Chapter 131: Just like the rest of us

Aubrey’s hands slammed down against Lila’s chest again and again, her palms slipping slightly against blood and sweat as panic made her movements uneven.

“Shit…shit…shit,” she muttered under her breath, voice cracking as she tried to find a rhythm that made sense.

Nothing about it felt right.

She did not know where to press, how hard to push, or how fast to go. She only knew that stopping felt worse than doing it wrong.

“Come on,” she said, louder now, her breath shaking. “Come on, Lily…don’t do this.”

The name slipped out without thought.

Behind her, Isabella’s brows furrowed.

Lily?

She stood still, arms at her sides, watching Aubrey lean over Lila’s body like she could force life back into her through sheer effort. The sound of palms hitting flesh echoed in the room, mixing with distant crying and murmurs from the others.

Aubrey kept going.

Her shoulders strained. Her arms trembled.

She did not stop.

“Isabella!”

The sharpness in Aubrey’s voice snapped her out of it.

“Don’t just stand there. Grab a first aid kit or something!”

Isabella’s jaw tightened.

For a second, she did not move.

Then she turned and walked, her steps just a little too slow to be urgency. Her hands curled into fists as she made her way toward the supplies, her chest tight with something she did not want to name.

Behind her, Aubrey kept pumping.

Over and over.

Like Lila mattered.

—

Terri’s fist hit Hale’s palm again, weaker than the last time.

Her knuckles stung. Her arm felt heavy. Her lungs burned as she bent forward, hands dropping to her knees while she tried to catch her breath.

Cold air clung to her damp skin, making her shiver as sweat cooled across her body.

Hale stood in front of her, unmoved.

“Again,” he said.

Terri let out a strained breath.

She straightened slowly, lifting her hands back up. Her arms shook as she forced herself into position, eyes locking onto his raised palm.

She punched.

Hale barely reacted.

She punched again.

Same result.

Her hits felt like nothing against him, like she was throwing her weight into a wall that refused to acknowledge her.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked between breaths, frustration creeping into her voice.

Hale said nothing.

He simply adjusted his stance.

Terri swung again, but this time his hand moved, and before she could react, his other hand tapped sharply against the side of her head.

She flinched.

“What the hell?” she snapped, stepping back as she rubbed the spot.

Hale gestured again.

“Keep going.”

Terri stared at him, disbelief written all over her face, but she stepped forward anyway. She threw another punch, then another, each one sloppier than the last.

Hale met each one differently.

Sometimes he blocked.

Sometimes he redirected.

Sometimes he let it land, only to immediately counter.

Another quick smack to the side of her head.

Terri recoiled, anger flashing across her face.

“Okay, are you just messing with me?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Because I don’t see how this is teaching me anything. You’re just hitting me!”

Hale lowered his hands.

“I’m teaching you resilience.”

Terri frowned, breathing hard.

“People who want to kill you aren’t gonna care how tired you are.” Hale said as Terri tried to catch her breath.

“Nor your medical conditions. Your asthma. Your weak bowel. You said you wanted to adapt, to learn how to properly survive. This is what that looks like. Now keep hitting.”

Terri finally looked at him.

Then back to the mossy ground. She wiped at her mouth, frustration and exhaustion mixed together. Until finally— she spoke.

“Look, Hale…”

Hale frowned slightly.

“I know I said I wanted you to train me and stuff…but—”

A huff.

“That doesn’t mean you get to go full drill sargeant on me.”

She turned and dropped onto a nearby rock, her body sagging as she tried to recover.

“…I need a break. We’ve been going at this for hours…”

It had only been 45 minutes.

Hale watched her for a moment, unsure of what to think. His eyebrow twitched slightly. This seemed like it had been a big waste of time, seriously. They needed to be surviving. Not keeping karate lessons…

But Hale thought about what Terri said. How she said she never wanted to die.

How easy it would’ve been for her to if she never got these lessons. If Hale just refused to train her all together.

Something beckoned him to speak.

“You are not physically strong,” he said plainly.

Terri looked up at him, offended but too tired to argue.

“But you are smart,” he continued. “That matters more than you think. In a world like this, you use whatever you have. That means your head.”

Terri held his gaze, her breathing slowly evening out.

“And that means anything,” he added.

Silence settled between them.

The wind shifted through the trees, carrying the faint sound of rustling leaves.

Terri looked down at her hands.

Then back up at him.

Hale nodded once.

“Now get up.”

—

Annie wiped the blood from her face slowly, dragging her palm across her cheek before looking down at it like she needed to see it to believe it was real.

My ears were still ringing from the gunshot. I knew hers was too.

And that was all that mattered.

The room felt distant, like everything had been pushed a few steps away from me.

But I could still see clearly.

