Chapter 186: Maribel

Let me guess—another misunderstanding?

I guess it didn’t help that I was holding this girl in an awkward one-armed carry like some kind of budget kidnapper fleeing the scene of a crime. From an outside perspective, this probably looked incredibly suspicious.

Speaking of the girl, her eyes suddenly went wide, and a brilliant smile appeared on her lips—the first genuine expression of joy I’d seen from her since the rescue.

“Maribel!”

So she knew this woman. That was something, at least.

As expected, both her and this woman, Maribel must belong to Rico’s group. The pieces were falling into place now—this was likely someone who’d been separated from the main group, searching for Shannon when the infected attacked. Which meant this entire situation could be resolved with simple communication and clarification.

Regardless, I had to dispel the misunderstanding quickly before—

“Don’t worry, Shannon, I’ll kill this trash soon enough,” Maribel spat venomously, her voice dripping with murderous intent as she approached. Her hand moved to the strap on her thigh, drawing a combat knife in one fluid, motion.

Are you kidding me right now?

I lowered Shannon to the ground immediately, setting her down as gently as possible against the playground’s low barrier fence so she’d at least have something solid to support her injured body.

“Wait a minute—there’s a misunderstanding here,” I started, raising one hand in a placating gesture while trying to maintain eye contact with the approaching woman. “Shannon, that’s your name right? Can you just tell her that I—”

“Gukk!”

I turned toward Shannon, hoping she’d clarify the situation and explain I’d rescued her rather than kidnapped her.

Instead, she doubled over and started puking violently onto the ground, her small body heaving with stress-induced nausea from the combination of near-death experience, adrenaline crash, and the rough treatment of being carried while jumping and running at enhanced speeds I supposed..

Hey! I really need your help here explaining things!

“What did you do to her?” Maribel’s voice turned even colder—if that was possible—her teeth clenching audibly as her grip tightened on the combat knife. Her hazel brown eyes blazed quite fiercely.

“Nothing harmful. As I was trying to say, I helped—” I attempted to explain rapidly before this escalated further.

“Callighan now orders his men to kidnap even innocent young girls?” Maribel interrupted, her voice shaking with barely controlled rage. “How low has that piece of trash fallen? Is there any line he won’t cross?”

Again with that Callighan name. This was becoming a serious problem—everyone in this city apparently had deep grudges against this warlord figure and automatically assumed any unknown person must be working for him.

“I’m wondering the same thing about him, actually,” I replied, maybe a bit too casually given the circumstances and the very real knife pointed in my direction.

But my flippant response only made Maribel even angrier. Her face contorted with fury, and she rushed toward me with clear killing intent radiating from every movement, her knife already angling for a lethal thrust.

Damn it. This situation was deteriorating rapidly.

She thrust her combat knife forward with impressive speed and precision—not wild or amateur, but controlled and aimed directly for my center mass where vital organs clustered. I took a quick step backward to dodge the blade by mere inches, feeling the displaced air whistle past my shirt.

Maribel’s eyes narrowed with focus. She didn’t hesitate or show surprise at my dodge—instead she immediately adjusted her stance, took another quick step forward to close the distance I’d created, and thrust her knife again with a different angle designed to catch me off-guard.

She was genuinely trying to kill me. No warning strikes, no intimidation tactics—these were lethal attacks aimed at critical areas.

I couldn’t fully understand why living people would kill other living people with such ease and determination. The infected were one thing—they were already dead in every way that mattered. But this?

Except maybe for cases of deep personal grudges or direct self-defense, I struggled to comprehend the willingness to end another human life in this post-apocalyptic world where every survivor was precious.

I had killed Jason, though that situation had been complicated. He was already technically dead—his heart had stopped beating, and he was only animated through the Screamer’s stone. Even so, killing him had made me feel something profound and disturbing, because he could still talk and feel emotions and retained memories even though he wasn’t the Jason I’d known anymore. That ambiguous death had haunted me.

But right now, the situation was entirely different.

Maribel and I didn’t know each other at all. We had no history, no personal conflict, no reason for this violence. Yet she was trying to kill me while looking at me with such grudging hatred that it went beyond simple mistaken identity.

Was it purely because she thought I was trying to kidnap Shannon? That might be sufficient motivation for protective violence, I supposed.

But I suspected her hatred stemmed more from the belief that I was part of Callighan’s group—that I represented the faction that had apparently killed members of her community, terrorized her people. She wasn’t seeing me as an individual clearly.

Regardless, how should I deal with this situation without causing serious harm?

I dodged another thrust by stepping back, avoiding the blade by a hair’s breadth. The knife’s edge actually caught the fabric of my jacket, slicing through the outer layer without reaching skin—that’s how close these attacks were coming.

She was remarkably proficient with that combat knife. I wouldn’t say she had formal military training necessarily, but this clearly wasn’t the first time she’d wielded a blade in actual combat situations. Her footwork was solid, her attacks were varied and unpredictable, and her recovery between strikes was minimal. She was objectively a better technical fighter than me in terms of formal training and refined technique.

