Chapter 67: Ten Days Later

Ten days had passed since the Fire Spitter incident at the Municipal Office of Jackson Township.

In that short stretch of time, life had calmed down considerably—not just for our group, but for the people of Jackson Township as well. It felt strange, almost surreal, that after everything we had gone through, we had found ourselves settling into a kind of routine with them.

When I say “we,” I mean both groups. Ever since we’d stumbled across their community, we’d been spending a lot of time together. Most of the time, it was us making the trip to the municipal office—sharing meals, trading supplies, or simply exchanging stories about the world and our lives before and after it all fell apart. Somehow, without even realizing it, we had become something close to friends.

Rachel and I, and even Christopher, had grown particularly close to them. I suspected it had a lot to do with the Fire Spitter. After that night, after what Rachel and I had done to protect their people, a certain bond had formed. Trust wasn’t easily given these days, but somehow, we had earned theirs.

That trust only deepened as the days went on. Christopher and Elena eventually came back with us to see them once more, and even Alisha tagged along once or twice. Cindy, Daisy, Sydney, Rebecca, and Jason all made appearances too.

Of course, not everyone was interested. Miss Ivy and Mei kept their distance, preferring solitude. They weren’t hostile about it—they just didn’t see the point of “playing nice” with another community. It wasn’t surprising; they had always been the type to guard their own space. They did join us for meals sometimes, though, if only because we all cooked together. Apart from those moments, they kept to themselves.

Still, with the exception of those two, nearly all of us had gotten to know the Jackson Township survivors in one way or another. Some of us more than others.

Christopher and Cindy, for example, practically thrived there. They were outgoing people by nature—Christopher with his easy humor, Cindy with her warm smile—and being surrounded by so many others seemed to give them energy. For them, the sight of so many people still alive, still fighting to live like normal human beings, was uplifting.

Jason, on the other hand, was a surprise. At first, I couldn’t imagine him willingly making the long walk from our safehouse to the municipal office. He had always been quiet, withdrawn, hovering nervously on the edges of the group. But then I noticed why.

There was a girl there. Jasmine.

And Jasmine, it turned out, had noticed him too.

At first, he lingered near her like a shadow, barely daring to speak. But slowly, she drew him out of his shell. I suppose it helped that she had a kind smile and a gentle way of talking. It didn’t take long before Jason seemed more comfortable there than he ever had with us. Maybe because the community was full of elders, people who carried the same kind of quiet calm as Jasmine, people who didn’t overwhelm him.

It made me happy for him, if I’m honest. Jason had been through hell—he had watched every single one of his classmates get torn apart in Lexington Charter, the last one standing in what used to be a lively classroom. Rebecca was technically the only other survivor from his school, but she had skipped that day due to a doctor’s appointment. And while she was alive, Rebecca’s fiery, sharp-edged personality wasn’t exactly a good match for someone as introverted as Jason.

So seeing him find peace—maybe even love—was something I couldn’t bring myself to resent.

Elena and Alisha had also visited, though only twice in the last ten days. And I understood why.

It wasn’t that they disliked the people there. Not at all. But Elena and Alisha were… well, Elena and Alisha. Platinum-blond, blue-eyed Russian twins who looked like they had stepped out of a magazine. Wherever they went, attention followed. And Jackson Township had its fair share of young men. Brad included.

Rachel also drew attention—beautiful women didn’t exactly go unnoticed in this world—but nobody dared push too far with her. Brad had tried, of course, with his smug comments and overconfident smirks, but he had quickly started diminishing his flirts when Rebecca started giving him the kind of death glares that could freeze blood. Rachel herself didn’t mind the rumors, brushing them off with a smile.

And there were rumors—plenty of them.

It seemed most of the Jackson community had already decided Rachel and I were together. Maybe it was the way we stuck close, or maybe it was the way we naturally gravitated toward each other. Either way, the idea seemed to act like an invisible shield, keeping most suitors at bay. For Rachel, it was convenient. For me… well, I didn’t exactly deny it because it seemed to help her and she didn’t mind it either.

Rebecca’s reaction the first time she overheard someone say we were a couple, though… yeah, that had been terrifying.

And then there was Sydney.

I don’t think I even need to explain that one. If Sydney wanted to, she could befriend an Infected dog and have it wagging its tail. The Jackson Township people adored her, of course. Peculiarly her dark humour.

Over those ten days, the ones who visited most often were me, Rachel, Rebecca, Sydney, Christopher, Cindy, and Jason. We went almost every other day. And then, after the fifth day, Jason dropped the biggest surprise of all.

He decided to move in with them.

“Stay? As in… live here?” I had asked, dumbfounded.

He had nodded nervously but firmly. And as much as the word “love” came to mind, I knew it wasn’t only Jasmine. He was bonding with others too—like Mark, the old smoker, and Clara, who treated him like a little brother.

So in the end, I let Jason go.