I watched as two of her people grabbed Damien’s body, dragging him across the floor. His head lolled to the side, leaving a thick smear of red behind him. One of them slipped slightly, catching himself with a quiet curse. Another glanced down at the body a second too long, something ugly flickering in his eyes before he looked away.

They were trying not to enjoy it.

Trying.

I felt a smirk pull at my face.

I tilted my head toward them, then back at Annie.

“Show must go on, am I right?”

She finally looked at me.

Her expression had shifted. The anger was still there, but something else had slipped in underneath it. Something tighter. Something that had not been there before.

“…what did you gain from doing that?” she asked.

“From doing what?”

Her jaw clenched as she stepped closer.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but stalling your death is not going to help anything,” she said sharply.

I said nothing.

The tears were gone now. Whatever had been breaking inside me earlier had already settled into something colder. Something that sat still in my chest and refused to move.

“No one is coming to save you,” she continued. “You understand that, right?”

I kept my eyes on her.

“Every person you know in this world is dead,” she said, her voice turning bitter as she pointed toward the door Damien had just been dragged through. “He was the last of them.”

He did not count.

Not to me.

“And soon, you’re going to join them.”

For a moment, I just looked at her.

Then I spoke.

“I have always liked your speeches,” I said. “You sound so sure of yourself every time you open your mouth. Like you already decided how everything ends before it even starts.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“But I have a question,” I continued. “I have been thinking about it for a while now. How does your little miracle drug actually work?”

No one moved.

“It suppresses the urges, right?” I said. “Keeps you from acting like the monsters you are. Makes you functional. Makes you useful.”

Annie’s stare hardened.

“But what happens when that stops working?” I asked. “What happens when the people you built this place around stop needing it and it’s not enough?”

“That is not how it works,” she snapped.

I smiled slightly.

“And you would know?”

Her expression flickered.

“Hell,” I went on, tilting my head as I looked at her properly, “you are not even what you say you are.”

That got a reaction.

Not just from her.

From the room.

I saw it in the way a few of the others shifted, in the way their eyes moved between us, in the way the air tightened just a little.

Annie’s eyes sharpened, something pulsing behind them.

I did not stop.

“You know what I always found interesting?” I said. “The way you move. The way you talk. The way you think.”

She said nothing.

“Infected people are simple,” I continued. “They latch onto something. One thing. A person. A feeling. A need. And everything they do revolves around that. Of course— Amber masks some of that but it’s still the way they operate.”

I took a slow breath.

“But you?” I said. “You are all over the place. You care about your people. You cared about your sister. You cared enough about me to stand there and explain yourself like I was supposed to understand.”

Her jaw tightened.

“That is not how infected behave.”

I let the silence stretch for a second before finishing.

“Amber does not give people empathy,” I said. “Being human does.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she snapped.

But she said it too fast.

Too sharp.

And the room noticed.

I saw it in the way one of her men shifted his weight. In the way another glanced at her, then quickly looked away.

“Don’t start that,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “Do not stand there and act like you understand something you don’t.”

I did not break eye contact.

“Then explain it to me,” I said.

Her hands curled at her sides.

“Explain why you are different.”

“I’m not different,” she shot back. “I’m infected. Just like them.”

Before I could say anything, she pulled her sleeve up. There was a bite mark that looked to be around seven months. Fully healed.

But still, I never believed it.

I let out a quiet breath through my nose.

“Then why are you the only one in control?” I asked.

No answer.

“Why are you the only one thinking five steps ahead?” I continued. “Why are you the only one who can sit here and argue morals like any of this still matters?”

Her eyes burned.

“Because I adapted,” she said.

“That’s not adaptation,” I replied. “Thats human.”

The word hung there.

I took a small step forward, the restraints on my wrists tightening behind me as I leaned just enough.

“You aren’t like them,” I said quietly. “You never were.”

“Shut up.”

“You built all of this,” I went on. “You control the supply. You control them. You keep them just stable enough to listen to you.”

“Shut the hell up,” she snapped.

“And for what?” I asked. “Because you think you are better than them? Or because you know exactly what they would do if they realized the truth?”

Something cracked.

It was small.

But I saw it.

Her breathing changed. Her shoulders tensed. Her eyes flickered in a way that had nothing to do with anger.

The room felt different now.

Unsteady.

“You want to know what I think?” I said.

She did not answer.

“I think you’re scared,” I said. “Not of me. Not of what I did. But of them.”

A few heads turned.

Just slightly.

“You keep them fed. You keep them dependent. You keep them convinced that you are one of them,” I continued. “Because the second they stop believing that—”

“Enough!” she snapped.

Her voice echoed through the room.

But it was too late.

I tilted my head, watching her carefully.

“You’re human,” I said.

The words landed.

Hard.

Silence followed.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

I held her gaze, watching every little shift in her face, every crack she tried to hide.

“Aren’t you?” I said, quieter this time.

And for the first time since I had met her—

Annie stopped looking like she had everything figured out.

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