough to handle with Callighan breathing down your neck," I said. "Add this on top of it, and you’ll wish you hadn’t asked. So things..." I looked away, my voice dropping, "...are better left secret."
Maribel squared her shoulders stubbornly. "Then maybe bury them later. If it’s that dangerous, people deserve to know—"
"It’s not a threat to any of you," I cut in before she could build montum. My tone softened, but the words ca sharper than I intended. "Not exactly. Not right now. And believe , the last thing you want is to get tangled up in that ss."
Her brows drew together. "I don’t want to get involved," she said slowly. "But you expect to just ignore what I saw? The speed—you, that girl, the way you both moved? You think I can pretend none of it happened?"
"Yeah," I said quietly. "That’s exactly what I expect."
Her mouth opened to protest, but I raised a hand before she could speak again. "Knowledge is a curse sotis. You think you want answers, but once you have them, you can’t go back. Sotis ignorance really is rcy."
For a long mont she said nothing. Her gaze dropped to the floor, her lips pressed thin. The silence stretched between us until she finally nodded.
"Fine," she said, her voice quieter but still clipped. "You don’t have to tell ."
The sudden acceptance threw off. I’d expected another argunt, maybe a full‑blown interrogation. But she just seed... resigned. I could see it in her eyes, that small flicker of frustration mixed with reluctant understanding. Maybe she realized how serious I was—how much danger there was behind what I wasn’t saying.
Still, the disappointnt in her face made sothing twist uncomfortably inside .
"I am human," I said after a while, breaking the silence. Her head lifted again, curiosity reigniting behind her guarded expression. "I was born human. But after the virus spread, sothing in changed. I beca... like this."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Sothing to do with the Virus?"
I shook my head slowly. "Not exactly. The virus triggered it, but it didn’t cause it. There’s sothing else inside .... It gives strength, speed... supernatural abilities that normal people shouldn’t have."
"Supernatural abilities?" She repeated softly.
"Yeah," I said, allowing a faint, humorless smile. "You could call it that."
She blinked a few tis, still trying to process. "Like what, exactly?"
I held her gaze for a mont, then shrugged. "I think I told you enough already," I said trying to end the discussion. "If it helps, you can stick to your first theory—think of as a superhero."
Her face flushed instantly, the pink blooming across her cheeks. The mory of her earlier comnt must’ve hit her at the sa mont as mine did.
"You’re anything but a superhero," she muttered, recovering enough to shoot a glare. "Dream on."
The corner of my mouth twitched upward as I leaned back. "Sydney calls that all the ti."
Maribel snorted softly. "Of course she does."
"I did save Shannon, though," I added with mock defensiveness, mostly to see how she’d respond.
I didn’t even like being called a superhero. But a part of couldn’t resist answer to her, watching how she’d argue back.
Maribel’s lips parted, searching for an argunt and finding none. She sputtered for a second before blurting out, "That... that was sothing any decent person would’ve done!"
"I don’t think most ordinary people could’ve heard her screams from three streets away," I countered, smirking faintly. "Or sprinted straight into a swarm of Infected to pull her out alive. But hey, if that’s how little Shannon’s life is worth to you—"
"Hey!" I flinched as she suddenly jabbed a finger into my freshly bandaged arm.
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