Chapter 189: Finding a Solution

“Are you really going to stand there and let Clara die in front of us?” I continued. “Decide it now. Because depending carefully on your answer, anything can happen. And I don’t exclude taking my people straight to Callighan if he’s the only one offering shelter and medical help.”

“You—after everything I told you about him?!” Maribel’s glare snapped back to me, outraged.

Shannon, still in the chair, looked between us with wide worried eyes, clearly torn and not knowing what to say.

“I care about my group,” I replied simply, still looking at Maribel and the others, my voice like ice. “That comes first.”

Silence fell in the hall like a dropped curtain.

Brad, Billy, and Kyle actually looked pleased at that line, smug validation written all over their faces. Christopher, Sydney, and Martin, by contrast, were dead serious, weapons steady, watching everyone’s hands. Rachel was the only one not armed or posturing, her entire world narrowed to Clara’s labored breathing as she held a blood-soaked rag to the wound.

“Pull the damn trigger already, Rico!” Jake shouted, eyes fever-bright. “Just give the word and we end this!”

“Give me the word, Ryan,” Christopher said from behind me, voice flat with annoyance. “I’ll blow that idiot’s head off first and we’ll see who’s left standing.”

Jake flinched at that and jerked his aim away from Billy to plant his sights squarely on Christopher’s chest. The lines shifted again, balance of firepower re-aligning in subtle but deadly ways.

Rico clenched his jaw. He hesitated, gun still raised but eyes flickering between Clara, Shannon, Maribel, Molly, and me.

I took one step further forward and planted myself directly in front of his barrel, blocking his aim at Christopher and Sydney.

“If you’re going to pull that trigger,” I said quietly, “you’ll need to do it fast. And once you do, there’s no coming back from it. No truces. No second chances. Whatever happens after—that’s on you.”

“W…What are you saying…” Rico snapped, confused anger flickering in his eyes as he glared down the sight at me instead.

Another step forward. The muzzle of his rifle was now pointed squarely at my chest, close enough that I could have reached up and grabbed it if I’d wanted to.

“I don’t have time to play this game with you,” I said, irritation finally cutting through the restraint. “Make your decision. Take responsibility for it. Then we’ll make ours—whether that means walking out of here or staying to cooperate.”

“Rico.” Molly’s hand came to rest lightly between his shoulder blades. “He saved little Shannon. If we refuse to even let an injured woman see our doctor, what makes us any different from Callighan?”

“Molly, what are you—”

“Shut up, Jake,” Maribel cut in sharply, not even looking at him.

Jake’s mouth snapped closed with an audible click of teeth.

Rico looked at us again. Looked at Clara. Looked at Shannon. The muscles in his jaw jumped.

“You think Marlon would have hesitated over something like this?” Molly asked softly, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

That seemed to land where nothing else had. Rico’s shoulders dropped the slightest fraction. Then, finally, he lowered his gun.

“We’ll take only the woman,” he said. “Her, to the doctor. The rest of you stay put.”

“There’s no way in hell we’re leaving her alone with a bunch of gun-obsessed lunatics,” Sydney shot back instantly, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t you ever run out of things to say?” Maribel groaned, her patience for Sydney’s commentary clearly at its limit.

“Not even slightly,” Sydney replied sweetly. “I can keep going for hours if you want to find out.”

Maribel’s expression twisted further.

“Maribel, please…” Shannon’s small hand reached out and closed around Maribel’s forearm, her fingers tightening in a silent plea.

Rico looked at me then, his expression still guarded but no longer openly hostile. “Just one person can stay with her, then. That’s our limit.”

“I’ll stay,” I said immediately, before anyone else could volunteer or object.

If there was any chance—however remote—to scout for oceanworthy ships capable of crossing the Atlantic, it had to be now. We clearly weren’t going to establish a settlement in Atlantic City given the hostile warlord situation and the tensions already fracturing between our group and Rico’s community. With relationships this strained, we wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the Boardwalk again anytime soon.

So I needed to take this opportunity while it existed to look around the marina areas, assess what vessels remained seaworthy, and gather informations about Atlantic crossing possibilities.

Yeah, it was probably stupid—bordering on delusional, actually. Even if I somehow managed to find a ship genuinely capable of crossing the Atlantic Ocean safely, I’d still need an experienced crew. Navigating thousands of miles of open ocean required specialized knowledge: understanding weather patterns, reading nautical charts, operating complex sailing equipment, performing emergency repairs on mechanical and electrical systems, managing food and water supplies for weeks-long voyages.

The equipment requirements alone were staggering.

And that didn’t even account for the physical and mental demands. Crossing the Atlantic meant dealing with rough seas that could literally levitate you off your bunk as the vessel pitched through massive swells, enduring isolation and confinement for potentially months, maintaining constant vigilance for mechanical failures or weather changes that could turn deadly in minutes.