Actually, scratch that – who the hell was I to ’let’ him do anything? The guy was barley younger than me, had survived things that would break most adults, and if he’d found a place where he could sleep without nightmares and wake up without that haunted look in his eyes, then more power to him. I wasn’t his father or his keeper, just someone who’d happened to stumble on him.

Still, there was a selfish part of me that was relieved by his decision. Not because I didn’t want him around – Jason was a good guy, quiet and thoughtful in ways that balanced out some of the more volatile personalities in our group. But his departure did solve one very practical problem that had been plaguing Christopher and me for the last week…

The eternal struggle over sleeping arrangements!

Our bedroom had exactly one king-sized bed, salvaged from a furniture store during our early scavenging days. With three guys sharing the space, we’d developed an elaborate rotation system involving the bed and whoever drew the short straw sleeping on the floor with extra blankets. Christopher and I had turned it into a series of increasingly petty games – rock-paper-scissors tournaments, arm wrestling matches, elaborate debates about who’d had the most physically demanding day and therefore deserved the bed most.

Now, with just the two of us, we could split the bed like civilized human beings and save our competitive energy for things that actually mattered. Like not getting eaten by infected…

But that was water under the bridge now. Today, I had more immediate concerns to focus on, like the fact that I was once again standing in the courtyard of Jackson Township’s Municipal Office, surrounded by the controlled chaos that had become routine during our joint community activities.

Cindy had made the trip today with a specific purpose – she’d brought along our short-wave radio, a piece of equipment we’d taken from Lexington Charter. Mark, the chain-smoking elder who seemed to know a little bit about everything, had volunteered to take a look at it. If anyone could use it bitterly was him.

“Might be able to find other survivors out there,” Mark had said the previous day, squinting at the radio through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Or at least figure out if anyone official is still broadcasting. Government, military, anyone with a plan bigger than ’don’t get eaten.’”

The prospect of contact with the outside world was tantalizing, but I tried not to get my hopes up. We’d tried the radio dozens of times over the past few days, cycling through frequencies and adjusting the antenna, but had never picked up anything more than static and the occasional snippet of what might have been automated emergency broadcasts from the early days of the outbreak.

Christopher, predictably, had insisted on accompanying Cindy on this particular expedition. Not because he had any particular expertise with electronics but because he’d appointed himself as Cindy’s unofficial bodyguard whenever she visited Jackson Township.

It wasn’t entirely paranoia on his part. With Elena and Alisha having largely stopped making the trip after their second visit – when they’d been subjected to what Elena diplomatically described as “getting annoying weirdos’s attention” from multiple members of the community – Cindy had become the primary focus of Jackson Township’s bachelor population. She was pretty, friendly, and had the kind of warm, approachable personality that drew people in. Unfortunately, some of those people were drawing a bit too close for comfort.

I’d witnessed the phenomenon firsthand during previous visits. Guys in their twenties and even thirties would suddenly find reasons to strike up conversations with Cindy, offer to help her with whatever task she was working on, or simply hover nearby with the kind of intense attention that probably felt flattering for about five minutes before becoming deeply uncomfortable.

Christopher’s solution was elegantly simple – he planted himself at Cindy’s side like a loyal guard dog, radiating just enough protective energy to discourage the more aggressive suitors without starting any actual confrontations. It was sweet, in its way, even if his motivations weren’t entirely altruistic.

Today’s expedition had also included Rachel, Rebecca, Sydney, and myself. We’d arrived as a group around mid-morning, laden with supplies and ready for another day of productive cooperation between our communities.

Rachel and Rebecca had immediately disappeared into the Municipal Office building with Clara. Rachel had volunteered to help prepare lunch for both communities – a gesture that was both generous and practical, since she’d brought ingredients from our own supplies rather than depleting Jackson Township’s stores once again.

It was the kind of thoughtful cooperation that made our alliance work. We weren’t just taking advantage of their larger facilities and greater numbers; we were contributing our own resources and skills to the collective effort. Rachel was an excellent cook when she had proper ingredients to work with, and Clara had the kind of institutional knowledge that came from feeding large groups on limited resources.

Rebecca, predictably, had appointed herself as Rachel’s assistant and bodyguard. Even in the kitchen, surrounded by friendly faces and engaged in the most domestic of activities, Rebecca maintained her protective vigilance. I suspected she was still thinking about Brad persistent advances and wasn’t taking any chances.

That left me to help with the more practical work of community defense – specifically, the ongoing project of improving the perimeter security around the Municipal Office building.

The Fire Spitter incident ten days ago had exposed some serious vulnerabilities in Jackson Township’s defenses. The creature’s flame attack had completely destroyed a section of their improvised vehicle barrier, leaving a gap that had taken several days to properly repair. The experience had driven home the reality that their security measures needed to be more robust and redundant.

Which brought me to my current situation: standing in the middle of the Municipal Office courtyard, holding an armful of sharpened wooden spikes and apparently spacing out while Martin and the other defenders waited for me to get back to work.

