Chapter 17: Lexington Charter

“She’s… sleeping?” Rebecca whispered, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Apparently,” Rachel replied, though her tone suggested she was equally baffled.

I tapped gently on the window, not wanting to startle her too badly. Sydney stirred slightly but didn’t wake. I tried again, a little louder this time.

“Hmm?” Sydney’s voice came out thick with sleep as her blue eyes fluttered open

When she recognized me standing outside she let out a long yawn.

She stretched languidly, her black-painted fingernails catching the dim light as she raised her arms above her head. The motion reminded me of a cat awakening from a deep slumber. Only then did she reach for the car’s door.

“I distinctly remember telling you to be quick,” she said with a sharp glare. But then her gaze shifted past my shoulder, taking in the two women huddled behind me like confused birds. Her expression shifted to something between curiosity and mild annoyance. “I see you’ve also decided to bring company along for the ride.”

“I couldn’t just leave them to die,” I said, shrugging. “And there’s plenty of space in the car. It’s not like we’re short on room.”

Sydney looked at the sisters for a long moment, her blue eyes seeming to catalog every detail. Finally, she let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine,” she said. “But let me make something crystal clear—I’m not running a taxi service here. I’m not playing chauffeur and driving anyone anywhere they want to go until I take care of my own business first. We do this my way, or you can find another ride through this nightmare.”

Despite her harsh words, I found myself oddly reassured. Sydney might be prickly and self-centered, but she was also surprisingly reliable when it came to following through on her promises. In a world that had gone completely insane, that kind of consistency was more valuable than gold I guess.

Rachel stepped forward at that time. “Thank you for accommodating us,” she said, extending a hand that shook only slightly. “I’m Rachel, and this is my sister Rebecca.”

Sydney glanced at the offered hand but didn’t take it. Instead, she gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. “Sydney,” she said simply. “Now, if we’re done with the introductions, I suggest we get moving. It’s dark, it’s getting colder, and I have absolutely no intention of spending a night sleeping in a car when I could be in my own bed.”

I moved toward the passenger seat as Sydney slid behind the wheel choosing to drive this time. The sisters settled into the back seat.

The engine turned over with a reassuring purr, and Sydney expertly maneuvered us out of the underground parking garage. As we emerged onto street level, the full scope of the disaster hit us like a physical blow. The darkness outside was absolute, broken only by the occasional flicker of fires burning in abandoned buildings and the sweep of our headlights.

But it was the movement that made my stomach clench. Hundreds upon hundreds of infected wandered the streets like a grotesque parody of normal city life. They moved with that horrible, jerky gait that had become all too familiar, their heads turning toward any sound, any hint of living prey. Some still wore the remnants of their former lives—business suits, uniforms, casual clothes—but all were stained with blood and worse things.

Sydney handled the car quite easily swerving around the ones that stumbled directly into our path while maintaining a steady speed. The infected were fast on foot, but not fast enough to catch a moving vehicle. Still, seeing them try was unsettling—their fingers clawing at empty air as we passed, their mouths opening in silent screams we couldn’t hear through the sealed windows.

“Did you find your mother?” Sydney’s question came suddenly glancing at me from the corner of her eye.

I was silent for a split of second before speaking.

“Yeah,” I managed, the word coming out rougher than I’d intended. “I found her.”

Sydney’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, and I saw her glance at me again. She didn’t press for details, didn’t offer empty platitudes about how sorry she was. Instead, she simply nodded once, a gesture that somehow conveyed more understanding than a dozen speeches could have.

“Sorry,” she said quietly.

In the rearview mirror, I caught sight of Rachel and Rebecca’s faces. They both understood what my words meant as well.

Rachel opened her mouth as if to say something, but chose to stay silence in the end.

“So,” I said, desperate to change the subject, “where exactly are we heading? You mentioned wanting to go somewhere specific.”

Sydney’s mood seemed to brighten slightly at the shift in topic. “My house,” she said, as if it should have been obvious.

“Your house?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. Given everything that had happened, given the way she’d talked about her family, I’d assumed she’d been living in a dorm or an apartment somewhere.

“Where else did you think I was going?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “Some random abandoned building? A friend’s place? Please.”

“Well, I guess I just figured…” I trailed off, then decided to voice what I’d been thinking. “I mean, you don’t live with your parents, do you?”

The question seemed to amuse her. Her lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t entirely sarcastic either. “Quite perceptive despite appearances, aren’t you, Ryan?” She said, batting her eyelashes in a way that was definitely mocking.

