CHAPTER 58: RACHEL’S CONCERN [1]

When Christopher, Elena, and Rachel were ready to leave, I walked alongside them toward the borrowed vehicle that would take them back to our house.

They had borrowed one of the community’s cars—an older sedan that had seen better days but still ran reliably according to Martin. The paint was faded and there were a few dents along the sides but it would get them home safely.

As they prepared to get into the car, my friends turned to wave goodbye. Christopher offered a casual wave. Elena’s wave was more reserved, accompanied by that concerned look she’d been wearing since I’d announced my intention to stay. But it was Rachel who caught my attention—her reluctance was written clearly across her face, and her wave seemed more like a question than a farewell.

I stood there watching as the car’s engine turned over with a slightly rough idle, the headlights cutting through the gathering dusk. They would make it back before full darkness fell, which was a relief. I raised my own hand in response to their farewell, trying to project more confidence than I actually felt.

The car began to move, slowly navigating between the scattered debris and makeshift barriers that marked the community’s defensive perimeter. I continued watching until they reached the main road that would take them away from Jackson Township and back to our hiding place several miles away.

But then, unexpectedly, the car came to a sudden stop.

"Hm?"

Had they forgotten something? Had the car broken down already? My mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios.

But then I saw the passenger door open, and to my complete shock, Rachel stepped out of the vehicle. The car idled for a moment, as if waiting to see if she would change her mind, before pulling away and continuing down the road without her.

"Huh? R...Rachel?" I called out, genuinely dumbfounded by what I was witnessing.

She turned toward me, her expression set with a determination I’d seen before but never quite like this. There was something different in her posture, a resolve that suggested this wasn’t a spontaneous decision but something she’d been planning since the moment I’d announced I was staying.

"I’m staying here as well," she said simply.

This was exactly what I’d been trying to avoid, exactly why I’d insisted on staying alone.

"Why? I told you to leave!" I said, rushing forward as if I could somehow still catch the departing car and reverse this decision.

But the vehicle was already too far away, its taillights disappearing around a bend in the road. Christopher and Elena were gone, and Rachel was here.

"No, this is my decision, Ryan," she said. "You won’t force me to leave, will you?"

"N...No, of course not," I managed to say, though my expression must have betrayed my internal conflict.

I clenched my fists in frustration.

It could get dangerous! The words were right there on the tip of my tongue, begging to be spoken. She had no idea what she might be walking into, what kind of forces might be at work here. But how could I explain that without revealing everything I’d been hiding?

"Why do you want to stay?" I asked instead, hoping that maybe I could understand her reasoning and find a way to convince her to reconsider.

Rachel’s answer came quickly.

"I know you’re hiding something else, Ryan. I’m not stupid, and I can see that whatever’s going on here has something to do with you specifically. You want to be alone so you won’t drag us into whatever danger you’re expecting."

Her perceptiveness shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. Of course she’d picked up on the subtext of my decision to stay.

"That’s right," I admitted, seeing no point in denying what she’d already figured out. "That’s exactly why you need to leave. Please, Rachel."

But she shook her head with a seriousness that told me her mind was completely made up. "You saved me, Ryan. Back when we first met, when I was thinking it was over me and ready to give up—you saved my life. So it’s only right that I help you now, and if you think I’ll be a burden, I won’t be."

"I don’t think you’re a burden at all," I said, my voice softer now. "I just want you safe. I want all of you guys safe."

Rachel stepped closer, and I could see the sincerity burning in her eyes. "I know you’re still feeling guilty about putting us in danger, Ryan, and honestly, I like that about you. It shows you care. But that’s exactly why I don’t want to leave you alone to deal with whatever you’re afraid of."

She paused, placing her hand over her heart in a gesture that seemed to encompass everything she was trying to convey. "Whether you want to admit it or not, I’m already involved in this. So please... let me help you in whatever way I can. Just trust me. I won’t be a burden, I promise..."

"Rachel..." I muttered, finding myself unable to form a coherent response.

Looking back toward the road, I could see that Christopher and Elena were truly gone now. The decision had been made, the die cast. Christopher, at least, was probably relieved to be driving away from what he saw as unnecessary danger. He’d get Elena to safety, which was what mattered most.

I looked at Rachel again, taking in her serious expression.

She was truly an amazing woman.

Somehow I felt very grateful and happy that there was someone who would go this far for me.

"Alright," I said finally, sighing. "Alright, you can stay."

"I told you already I am the one deicing that," she shrugged pouting.

The conversation had apparently not gone unnoticed. Clara and several other community members had gathered nearby, clearly confused by the dramatic display they’d just witnessed. Their faces showed the bewilderment of people who had overheard half a conversation and were trying to piece together the context.

