Chapter 213: Making The Decision

Evening had arrived. With the fading light came the need for shelter and serious discussion, so we’d settled inside one of the many abandoned houses that dotted this residential area. We’d chosen carefully—selecting the cleanest property we could find, one with a living room spacious enough to accommodate a significant number of people comfortably and allow for proper conversation without everyone being cramped shoulder-to-shoulder.

We needed to talk. Really talk, with everyone focused and present.

The meeting had actually been at my insistence, though in truth it would have been necessary regardless of my personal stake in the outcome. Margaret and her community desperately needed to know everything we’d learned during our reconnaissance trip to Atlantic City—every detail about the existing settlement, the territorial boundaries, the leadership structure, the potential threats. Information was survival in this new world.

For this crucial discussion, Margaret’s community had sent their key figures: Margaret herself, of course, along with Martin, Brad, and Mark.

From our group, the attendees were myself, Rachel, Cindy, and Christopher. We’d kept the numbers small to avoid the meeting devolving into chaos.

The others—Sydney, Mei, Ivy, Rebecca, and Daisy—had chosen not to attend, either because they trusted us to handle the discussion or because they simply didn’t want to be involved in what was likely to be a contentious debate.

The matters in question were substantial and potentially life-altering for everyone involved: Do we continue our original plan to search for another location entirely, abandoning Atlantic City as a lost cause? Or do we attempt to establish ourselves here despite the fact that Marlon’s Boardwalk community already controls significant territory?

At the center of the large living room, we’d repositioned a heavy dining table, clearing away all the accumulated dust and debris that had settled on its surface over months of abandonment. The only thing now resting on that polished wood was a detailed map of Atlantic City that we’d scavenged. The map showed streets, landmarks, beaches, and the distinctive curve of the boardwalk that gave the area its character.

I stood in front of the table with Margaret at my side, while the others arranged themselves in a loose semicircle around us, everyone angling for the best view of the map and the markings we were about to make.

“Here,” I said, picking up a red pen we’d found in a drawer upstairs. “This entire section represents the area that Marlon and his people have settled in and currently control.”

I began carefully tracing with the pen, surrounding a significant portion of the map in red. The boundary line encompassed most of the famous Atlantic City Boardwalk—that iconic wooden walkway that had once been packed with tourists, street performers, and families enjoying the ocean air. My hand moved with precision as I recalled the extent of the barricades and checkpoints I’d observed during our time there.

The red line extended beyond just the boardwalk itself, pushing inland to surround several blocks of buildings. I traced the approximate locations where their defensive perimeter ended, where the barricades stopped and unclaimed territory began. My memory of the layout wasn’t perfect—I’d only been there for a limited time, after all—but I was confident the approximation was reasonably accurate.

“They’ve cleared this entire area?” Martin asked, surprised as he leaned forward to study the marked territory. “All of it? That’s… that’s a substantial amount of ground to secure and maintain.”

The scope of what Marlon’s community had accomplished was impressive by any standard, especially given the constant threat of Infected and the challenges of coordinating such efforts.

I nodded in confirmation. “Marlon, their leader, is an extremely capable man. He has genuine respect and trust from everyone in his community. And he’s surrounded himself with equally capable individuals who know how to organize, defend, and maintain what they’ve built.”

I paused, considering how much detail to provide. “I don’t know for certain if they have future plans to expand their current barricades and push their territorial boundaries even further outward. It’s possible they’re planning to consolidate what they have rather than overextend. But right now, at this moment, I don’t think they have the resources or manpower to focus on expansion anyway—not with Callighan and his armed group constantly roaming around and posing a persistent threat to their security.”

Margaret studied the red-marked area on the map, her expression settling into something that looked like resignation mixed with bitter acceptance. “They’ve taken the Boardwalk,” she said quietly, a sad smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “The exact location we were aiming for when we first decided to try our chances with Atlantic City.”

“Well, we were probably just arrogant in our assumptions,” Christopher said bluntly. “We didn’t really think through the possibility that other people could have survived and built a functioning community there. It seemed like such a long shot.”

He was right, of course. In our planning discussions, we’d thought under the assumption that most population centers would be completely overrun, that organized survival groups would be rare or nonexistent. But people were resilient, adaptable. All it really took was one strong leader and a handful of capable, determined individuals to create the foundation of something sustainable.

“I suppose we were being overly optimistic about finding it empty,” Margaret sighed. Then she turned to look at me directly, her eyes searching my face. “But Ryan, despite this setback, do you still think we can settle in Atlantic City? Do you believe there’s still a place for us there?”

I nodded without hesitation, already reaching for the red pen again. “Yeah. Look.”

