I was almost dark as we approached the two-story colonial house. I gripped my hand axe tighter.
Christopher walked beside , his own axe held. Behind us, the rest of our group maintained their position.
The front door stood slightly ajar, no deadbolt or chain securing it from the inside. A promising sign, though we’d learned not to trust first impressions. I pushed it open slowly, listening for any sound of movent within.
The interior revealed itself gradually as our eyes adjusted. I raised my torchlight illuminating a living room that told a story. The furniture remained—a burgundy leather couch, matching armchairs, an entertainnt center with a flat-screen TV. But the personal touches were missing. No family photos on the mantelpiece, no books on the shelves, no throw pillows or decorative items that made a house a ho.
"It seems they packed and left in a hurry," Alisha said. She stood near the kitchen entrance as she looked around.
In our new reality, houses fell into categories: those where families had evacuated safely, and those where... they hadn’t. The absence of bloodstains, the lack of that distinctive sweet-sick sll of decay, the way cabinet doors hung open as if soone had grabbed essentials and run—all good signs.
"We should sweep the entire house just to be certain," I said. "I’ll take the upper floor. You guys check down here—every closet, every room."
Rachel stepped forward without hesitation. "I’m coming with you."
There was sothing different in her voice, a confidence that hadn’t been a mont ago. The guilt that had weighed on her after she’d been infected—the feeling of being a burden, a liability—had transford into determination after she’d killed that infected creature single-handedly.
That was good for her.
I nodded, grateful for the company. The stairs creaked under our weight as we climbed, each step echoing in the quiet house. My enhanced hearing—a side effect of everything that had happened to —picked up nothing but the sound of our own breathing and the muffled voices of our companions below.
The upstairs hallway stretched before us, doors on either side like silent sentinels. We moved thodically, clearing each room. Two smaller bedrooms, probably belonging to children based on the superhero wallpaper and glow-in-the-dark stars still clinging to one ceiling. A bathroom with towels neatly folded on the rack, as if the family had intended to return from a short trip. And finally, the master bedroom.
I tested the faucet in the ensuite bathroom—water flowed freely, still carrying the faint chill that suggested the utilities hadn’t been cut long. Small rcies in a world where hot showers had beco luxury items. By the way electricity was still working.
I pressed the switch on of the fourth and last room.
The master bedroom was spacious, dominated by a king-sized bed with a thick comforter that looked impossibly inviting after weeks of sleeping on floors or thin camping mats. I couldn’t resist; I sat down on the edge and imdiately sank into the mory foam mattress.
"God, this is amazingly comfortable," I said, closing my eyes for a mont. "These people must have been doing well for themselves."
Rachel settled beside , though her posture remained more reserved. The mattress barely moved under her slight weight. "That’s... true," she agreed, but sothing in her tone suggested this level of comfort wasn’t foreign to her.
I opened one eye. "You sound like you’ve slept on better beds than this."
A flush crept up her neck. "Well... I suppose I might have, once upon a ti."
As expected she was from a pretty wealth family.
"Four bedrooms up here," I said, letting the subject drop. "Should be plenty of space for everyone to get actual rest for once."
"We could practically live here," Rachel said playfully.
"Actually, we should consider it," I replied, the idea taking root as I spoke. "At least until our supplies run low. This place is defensible, structurally sound, and comfortable. More importantly, it’s safe—or as safe as anywhere can be now."
The decision to leave New York had been the hardest part of our journey. The city, with its dense population and countless hiding places for infected, had beco a death trap. But this small town offered sothing we’d almost forgotten existed: the possibility of breathing freely.
Rachel’s laugh was soft, almost musical. "It would be strange, wouldn’t it? All eleven of us living like one big, dysfunctional family."
"Assuming everyone stays," I mused. "Though I can’t imagine where they’d go."
I ran through our group in my mind. Christopher and Cindy were clearly going to stay I believed.
Sa for Alisha and Elena. I an where would they go? We have the radio so it would be best to wait here.
Sa for Jason.
Liu i... was a bit weird but she wasn’t suicidal.
The only uncertainty was Miss Ivy.
"I don’t think anyone’s leaving," Rachel said, echoing my thoughts. "Not yet, anyway."
"Right. Though I can already picture a quarrel after Princess Liu i demanding her own room," I said, attempting to lighten the mood. "She’s not exactly the sharing type."
Rachel giggled. "God, I hope not."
Silence settled between us, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable tension I’d thought. After everything that had happened between us—the infection, the desperate cure, the awkwardness that followed—I’d worried our relation might never beco normal. But sitting here, sharing quiet laughter, it felt almost... normal.
Except it wasn’t normal, and I couldn’t pretend otherwise. There was sothing I needed to tell her, sothing that needed to be told.
The others were occupied downstairs, and opportunities for private conversation would be rare in our group. If I was going to say this, it had to be now.
"Rachel," I began, my voice more serious than I’d intended. "There’s sothing I need to tell you. Sothing important."