But I had nothing else concrete in my hands right now. No better leads on Elena’s location, no alternative plans for reaching Europe, no magical solutions that would make this easier. I had to start somewhere, even if ’somewhere’ meant gathering preliminary information that might never lead anywhere.

I glanced at the others then—particularly Christopher, Martin, Rachel, and Sydney. “Leave Clara in my care. You go ahead and rejoin the rest of our group back in Galloway. Tell Margaret and the others that we’ll need to find another settlement location. Atlantic City isn’t viable for us.”

“Alright,” Christopher nodded, finally lowering his rifle completely and clicking the safety back on with deliberate finality. “That makes sense. We need to start scouting alternative coastal locations immediately anyway.”

“I’ll rejoin you as soon as Clara is back on her feet and cleared for travel,” I said, making the commitment explicit. “Shouldn’t be more than a few days if their doctor is competent.”

Martin nodded understanding, relief visible in his expression. “Alright, we’ll trust you with her. Take care of both of you.”

“Screw all this diplomatic nonsense,” Sydney said bluntly. “Why can’t we all just come together to their settlement? It’s not like they have some impregnable castle fortress on the beach that we’re trying to conquer. This whole separation is ridiculous overreaction.”

“Yeah, exactly! They’re being way too dramatic about simple cooperation,” Billy chimed in, apparently emboldened by Sydney’s confrontational stance.

I could see what Sydney was doing—purposefully riling up Brad, Billy, and Kyle by voicing their grievances in ways that seemed to validate their entitled attitudes. Whether she was doing it consciously as manipulation or just expressing genuine frustration, the effect was the same: the three idiots felt encouraged in their worst impulses.

Maribel was quite fuming at Sydney now.

“Alright Sydney, come here for a minute,” Rachel said quickly, moving to physically intervene before the situation could escalate again. She grabbed Sydney’s arm and started dragging her toward the back of the memorial hall. “We need to get ready to leave anyway.”

“Hey! Let go—they’re going to think I’m running away!” Sydney protested, though she allowed herself to be pulled. “Especially that skinny Gollum-looking bastard!”

Jake frowned, clearly sensing he was being insulted but not quite catching the specific reference or understanding the Lord of the Rings allusion.

I sighed with genuine relief that this hadn’t devolved into an actual bloodbath.

I glanced at Rico and the others, and as expected, whatever small progress we’d made toward mutual understanding during the small journey here had completely evaporated after Brad’s catastrophic stupidity and the subsequent standoff.

Maribel looked away when my gaze found her, her posture radiating annoyance and disappointment—probably feeling betrayed that I’d threatened to join Callighan after she’d explained exactly what kind of monster he was.

Jake was still shooting me hostile glares, though I ignored them completely. His opinion had never mattered and wasn’t going to start mattering now.

“Thank God you were here, Molly,” I said instead, turning to address the one person in Rico’s group who’d actually advocated for de-escalation.

“You played your part too,” Molly replied, though her eyes narrowed slightly with lingering suspicion. “But I genuinely hope you weren’t serious about those words regarding joining Callighan. That was just some maneuvering to force a decision, right?”

“If he’s truly the monster you’ve described—and I have no reason to doubt your assessment—then I want absolutely nothing to do with someone like that,” I said, meeting her gaze directly. “I was leveraging the threat to break the deadlock, not making an actual statement of intent.”

“Then we’re good,” Molly smiled. She patted my shoulder briefly before moving away to speak with Jake, who was clearly still opposed to allowing any cooperation with our group.

I rejoined the others and moved to check on Clara, who lay unconscious in the chair with shallow, labored breathing that concerned me. Her face had gone beyond pale into a grayish cast that screamed significant blood loss and possible shock.

“Don’t worry, they genuinely do have a doctor at their place,” I said. “And apparently it’s not far from this location—close enough we can get her there quickly.”

“Y…Yeah… sorry again for causing so much trouble because of me,” Clara managed to whisper, her eyes fluttering open briefly before closing again with obvious exhaustion.

“The only person who should be apologizing is the coward who shot you,” I replied. “None of this is your fault. You’re a victim, not a problem.”

If that sniper was really working with Callighan’s faction, then there was even less reason for us to consider any kind of cooperation or alliance with that community. Anyone who employed snipers to shoot at unknown people without warning or identification was exactly the kind of dangerous psychopath we needed to avoid.

“You sure you can handle staying alone with them?” Sydney asked, approaching me. “You’ll be in the middle of enemy territory, you know? Surrounded by people who literally just threatened to shoot you.”

“Already calling it enemy territory, huh?” I didn’t quite know how to respond to that characterization, though it wasn’t entirely inaccurate given recent events.

