When I reached the house, I stopped the motorbike and let the engine tick quietly in the evening air. The sun was hanging low, painting everything in that amber light that made even our ramshackle neighborhood look almost beautiful. Six pm on the dot—three hours past Rachel’s new curfew. I could already see her silhouette in the doorway, arms crossed, waiting.
Fuel was becoming more precious than gold these days. Twenty-three liters left in our communal supply, and every trip I took on the Honda was eating into reserves we’d need for the generator when winter hit. I should really start using one of the bicycles from now on, even though it would an longer trips and sore legs. The motorcycle was faster, more comfortable, and could carry more weight, but comfort was a luxury we couldn’t afford much longer.
After carefully parking the motorbike on the porch, I shouldered my heavy backpack and grabbed the plastic bag full of additional supplies. When I raised my gaze, Rachel was standing there exactly as I’d expected—arms crossed, wearing that stern expression that sohow made her look more like a disappointed teacher than a survivor of the apocalypse.
"Rachel. Good evening," I said, trying to inject so warmth into my voice despite my fatigue.
"Good evening, Ryan." Her tone was carefully controlled, but I could hear the edge underneath. "I told you to be back by three from now on."
I gestured to the bulging backpack and the stuffed plastic bag. "Got caught up in too many good finds. Lost track of ti out there."
She shifted her weight, studying my face in the fading light. "Rebecca said this morning that you’re spending most of your ti outside because you don’t like being with us. That you can’t stand seeing us anymore."
Of course Rebecca would say sothing like that. Even Liu i had been warming up to lately, but Rebecca remained consistently suspicious of my motives. It was exhausting, honestly.
"That’s not true," I said, climbing the small steps with my heavy load.
Rachel moved to help with the bag, but I shook my head. "It’s fine. I’ll take everything to the kitchen first."
I pushed through the screen door, imdiately hit by the warm, lived-in sll of the house—lentils cooking, wood smoke from the fireplace, and that indefinable scent of people making do with what they had. It was comforting in a way that always surprised .
Entering the living room, I saw Daisy sitting on the sofa with Alisha, the two of them talking quietly about sothing while Ivy sat in the armchair reading a book by candlelight. Electricity was an extrely rare resource now, so reading actual books had beco the primary form of entertainnt during the long evenings. When I entered, all three lifted their gazes toward .
"Oh, Ryan..." Daisy called, turning toward with a mixture of relief and curiosity.
"Good evening," I replied to them before heading straight to the kitchen to start unpacking everything I’d brought back from my scavenging run.
The kitchen table groaned under the weight of my backpack as I set it down and began emptying the contents. Rachel followed in, leaning against the doorfra for a mont before moving to help organize the supplies.
"How was your day?" she asked, her tone softening now that we were away from the others.
"Productive," I said, pulling out bundles of candles and setting them on the counter. "Went through three houses in the outskirts district. One had been completely stripped already, but the other two were goldmines." I paused, rembering the small face of that girl, those clouded eyes staring up at . The weight of what I’d had to do settled on my shoulders again.
Rachel must have noticed the slight shift in my expression because she spoke up. "Anything else happen out there?"
I shook my head, focusing on arranging jars of preserved food on the shelf. "Nothing unusual. Sa routine as always. Found so good dical supplies, these candles, so spices that’ll make our als taste like actual food for once." I held up a small tin of cinnamon. "What about you? How was your day here?"
"Worked around the house mostly. Did so cooking, helped Daisy with the laundry. Fixed that loose board on the back porch." She paused, watching stack canned goods. "I wanted you to eat lunch with us, but at least you’re here now for dinner."
I set down a jar of honey and turned to face her. The golden light from the candle on the windowsill caught in her hair, and for a mont I was struck by how normal this felt...
"Actually, forget about dinner for tonight," I said. "Don’t make any portion for . I’m tired and not really hungry."
There was an unusual silence that settled between us, and I knew exactly what Rachel was thinking. She was worried about , about the way I’d been pulling away from the group, spending more and more ti on solo runs.
