CHAPTER 53: CENTER TOWN OF JACKSON TOWNSHIP

The morning air was crisp against our faces as we stood outside the house.

I reached into my own pack and pulled out the crowbar I had taken from the market.

"Here, this is for you," I said, offering it to Elena.

She looked surprised by the gesture, her eyebrows lifting slightly before a genuine smile spread across her face. "Oh, thanks..." She took the weapon, testing its weight with a few experimental swings. "It feels quite sturdy and strong."

"Yeah, I figured it would be easier for you to carry and swing than some chair legs," I explained, watching her get a feel for the balance. "Plus, crowbars are versatile—good for both fighting and prying things open."

"Thanks, Ryan." She said softly.

Showing such a smile with a world toppling face like this was almost unfair. I almost stared at her mouth agape.

"Alright, let’s move out," I said, shouldering my own pack.

We’d decided to take Sydney’s car for the expedition.

Rachel slid behind the wheel with the confident movements of someone comfortable driving, while I claimed the passenger seat. Christopher and Elena settled into the back, before we pulled away from the house.

The streets were eerily quiet as we began our journey, abandoned cars scattered like sleeping giants along the roadside. Some had their doors hanging open, dark stains on the seats telling stories we didn’t want to think about too closely. Others sat pristine and untouched, as if their owners had simply evaporated mid-commute.

"Rrrgh..."

Well silence expect for the Infected of course.

"Do you have any idea where exactly you heard the sound?" I asked.

Rachel’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "Somewhere around the town center, I think. We didn’t hear it clearly, but that’s my best guess. We should probably do a systematic search of the area, just to be safe."

"Makes sense." I glanced over at her profile. "By the way, I didn’t know you could drive. Didn’t you have a car back at the apartment?"

A shadow passed across Rachel’s face. "Yes, but I had parked it outside on the street that night." Her voice carried the weight of regret that came with hindsight. "If I’d known what was going to happen, if I’d parked it in the underground parking."

"You couldn’t have known," I said. "None of us could have."

She nodded, but I could tell she was still upset about it. Maybe she liked that car.

"So you were usually the one dropping Rebecca off at school then?" I asked, partly to change the subject and partly because I was genuinely curious about their life before all this.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Rachel’s mouth. "When I could manage it, yes. Otherwise she took the bus. Though she always complained when I drove her—said I shouldn’t come near her school because I ’distracted her classmates.’" There was a note of hurt in her voice, the kind of pain that comes from not understanding why someone you love is embarrassed by you.

But I understood perfectly. Rachel was stunning in a way that was impossible to ignore—the kind of natural beauty that turned heads without trying. Her figure was that of a fashion model, with curves that even her practical clothing couldn’t completely hide. In a high school environment full of hormonal teenagers, her presence would definitely cause a stir.

I found myself wondering if Rachel was genuinely oblivious to her own attractiveness, or if she just chose not to think about it. Some women seemed genuinely surprised when men’s eyes followed them, as if they’d never looked in a mirror and seen what everyone else saw.

"You’re staring."

Elena’s voice cut through my thoughts like a blade, sharp and disapproving. I felt heat creep up my neck as I realized I’d been lost in thought while looking in Rachel’s direction—probably appearing to ogle her chest like some kind of perverted teenager.

Elena was fixing me with a stern glare that could have frozen water,.

I quickly averted my gaze, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Sorry, I was just—thinking about something else."

Thankfully, Rachel seemed oblivious to the entire exchange, her attention focused on navigating around an overturned delivery truck that blocked half the street.

Desperate to change the subject and deflect attention from my apparent lechery, I turned to Christopher. "By the way, aren’t you worried about your parents? I mean, we haven’t heard anything..."

Christopher’s expression grew somber, and I immediately regretted bringing it up. He stared out the window for a moment, watching the empty storefronts roll by.

"Yeah, I’m still worried about them," he said quietly. "But I try not to think too much about it, you know? If I let myself go down that road..." He trailed off, but we all understood. In this world, hope could be more dangerous than despair.

Then, inevitably, he turned the question back on me. "What about you, man? Your family?"