Thankfully, I possessed superior strength and faster reaction speeds thanks to my Dullahan Senses. But those advantages only helped me avoid getting stabbed—they didn’t solve the fundamental problem of how to stop this fight without seriously injuring someone who was probably an ally once the misunderstanding got cleared up.

My back suddenly hit the barrier fence of the children’s playground, the metal rail pressing against my spine and eliminating my retreat option.

Maribel used that timing perfectly, recognizing I was cornered and immediately thrusting faster toward my chest.

I reached out desperately and caught her wrist just inches before the knife point would have penetrated my chest, my fingers wrapping around her surprisingly strong forearm and halting the forward momentum with a jarring stop that made both our arms shake from the opposing forces.

“I didn’t try to hurt her—I tried to save her,” I said, maintaining eye contact while holding her wrist in an iron grip that prevented any further forward motion.

“Save her?” Maribel snorted with bitter disbelief, her voice dripping with contempt. “Is that the story Callighan uses to brainwash his people now? Pretend you’re heroes while you terrorize everyone else?”

Before I could respond, she suddenly let go of the knife with her gripping hand.

The blade dropped—but only for a split second before her other hand shot up from below and caught it mid-fall, reversing the angle completely and thrusting upward toward my exposed abdomen.

Shit!

I kicked down hard at the fence rail behind me for leverage and jumped backward, vaulting over the barrier and landing inside the children’s playground area on the other side.

But immediately upon landing and turning around, I saw infected shambling toward me from within the playground—three of them, probably drawn by the noise and commotion, now converging on my position from different angles.

Damn it all.

I grabbed my hand axe from my belt and swung it horizontally with enhanced force, the blade connecting with the first infected’s neck and completely severing the head, which went spinning off into the darkness while the body collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

I jumped to avoid the grasping hands of the second infected, twisting mid-air and bringing my axe down vertically into its skull with a wet crunch. The blade buried itself several inches deep, and the infected went limp instantly, dead weight pulling at my weapon.

I planted my boot on the corpse’s shoulder and yanked the axe free just as my enhanced danger sense screamed warning.

I tilted my head sharply to the side.

The wooden lance that Maribel had apparently recovered from where it had struck the car earlier now thrust past my face, missing by less than an inch—close enough that I felt the displaced air against my cheek and caught the faint scent of old wood and infected blood on the weapon.

I saw Maribel’s eyes widen fractionally in shock at my reaction speed—probably surprised I’d dodged something she’d thrown from behind without even seeing it coming. But she quickly composed herself and immediately swung the lance horizontally toward my side.

I brought the body of my axe up defensively, the wooden handle clashing against her wooden lance with a sharp crack that echoed through the playground.

But Maribel was far from finished. She twirled the lance, reversing her grip in a fraction of a second, and struck at me with the opposite end of the weapon—targeting my exposed left side where I’d committed my weight to blocking her first attack.

I raised my arm to block, but even with enhanced durability, I felt significant pain numbing my forearm where the hardwood staff connected with bone-bruising force. The impact sent shock waves up my arm and made my fingers tingle unpleasantly.

Damn it, this is never going to end like this.

Maribel swung her lance toward me again, the wooden shaft cutting through air with a sharp whistle. The attack came fast, committed, her full body weight behind the strike.

But this time, instead of retreating or deflecting, I took a step forward directly into her attack zone—closing the distance in a move that made her eyes widen with complete surprise.

Her lance rushed toward my head with unstoppable momentum.

I focused entirely on the weapon’s trajectory, my enhanced perception slowing time just enough to track every inch of movement. At the absolute last possible microsecond, I tilted my neck sharply to the side.

The tip of the lance rushed past my face, so close I felt the air displacement against my skin. The rough wood caught my cheek, opening a shallow cut that immediately began bleeding. Warm blood trickled down toward my jaw, but the wound was superficial—painful but not dangerous.

Dragged forward by her own momentum, Maribel stumbled past my position as her strike met empty air instead of solid target. But I was already moving, my hand shooting out to grasp her extended wrist with iron fingers.

In one fluid motion, I shifted our positions—using her forward momentum against her while my enhanced strength made the maneuver effortless. I pulled down and twisted, bringing her off-balance and dragging her down with me as I dropped to the ground.

It all happened in less than a second—too fast for her to counter or adjust.

We hit the ground together, dirt and gravel biting into my back. I maintained my grip on both her wrists, pinning them above her head as I ended up on top, my weight and position giving me complete control of the grappling exchange.

I looked down at her, breathing hard, blood still dripping from my cheek onto her tank top.

“Learn to listen to me for one damn second—KUUHHH!”

The words cut off into a strangled gasp as white-hot agony exploded from my groin. My eyes widened in shock as every muscle in my body seemed to seize simultaneously.

She’d knee-kicked me directly in the jewels.

No…

I grunted through clenched teeth, my vision actually blurring at the edges from the nauseating pain radiating outward from that most vulnerable location. My grip on her wrists loosened involuntarily as my body’s autonomic nervous system overrode conscious control.