I glanced at her as she grasped my hand mid-motion, stopping as I reached for a kitchen utensil to put away.
"Is there a problem, Ryan?" She asked, her voice gentle but insistent.
I looked back at her, taking in the genuine concern in her eyes. "Problem? What kind of problem?"
"From everyone’s perspective, it looks like you have a problem," she said, shaking her head slightly. "Like sothing’s bothering you that you’re not talking about."
I shook my head, continuing to organize the supplies. "You’re worrying about nothing, Rachel. I’m just focused on practical things. Like figuring out how I’m supposed to explain everything about the Screars and that alien race to the Municipal Office without getting treated like a complete madman."
Her expression relaxed slightly. "They’ll hear you out, Ryan. Margaret and Martin—they trust you, you know?"
"Yeah, but even they must have limits," I replied, putting away a set of kitchen knives I’d found. "There’s only so much crazy a person can accept before they start questioning your judgnt entirely."
Rachel was quiet for a mont, then asked, "Have you talked to Christopher about it?"
The question made pause, my hand stopping mid-motion as I reached for a bottle of olive oil. Christopher. Even hearing his na was like picking at a scab that wouldn’t heal properly.
"I haven’t had the chance to see him," I replied after a mont, my voice carefully neutral.
"You go to the Municipal Office often enough, don’t you? You must have seen him at least once during those visits?" Rachel pressed.
"Not really." I focused intently on arranging spice containers. "He has his own responsibilities to deal with, and I have mine. Our paths just don’t cross that often."
Rachel reached out and grasped my arm again, stopping my restless organizing. "Ryan, look at ."
I turned to et her eyes.
"You know you can talk to us if you need help with sothing, right? Any kind of help?" Her voice was earnest, concerned.
I found myself smiling slightly at her expression, and without really thinking about it, I reached out and touched her cheek gently.
"R... Ryan?" Rachel stuttered, her cheeks imdiately flushing red.
"You’re already helping more than you know, Rachel," I said softly.
Rachel’s blush deepened, and she seed flustered by the unexpected intimacy of the gesture. "I... I wasn’t talking about that kind of help! I ant moral support! Physical help with tasks! That kind of help!"
The more she spoke, the more embarrassed she seed to get, which only made the situation more awkward.
"I wasn’t talking about anything inappropriate either..." I said, letting my hand drop slowly. I had simply ant that her presence, her concern, her steady reliability—all of that was more support than she probably realized.
"Have you two finished flirting?" Alisha’s voice suddenly cut through the mont as she appeared at the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and wearing an expression of amused exasperation.
I dropped my hand entirely from Rachel’s face, both of us stepping back slightly.
"Alisha," I said, turning back to my unpacking to hide my own embarrassnt. "Sothing wrong?"
"Yes, actually. Sydney went outside about two hours ago saying she wanted to test sothing. It’s getting dark now and she still hasn’t co back. We’re starting to get worried."
I paused in my organizing, feeling that familiar mix of concern and exasperation that Sydney always managed to inspire. Of course she was missing. Of course she’d gone off on her own without telling anyone where she was going or when she’d be back.
"Sydney..." I sighed internally, already knowing exactly what she was probably up to.
"I’ll go bring her back," I said, already ntally preparing for another trip out into the gathering darkness. "It’s fine. I know where she probably is."
Rachel started to move toward the door. "Let get my coat and I’ll co with—"
"No," I said, shaking my head. "You stay here. Soone needs to keep an eye on things, and it’s better if I go alone. I can move faster that way, and Sydney will probably be more responsive if it’s just ."
Rachel looked like she wanted to argue, but after a mont she nodded reluctantly. "At least eat sothing before you go. You said you weren’t hungry, but you need to keep your strength up."
Before I could protest, Daisy appeared in the doorway with a steaming mug. "Bean broth," she announced, pressing it into my hands. "It’s not much, but it’s warm and it has salt."
