Chapter 185: Shannon

“Disgusting as always…”

I turned around to face the girl, trying to soften my expression from combat focus to something less potentially terrifying. “Are you okay?” I asked gently.

The girl stared at me with eyes so wide they showed white all around the irises—the classic thousand-yard stare that came from acute traumatic stress. She was breathing in rapid, shallow gasps that indicated she was probably experiencing shock alongside the natural aftermath of a near-death experience. Her hands trembled violently as they clutched at the brick wall behind her.

Up close, with better lighting and without the immediate threat of infected, I could see more details that revised my initial assessment. She was younger than I’d estimated during the rescue—maybe twelve rather than fourteen, barely younger than Rebecca. Her flaxen hair was matted and tangled, but unlike many survivors I’d encountered, she actually seemed to be in relatively good physical health aside from the obvious malnourishment. No visible bite marks, no signs of serious injury beyond dirt and exhaustion.

“You… you just killed them,” she whispered. “You moved so fast and just… how did you do that?”

I didn’t know how to reply to such question so I didn’t.

“You’re safe now,” I said, taking a slow step closer. “Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore. But I need to check something important, okay?”

I hesitated briefly, then knelt in front of her to bring myself down to her eye level—less intimidating, more approachable. I tried at least after Cindy, Sydney and even Rachel told me my expression had became quite cold and could scare people.

“You didn’t get bitten, did you?” I asked, trying to keep the dread out of my voice but unable to completely suppress the anxiety that question created. “Did any of those infected manage to scratch or bite you before I got here?”

Even though I’d killed them quickly, I didn’t know what happened before that.

“I… I don’t think so…” She stammered, flinching away slightly.

“Let me look, just to be sure,” I said gently, reaching out my hand toward her neck area.

“W…What are you…” She gulped nervously, her entire body going tense as my hand approached.

But I just placed my fingers gently against her neck as if checking her pulse, while actually using my enhanced Dullahan senses to detect any trace of viral infection inside her system. The ability to sense Symbiosis and infection was one of my more subtle enhancements, requiring concentration but incredibly useful for situations exactly like this.

I focused, feeling for that distinctive wrongness that infected tissue carried—the viral presence that corrupted cells and rewrote biology into something bestial and mindless. Seconds passed as I extended my awareness through her system, searching for any trace of contamination.

Nothing. Clean. Completely uninfected.

“Thank God…” I sighed with profound relief, allowing myself a genuine smile as I met her frightened eyes. “You aren’t infected. I promise you’re completely safe from that. No virus in your system at all.”

She froze mid-breath, staring at my face wide eyes, with an expression I couldn’t quite interpret—surprise, confusion, maybe something else beneath those surface reactions. Then she blinked several times before stuttering.

“R…Really?” Her voice emerged small but there was clearly relief. “You’re sure? You can actually tell?”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely certain,” I confirmed, rising to my feet and offering her my hand. “You’re completely fine health-wise. But we really should leave this area immediately. More infected will be drawn by the noise and commotion, and standing around exposed isn’t safe.”

She nodded weakly, reaching up to grasp my offered hand with fingers that still trembled from shock and exhaustion. But when she tried to put weight on her legs to stand, she immediately gasped in pain and fell back onto her rear with a small cry of distress.

“Hah!” The sound was half-sob, half-surprised yelp.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked with concern, kneeling again to assess what had happened. “Are you injured somewhere I didn’t notice?”

“It’s… it’s my ankle…” She managed to say through gritted teeth, reaching down with one hand to grasp at her lower left leg.

I carefully lifted her foot to examine it, noting she was wearing worn sneakers that had probably once been white but were now stained brown with accumulated dirt. Even through the shoe, I could see the telltale purple-black discoloration spreading across the ankle area—the distinctive bruising pattern of a twisted or possibly sprained joint.

“You’ve twisted your ankle pretty badly,” I said, setting her foot back down. “Probably happened when you were running from the infected or when you fell.”

“W…What?” She stuttered, her face draining of what little color it had regained, going pale. “But that means I can’t… I can’t run. If more of those things come, I can’t escape…”

The panic in her voice was climbing toward hyperventilation territory.

At that exact moment, I raised my hearing and detected the sounds of infected approaching from multiple directions.

“It will be absolutely fine, I promise,” I said. “I’ll carry you to safety. Trust me?”

I wrapped one arm around her waist firmly, positioning her against my left side in what was essentially a modified fireman’s carry—her body secured against mine with my arm supporting her weight while leaving my right hand completely free for my weapon.

