Chapter 29: Like flies to rotten meat

The memory of leaving the camp in Chicago was sharp, etched into my mind like scratches on steel.

“Every day at 9 a.m.,” my voice was firm as I handed Carl a walkie-talkie. “Daily check-ins, alright?”

He caught it carefully, his fingers brushing against mine for a brief second. A smile crept across his face as he slipped it into his back pocket. I did the same, securing mine where I could reach it quickly.

“If anything happens, the crucible comes after this camp…the infected finds their way in,” I continued, voice low but firm, “you lead the rest of this group straight out of Chicago. And you give us your exact location so we can regroup. Cool?”

Carl nodded, that easy, steady nod of someone who carried responsibility well. A flicker of pride warmed my chest, a small moment of relief. With a smile creeping onto my expression, I turned to walk.

“Wait—”

He called after me, hesitation in his tone.

I stopped, halfway between the tents and the loaded cars, looking back. His eyes held something heavier than fear— care, understanding.

“You… you know,” he began, his words careful, deliberate, “I know you said you want to find a cure. But… don’t put these people in jeopardy while you’re at it. The commander… she’s made it obvious. People can’t be trusted.”

The weight of his words pressed down on me, cold and tangible.

“You have a good heart, Adrian. I don’t know you well, but the tough decisions you’ve made to save our group tells a lot.” Carl said finally, his voice firm. “I know you’ll do good.”

Nodding slowly, I let the words sink in, but they were only part balm for a wound that wouldn’t close.

It took us nearly an hour to reach the stranger’s camp.

By the time the trees finally thinned, my legs felt hollow, like they were moving on memory alone. The road-a-ways Jane promised turned into a winding crawl through brush and cracked asphalt, every step grinding dirt into my boots and doubt into my skull.

The camp hit me all at once.

Graffitied tents sagged between trees like molting skin, their fabric patched and sun-bleached, stitched together with mismatched rope and hope. Peace signs were spray-painted over rusted road signs and splintered boards, bright and defiant, half-dripping as if whoever painted them hadn’t bothered to wait for the paint to dry. Strings of beads, ribbons, and scraps of fabric fluttered lazily in the breeze, clinking softly like wind chimes made from trash.

People milled around barefoot, laughing too loudly, too freely. Their voices carried without restraint, cutting through the clearing in sharp, careless bursts. Nose rings flashed in the light. Hair dyed unnatural shades of red, blue, and green caught the sun. Tie-dye shirts hung loose on thin frames. The air was thick—heavy with the familiar, stomach-turning mix of weed smoke and chemical sweetness, pills crushed somewhere nearby, dissolving into the dirt and air alike.

My head started to pound.

The smell alone dragged something sour up my throat. I wanted to puke.

I staggered to a stump near the edge of the clearing and sat hard, elbows braced on my knees. I closed my eyes and dragged a hand through my hair, nails scraping my scalp as if I could physically pull myself back together.

The image wouldn’t leave.

Blood.

The sound of the knife.

The way Jane smiled afterward.

“We’re here!” Jane announced brightly, clapping her hands once.

Behind me, Terri and the others let out a collective, exhausted sigh. Bags slipped from fingers. A few people nearly dropped to the ground where they stood. Several figures from the camp perked up, murmurs rippling as they turned to look at us. A couple rose to their feet, curiosity lighting their faces as they started our way.

I didn’t look at them.

I told myself I’d listen to my gut from now on. I told myself that after everything we’d seen, everything we’d lost.

But our people needed this. Shelter. Food. Rest.

Maybe these people knew something. Maybe they had connections. Maybe they’d heard rumors about treatments, about how to fix Li—

“Adrian.”

Aubrey’s voice sliced straight through my thoughts.

“What the fuck do you want now?” The words came out harsher than I meant, frustration boiling over before I could stop it.

Aubrey’s mouth tightened. Her eyes narrowed, hurt flashing there before being buried under something sharper.

“Don’t be a dick, man,” she said quietly. “I want what’s best for these people just as much as you do.”

I rubbed underneath my eye as she continued, her voice dropping lower, urgent now. “I have to talk to you about something.” She began.

” I know I wasn’t the only one who saw it. That Jane bitch had a knife in her back pocket when you told her to drop everything.”

My jaw clenched.

“I don’t trust her, or this,” she continued, her words starting to rush. “Not for a fucking second.”

Her voice climbed, just a little too loud. I flinched, lifting a hand instinctively, gesturing for her to lower it. My eyes flicked around the camp, paranoia flaring as I scanned for watching faces.

Before I could answer—

“Adrian, honey!”

Jane’s voice chimed in like a bell.

I turned.

She was already standing too close.

“This is my daughter,” she said, one hand resting proudly on the shoulder of a young woman beside her. “Isabella.”

Aubrey crossed her arms instantly.

My attention snapped to the girl.

Blood-red hair spilled down her shoulders, stark against pale skin. A sharp spike pierced her eyebrow. A silver ring glinted at her nose. She wore a loose jacket patched with symbols I didn’t recognize, sleeves pushed up to reveal faint scars along her forearms—old, thin lines that hadn’t fully faded.

Not exactly a hippie like the rest.

She looked about my age.

Her eyes met mine— steady and unblinking. A smile never came to her expression, neither was there any warmth in her gaze. No, it felt like…I was being assessed.

“Pretty cute, isn’t he?” Jane said brightly.

Isabella didn’t answer.

“And get this, Izzy,” Jane went on, gripping her shoulders as she leaned in close,

“he’s as single as a pringle.”

My eyes widened just slighty.

When did I even—?

Movement exploded at the edge of my vision.

A body lunged — feral, unrestrained.

Lila came at Jane like an animal, eyes bloodshot, a raw sound tearing from her throat as her hands clawed forward. Hale caught her just in time, arms locking around her as she thrashed violently against him.

The camp erupted.

Shouts tore through the clearing. People surged forward, hands grabbing, bodies colliding. Someone shoved Lila back while another dragged Jane away in the opposite direction.

“Hey— hey— hey—! Hold on now!!”

My chest tightened, anxiety flooding me as noise swallowed the space. Jane twisted free just long enough to pound her chest with both palms

“Want a piece of me, bitch?!” she snapped.

The anger in her voice was sharp, ugly — nothing like the soft cooing from before.

My brows furrowed, stomach knotting as I quickly went to calm Lila down.

And through the chaos, I saw it.

Isabella.

She stood perfectly still, watching the chaos around her.

Before slowly, a smile crept across her face.

Private, as if she was close to giggling at her own joke.

As if seeing this made her feel full, satisfied.

My stomach twisted at the sight.

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