"Are you guys done talking about whatever mysterious thing you’re discussing?" Clara asked.

"W...We are!" Rachel replied, her face flushing with embarrassment as she realized how their conversation must have looked to outsiders. She quickly walked past me toward the building, clearly eager to escape the attention.

I couldn’t help but laugh at her reaction and followed her inside.

"What can we do to help you guys?" I asked Margaret as we rejoined the main group.

Since we were going to be staying the night anyway, it seemed only right to contribute to the community’s defensive preparations. Besides, staying busy would help keep my mind off the various worst-case scenarios that kept trying to surface in my thoughts.

Margaret’s face lit up with genuine appreciation. "If you’re willing, we could really use help filling the gap left in the southern perimeter after the barrier was destroyed. Several of our people are currently working in that area, trying to patch the hole with cars and whatever else we can find before nightfall."

I nodded. "What about you, Rachel?"

"I’ll help as well," she said without hesitation, already looking toward the area Margaret had indicated.

With our roles decided, we followed Margaret through a series of corridors that led to the back of the main building. She guided us to another exit I hadn’t noticed during our earlier tour, and we stepped outside into the southern side of the Municipal Office of Jackson Township.

The area was bustling with activity as community members worked frantically to address the security breach. But when I got my first good look at the damage, I felt my blood run cold.

What kind of force could have caused this level of destruction?

The barrier had originally been a typical chain-link fence reinforced with additional wire, concrete barriers, and metal plating—the kind of improvised fortification that had become standard in survivor communities. But now it looked like it had been hit by some kind of explosive device, or maybe struck by lightning. The metal was twisted and blackened, with edges that looked almost melted.

The destruction had created a gap that stretched for dozens of meters, leaving the community completely exposed from this direction. People were working desperately to fill the space—some were maneuvering abandoned cars into position to create a makeshift barrier, while others dragged concrete blocks, metal sheets, and anything else that might slow down an attacking force.

But as I studied the damage more closely, what struck me most was the precision of the destruction. This wasn’t the random violence of desperate scavengers or the chaotic damage that infected creatures might cause. This was deliberate, and calculated.

I desperately wanted to convince myself that this was all just some terrible coincidence—maybe another group of survivors with malicious intent, targeting this small haven out of desperation or cruelty. But the pattern was becoming too clear to ignore, too deliberate to dismiss.

If they were just desperate survivors needing help, why wouldn’t they simply approach Margaret and the others? From what I’d observed, this community seemed remarkably open and welcoming. They’d taken us in without hesitation, offered us food and shelter. Surely they would have extended the same courtesy to anyone genuinely in need. So why the attacks? Why the violence?

"Who the hell are you guys?"

The gruff voice cut through my contemplation. I looked up to see several of the workers had stopped what they were doing, their attention now focused squarely on Rachel and me. Of course—in a community this small, everyone knew everyone. Two unfamiliar faces would stick out like sore thumbs.

A man emerged from behind a stack of salvaged metal sheets, wiping his hands on a grimy rag. His weathered face showed the kind of wariness that came from too many close calls in this new world. His eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over us with the practiced assessment of someone who’d learned not to trust easily.

"I’m Ryan, and this is Rachel," I said. "We’re just guests here for the night. Margaret said we could lend a hand in return for her hospitality."

The man who’d first spotted us took a long drag from a cigarette, the ember glowing orange in the dim light filtering through the building’s broken windows. He was tall and lean, with the kind of build that spoke of hard physical labor and sparse meals. His clothes were patched and faded, but his boots looked sturdy—a survivor’s priorities showing.

"You ain’t from Jackson, are you?" He asked, exhaling smoke through his nose like a suspicious dragon.

Both Rachel and I shook our heads.

The man studied us for another long moment, then shrugged with the air of someone who’d seen enough strangers come and go that two more didn’t particularly surprise him. "Name’s Mark," he said finally. "If you really want to help, then help us move those cars." He pointed toward the building’s entrance, where I could see several vehicles scattered across the street outside. "We need the dented ones—anything that’ll serve as a barrier. But it’s dangerous work. Those streets aren’t exactly clear, if you catch my meaning."

I followed his gaze and immediately understood. The cars they needed were out there among the infected, in the open streets where the undead wandered aimlessly, always searching for their next victim. The community was building fortifications, creating a wall of twisted metal to keep the monsters at bay. It made sense—infected couldn’t climb, so a proper barrier of vehicles could create a safe perimeter.

"The plan is to drag them back here by hand," Mark continued, taking another drag. "No engines—too much noise draws them like flies to honey. Pure muscle work."