Unfortunately, no Dullahan enhancements protected me down there. That area remained painfully, vulnerably human, susceptible to the same debilitating agony that had brought down tough guys since the beginning of time.

Maribel capitalized on my moment of incapacitation immediately, shoving against my chest with both hands and sending me rolling off her. She scrambled to her feet with athletic grace and quickly retrieved her fallen lance from where it had clattered to the ground a few feet away.

I glanced over my shoulder with a twisted, pain-contorted expression, still partially doubled over from the lingering nausea. My hand found the handle of my hand axe on the ground. Through sheer force of will, I straightened enough to see clearly.l

Shannon sat against the playground barrier maybe twenty feet away, exhausted and vulnerable.

Behind her, an infected had emerged from the darkness—shambling forward with arms outstretched, its corrupted fingers reaching for Shannon’s exposed back while she remained completely unaware of the threat.

I grasped my axe handle and hurled it with every ounce of enhanced strength I possessed, ignoring the protest from my still-aching body. The weapon spun end-over-end through the air, rotating with perfect balance and trajectory.

Maribel froze as the axe whistled past her head—close enough that the displaced air ruffled her ponytail—but the weapon wasn’t aimed at her.

The axe blade struck the infected directly in the forehead with a wet THUNK sound, penetrating deep into the skull and destroying the motor control center instantly. The infected’s reaching hands froze inches from Shannon’s neck, then the entire corrupted body toppled forward and crashed to the ground right behind where Shannon sat.

Maribel turned around sharply at the sound of the body hitting pavement. Her eyes tracked from the fallen infected to Shannon’s oblivious position to the axe buried in the creature’s skull.

“You…” She started, her voice tinged with shock and dawning realization.

“M…Maribel…” Shannon spoke then, her voice weak but clear enough to carry. She was leaning heavily against the playground barrier with an exhausted expression, her twisted ankle obviously still causing significant pain. But her eyes were focused and aware. “He… he saved me. He told the truth about everything…”

Maribel stiffened visibly, her entire posture going rigid as she looked at me with new eyes.

I staggered to my feet with considerably less grace than I would have liked, still moving carefully to avoid aggravating certain recently-traumatized body parts. I glared at Maribel with undisguised resentment and irritation.

Maribel’s lips parted slightly. For a moment she seemed frozen, unable to process the rapid reversal of her understanding about the situation.

Then shame and embarrassment flooded her features, turning her tan cheeks a deeper shade that was visible even in the dim starry light darkness. Her grip on the lance loosened, and the weapon lowered to point harmlessly at the ground rather than at my chest.

“I… I’m so sorry!” The words burst out of her with mortification. “I thought—I saw you carrying Shannon like that and I just assumed—oh God, I nearly killed you and you were saving her the whole time—”

She looked absolutely devastated by her mistake, her eyes shining with what might have been the beginning of tears but I believed it was more like embarrassment. Her hands trembled slightly as she set the lance down completely and took a hesitant step toward me.

“I really am so, so sorry. After everything Callighan’s people have done, I just reacted without thinking. Shannon is like a little sister to me, and when I saw—I just—” Her voice cracked slightly, the tough exterior crumbling to reveal genuine emotion beneath.

I feared she would even start telling a backstory but they didn’t sound like excuses but genuine regrets.

I wanted to stay angry to be honest.

But looking at her face—seeing the authentic remorse—I found my anger deflating despite my best efforts to maintain it.

“Yeah, well…” I managed through gritted teeth, still moving gingerly. “Maybe next time try asking questions before you try to stab someone repeatedly. Just a suggestion.”

“Are you… are you hurt badly?” Maribel asked, her eyes tracking to the cut on my cheek and then lower, apparently remembering exactly where she’d struck me and wincing in sympathetic pain.

“I’ll live,” I muttered, though honestly I wasn’t entirely certain about that assessment in the short term. “But we really need to move. Now. More infected are coming, and I need to get back to my group. They’re probably wondering if I died.”

Shannon tried to stand again, but her injured ankle immediately buckled and she gasped in pain.

“I’ve got her,” Maribel said quickly, moving to Shannon’s side and carefully lifting the girl with easy. “I’ll carry her. And I’ll… I’ll make this up to you somehow. I swear.”

“Just show me where Rico’s safe house is,” I said, retrieving my axe from the fallen infected’s skull with a wet sucking sound.

“Rico, you know him…”

“My group met him and I left them after hearing her cry,” I said glancing at Shannon. “And then you came…”

“T…That’s…”

“Maybe mention to people that I’m not with Callighan before anyone else tries to murder me tonight. That would be a good start,” I added right

Despite everything, Maribel managed a weak, embarrassed smile. “Deal. And… thank you. For saving Shannon. I should have said that first before apologizing for trying to kill you.”

“Probably would have been a better opener, yeah,” I agreed dryly.

Around us, the sounds of approaching infected grew louder. We were out of time for apologies and explanations.

“Come on,” Maribel said, shifting Shannon’s weight in her arms. “The safe house is only two blocks from here. If we move fast, we can make it before we’re completely surrounded.”

I nodded and fell into step beside her, my body still aching but I was thankfully recovering fast.

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