Chapter 20: Mending With Rachel And Leaving Sydney’s House

“I know you’re the one who cured me of my infection.”

Rachel stood near the doorway, her arms crossed, confident in her words.

My eyes widened involuntarily, and I felt the color drain from my face. “W—What?” The word came out as barely more than a croak.

She took a step closer, and I could see the intelligence burn. I didn’t just think it was a shallow bite that somehow left me clean. My wound… it had completely healed. Not just scabbed over, not just stopped bleeding—healed turning already into a shallow scar.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, feeling like a fish gasping for air. What could I possibly say to that? How do you explain the impossible?

Rachel moved to the window, her fingers tracing the condensation on the glass as she spoke. “You did something to me, didn’t you?” Her voice grew quieter, more uncertain. “Did you… did you inject me with something while we were having…” She paused, a flush creeping up her neck, “…while we were having sex?”

I watched her struggle with the awkwardness of the question, and I realized this was how her rational mind was trying to process what had happened. Of course she would think I had some kind of medical intervention—a secret cure administered during our most intimate moment. It was the only logical explanation her brilliant mind could construct.

She turned back to face me, her expression a mixture of hope and disbelief. “I felt so sick, Ryan. Really sick. Like I was losing control of my body, of my life. Everything was slipping away from me, and I could feel this… this darkness creeping in.” Her voice grew softer, more vulnerable. “But then… then we were together, and afterward I felt better. Not just physically better—completely better. Like I’d been cured of something that should have been impossible to cure.”

She shook her head. “Do you have a cure? I know how crazy it sounds. I mean, the virus only started spreading two days ago, and you’re just a high school student, but…” She looked at me with those piercing eyes. “But I know what I felt. I know what happened to me.”

I remained silent, my throat tight with words I couldn’t speak. But Rachel was too smart, too perceptive. My silence was answer enough.

Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she lowered her gaze to the floor. “I—I don’t understand exactly what happened, but I know for sure you’re the one who treated me. Somehow, some way, you saved my life.”

“Even if that was the case…” I started, then trailed off, my mind scrambling for something to say that wouldn’t reveal too much.

“You saved my life, and I’m grateful for that,” Rachel said quietly.

The guilt hit me like a physical blow. “I threatened to leave your sister behind if you didn’t have sex with me,” I said, the words bitter on my tongue.

Rachel’s head snapped up, her eyes searching my face. “That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t look at her.

Rachel sighed, her hand unconsciously gripping her arm where the bite had been. “I don’t know… it’s just…” She began pacing the small space, her mind clearly working through the puzzle. “You could have just used the cure as a way to threaten me, to force me into compliance. But you didn’t. Was that because you didn’t want others to know you had the cure?”

She stopped pacing and looked at me directly. “But you did save me. You didn’t need to save me since I was already going to have sex with you, which means you already had the intention of saving me when you came to that room.”

She was too smart, too quick-witted. If she kept following this line of reasoning, she might stumble onto something far more dangerous than a secret cure.

“But…” Rachel’s voice grew smaller, more uncertain. “I don’t understand why you wanted to have sex with me in the first place. Was it just for…” She trailed off, looking at me with an expression that was equal parts hurt and confusion.

Panic rose in my throat. I had to redirect her, had to throw her off this path before she reached conclusions that would change everything. “I wanted to have sex with you because I’ve had my eyes on you since the first day I met you,” I said, forcing my voice to sound cold, detached. “You’re the hottest woman I had seen, and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity.”

The words felt like ash in my mouth, and I saw something flicker across Rachel’s face like embarrassment at how openly I had admitted that.

I was actually also feeling embarrassed hearing my words.

“But if I was going to have sex with you anyway, you had no reason to cure me, right? So why did you do it?” Rachel asked.

I was trapped. There was no way to answer this without revealing too much, but there was also no way to lie convincingly. Not to her.

“I didn’t want you to die,” I said finally, the honesty spilling out of me like blood from a wound.

