Chapter 63: Sleepless nights

I couldn’t sleep.

It felt like I’d been out there for hours, sitting with my back to cold concrete and my eyes fixed on nothing. The night air had sunk into my bones— sharp, biting— but I’d gotten used to it. My body had. My mind hadn’t.

My eyelids burned. Every blink lasted a second too long.

I tightened my grip on the gun.

The fire behind me had long since died down to embers. Conversations had faded one by one, voices dissolving into the quiet until there was nothing left but the wind and the distant creak of metal shifting in the dark.

Everyone else was asleep.

I wasn’t.

Paranoia sat heavy in my chest, pressing down with every breath. No matter how hard I tried to focus on the shadows ahead, my thoughts kept betraying me.

Lila.

The weight of the corpse pinning me to the floor.

The way her blood had soaked into my skin.

The hollow click of my trigger when it should’ve roared.

Click. Click.

My jaw tightened.

Could it really be—..?

No.

I shook my head slightly, like that alone could dislodge the thought. My leg twitched. My fingers flexed around the grip, knuckles aching from how long I’d been holding on.

Stay awake.

Then—

Hands grabbed me.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up.

I lurched forward, elbow snapping back hard. There was a sharp crack—bone against bone—followed by a grunt of pain. The figure stumbled, hit the ground with a thud.

I spun, gun already raised.

My heart was in my throat.

Peter lay sprawled on the concrete in front of me, rifle skittered to the side. He was clutching his nose, blood already slipping between his fingers.

Shit.

“I—” My voice came out rough. “I’m sorry.”

The words felt inadequate as they left my mouth. I lowered the gun immediately and crouched, holding a hand out to him.

Peter hesitated, then took it. I hauled him up, guilt twisting tight in my stomach.

He straightened, wiped at his nose with the back of his sleeve. Red smeared across the fabric.

“…They put me on watch duty for the rest of the night,” he said quietly.

I frowned, the words not quite landing. “Who?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he adjusted his grip on the rifle, then reached out and clapped a firm hand on my shoulder. Not angry. Not accusing.

Tired.

“You’re exhausted,” he said. “Too tired to keep going like this. Get some rest, Adrian.”

I opened my mouth to argue.

Nothing came out.

My body betrayed me— shoulders sagging, breath slipping out in a slow exhale I hadn’t realized I was holding. The fight drained out of me all at once, leaving behind only bone-deep fatigue.

“…Okay,” I muttered.

Peter gave a small nod and stepped past me, taking my place without another word.

As I turned back toward the sleeping forms by the fire, my hands still shook.

I told myself it was exhaustion.

I told myself that as I lay down, Lila shifting beside me to make room, her arms sliding around my waist. Her warmth was immediate—almost shocking against the cold still clinging to my skin.

I felt safe.

But her breathing was slow. Too slow. Measured in a way that didn’t quite match mine.

Her grip stayed firm even after I went still.

And somehow, that lie was the only thing that finally let me close my eyes.

The knife sliced clean through the infected’s skull, and he dropped like a ragdoll, bloodshot eyes twitching one last time before going still. Carl stepped back, chest heaving, hands slick with sweat and blood.

“…Is that the last of them?” he asked, voice rough.

Adira, arms folded and stained, gave a curt nod.

“That should be it for now. We need to find somewhere to rest.”

Carl nodded, swallowing hard. He followed her cautiously as they crept through the abandoned house, floorboards groaning under their feet. Shadows twisted along the cracked walls, and the air smelled of rot and decay. Carl’s eyes stayed on her as she walked, gun in hand but relaxed, fingers brushing the grip instinctively.

They stepped over the occasional bodies of infected they’d cleared, careful not to make a sound. Carl wanted to ask her about the Crucible— how much she knew, what they were really up against— but she had been silent for hours.

He kept the question to himself and pushed his glasses up.

“Be careful,” Adira said, low, almost warning him.

“There may be more we don’t know about,”

Carl stiffened, jaw tight, pulse rising as the silence pressed against his ears.

From down the hallway came muffled sounds—low, almost human.

Carl and Adira froze, exchanging a tense glance. Then they moved closer, steps careful, breaths shallow.

The door burst open. Carl’s eyes widened.