I began tracing another boundary on the map, this time encircling a different section of the city. The area I marked started at the southern end of the Boardwalk—the portion that Marlon’s community apparently hadn’t claimed or cleared—and extended inland to encompass several blocks of buildings. It was positioned adjacent to the Boardwalk community’s territory but separated from it by a large commercial building that would serve as a natural buffer zone between the two settlements.

“Even though they control most of the Boardwalk, they don’t control all of it,” I explained, my finger tracing the boundary line I’d drawn. “This southern section and the beach access it provides can still be ours. They haven’t touched or cleared this area because it’s technically a different district of the city, separated by this major thoroughfare here.”

I tapped the map where a wide avenue cut through the urban landscape. “From what I observed, this seems to mark an informal boundary in their minds. They’ve focused their efforts on consolidating the northern and central sections.”

“But won’t establishing ourselves right next to them send a provocative message?” Margaret asked. “They might see us as encroaching on their territory, even if we’re technically in unclaimed space. That could create tensions we’re not prepared to handle.”

“Maybe it will create some initial friction,” I acknowledged, because denying that possibility would be dishonest. “But look here—we’re not actually that close to their main settlement area. There’s significant distance and this large building complex acting as a physical barrier between where they are and where we would be.”

I gestured to different points on the map as I continued my explanation. “And more importantly, look at what this location offers us. We have multiple hotel buildings right here where we could house everyone relatively comfortably and safely. The structures are already built, already designed to accommodate large numbers of people with facilities like kitchens and bathrooms that just need some restoration work.”

My finger moved to trace potential escape routes. “We also have excellent evacuation options if something goes wrong—multiple roads leading in different directions, beach access for water-based escape if absolutely necessary, and these alleyways that connect through to the main thoroughfares. We won’t be trapped or cornered.”

“And crucially,” I added, pointing to the waterfront, “we have prime fishing spots right here along this section of coast. The ocean is a massive, renewable food source that we’d be foolish not to take advantage of. Yes, we’ll have a substantial amount of work to do clearing out the Infected from this area and fortifying our position. That’s going to take time, effort, and careful planning. But once we’ve done that initial hard work of securing the territory, we’ll be in a significantly better position than we are now. Better than wandering around looking for some mythical perfect location that might not even exist.”

I looked up from the map to meet Margaret’s eyes. “This can work. I genuinely believe that.”

“He’s right, Margaret,” Martin said, moving closer. He nodded slowly as he examined the details. “This is actually a solid plan. The location has genuine advantages beyond just proximity to the ocean.”

I knew I needed to be honest with myself about my motivations here. To begin with, settling in Atlantic City hadn’t been my preferred option—it had been Martin’s idea originally, his vision for where the community should establish itself. I’d been ambivalent at best, not particularly enthusiastic about committing to any specific location when so much remained uncertain.

But then I’d learned about Emily being here in the city, trapped in Callighan’s organization, clearly in need of help. That discovery had changed my thoughts obviously.

I knew I was being somewhat selfish in my sudden support for this plan. My personal desire to stay close to Emily, to have the opportunity to investigate her situation and potentially rescue her, was definitely influencing my advocacy for settling here. But I could make amends for that selfishness by ensuring that the settlement we established would be genuinely safe and sustainable for everyone, not just convenient for my personal wish.

If I was going to push for this location partly for my own reasons, then I had a responsibility to make damn sure it worked out well for the entire community.

Margaret remained silent for a long moment, her eyes fixed on the map as she processed everything we’d laid out.

“This is completely stupid.”

Brad’s voice cut through our discussion. He pushed away from where he’d been standing at the edge of the group and approached the table.

“All we have to do is make an alliance with this Callighan guy,” he continued. “Form a partnership, establish mutual benefits, and avoid all this unnecessary conflict and risk.”

“Oh yes, brilliant plan, Brad,” Christopher shot back with heavy sarcasm. “Let’s make a deal with a murderous psychopath who kills people for sport. That sounds like a fantastic idea. Why don’t you go ahead and try it yourself? Take your two friends with you if you want—I’m sure Callighan would be thrilled to meet you.”

Brad’s face flushed with anger as he whipped around to glare at Christopher, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. But rather than engage in a shouting match with Christopher, he turned his attention to Margaret instead.

“You’d prefer spending weeks or even months clearing an entire section of city that’s crawling with Infected?” He asked Margaret, his voice dripping with condescension. “Putting all of our lives at risk fighting those things street by street, building by building? We’re the ones who would be on the front lines doing the actual dangerous work, granny—not you sitting safely in the back giving orders.”

This guy…

“From what I’ve personally observed during our time together, Brad, you haven’t actually done anything particularly significant when it comes to fighting Infected,” Cindy spoke up, her voice cold. She fixed him with a stare that could have frozen water. “Have you even killed a single one yourself? Or have you been content to let others take those risks while you criticize from the sidelines?”