Rachel blinked, her eyes widening slightly as she processed my words.

“I see…” She said after a long moment.

The embarrassment was overwhelming. I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the apocalypse raging outside. This was worse than any zombie bite—this was having your soul laid bare.

Rachel turned toward the door, her hand on the handle, but she paused before opening it. “I won’t tell anyone about you having the cure,” she said, her back still to me. “But… promise me something. Promise me that if my sister needs it, you’ll use it on her. I don’t care if you don’t have enough for me, or if it’s too dangerous, or whatever. But Rebecca… if she needs it, please.”

If Rebecca got infected, using my power to cure her would mean… having sex though.

I pushed the thought away.

“You better make sure she doesn’t need it first,” I replied, my voice rougher than I intended.

Rachel turned back to me, and for the first time since this conversation started, she smiled. It was small, tentative, but genuine. “You’re right. I’ll be more careful.”

She opened the door but looked back at me one last time.

“I don’t hold any grudge against you, Ryan. I still think you wanted to have sex with me for some reason beyond just attraction—maybe so I wouldn’t notice the injection, or maybe there’s something else I don’t understand. But I do know one thing, and I’m completely sure of it now.” Her eyes met mine. “You’re a good person as I had thought.

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving me alone with the weight of her words.

I stood frozen for a long moment, her voice echoing in my head. The relief was so overwhelming it made my knees weak. I collapsed onto the bed, my hands shaking as the adrenaline finally began to fade.

She didn’t hate me. She didn’t think I was a monster. Despite everything—the threats, the manipulation, the lies—she somehow saw something good in me.

A smile spread across my face, the first genuine smile I’d felt in days. “You really are amazing, Rachel,” I whispered to the empty room.

That night, I had slept like a log. My mind had found a semblance of peace after my conversation with Rachel. The weight of her forgiveness had lifted something heavy from my chest, allowing me to sink into the deepest rest I’d experienced since this nightmare began.

But dawn brought its own harsh realities.

“Wake the hell up, Ryan!” Sydney’s voice cut through my dreams like a machete, yanking me back to consciousness as she ruthlessly pulled away my bedsheet.

I groaned, my eyes fighting to focus in the dim morning light filtering through the curtains. My body felt heavy, reluctant to leave the sanctuary of sleep where zombies didn’t exist and the world still made sense.

Sydney stood beside my bed, but her usual impatient expression had transformed into something else entirely. Her eyes were fixed on my exposed torso, wide with surprise and something that looked suspiciously like appreciation.

“Wow…” She breathed out, followed by a low whistle of admiration that made my cheeks burn.

I looked down at myself and felt panic surge through my system. My shirt had ridden up during the night, revealing the defined abs and lean muscle that had developed since my transformation.

“Give it back, you pervert!” I snapped, grabbing for the sheet and pulling it up to cover myself, glaring at her with as much indignation as I could muster.

Sydney raised her hands in mock surrender and smirked. “I didn’t know you were hiding such a hot body under those baggy clothes, Ryan. Never judge a book by its cover, huh?”

Ironically I’d had the exact same thought about her when I’d discovered her impressive bra size. But I wasn’t about to admit that.

“Yeah, thanks for the commentary. Now can you leave, weirdo?” I pulled the sheet higher, feeling ridiculously exposed.

“Alrighty,” Sydney sighed with exaggerated disappointment, heading toward the door. She paused at the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder. “But seriously, where have you been hiding all that? It’s like you’re a whole different person.”

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving me alone with my racing heart and the uncomfortable realization that my physical changes were becoming impossible to hide.

I sat up slowly, running my hands through my hair and trying to calm my nerves. Through the window, I could see the morning sun casting long shadows across the devastated neighborhood. Even from here, I could make out the shambling figures of the infected wandering aimlessly through the streets below. They seemed more active in the morning light—hungry, restless, searching for their next meal.