“I’ll choose not to comment on that particular observation,” I replied dryly.

The drive stretched on for another half hour, taking us through neighborhoods that grew progressively more upscale as we moved away from the city center. The infected were fewer here, though still present—shambling across manicured lawns and wandering through the remains of what had once been peaceful suburban streets. Sydney navigated the maze of residential roads with the confidence of someone who’d driven this route thousands of times.

Finally, we turned into a driveway that led to a house that could only be described as impressive. It wasn’t a mansion exactly, but it was certainly large enough for a family of four or five. The fact that Sydney apparently lived here alone raised questions about her background that I filed away for later consideration.

The garage door was operated by some kind of electronic badge system—Sydney simply held up a small device, and the heavy door rolled up smoothly. She drove us inside quickly, the door already beginning to close before we’d even come to a complete stop. Through the narrowing gap, I caught sight of several infected that had been drawn by the sound of the motor, their faces pressed against the closing barrier with expressions of hunger.

“Well,” Sydney announced as she turned off the engine, “welcome to my humble abode.”

We climbed out of the car, the sisters moving slowly as if they couldn’t quite believe they were somewhere safe. Sydney produced a set of keys from her jacket pocket and unlocked a door at the far end of the garage.

“Welcome to my little palace,” she said with a theatrical flourish as she pushed the door open and reached for the light switch.

I followed her inside, with Rachel and Rebecca close behind, and we all stopped dead in our tracks as the lights revealed the interior of Sydney’s home.

It was… completely normal.

Not just normal, but pristine. The walls were painted in warm, neutral tones—beiges and soft grays that spoke of professional interior design. The furniture was modern but comfortable, all clean lines and quality materials. There wasn’t a single band poster in sight, no black paint, no gothic decorations, no skulls or candles or any of the other accessories I’d somehow expected.

It looked like something out of a home decorating magazine.

“What’s wrong?” Sydney asked, turning to face us with obvious amusement at our shocked expressions. “Don’t you like it? Not quite what you were expecting?”

I felt my face flush slightly as I realized how transparent my assumptions had been. “No, it’s… I mean, it’s beautiful. I just expected something with a different… aesthetic.”

Sydney’s grin widened, and for the first time since I’d met her, it seemed genuinely pleased rather than mocking. “Oh, I see. Just because I wear black and have what you’d call a ’goth style,’ you assumed I’d painted all my walls black and decorated with band posters and satanic symbols, right?”

The accuracy of her guess was so spot-on that I couldn’t even deny it. Behind me, I heard Rebecca clear her throat awkwardly, and I realized Sydney had probably read all three of our minds with disturbing precision.

“Yeah, a little.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, still grinning. “You’re not the first person to make that mistake. But believe it or not, some of us actually appreciate good interior design regardless of how we choose to dress.”

“Anyway,” Sydney continued, stretching her arms above her head again and rolling her shoulders, “I desperately need a shower. I absolutely reek of blood and sweat, and frankly, it’s starting to make me nauseous.” She gestured vaguely toward the kitchen area. “Feel free to help yourselves to whatever’s in the fridge. I keep it pretty well stocked, or at least I did before the world went to hell.”

She started toward what I assumed was a staircase leading to the second floor, but paused with one foot on the bottom step. Turning back to face us, she tilted her head slightly, and her expression became more serious.

“But don’t go crazy with it,” she added, her voice carrying a warning edge. “Every single portion of food is precious now. We’re living in an apocalypse, not a vacation resort. What I have up there needs to last, and I have no idea when we’ll be able to get more.”

With that sobering reminder, she disappeared up the stairs, leaving the three of us alone in her surprisingly normal living room.

Honestly, all I really wanted was water. I had a bottle in my backpack, but after everything we’d been through, the thought of something cold and fresh was almost irresistible. My throat felt like sandpaper, and the metallic taste of fear and adrenaline still lingered in my mouth.

I made my way to the kitchen area, which was separated from the living room by a sleek granite countertop. The refrigerator was one of those massive stainless steel models that probably cost more than most people’s cars. When I opened it, I was greeted by the sight of plenty of bottled water, along with various other beverages and what looked like enough food to feed a small family for weeks.

Lucky for me, there were several bottles of water right at eye level. I grabbed one, twisted off the cap, and took several long gulps. The cold liquid hit my system like a shock, making my teeth ache and sending a brief spike of pain through my temples, but it was exactly what I needed. The clean, crisp taste washed away the lingering memories of blood and…blood.