I felt my expression close off automatically, that familiar wall slamming down whenever anyone touched on this particular wound. Christopher caught the change immediately—we’d all become experts at reading each other’s emotional weather patterns when we were in the same mess.

"Ah, shit. Sorry, Ryan," he said, genuine regret in his voice.

"No, it’s fine," I replied, though we both knew it wasn’t. "Just... not something I talk about much."

I noticed Rachel’s eyes flick toward me, her expression softening with sympathy. She’d known my mother—we had been been neighbors, and she had exchanged pleasantries in the hallway like people did in the before times. I could see she wanted to say something comforting, but ultimately she remained silent, understanding that sometimes words just made things worse.

Christopher, bless him, seemed determined to lighten the mood. He turned to Elena with an exaggerated grin.

"What about you, Miss Elena Petrova?" He asked with theatrical formality.

"Petrova?" I raised an eyebrow, the name clicking something into place. "

Elena’s expression immediately hardened, her posture shifting into something more defensive. She crossed her arms over her chest, the crowbar I’d given her resting across her lap like a barrier.

"What about it?" She asked.

But Christopher, apparently oblivious to the danger signs, pressed on with that reckless confidence that was both his greatest strength and his most potentially fatal flaw.

"I just figured your father would have been the first one coming to rescue you—you know, with his army of mercenaries and all that," he said with a casual grin, as if he was discussing the weather rather than dropping what sounded like a massive bombshell.

I nearly choked on my own spit. "What?!" I whipped around to stare at Elena. An army of mercenaries? What the hell kind of family did she come from?

Elena’s glare could have melted steel. For a moment, I thought she might actually use that crowbar on Christopher, and frankly, he probably would have deserved it.

Christopher immediately recognized his mistake, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Whoa, okay, touching a nerve there. My bad."

But the damage was done. The information was out there now, hanging in the air like smoke. I found myself remembering how confident both Elena and Alisha had been that their father would find them, their certainty that rescue was just a matter of time rather than possibility.

Elena didn’t deny Christopher’s words, which was almost more revealing than if she’d exploded at him.

I made a mental note to have a conversation with Alisha when we got back. She’d always been the more forthcoming of the two sisters, more likely to share information if asked directly.

The car fell into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional distant sound of Infected or wind blowing.

"What..." Rachel muttered surprised as she brought the car to an abrupt stop, the brakes squealing slightly in protest.

"Why are we stopping?" Christopher asked, leaning forward between the front seats to get a better view. Elena shifted beside him, both of them craning their necks to see what had caught our attention.

The answer was immediately obvious once they had the same vantage point Rachel and I shared from the front seats. Stretching across the entire width of the road was an impressive barricade—dozens of cars arranged in a deliberate formation, their bumpers touching, creating an impenetrable wall of twisted metal and shattered glass. Some vehicles had been flipped onto their sides to fill gaps, while others were stacked two high in places.

"Damn," Christopher whistled low, genuine admiration in his voice. "Whoever built this wasn’t messing around. This is some serious defensive work."

I studied the barrier more closely, noting the strategic placement of larger vehicles at key stress points, the way smaller cars had been wedged into gaps to eliminate any possible crawl spaces.

Yeah, they definitely worked hard.

"Should we look for another route?" Rachel asked, her hands still gripping the steering wheel as she scanned the imposing wall of metal. "Maybe if we backtrack and try to circle around?"

I shook my head, thinking through the logistics. "If they went to all this trouble to block this main artery, they’ve probably done the same to every other major road leading into the town center. Besides," I gestured back the way we’d come, "I’d prefer to keep the car here. If things go sideways, we’ll want a clear escape route back to the house, and this road is our most direct path home."

"So we’re going in on foot?" Elena asked, already reaching for her pack.

"That’s what I’m thinking," I confirmed. "Unless someone has a better idea?"

Elena shouldered her bag and tested the weight of her crowbar. "No, it makes sense. If the people inside really knew what they were doing when they built this barrier, there shouldn’t be too many infected wandering around in there. The fortifications should have done their job."

"Let’s hope you’re right," Christopher said.

With our plan decided, all four of us climbed out of the car.

