CHAPTER 68: CLEANUP AND SYDNEY...

The cleanup after the spike installation was grimmer than the actual work had been. Martin organized us into pairs, each team responsible for dragging the infected corpses far enough from the compound to dump them into a disposal pit that had been dug specifically for this purpose. It was messy, unpleasant work that nobody volunteered for but everyone understood was necessary.

The pit itself was located nearly half a mile from the Municipal Office, positioned downwind to minimize any lingering odors that might attract scavengers or alert other infected to our presence. It was deep enough to hold dozens of bodies, though thankfully we rarely had to dispose of more than a few at a time.

"At least there weren’t more of them," Martin said as we dragged the last corpse across the rough ground. "Time was, we’d see ten or fifteen infected in a single day. Now we’re lucky if we spot two or three in a week."

He was right about that. The defensive barriers that Jackson Township had constructed around the main access roads were proving remarkably effective at channeling infected away from the community. Combined with regular patrols that eliminated any stragglers, the immediate area around the Municipal Office had become relatively secure.

The building’s location helped considerably with that security. Unlike others who would try to establish themselves in dense urban areas for the facilities and stores nearby, Jackson Township sat in what had once been a moderately populated suburban district. There were enough abandoned buildings nearby to provide scavenging opportunities, but not so many that infected could easily mass in large numbers or approach unseen.

"Isolation has its advantages," I agreed, wiping infected blood off my hands with a rag that had seen far too much similar use. "Though I sometimes wonder if we’re missing opportunities by staying so far from the major population centers."

"What kind of opportunities?" Martin asked with a skeptical tone. "More infected to fight? More competition for resources?"

It was a fair point. The major cities were undoubtedly crawling with infected, and any resources they contained would likely be heavily contested by other survivor groups. Still, there was something to be said for the infrastructure and supplies that urban areas could offer.

"Better medical facilities, maybe. Communications equipment. Industrial resources." I shrugged. "I’m not saying we should pack up and move to Manhattan or something, just that there might be things worth the risk of occasional expeditions."

Martin nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe. But that’s a conversation for people smarter than me. I’m just trying to keep this place secure enough that we can have those conversations at all."

By the time we’d finished with the disposal and made our way back to the compound, the afternoon sun was beginning to cast longer shadows across the courtyard. The work day wasn’t over yet, but the most physically demanding tasks were behind us.

As I walked through the main entrance of the Municipal Office, I was surprised to find Jasmine waiting for me near the entrance area. She was leaning against the wall with studied casualness, but there was something in her expression that suggested she’d been watching for my return.

he had shoulder-length chestnut hair that somehow always looked perfectly styled despite their limited grooming supplies, and the kind of effortless prettiness that probably would have made her popular on any college campus.

More relevantly for current purposes, she was also Jason’s unofficial girlfriend, from everyone’s perspectives.

"You’re always working hard, Ryan," she said with a smile that seemed slightly nervous.

I returned the smile, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "Well, someone has to. It’s not like Brad’s going to volunteer for the heavy lifting."

That earned me a genuine laugh.

Jasmine stepped closer and offered me a clean towel from the stack that was kept near the entrance for exactly this purpose. The Municipal Office had developed efficient systems for most aspects of daily life, including the basic courtesy of providing cleanup supplies for people returning from outdoor work.

"Thanks," I said gratefully, using the towel to wipe sweat from my neck and arms. The physical work of installing defensive spikes hadn’t been particularly strenuous, but the afternoon sun and the stress of dealing with infected had left me feeling grimy and overheated.

"So," I continued, settling into what I hoped was casual conversation, "how are things going with Jason? You two seem to be spending a lot of time together."

It was an innocent enough question. They could often be seen walking the perimeter together, sharing meals, or engaged in quiet conversations in the common areas. It was sweet to watch, especially knowing how much Jason had struggled with social interaction when we’d first found him.

But the question seemed to catch Jasmine off guard.

"Oh... good, I guess," she said, but her tone suggested there was more complexity to the situation than that simple answer conveyed. "But Ryan..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you have time—"

"Jasmine!"

Jason’s voice cut through our conversation as he appeared from behind, slightly out of breath as though he’d been hurrying.