A woman screamed, clutching a white lab coat over herself, hands trembling as she tried to cover her body.

Carl and Adira hesitated— but it was the man strapped to the bed that froze them. Eyes wide and red, veins spiderwebbing across his face, he thrashed violently, a grotesque grin stretching his features.

Adira didn’t hesitate.

“NO! NO! STOP—!”

One bullet tore into his chest, another into his head. He went still, finally.

The woman crumpled to the floor, sobs wracking her body. Adira’s eyes narrowed. Without a word, she grabbed the woman, slamming her back against the wall, gun pressed to her temple.

“You sick fuck. What the hell is going on here!?” she demanded, voice sharp.

The woman’s body trembled as she sank to the floor despite Adira, the blood from the infected staining her lab coat. Her hands shook, and she kept trying to cover herself with whatever she could reach.

Adira’s gun didn’t waver. “Explain yourself. Now.”

She looked at Adira, tears streaking her cheeks, and whispered, “He… he was my husband. Before… before all this. Before he turned. I—I needed to see if I could still… reach him, talk to him. Even after… even after he… changed.”

Carl’s stomach turned. “You… you were trying to talk to your infected husband? While he was— like that?”

“Yes!” she snapped, voice rising with desperation. “I knew someone bit him coming into the house… and I—I thought maybe I could… communicate with him. Like before. I had to. It was… it was for research. For… science!”

Adira’s eyes narrowed. “Science? You put yourself in the same room as him, strapped him down, and—” she gestured to the body she had just put down, “—and you think this counts as research?”

The woman swallowed hard, almost choking on her words. “You don’t get it! I—I needed to understand him. I needed to see if he… if he still remembered me. Even a little. If there was still a part of him left that I could… reach.”

Adira stepped back, rubbing at her eyes as she muttered under her breath.

“Oh my fucking God…”

The woman on the floor tried to push herself up, trembling, her bloodied lab coat sticking to her arms.

Adira’s gun leveled at her again, steady, unyielding.

The woman’s sobs grew louder, desperate.

“Please… please… I don’t wanna die…”

Adira’s face didn’t soften. Her jaw clenched, eyes sharp, cold.

Then Carl’s voice cut through the air, tense but calm.

“Adira—wait.”

She froze, turning toward him, irritation and fury flashing across her features.

“She said she’s conducting research for the infected,” Carl continued, eyes on the woman. “Likely because she’s some kind of doctor. Maybe… maybe she can help us somehow.”

The woman’s head jerked up, eyes wide, a flicker of hope breaking through the terror.

Adira’s glare swept back toward her, assessing.

“Is it true?” she demanded.

The woman nodded, voice shaky but urgent.

“Yes! It’s true… if you kill me, you’re doing humanity a huge disservice!”

Adira exhaled slowly, the gun still trained on her, but her tone sharper, skeptical.

“If you’re really a doctor, why aren’t you at the labs, trying to work for a cure?”

Silence. The woman swallowed, trembling so hard her teeth rattled.

“T—that’s where I was headed,” she whispered finally. “My husband and I… we were both scientists. Traveling to Texas… before the infected… obstructed our path.”

Her words hung in the air, broken and jagged, mingling with the faint metallic scent of blood from the bodies around them.

Adira and Carl exchanged a long, hard look. Questions and suspicion warred silently in their eyes. Was she lying? Or was this desperation speaking the truth?

The woman’s chest heaved, eyes darting between the two of them. Her hands shook as she tried to push herself upright again, seeking any hint of mercy.

Adira’s grip on the gun didn’t waver. She tilted her head, voice low and measured, almost a warning.

“Texas is a long way off. And you just put yourself— and everyone else— in this mess. One wrong move and you’re dead anyway. So… convince me you’re worth the risk.”

The woman’s lips quivered. “I… I can help. I can. I’ve studied them… the infected. Their behavior, their physiology… I’ve documented patterns, weaknesses… anything you need, I can tell you. But you have to let me survive first.”

Carl shifted his weight, eyes narrowing, scanning both the woman and the empty house around them.

Adira’s expression softened—not fully—but just enough to signal a grudging willingness to listen. Her gun lowered slightly, though not completely.

The fire of tension in the room crackled between them, as fragile and dangerous as the lives they all held in their hands.

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