“W…Wait, what are you…” Her face flushed with sudden embarrassment. But her blush froze as she twisted enough to see over my shoulder where infected were indeed emerging from side streets and doorways, multiple shambling figures closing in from both directions.

“Sorry about carrying you like this,” I said apologetically, shifting my grip to ensure she was secure. “But I genuinely need one hand free for my axe. Just don’t panic and try to stay as still as possible, alright? I’ve got you.”

I started running without waiting for her response, my enhanced leg muscles launching us forward with speed only athlete could match. I didn’t want to overdoing first because I didn’t know it was a good thing to reveal my power to the whole world and secondly it could hurt her.

“Woaaa!” She let out an involuntary cry as we accelerated, the sudden motion clearly catching her completely off-guard despite my warning.

She wasn’t particularly heavy to begin with. Combined with my strength, carrying her felt like transporting a bag of feathers rather than a person. I barely noticed the additional weight as I sprinted through Atlantic City’s darkened streets.

I should hurry up and rejoin the others before they got too far ahead.

I continued running, navigating around abandoned vehicles and debris. But I purposefully avoided taking the most direct route when it meant running directly past clusters of infected.

Maybe I was being paranoid, but I didn’t want to take any chances with this girl’s safety. If even one infected managed to grasp her dangling leg it wouldn’t look good. Better to take slightly longer routes that kept us clear of grasping hands.

So when I saw more than one infected blocking my intended path ahead, I simply dealt with them rather than trying to dodge through their positions.

The first infected lurched directly into my trajectory, arms outstretched and jaw working with hunger. I planted my left foot and delivered a devastating front kick directly to its center mass, my enhanced strength launching the creature backward into several others behind it. Bodies tangled and collapsed in a heap of corrupted limbs, creating a temporary obstacle for those following.

I jumped over the pile while they were still struggling to untangle themselves, using the chest of the kicked infected as a springboard to clear the entire cluster.

“I… I think I’m gonna throw up…” The girl moaned weakly, her face having gone from pale to slightly green.

“Just hold on a little longer,” I said, making a mental note to minimize jumping and sudden directional changes.

Another infected came at us from the side—emerging from a doorway with surprising speed for their usual shambling pace. But my peripheral vision caught the movement early, giving me plenty of time to adjust my axe grip and swing horizontally as we passed. The blade connected perfectly with the infected’s neck, completely severing the head which went spinning off into darkness while the body continued forward for two more steps before collapsing.

There—I spotted the familiar chain-link fence surrounding the children’s playground I’d vaulted earlier. The landmark meant I was on the right track to rejoin the others.

Obviously the group had already left this location, continuing their advance toward the safe place Rico had promised. But tracking them would be straightforward—their passage had left clear signs for anyone with enhanced senses to follow. Spent shell casings glinting in moonlight, infected bodies marking the path they’d cleared, even the faint scent trails my Dullahan nose could detect.

I continued running at full enhanced speed, eating up distance as I followed the group’s trajectory through Atlantic City’s urban maze. But suddenly I froze mid-stride, every muscle in my body going rigid as my Dullahan danger sense screamed warning.

Something was coming. Something fast and lethal and aimed directly at me.

I tilted my head to the side at the absolute last possible instant—pure instinct and enhanced reflexes responding faster than conscious thought. Something that looked like a spear or lance struck past where my face had been a microsecond earlier, the projectile passing so close I felt the wind of its passage ruffle my hair.

The weapon continued its trajectory and struck a parked car’s window about several feet behind me, shattering the safety glass in an explosive spray of crystalline fragments that rained down onto pavement.

What the hell?!

I whirled around, my free hand bringing my axe up into defensive position while keeping my other arm securely wrapped around the girl to prevent dropping her. My enhanced vision immediately locked onto the figure who’d attacked.

A woman stood perhaps twenty feet away. She was beautiful in an objective sense—probably around Rachel’s age or a bit older, maybe early twenties, with features that would have been striking under any circumstances. Her skin was a lovely tan shade with an almost glossy quality despite being covered in sweat and spattered with blood. Her curly dark brown hair had been tied back in a messy ponytail.

She wore a fitted tank top that hugged her athletic curves in ways that would have been distracting under different circumstances—displaying lean arms.

But none of those aesthetic details mattered compared to her expression and body language. Her light hazel-brown eyes weren’t appreciating my appearance or showing any warmth—they were glaring at me with such murderous intensity that I could practically feel the hostility radiating across the distance between us.

Her hands were empty now after throwing whatever weapon had nearly taken my head off, but her stance indicated she was preparing to attack again.

Let me guess—another misunderstanding?

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