"What’s up, Jason?" I asked, noting the slightly frantic edge to his appearance.

"Oh, nothing major," he said quickly. "It’s just that Jasmine’s mother was calling for her. Family meeting or something."

Jasmine’s expression shifted to one of clear disappointment, and she shot Jason a look that suggested this interruption wasn’t entirely welcome. But she nodded and headed toward the interior of the building without arguing.

"I’ll talk to you later, Ryan," she said over her shoulder, emphasizing the words in a way that made it clear she intended to continue whatever conversation Jason had interrupted.

I watched her go, then raised an eyebrow at Jason. His explanation felt a bit convenient, and Jasmine’s reaction suggested she hadn’t been expecting any family meeting.

Whatever.

I found Cindy and Christopher in one of the side rooms that had been converted into a communications center. They were huddled around the short-wave radio, along with Mark and a couple of other Jackson Township residents who had some technical expertise.

"How’s it working?" I asked, looking at the radio setup that now included several additional components and a much more impressive antenna array.

Cindy looked up from where she’d been adjusting dials and monitoring frequencies. "Much better, actually. Mark taught me a lot about signal propagation and antenna design. We’ve been able to extend our range considerably, and the signal quality is much clearer than what we were getting before."

Mark, who was sitting nearby with his ever-present cigarette, nodded approvingly. "She’s got good instincts for this kind of work. Give her a few more sessions and she’ll be able to operate this equipment better than most military radio operators."

"Any luck picking up other survivors?" I asked.

"A few automated distress signals," Christopher replied. "But nothing that seems recent, and nothing we can definitively trace to active survivors. Mostly just emergency broadcast loops that have been running on battery power since the early days."

It was disappointing but not surprising. If there were large, organized survivor communities out there, they’d probably be maintaining radio silence to avoid attracting unwanted attention. The infected might not be able to track radio signals, but other human groups with hostile intentions certainly could.

"If there were some kind of military stronghold that had been established after the outbreak," I mused, "where do you think it would be? Somewhere like Washington, D.C.?"

Christopher considered this question seriously. "Maybe. Washington would make sense from a symbolic standpoint, and it has the infrastructure to support a large defensive operation. But honestly, if there wasn’t even a functional military presence in New York City, I’m not sure anywhere would have had the resources to establish a truly secure base."

"Good luck getting to Washington to find out," Cindy added pragmatically. "That’s got to be at least a hundred and fifty miles from here, maybe more. With fuel as scarce as it is, and all the unknown threats between here and there..."

She was absolutely right. A journey of that distance would require careful planning, substantial resources, and accepting significant risks. Even if we could somehow acquire enough fuel for the trip, there was no guarantee we’d find anything worth the risk when we got there.

"Who said anything about going to Washington?" Christopher asked with a grin. "I’m pretty comfortable in our current house, thanks very much. Right, Ryan?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "We’ve got a good thing going where we are."

Though even as I said it, I wondered if that would remain true indefinitely. Our current arrangement was working well enough, but it was still fragile in many ways....

But those were concerns for another day. For now, we had stability, security, and the luxury of worrying about long-term planning rather than immediate survival. In the current world, that qualified as a major victory.

"What do we have here? A threesome?"

The crudely suggestive comment could only have come from one person. Sydney had appeared from behind with her characteristic lack of subtlety, grinning at the sight of Christopher, Cindy, and me clustered around the radio equipment.

"Sydney, for God’s sake..." Cindy said, rolling her eyes with the weary patience of someone who’d grown accustomed to her friend’s provocative sense of humor.

"Sorry, sorry!" Sydney raised her hands in mock surrender, though her expression suggested she wasn’t remotely apologetic. "From where I was standing, it looked like you three were getting awfully cozy over there."

"From your perspective, everything looks suspicious and inappropriate," I pointed out. "You could probably find sexual innuendo in a grocery list."

Sydney’s eyes lit up with mischief. "Oh, you want to test that theory? Because I bet I could make ’milk, bread, and bananas’ sound absolutely scandalous if you give me thirty seconds."

"Please don’t," Christopher said quickly. "Some of us are trying to maintain our innocence."

