Chapter 205: Maribel’s Suspicions

I ran. I continued to run despite the blood streaming from my arm and side, painting dark trails down my skin that the wind tried and failed to dry.

The bullet that had caught my side was merely a graze—painful but thankfully not dangerous for a body as strong as mine. But the other bullet, the one lodged deep in my left arm, was a different story entirely. I could feel it embedded in the muscle tissue, a foreign object of hot metal that sent waves of burning agony radiating outward with every pump of my heart, every flex of the limb. The pain was sharp and insistent. I pushed through the sensation, my legs continuing their relentless rhythm as I held Maribel securely against my chest.

“H…Hey!” Her voice was muffled against my shoulder, barely audible over the rush of wind and the pounding of my footfalls.

The image of Emily flashed through my mind—her face twisted in confusion and fear, her body restrained by Tommy and the others, those cruel metal bracelets cutting into her wrists. I had seen her again, had been so close to reaching her, and yet I had been completely powerless to do anything.

I don’t understand a single thing that’s happening.

The thoughts circled in my mind like vultures, each question breeding more confusion. Liam, Tommy, and the others from my high school—they had joined Callighan’s group? When had that happened? Why would they align themselves with what sounded like some kind of organized operation? The casual way Liam had ordered Emily brought in, the familiarity with which they’d discussed bringing Maribel to this Callighan guy, it all suggested that they were indeed with that group.

And Emily—what in god’s name was happening to her?

The way she’d moved, the fact that my Time Freeze had somehow failed against her, her complete lack of recognition despite us having shared something profound just three months ago. And those devices around her wrists, those metal bracelets that had left her skin bruised and raw. They weren’t simple restraints—I was certain of that.

“Enough!”

The sharp exclamation cut through my spiraling thoughts. I felt fingers suddenly dig into my shoulder with surprising force, pinching hard.

I looked down at Maribel, and my chest tightened with guilt. Tears had welled up in her eyes, making them shine with moisture even as they glared at me with a mixture of pain and anger.

“You are hurting me!” The words came out strained, each syllable edged with genuine discomfort.

I blinked, the fog of my obsessive thoughts clearing enough to register what she was saying. My arm—the one wrapped around her abdomen to keep her secure—had tightened to a crushing degree without me realizing it. I’d been holding her like she might slip away at any moment, putting far too much of my enhanced strength into the grip. She must have been enduring it for minutes while I’d been lost in my own head.

“Sorry…” The word felt inadequate as I immediately loosened my hold, though I kept her supported.

My eyes scanned our surroundings with renewed focus, searching for shelter. We couldn’t keep running indefinitely. A nearby building caught my attention—it looked like an office complex, one of those mid-sized corporate structures that had housed accountants or consultants or some other professional service before the world ended. The glass doors at the entrance hung askew on broken hinges, inviting and ominous in equal measure.

I altered course and headed inside, my footsteps echoing strangely in the abandoned lobby. The interior was dim, lit only by the fading afternoon light that filtered through dust-coated windows. I carefully lowered Maribel to the ground, setting her down with as much gentleness as I could manage.

She gasped for breath the moment her feet touched solid ground, doubling over with her hands braced on her knees. Her shoulders heaved as she sucked in air, clearly winded from being carried at enhanced speeds for an extended period.

While she recovered, I did a quick visual sweep of our immediate area, my senses extending outward to search for any signs of Infected. My hearing picked up the usual sounds of an abandoned building—the creak of settling foundations, the whisper of wind through broken windows, the scurry of small animals that had claimed the space. But no telltale moans, no shuffling footsteps, no rasping breath that would indicate one of the undead nearby.

Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be anyone—living or dead—in our immediate vicinity.

“W…What was that? Can you tell me now?” Maribel’s question came between still-labored breaths, her voice demanding answers even as her body struggled to recover.

Obviously, after witnessing the chaos of the last fifteen minutes—the supernatural speed, the gunfight, the way I’d crashed through a window and carried her away like she weighed nothing—she had questions. Many questions. The confusion and concern in her voice were entirely justified.

Ironically, I had even more questions than she did, a torrential flood of them still rushing through my mind in endless circles.