I accepted the mug gratefully and drank it down despite the heat. The liquid was thin and barely qualified as food, but it was sothing, and the warmth felt good as it settled in my stomach.
"Thanks, Daisy," I said, handing back the empty mug.
Ten minutes later, I had swapped my scavenging gear for lighter equipnt—just the essential weapons and a flashlight. I wheeled the mountain bike out of the shed, checking the chain and tires out of habit. The bike was in good condition thanks to Rachel’s insistent regular maintenance, but it was still a far cry from the speed and convenience of the motorcycle.
As I prepared to leave, Rachel appeared on the porch, wrapping her arms around herself against the cooling evening air.
"Be careful out there," she said. "And bring Sydney ho in one piece. She promised to help with inventory tomorrow."
"I’ll bring her back," I promised, swinging my leg over the bike. "Try not to worry too much. She’s probably just lost track of ti."
Though even as I said it, I suspected Sydney’s absence was more complicated than simple ti mismanagent. She’d been restless lately, ever since she’d made that insane decision to intentionally infect herself to awaken the Dullahan virus inside her.
I knew she was a crazy girl but clearly after she got purposefully get bitten by an Infected just too awaken a super power, I lost all hope to understand her.
The ride to the stadium took about twenty-five minutes on the bike, my legs working steadily as I navigated the empty streets. The city felt different at this ti of day—not quite night but no longer day, caught in that liminal space where shadows stretched long and every sound seed amplified.
I’d been making this particular trip more often lately, ever since Sydney had started her "training sessions." The old high school stadium had beco her preferred testing ground for the abilities that were slowly manifesting as a result of her intentional infection. It was isolated enough to avoid attracting attention, but close enough to reach quickly if sothing went wrong.
The thought of what she’d done still made want to shake her until her teeth rattled. One week ago, she deliberately let an Infected bite on her arm.
The Dullahan virus was dormant in her system since that night. But she awakened it by forcing the Dullahan Virus awake by getting herself bitten.
Now she was different. Faster, stronger, with reflexes that seed almost supernatural. But she was also more reckless, more willing to push boundaries that should probably be left alone. Hence these solo training sessions that had everyone worried.
The stadium lood ahead, dark against the darkening sky. The old floodlights that had once illuminated Friday night football gas had been dark for months now, leaving the structure as just another abandoned monunt to the world that used to be.
I hid the bike behind the ticket booth and approached the main entrance on foot. The chain-link gates had been left open—probably by Sydney when she’d arrived. I slipped through and made my way down the concrete tunnel that led from the entrance to the field level.
As I walked, I could hear sothing unusual—a rhythmic whooshing sound, like wind being displaced at high speed. Then silence. Then the sound again, coming from the direction of the field.
When I erged from the tunnel onto the synthetic turf, the scene that greeted was both impressive and deeply concerning. The field was mostly empty in the gathering darkness, illuminated only by the pale light of the rising moon. But there was movent—a blur of motion that was almost too fast to track with the naked eye.
A flash of blue streaked from one end zone to the other, covering the hundred-yard distance in what seed like less than two seconds. The blur moved in complex patterns around the field—figure eights, spirals, sudden stops and starts that should have been physically impossible.
It was Sydney, and she was moving faster than any human being had a right to move.
I stood at the edge of the field, watching this display with a mixture of awe and exasperation. Part of was genuinely impressed by what she’d achieved—the virus had clearly granted her abilities that were beyond anything we’d seen before. But another part of was annoyed by her recklessness, her willingness to push these new limits without proper safety asures or supervision.
The blur suddenly stopped in the center of the field, and Sydney’s form beca visible as she ca to a halt. Even from fifty yards away, I could see that she was breathing hard but not exhausted—the kind of controlled exertion of soone who was testing their limits rather than exceeding them.
She turned toward the tunnel, sohow sensing my presence despite the distance and dim light. When she spotted , she raised one hand in a casual wave, as if being discovered moving at superhuman speeds was just a minor inconvenience.
"Hey Ryan!" She called out, her voice carrying easily across the field. "Co to check up on ?"
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