But Sydney had already focused her attention on me with the intensity of a predator who’d spotted vulnerable prey. I recognized that look and immediately tried to step backward, but I wasn’t fast enough.

"Stop playing so hard to get, Ryan!" She yelled, launching herself at me and somehow managing to climb onto my back before I could effectively dodge.

"Wait, what are you doing?!" I protested, staggering under her unexpected weight and trying to maintain my balance.

"Wow, such strong shoulders," she announced loudly, settling herself more comfortably and resting her chin on top of my head. "They could probably carry mountains. Very impressive muscular development."

I could feel my face heating up with embarrassment as the other people in the room – and several others who’d been drawn by the commotion – turned to stare at us. Sydney seemed completely oblivious to the attention, or perhaps she was enjoying it.

"Alright, please get down," I said, trying to sound firm rather than flustered. "Everyone’s looking at us."

"Let them look," Sydney replied cheerfully. "Without internet or television, these people need some entertainment. We’re providing a valuable fap service."

"What are you even talking about?!"

She definitely don’t know what shame means.

Christopher and Cindy were watching the spectacle with expressions of amused sympathy.

"Sydney," Cindy said diplomatically, "maybe you should let Ryan get some rest?"

"Work’s overrated," Sydney replied, but she did finally slide down from my back. "Besides, all work and no play makes Ryan a very dull boy. And we can’t have that, can we?"

"I’m just trying to work for the people around," I replied.

Sydney, still perched on my shoulders like she owned the place, let out a snort so loud it made a few heads turn. "Yeah, I saw how you’ve been ’working,’" she drawled, her fingers tapping rhythmically against my collarbone. "Half the girls and women here can’t take their eyes off you. You might as well be flexing those biceps on purpose with how they’re all drooling."

"W...what?"

Was she serious? Or was this just another one of her games—teasing me until I tripped over my own words like some awkward teenager again?

Sydney sighed, her breath warm against my ear. "Oh, dear dense Ryan," she muttered, shaking her head like I was a hopeless case. Before I could protest, she wrapped her arms tighter around my neck. "Alright, that’s it. I’m taking you out of here before you drown in your own cluelessness."

And just like that, she kicked her legs playfully against my ribs, signaling me to move. With her still clinging to me like a mischievous koala, I walked off. A few people glanced our way, their expressions a mix of amusement and confusion as Sydney waved at them with an exaggerated grin, her free hand fluttering in the air like she was royalty on parade.

"Look around," she whispered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone as we stepped outside. "Every girl in there is jealous."

I scoffed, adjusting my hold on her legs. "You’re way overestimating me."

She leaned back just enough to meet my eyes, her smirk sharp. "Am I? Or are you just that blind?" She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she’d already solved. "I mean, come on. You’re not the same scrawny, irredeemable virgin from high school anymore, Ryan. Hell, you’ve even had sex with me."

My face burned. "Sydney—"

"Oh, relax," She laughed, but her voice carried—way too loud. A few passing interns did a double-take.

I hissed, glancing around. "Can you not shout that everywhere?"

She gasped, mock-offended, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. "What? You don’t want Rachel to know?"

My steps faltered. "Wh...what?"

Sydney sighed dramatically, her chin digging into my shoulder as she sulked. "Ugh, why are we even hiding it? It’s not like it’s some big scandal."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. My brain short-circuited.

We had never talked about it—not really. After that night, it was like we’d silently agreed to pretend it never happened, to let it fade into the background noise of our friendship. But now, here she was, dragging it into the light like it was nothing.

Before I could stammer out a response, she wriggled free from my grip and dropped to the ground in front of me, her boots hitting the pavement with a thud. She turned, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt just long enough to yank me to a stop. Her grin was all teeth, playful but edged with something else—something that made my pulse stutter.

"Wanna have sex again, Ryan?"

I froze mid-step, my brain screeching to a halt. "S..Sydney?"

She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she reached up and—slap—her palm connected with my ass with enough force to make me jump. "What a firm pair you’ve got," she purred, her laugh echoing around as she sauntered away, leaving me standing there like an idiot.

This girl was something I am yet to have understand but I am stem somewhat in love with her.