Who would have thought I would encounter Emily again, and in such circumstances, after nearly three months of believing her lost? The probability alone seemed astronomical, the kind of coincidence that defied reasonable explanation.

I had hoped—desperately hoped—that I might see her again someday. In my more optimistic moments, I’d allowed myself to imagine different scenarios. Maybe I’d find her having survived on her own, adapted to her new state, waiting for someone to help her.

I’d imagined a warmer reunion if it had to happen since we had undeniably became closer after that day.

Not this. Never this nightmare scenario where she didn’t even know who I was.

She was still someone I loved, after all. That truth remained unchanged despite everything that had happened, despite the time and distance and transformation. When the apocalypse had first started, her presence had been crucial for my mental survival. She had anchored me, had given me a reason to keep fighting when everything seemed hopeless. That time in the storage room of the high school, hiding from the Infected in the darkness, our bodies pressed together as we tried to remain silent—those memories were seared into my mind with perfect clarity. They were unforgettable, precious in some way.

“Are you going to answer me!”

Maribel’s irritated voice cut through my reverie. I felt her hand suddenly grab my arm, pulling me around to face her with surprising force. Her expression was stormy, annoyance radiating from every feature as she glared at me for my lack of response.

But the moment her eyes registered the full extent of my injuries, her entire demeanor shifted. Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open in shock as the color drained from her face.

“Y…You’ve been shot! Why didn’t you tell me! We have to quickly stop the bleeding!” The words tumbled out in a rush, panic replacing annoyance as she stared at the blood soaking through my clothes.

I looked at her face as emotions played across it in rapid succession. She was certainly lively, her reactions jumping from one extreme to another with remarkable speed. There was something almost refreshing about it—the raw honesty of her emotional responses, the way she didn’t try to hide or moderate her feelings.

“Remove your jacket!”

“I’m fine—” I started to protest.

“Remove it, I said!” She cut me off with a fierce glare, her hands already reaching for my sleeves and pulling forcefully at the fabric.

I groaned as the movement jarred my injured arm, sending fresh spikes of pain radiating from the embedded bullet. But I yielded to her insistence, allowing her to help peel the jacket off my shoulders. The fabric stuck to the wound in places where blood had begun to dry, pulling away with uncomfortable resistance until finally the garment came free, revealing the full extent of the damage to my left arm.

Blood ran freely from the bullet hole, a steady stream that painted my forearm crimson. The entry wound was clean but deep, the surrounding flesh already beginning to swell.

“T…This…we need to get you to Shawn. He’ll know what to do about it.” Her hand moved to cover the wound instinctively, as if the pressure of her palm could somehow reverse the injury. Blood immediately began to seep between her fingers, staining her hand red.

She bit her lip hard enough that I worried she might draw blood, her eyes locked on the wound. When she finally looked up at me, there was some kind of guilt in her expression that caught me off guard.

“Did you take these bullets when they shot at us? They were Callighan’s men, weren’t they?” The questions came out through clenched teeth, her fists tightening.

Callighan’s men….

The phrase felt wrong applied to people I’d known, people from my high school who should have been fellow survivors rather than enemies. But yes, it seemed they had joined Callighan’s group for reasons I couldn’t begin to understand.

“W…Why did you go charging in alone to begin with, following that monster! You jumped right into their trap!” Her voice rose with each word.

“It wasn’t a trap, and she’s not a monster…” The correction came out more forcefully than I’d intended.

I moved away from her, needing space and support in equal measure. My legs carried me to the reception desk that dominated one side of the lobby. I slid down until I was sitting on the floor with my back pressed against the solid wood, my arms resting on my knees as I tried to process everything. A long exhale escaped my lips.

Maribel stepped forward until she stood directly in front of me, looking down with an expression that mixed concern, confusion, and clear determination to get answers.

“She? You know her?” She asked sternly. “If she wasn’t an Infected, then…how do you explain her movements? I could barely track her, and you—you yourself moved inhumanly fast. I mean, I’ve never seen anyone run that quickly…” She trailed off, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as she looked at me.