"Understood," I nodded, already mentally preparing for what lay ahead. "We can handle it."

Rachel stepped closer to me, and I could see the determination in her eyes despite the obvious danger.

Mark’s eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. "Are you guys serious? You’re actually willing to go out there?"

I glanced at him, confused by his reaction. "Is there a problem?"

He laughed, but there was no humor in it—just a bitter acknowledgment of the world’s harsh realities. "Most people hear ’go grab cars from infected-infested streets’ and suddenly remember they have somewhere else to be."

"We’re not most people," Rachel said quietly smiling.

Mark studied us both again, this time with what might have been a hint of respect. "Alright then. Be my guests. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when things get messy out there."

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the abandoned street as Rachel and I made our way toward the scattered vehicles.

"How about this one?" Rachel asked, pointing to a small yellow car parked near a gas station about fifty yards from the community’s perimeter.

I surveyed the car with a practiced eye. It was compact but sturdy-looking, with enough dents and scratches to show it had seen better days but was still intact enough to serve as part of their barrier. "Yeah, that should work. Let’s check it out."

As we approached the vehicle, I spotted movement near the station’s small convenience store. Three infected shambled aimlessly between the fuel pumps, their torn clothing fluttering in the slight breeze. They hadn’t noticed us yet, but that wouldn’t last long.

"I’ll handle them," I told Rachel, pulling my axe from my belt.

She nodded and moved toward the car while I approached the infected.

I dispatched them both quickly and efficiently, trying not to think too hard about who they might have been before the infection took them.

"Ryan, the car seems fine, but I can’t find the keys anywhere," Rachel said.

"That’s fine. We’ll just push it. They don’t want us to make too much noise anyway," I replied, wiping the axe blade clean on the clothes of the dead infected.

"Before we start," Rachel said, glancing toward the convenience store, "should we check inside? There might be something useful."

I followed her gaze to the small building.

"Good thinking," I agreed. "Stay behind me—there might be infected inside."

The store’s interior was dim but looked strangely proper. The shelves were mostly bare, cleaned out long ago by desperate survivors or the community we were now helping.

"Looks like someone beat us to it," I observed, scanning the empty candy racks and depleted drink coolers.

"Makes sense," Rachel replied, running her fingers along a dusty shelf. "We’re pretty close to the municipal building. They’ve probably scavenged everything in the immediate area."

She was right, of course. Any smart group would have secured all nearby resources as soon as they’d established their base. Still, it never hurt to check—sometimes valuable items got overlooked in the initial rush to grab obvious supplies.

"Ryan." Rachel’s voice carried a different tone now, more serious.

"Yeah?" I turned to face her, noting the way she’d positioned herself between me and the exit.

"Can you finally tell me what this whole thing is really about?" Her arms crossed over her chest.

I couldn’t help but smile. "Cornering me inside a gas station—that was a good strategic choice."

She smiled back, but there was steel in her expression. "I didn’t have much choice. You’re incredibly creative when it comes to finding excuses to avoid telling me the whole truth like threatening me."

I blushed in embarrassment.

Damn it.

I sighed deeply, knowing she was right. She deserved to know, especially given what it meant for her own safety.

"I guess you’re right," I admitted, leaning back against an empty shelf.

The words I’d been dreading to speak hung in the air between us like a loaded weapon. There would be no going back after this, no more comfortable illusions or half-truths. Rachel was about to learn just how dangerous her association with me really was.

"You remember when I told you about the Dullahan Virus—how it infected you that night?" I began, watching her face carefully.

"Yes, I remember." She nodded, but I could see the wariness creeping into her eyes.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for her reaction. "The infected... they’re attracted to the virus."

Rachel’s eyes widened, and I saw her take an unconscious step backward. "What do you mean, attracted to it?"

"The infection that spread across the world, that turned all these people into monsters—it wasn’t some natural disaster or accident," I continued, each word feeling heavy as lead. "It was deliberate. Purposeful. There’s another race, something not human, and they released this zombie virus intentionally. Their goal is conquest through destruction, turning our own people into weapons against us."

Rachel’s face had gone pale, and I could see her struggling to process what I was telling her.

"I’m the host of the Dullahan Virus," I pressed on. "That makes me their enemy. The infected aren’t just wandering randomly—they’ve been given orders. They’re hunting us, hunting me specifically. And you..." I met her eyes, seeing the dawning horror there. "Since you’ve inherited some of the Dullahan Virus from our... contact... you’re also a target now. Not as much as me, since I’m the original host, but enough that you’re in constant danger just by existing."

Rachel stood frozen, her mouth open but no sound coming out at all.