Her body went rigid beside , and I could feel the shift in her breathing. When I used that tone, when I spoke of ’important’ matters, there was really only one topic it could concern. The day I’d saved her life through the most intimate act possible, when the infection had been burning through her system and there had been no other choice.
"Is... is there?" She asked hesitantly.
I nodded feeling sorry that I was going to make her uncomfortable again.
"I’m sorry, but I need to be completely honest with you," I began, my hands clenched in my lap. "I don’t have so miracle cure in my back pocket—no pills, no vaccines, nothing like that. The cure... the cure is—"
"The cure is you?" She interrupted .
My eyes widened in surprise. I hadn’t expected her to piece it together so quickly, so directly. "Yeah," I managed. "But how did you...?"
She finally looked at then, really looked at , her green eyes searching my face for confirmation of what she’d already suspected. "I... I felt sothing change in my body after we..." She paused, color rising in her cheeks. "After we had sex. I just started connecting the dots, even though it seed completely absurd. But I feel different—stronger than before. And you’re obviously not normal either, so I figured..." She trailed off, waiting for to confirm or deny her theory.
I nodded slowly, impressed despite the gravity of the situation. "You’re right. I was able to cure your infection through... through that. But Rachel, that’s not the whole story."
Her expression shifted from embarrassnt to concern. "What do you an?"
This was the part I’d been dreading. "The way I cured you—I had to infect you with a different virus. One that could destroy the original infection."
"What?" The word ca out strangled, and I watched the color drain from her face.
"The virus I gave you entered your system and eliminated the infected cells, but now it’s inside you," I explained, hating every word I had to say. "It’s not going to turn you into a monster or anything like that, but—"
"But?" She pressed, her voice tight with growing panic.
"But it can cause... complications. Headaches, disorientation, pain that gets progressively worse until it could potentially..." I couldn’t finish the sentence.
"Until it kills ?"
"Until it damages your brain beyond repair," I said quietly. "But there is a way to prevent that. I might be able to stabilize the virus so it won’t harm you, so you’ll stay in complete control of yourself."
A spark of hope flickered in her eyes. "Really? How do you—" She stopped mid-sentence, and I watched as understanding dawned on her face.
When I looked away, unable to et her gaze, her face flushed crimson and she turned her head sharply to the side.
"This... this is..." She stamred.
"I’m sorry," I said quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I know how this sounds, and I swear I’m not lying to you or trying to manipulate you. You might die from this virus—at least from everything I understand about it—and it seems like we should act before symptoms really start manifesting. But I won’t force you, Rachel. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you don’t need stabilization. We could wait and see, but..."
She was quiet for a long mont, her hands twisted in her lap. "I have been having headaches," she admitted softly. "And so other... strange sensations. But I thought it was just stress from everything we’ve been through."
"It could be," I agreed, though we both knew that was unlikely. "Look, I still feel guilty about threatening you before—about putting you in an impossible situation where you had to choose between certain death and... and being with . I won’t make that choice for you again. This has to be your decision, Rachel. Just tell what you want to do..."
She nodded slowly.
I started to stand, thinking I should give her space to process, but sothing made pause. "Rachel, there’s one more thing you need to know before you decide."
She looked up at , and I could see she was bracing herself for more bad news.
"The stabilization process... it’s not a one-ti thing. I would need to... we would need to..." I struggled with the words. "It would require multiple sessions to ensure the virus is properly stabilized."
"Multiple tis?" She repeated, her voice catching slightly as a fresh wave of embarrassnt colored her cheeks.
"Yes," I confird, feeling heat rise in my own face. "I wish there was another way, but that’s what it takes."
Rachel lowered her gaze, and I could practically see her mind racing, weighing her options, trying to process everything I’d just told her.
I was about to suggest she take so ti to think it over when footsteps echoed in the hallway.
"Hey, how long are you two planning to stay up here?"
Sydney asked standing at the doorway.
"Don’t tell you’re actually planning to sleep here," she continued, stepping into the bedroom and glancing around appreciatively.
"We’re not!" I replied too quickly, too forcefully, imdiately realizing how defensive I sounded.
Sydney raised an eyebrow at my outburst, her knowing smile suggesting she’d picked up on more than I would have liked.
"Right," she said, drawing out the word. "Well, whatever you’re discussing up here, the rest of us have finished checking the downstairs. Everything’s clear."
I shifted slightly, trying to block her view of Rachel, who was still flushed and clearly struggling to compose herself. "That’s good news. Any signs of recent activity?"
"Nothing concerning. Looks like the family really did just pack up and leave. Elena found so canned goods they left behind in the pantry, and there’s still hot water in the tank." Sydney’s gaze flickered between Rachel and , her expression growing more curious by the second.
"We should head back down," I said, though neither Rachel nor I made any imdiate move to leave the bed.
"Yeah," Sydney agreed, but she lingered in the doorway, clearly sensing there was more to the story than we were letting on.
User Comments
0 comments from readers