I really had hoped this was all some vivid nightmare I was trapped in, but the cold morning air seeping through the window frame and the distant moans drifting up from the street below confirmed that this was very much reality.

After pulling on a long-sleeved shirt to cover any evidence of my transformation, I made my way downstairs. The smell of eggs and bacon filled the air—a comforting normalcy that felt almost surreal given our circumstances.

“Breakfast is ready, Ryan!” Sydney called from the kitchen. “You better eat something before we leave. This might be your last decent meal, after all.”

Thank you for reassuring me right at the morning, Sydney.

“Yeah, right…” I muttered, but first I needed a shower to fully wake up and prepare myself for whatever horrors awaited us outside.

The hot water felt like a luxury that might soon become a memory. I stood under the spray longer than I should have, letting the heat ease the tension in my muscles and wash away the lingering anxiety. When I finally emerged, I felt more human—more ready to face whatever this day would throw at us or at least I hoped.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, the others had already finished eating and dispersed to gather their belongings. Rachel had prepared a plate for me with perfect portions of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, still warm and carefully arranged. The thoughtfulness of the gesture made my chest tighten with an emotion I couldn’t quite name.

I ate alone in the quiet kitchen, savoring Rachel’s cooking while my mind wandered to the challenges ahead. Sydney’s plan to find a secure location near a grocery store made sense in the short term, but what happened when those supplies ran out? How long could we realistically survive by scavenging? The questions multiplied in my head like a virus of their own.

Uncertainty and anxiousness pressed down on me as I finished the last bite of toast. I tried to maintain some optimism—maybe the virus hadn’t spread beyond the major cities, maybe the military was already mobilizing, maybe civilization would find a way to fight back. But looking out at the devastation that had once been New York, it was hard to believe that recovery would come anytime soon, if at all.

After breakfast, I returned to my room to pack the few belongings I had left. I pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, knowing that any exposed skin was a potential target. As I zipped up my backpack, I carefully placed the framed photo of my mother and me inside, wrapping it in a spare shirt to protect it.

When I rejoined the others downstairs, I found them all similarly dressed in protective clothing—long sleeves, sturdy pants, closed-toe shoes. We looked like we were preparing for a hike rather than fleeing through a zombie-infested city.

“Is everyone ready?” Sydney asked. She looked at each of us in turn, and we all nodded silently. “Then let’s go.”

She led us toward the door to the garage. We climbed into the same vehicle we’d used yesterday, settling into our established positions with Sydney behind the wheel, me riding shotgun, and the two sisters in the back seat.

“Put your seatbelts on, guys,” Sydney instructed as she adjusted her mirrors. “It might be a rough ride ahead.”

The engine roared to life, and Sydney carefully backed out of the garage. As we emerged into the morning sunlight, the full scope of the apocalypse spread out before us like a scene from humanity’s worst nightmare.

“Oh God…” Rebecca whispered from the back seat, her voice filled with horror.

I couldn’t blame her reaction. Seeing the devastation in broad daylight was entirely different from our nighttime escape. The infected were everywhere—hundreds of them wandering through the streets in various stages of decay. I could see elderly people in tattered robes, businessmen still wearing the remains of their suits, women in torn dresses, and worst of all, children with their small faces contorted by the virus.

Some were missing limbs, others had chunks of flesh hanging from their bones, and many bore the gruesome evidence of the feeding frenzies that had created them. It was a grotesque parade of what humanity had become in just a few short days.

Sydney drove with careful speed, weaving between abandoned cars and debris while we all scanned the streets for any signs of other survivors. But the only movement we saw was the endless shambling of the infected, their heads turning toward the sound of our engine with predatory interest.

I know it was trash to think like that but I hoped Rebecca’s wealthy classmates from Lexington were still alive and still trapped at the school. There was a chance their influential parents had organized some kind of rescue operation. By chance we might even join it. It was a slim hope, but in a world where hope itself had become a scarce commodity, I was willing to cling to even the smallest possibility.

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