“Of course it’s enemy territory—stop being so naïve about human nature,” Sydney said, reaching up to poke her finger directly against my nose for emphasis. “These people were ready to execute all of us five minutes ago. That kind of hostility doesn’t just evaporate because one reasonable woman talked them down.”

“Alright, alright—I understand the risks,” I said, gently grasping her hand and lowering it from my face. “Just be careful on your way back to Galloway. The route has infected, and we don’t know if Callighan’s people are actively patrolling or watching movement through the city.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about us,” Christopher said, glancing toward where Brad, Billy, and Kyle were clustering together and muttering among themselves. “I’m more worried about managing those three idiots without you here to run interference. They don’t understand how close we came to disaster.”

“Can you really blame them, though?” I found myself asking despite my own frustration with the trio. “We all came to Atlantic City with hopes that this would be our new permanent home. Now we have to pack up and start searching again. That’s going to seriously demoralize some people in Margaret’s community who are already exhausted from the evacuation.”

“But we genuinely don’t have any choice,” Sydney sighed. “It really does look too dangerous to stay here long-term. We’d just be importing ourselves into someone else’s war, and we’ve barely survived our own disasters.”

“Exactly,” Rachel agreed quietly. “Better to keep searching than to settle somewhere that might get us all killed within weeks.”

“What about exploring other locations within Atlantic City?” Martin asked suddenly. “Other spots that might work for settlement?”

“Other spots?” I turned to look at him, genuinely curious where he was going with this.

“Yeah, think about it logically,” Martin elaborated, warming to his argument. “Their group clearly didn’t clear every single location in Atlantic City, right? This is a substantial urban area—miles of coastline, dozens of neighborhoods, hundreds of potential settlement sites. There must be some viable locations that are far enough from the Boardwalk to avoid territorial conflict but still offer ocean access and defensible positions.”

“You’re saying you want to stay in Atlantic City despite the Callighan threat?” I asked, trying to understand his reasoning.

“I looked around during our approach, and honestly, the infrastructure seems good,” Martin said. “Solid buildings, including multiple hotels that could house our entire community. Access to the ocean for fishing and potential maritime trade. Established street layouts that could be cleared and defended systematically.”

“What about that hostile warlord group that their people are actively fighting?” Christopher asked skeptically. “That seems like a pretty significant problem you’re glossing over.”

Martin shrugged, apparently unbothered by the concern. “Aren’t Callighan and his people already completely occupied dealing with Rico and the others’s community? If we establish ourselves quietly in a different area, maintain low profile, and carefully avoid getting involved in their conflict, Callighan shouldn’t have any reason to target us specifically, right?”

He looked around at our faces, gauging reactions. “I’m sure Callighan didn’t just attack Rico’s group randomly out of nowhere for no reason. There’s probably some specific territorial dispute, resource competition, or personal grudge driving that conflict. If we’re not competing for the same territory or resources, we might be able to exist without drawing his hostility.”

I actually hadn’t considered the situation from that perspective, but Martin was raising very valid points…

Callighan clearly wanted something specific from the Boardwalk community—maybe their prime Boardwalk territory, maybe their resource stockpiles, maybe something else entirely. But that conflict didn’t automatically extend to every other survivor group in the region.

If we established ourselves in a completely different area of Atlantic City—far enough away to avoid territorial overlap but close enough to benefit from urban infrastructure—we might be able to exist independently without triggering Callighan’s aggression. We wouldn’t be competing for the same fishing grounds, the same scavenging territories, the same positions.

“That’s… actually not a terrible idea,” I admitted slowly. “We’d essentially be establishing a third neutral faction that isn’t involved in the existing conflict. As long as we maintained strict non-involvement and didn’t threaten Callighan’s interests, he might simply ignore us as irrelevant.”

“Exactly!” Martin said, clearly pleased his argument was landing. “We could even potentially establish trade relationships with both communities eventually—neutral ground that both factions could interact with without directly confronting each other.”

“That’s extremely optimistic thinking,” Sydney pointed out. “You’re assuming Callighan is a rational actor who makes logical decisions rather than a paranoid tyrant who sees any independent group as potential threat.”

“True,” Martin conceded. “But we won’t know which type of leader he is until we actually try. And the alternative is abandoning Atlantic City entirely and starting from scratch somewhere else—which has its own massive risks and uncertainties.”

The conversation was interrupted by Rico approaching our group, his expression still wary but less openly hostile than before.

“If you’re ready,” he said to Martin, Christopher, Sydney, and Rachel, “Jake will escort your group back to the city limits to make sure you can leave safely. After that, you’re on your own for the journey back to Galloway.”

“Jake? I rather leave my back to the Infected,” Sydney said only for Christopher to push her ahead with a sigh.

“Shut up Sydney.”

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