The accusation landed like a slap. Brad’s face went from flushed to nearly purple with rage.

“What the fuck did you just say to me!” He shouted, taking an aggressive step toward Cindy with his finger pointed at her face.

“Enough, Brad.” Margaret’ interrupted. “We are absolutely not making deals or alliances with a man who has demonstrated zero regard for human life. That’s not negotiable.”

Brad slowly turned his furious glare toward Margaret. “That’s just what those bastards from the Boardwalk community told you,” he said. “And you’re just believing everything they say without question? You’re taking their word as gospel?”

“They shot at us without provocation and hit Clara before even attempting to communicate or learn who we were, you dumbass,” Christopher said, his voice rising with exasperation. “Did you somehow forget that part? Or are you just conveniently ignoring it because it doesn’t fit your narrative?”

“That’s only because they thought we were associated with these guys from the Boardwalk!” Brad argued back, gesturing wildly. “It was a case of mistaken identity, a misunderstanding that we can easily clear up if we just—”

“Brad…” Rachel interrupted him quietly. “That man and his people attacked us without even trying to identify who we were or what our intentions might be. They opened fire first and asked questions never. And you seriously want us to try negotiating and ’attempting our chances’ with people who operate that way?”

Brad’s expression immediately softened when Rachel spoke directly to him, his aggressive glare diminishing noticeably as he turned his attention to her. His entire demeanor shifted, becoming less confrontational and more imploring—exactly as expected by anyone who’d been paying attention to how he acted around Rachel.

“That’s exactly why I’m saying we need to talk to him properly,” Brad started again. “If we could just arrange a meeting under controlled circumstances, explain who we are—”

“I will talk to him.”

My words cut through Brad’s argument.

Everyone in the room turned to stare at me with varying expressions of surprise—everyone except Rachel, Cindy, and Christopher, who were already aware of my decision to eventually confront Callighan.

“R…Ryan?” Martin stammered, looking at me with genuine bewilderment. “You’re planning to what?”

“I will speak to Callighan myself when the time is right,” I said clearly, making sure everyone understood I was serious. “But we absolutely should not count on forming any alliance or depending on someone else for our survival and security. That would be incredibly stupid and naive.”

I turned my attention fully to Margaret, meeting her eyes directly. “We need to rely on ourselves above everyone else—above any other communities or potential allies. That’s the only way to ensure our safety. So we make absolutely certain we have our own secure place to settle first, our own defensible territory and resources. Then, once we’re established and strong, we can consider talking to other groups from a position of stability rather than desperation.”

Margaret’s face broke into a warm smile at my words. “Indeed,” she nodded. “That is absolutely the best course of action. We build our own foundation first.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now!” Brad exploded, his face contorting with fury as he looked around the room in disbelief. “So now he’s the one commanding this community? When did that happen? When did we start taking orders from some teenager who wasn’t even part of our group a week ago?!”

His voice had risen to nearly a shout, spittle flying as he gestured wildly at me. Without waiting for any response or explanation, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

“Just ignore him,” Martin said with a weary sigh, shaking his head.

Already did.

I returned my attention to the map spread across the table.

“So we concentrate our efforts on securing this specific area,” I said, placing my hand flat on the section of map I’d outlined earlier in red. “We clear it systematically, establish our defenses, and make it our home.”

“What about here, though?” Margaret asked, her finger moving to point at a different section of the map—an area near the Absecon Inlet and what was labeled as the State Marina. “You seem to have ignored this location in your proposal, but looking at the map, it actually appears to offer even better advantages. We’d have direct water access, boat facilities, potentially better fishing, and—”

“That area is controlled by Callighan,” I cut her off.

Margaret’s finger froze on the map. She blinked and looked up at me with surprise.

I nodded reluctantly to confirm her unspoken question.

“He has control over the entire Absecon Inlet,” I explained. “The whole waterway, all the boat passages in and out, and the State Marina facilities too.”

I trailed off for a moment, remembering my conversation with Molly just before leaving the Boardwalk. She’d mentioned this almost casually when explaining the territorial divisions in Atlantic City, not realizing how significant that information would be to me.

That was another critical reason why I needed to eventually confront and deal with Callighan directly—beyond just Emily’s situation. If I was going to find a ship capable of crossing the Atlantic Ocean to reach Europe and search for Elena, my best chances were at the State Marina and the facilities around Absecon Inlet. Those were the locations most likely to have larger vessels, boats designed for ocean travel rather than just coastal fishing.

And even if I somehow managed to locate such a ship and get it operational, it would likely need to leave through the Absecon Inlet—the main waterway connecting to the open ocean. Which meant any escape by sea would require passing through territory that Callighan apparently controlled.

So yes, my path was going to intersect with Callighan’s eventually, whether I wanted it to or not…

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