I glanced up at her, meeting her scrutinizing gaze with tired eyes. I knew I owed her some kind of explanation, but the full truth was too complex, too strange, too exhausting to unpack in my current state. My mind was still caught in the tangled web of Emily’s situation, unable to process much beyond the immediate shock of seeing her again.

“There are Hybrid Infected, aren’t there?” I offered the explanation carefully, watching her reaction. “Don’t you believe in humans who are stronger than ordinary ones?”

It wasn’t exactly the whole truth—it was a significant simplification that glossed over the mechanics of awakening, stabilization, and the Dullahan transformation along obviously the Symbiotes and Starakians. But I was too mentally and physically drained to launch into a comprehensive explanation of supernatural abilities and viral enhancement. The simple version would have to suffice for now.

The question seemed to work. Maribel fell silent, her expression shifting as she processed my words. I could almost see the gears turning in her head as she tried to reconcile what she’d witnessed.

“You mean…like superheroes?” The question came out hesitantly after a long moment of contemplation, her voice smaller and hesitant.

The comparison was so unexpected, so innocent and absurd in its own way, that I couldn’t help myself. Laughter burst from my chest—genuine, uncontrolled laughter that echoed through the empty lobby.

I watched Maribel’s face transform as my laughter continued. Her expression twisted through several emotions in rapid succession—confusion giving way to embarrassment, embarrassment morphing into indignation. A vivid red flush spread across her beautiful tan skin, darkening her cheeks and the bridge of her nose as she realized I was laughing at her earnest question.

She glared at me and then without another word, she turned sharply on her heel and began walking away.

“Where are you going?” I called after her, my voice still carrying the fading traces of laughter that I couldn’t quite suppress.

She ignored me completely as she moved deeper into the lobby. She disappeared around a corner, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my wounds.

I sighed deeply, letting my head fall back until it rested against the solid wood of the reception desk.

Why do things always have to get so damn complicated?

The question had no answer, or perhaps too many answers to choose from. Every time I thought I had a handle on the situation, every time I believed I could see a clear path forward, something new would emerge to shatter that illusion of control.

My thoughts drifted back to Martin’s proposal. He’d suggested we stay in Atlantic City, that we establish a settlement somewhere away from the Boardwalk community and its complications. Build something new, something that could be ours. The idea had merit—Atlantic City had resources, strategic position, potential for long-term survival. It was a reasonable plan, a logical course of action.

And yet I’d been hesitant about it, unable to commit fully to the idea.

My original plan had been straightforward, even if wildly ambitious: find a ship capable of crossing the Atlantic Ocean. It was born partly from desperation and partly from the stubborn refusal to accept that Elena had been taken away.

If I couldn’t find such a vessel here in Atlantic City, I’d even been considering abandoning the area entirely, moving on to another coastal city where the odds might be better and that despite Martin’s idea.

But now… everything had changed.

I couldn’t just leave. Not like this. Not anymore.

Emily.

The image of her face was seared into my memory with perfect clarity—not the Emily I’d known three months ago, warm and alive and human, but this new version. Wild-eyed and unrecognizing, moving with inhuman speed while those metal bracelets cut into her wrists. The way she’d run from me, the way she’d attacked without a shred of recognition in her eyes.

She was clearly not in her right mind. That much was undeniable.

I couldn’t speak for the others I’d seen—Tommy, Liam, and the others of my highschool. Perhaps they’d joined willingly, seduced by promises of safety or power or whatever this Callighan offered to those who served him. People made all kinds of choices when survival was at stake, compromised their values in ways they never would have imagined before the world ended. I understood that, even if I couldn’t condone it.

But Emily? I could say with absolute certainty that she wouldn’t have stayed with someone like Callighan by choice. Not willingly. Not unless she was being forced.

I know I said I didn’t want to involve myself with Callighan and his group.

I had nothing to do with them and I had no reason to get myself involved with them.

But I…

The memory of those bruises crashed over me. The red marks where the metal had pressed into Emily’s skin for what must have been weeks or months. Those weren’t the marks of someone being kept safe and in control.

My fists clenched involuntarily.

I need to find out what’s going on.

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