When I’d satisfied my immediate thirst, I turned back toward the living room to check on Rachel and Rebecca. They had both settled onto the large sectional sofa that dominated the space, positioned perfectly for watching the massive flat-screen television mounted on the opposite wall.

Rachel was fumbling with what looked like several different remote controls, pressing buttons with increasing desperation. The TV remained stubbornly black, no matter what combination of controls she tried.

Watching her struggle made me wonder about things I’d been trying not to think about. How far had this virus actually spread? Was there anywhere on Earth that was still safe, still normal? Were there places where people were still going about their daily lives, completely unaware of the nightmare that had consumed our city?

The complete absence of any news, any communication, any sign that the outside world still existed was perhaps the most terrifying aspect of our situation. It felt like everything had collapsed not over days or weeks, but in a matter of hours. One moment we were living normal lives, worried about normal things like homework and weekend plans, and the next moment we were fighting for survival against creatures that had once been our neighbors and friends.

Of course, I had to acknowledge that my perspective might be skewed. Emily and I had been trapped in that storage closet at the school for what felt like an eternity, cut off from any information about what was happening in the wider world. For all I knew, there had been news broadcasts, emergency announcements, government responses—we just hadn’t been in a position to hear any of it.

“Want some water?” I asked Rebecca, holding up the bottle I’d been drinking from. She was sitting quietly on the couch.

She looked at the bottle for a moment, then nodded slightly and accepted it with hands that trembled only a little. At least the shaking seemed to be subsiding.

I lowered myself into the single armchair positioned at an angle to the sofa, setting my backpack down beside it with a soft thud. The chair was incredibly comfortable—leather, probably, and the kind of furniture that molded itself to your body. After spending so much time running, hiding the simple luxury of a proper chair felt almost overwhelming.

I let out a long sigh, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders for the first time in what felt like days.

“Nothing,” Rachel said, her voice heavy with frustration. She tossed the last remote control onto the coffee table with more force than necessary. “Every channel, every station—it’s all dead. Everything’s been disconnected.”

She slumped back against the couch cushions, running her hands through her hair. The gesture made her look older somehow, worn down by the weight of everything that had happened.

At least we still had electricity, I noted, glancing around at the various lights and electronic devices that were still functioning. But I had a sinking feeling that wouldn’t last much longer. Power grids required maintenance, monitoring, people to keep them running. If those people were gone…

Rachel moved to sit closer to her sister, and Rebecca passed the water bottle to her. Rachel took a sip, then another, as if she was just now realizing how thirsty she’d been.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room like a heavy blanket. It wasn’t awkward for Rebecca—she seemed to exist in her own world, only partially aware of the tension that hung between Rachel and me. But for Rachel and me, the silence was loaded with everything we weren’t saying.

We hadn’t really talked since we’d left her house. Not about what had happened in their apartment. Rachel probably had every right to hate me right now, but she was alive, and in the end, that was all that mattered. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

The awkwardness was becoming unbearable. I found myself fidgeting, unable to get comfortable despite the quality of the chair. Maybe I should excuse myself, go find somewhere else to wait until Sydney came back downstairs.

But before I could make my escape, Rebecca spoke up.

“You’re in high school, right?” She asked, looking directly at me for the first time since we’d arrived.

I nodded. “Abraham Lincoln Secondary. What about you?”

She looked like she was probably close to my age, maybe a year or two younger. Given that Rachel had mentioned putting her in a private school, I assumed she was getting a much better education than most of us at the public schools.

“Lexington Charter,” she replied matter-of-factly.

I nearly choked on my own saliva when I heard that name.

“L—Lexington?” I repeated, sure I must have misheard. “Lexington Charter?”

Rebecca nodded as if she’d just mentioned the most ordinary school in the world, apparently oblivious to the significance of what she’d just said.

Lexington Charter wasn’t just any private school. It was the private school in New York. It was where the children of celebrities, politicians, and billionaires went to get educated. The waiting list was years long, the tuition was astronomical, and even having unlimited money wasn’t enough to guarantee admission. They were notorious for their academic standards, their exclusivity, and their ability to launch students directly into Ivy League universities.

I stared at Rebecca with new eyes, trying to reconcile this quiet, seemingly ordinary girl with what I knew about Lexington Charter. She must be incredibly intelligent—probably genius-level—to have earned a spot there. The school didn’t accept anyone based solely on family wealth or connections. Every student had to prove they deserved to be there academically.

“That’s… wow,” I managed, still trying to process this information. “That’s really impressive.”

Rebecca smirked proudly at my words while Rachel smiled at Rebecca.

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