I hefted my hand axe testing it. Christopher did the same with his own axe.

Elena gave her crowbar a few experimental swings, the metal cutting through the air with a satisfying whoosh. But when I looked at Rachel, I frowned at the sight of her clutching that same inadequate kitchen knife she’d been carrying since the beginning.

"Here, Rachel. You’ll be much better off with this," I said, pulling the handgun from my waistband—the one I’d taken from the director’s office what felt like a lifetime ago.

Rachel’s eyes widened as she stared at the weapon. "Are... are you sure? I mean, shouldn’t you keep it?"

I shook my head, pressing the gun into her reluctant hands. "You need it more than I do. Trust me on this."

I could literally manipulate time if things got desperate—a trump card that was more valuable than any conventional weapon. Rachel didn’t have that advantage.

"Just get rid of that kitchen knife already," I added with a laugh. "Do you know how to use it?"

Rachel nodded, her fingers finding the safety and checking the action with movements that suggested at least basic familiarity. "Yeah, my father taught me when I was younger. I’m not a marksman, but I can hit what I’m aiming at."

"That’s all we need. Just watch our backs, okay?"

I took point, moving toward the barricade with Elena covering our left flank and Christopher taking the right. Rachel brought up the rear, the handgun held in a proper two-handed grip that gave me confidence she actually knew what she was doing.

Climbing over the car barricade was trickier than it looked. The metal was slick with morning dew, and some of the vehicles shifted slightly under our weight, groaning ominously as stress points adjusted to the new load. But we managed it without incident, dropping down into the town center beyond.

The transformation was immediately striking. Where the outer areas had looked abandoned and chaotic, the town center showed clear signs of organized human activity. The streets were clear of debris, abandoned cars had been pushed to the sides, and several storefronts showed signs of recent habitation.

"This is definitely more organized than anything we’ve seen before," I murmured, taking in the systematic approach to fortification and survival.

They managed to do that in three days?

Or maybe as soon as the news got out, they had fortified their town? That would be logical and then maybe this town in peculiar had been lucky to not get Infected immediately?

The commercial district stretched out before us—a mix of retail shops, restaurants, and small businesses that would have been bustling with activity in the before times.

We’d barely made it fifty yards into the center when I held up my hand, bringing our small group to an immediate halt.

"Wait," I whispered. "Did you hear that?"

Elena’s head snapped up, her enhanced senses immediately picking up what I’d detected. "Yeah..."

Rachel caught it too. "It sounded like a scream," she said quietly, her grip tightening on the handgun.

Christopher looked between the three of us with confusion written across his face. "What are you guys talking about? I didn’t hear any screams..."

I glanced at Elena and Rachel. The Dullahan virus enhancement had sharpened all our senses beyond normal human range, allowing us to pick up sounds that Christopher’s unenhanced ears simply couldn’t detect.

"Should we get a look?" Rachel asked, though her body language suggested she already knew the answer.

"We have to," I said. "If someone’s in trouble, we can’t just ignore them."

The decision made, we moved carefully in the direction of the sound, our weapons ready and our nerves on high alert. The narrow alleyway ahead seemed to swallow sound, creating an eerie echo chamber that made it difficult to pinpoint exactly where the disturbance was coming from.

As we rounded a corner into a small plaza surrounded by shops, the source of the commotion became immediately apparent. Three people were running toward us with the desperate, stumbling gait of those who knew death was breathing down their necks. A middle-aged man in torn clothing led the group, followed by a young woman with blood on her shirt and an elderly person who was clearly struggling to keep pace.

But it wasn’t their appearance that made my blood run cold—it was what was chasing them.

The dog that bounded after them might have once been someone’s beloved pet, possibly a German Shepherd or similar breed. Now it was something out of a nightmare. Its fur was matted with dried blood and other substances I didn’t want to identify. One eye was completely white, clouded over with infection, while the other burned with that terrible hunger I’d seen in human infected. Its lips were pulled back in a permanent snarl, revealing teeth that looked far too sharp, and its movements were wrong—too fast, too aggressive, like a predator that had been stripped of all restraint and mercy.

"Shit."

I and Christopher echoed together.