“Hey, Ryan, what are you doing?” Martin’s voice cut through my wandering thoughts, bringing me back to the present moment.

Martin, in the last days, he was definitely the one with whom I became the closest. Despite being old enough to be a father, he was friendly and I really felt at ease with him. We were now friends.

“Don’t tell me you’re already tired?” He continued with a laugh, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re the last person I’d expect to be dragging ass.”

I realized I’d been standing motionless in the courtyard for several minutes, staring vaguely toward the Municipal Office building while holding my assigned load of wooden spikes. Not exactly the image of focused productivity that the situation required.

“Just thinking,” I said, shaking off the momentary distraction. “Lead the way.”

Martin grinned and gestured for me to follow him toward the outer perimeter of the compound, beyond the rebuilt vehicle barrier that formed Jackson Township’s primary defensive line.

The area we were working on was a patch of relatively clear ground between the vehicle barrier and the edge of the surrounding neighborhood – a kill zone, essentially, designed to give the defenders clear sight lines and slow down any infected that managed to breach the outer perimeter.

The wooden spikes were Martin’s idea, inspired by old-fashioned military fortifications. Individually, each spike wouldn’t stop a determined infected, but dozens of them arranged in strategic patterns would force any attackers to move slowly and carefully, giving the defenders more time to spot threats and respond accordingly.

“The beauty of this system,” Martin explained as we began positioning the first set of spikes, “is that it’s completely passive. No moving parts to break, no electronics to fail. Just sharp wood and basic physics.”

He demonstrated the proper technique – angling each spike slightly toward the most likely direction of approach, spacing them close enough to be effective but far enough apart that they wouldn’t interfere with each other.

I took the hammer from my belt and drove the first spike deep into the hard-packed earth with a series of solid strikes. The wood bit deep, leaving several feet of sharpened point jutting up at a threatening angle.

“Now if another Fire Spitter shows up and takes out our vehicle barrier,” Martin said with satisfaction, “anything trying to rush through the gap is going to have a very unpleasant surprise waiting for them.”

The positioning was clever – far enough from the vehicle barrier that even a Fire Spitter’s flame attack couldn’t reach the spikes, but close enough that infected trying to exploit a breach in the main defenses would run straight into them. It was the kind of layered defense that might not look impressive, but would be devastatingly effective when it mattered.

“Let’s hope we never have to test it,” I replied, driving another spike into the ground.

“Amen to that,” Martin agreed. “But if we do, at least we’ll be ready.”

We worked in companionable silence for several minutes, the rhythmic striking of hammers against wood creating a steady background percussion. Other members of the defense team were spread out across the kill zone, each working on their own section of the spike field. It was satisfying work – simple, physical, with immediate visible results.

“Watch out, Ryan.”

Martin’s sharp warning cut through my concentration, and I immediately looked up to see what had caught his attention. Two infected were approaching from the direction of the abandoned residential area to the east.

Without thinking, I grabbed one of the unused wooden spikes from the pile beside me. The motion was automatic, muscle memory from barely days of similar encounters. I hefted the makeshift spear, testing its weight and balance, then drew back and launched it in a single fluid motion.

The spike flew straight and true, covering the thirty yards between us and the infected in less than a second. The sharpened point punched through the creature’s skull with a wet thunk, sending brain matter spattering across the grass behind it. The infected dropped instantly, its central nervous system severed.

The second infected kept coming, either too damaged to recognize the threat or simply driven by whatever corrupted instincts still governed its behavior. I walked forward calmly, pulling a second spike from the ground where we’d been working.

I stepped inside its guard, angling the spike upward, and drove the point through the soft tissue under its chin. The sharpened wood punched through the roof of its mouth and into its brain, and the infected went limp immediately.

I withdrew the spike and let the body fall, then walked back to retrieve the first projectile from where it had embedded in the skull of the other infected.

When I returned to where Martin and the others were working, I found them all staring at me with expressions that ranged from impressed to slightly disturbed.

“You know,” Martin said slowly, “watching you fight infected, it almost looks… too easy.”

The others nodded in agreement.

I shrugged, not sure how to respond to their attention. “Practice, I guess.”

But even as I said it, I realized Martin was right. The encounter that had just played out – spotting the threats, assessing the tactical situation, eliminating both infected with minimal effort or apparent concern – would have been completely beyond my capabilities two weeks ago.

Now, it had been almost routine. Mechanical, even. See threat, eliminate threat, continue with the original task.

When had that happened?

When had killing Infected become so… mundane?

The thought was disturbing enough that I pushed it aside and focused on the work at hand.

But as I drove spike after spike into the hard ground, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something fundamental had changed in me over the past week exactly. The skills I was developing, the instincts I was cultivating, the casual efficiency with which I now dealt with life-and-death situations – they were keeping me alive, but they were also transforming me into someone I wasn’t sure I recognized.

Was that growth, or loss?

Adaptation, or corruption?

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