CHAPTER 69: THE DRIVE HOME

The fluorescent lights of the Jackson Township Municipal office cast long shadows across the parking lot as we finally prepared to leave. It was well past eleven.

I glanced over at Rebecca, who was leaning against Rachel’s car with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and I could see the telltale signs of her reaching her limit. Being Rachel’s self-appointed guardian was exhausting work, especially when her sister’s natural kindness attracted every lonely soul in a fifty-mile radius.

Rebecca caught me watching her and shot me a look that clearly said, "Finally." Despite her perpetual scowl, I’d come to understand that her protectiveness came from a place of genuine love. She was like a fierce little terrier, all bark and bite when it came to anyone who might take advantage of Rachel’s gentle nature. It was almost endearing, in a thoroughly irritating way...

"Alright, let’s get moving before Rebecca combusts," Christopher called out, jingling his keys.

We sorted ourselves into two cars. Rachel took Christopher, Cindy, and the still-grumbling Rebecca in a car, while I found myself in the passenger seat of Sydney’s car.

Sydney turned the key, and the engine purred to life. As we pulled out of the yard, I watched the municipal office grow smaller in the side mirror.

"It was a nice day with them again, wasn’t it?" Sydney said. Her hands rested casually on the steering wheel, and I noticed she’d painted her nails black again.

"Yeah," I agreed, settling back into my seat. The day had been good, surprisingly so. I wasn’t naturally social like Sydney—she had this effortless way of making everyone feel heard and valued. "I’m not usually good with crowds, but this felt... right."

Working with Martin and then hanging with with Sydney, Rachel, Christopher and Cindy could only be good.

"I nearly took Jason’s path," Sydney said suddenly.

"Jason’s path?" I asked, turning to study her profile.

"You know, leaving the house and settling there permanently," she said.

The thought sent an unexpected chill through me. "You... you’re serious?"

Sydney’s lips curved into a small smile, but her eyes remained fixed on the road. "Maybe..."

"Do you find it awkward living in the same house with all of us?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual. Maybe because we had sex she felt it awkward staying in the same house as me? But I was having hard time Sydney being ever awkward to begin with.

Sydney glanced at me, and even in the dim light, I could see the mischievous glint in her eyes. "You’re cute when you’re panicking, Ryan."

"I’m not panicking..." I protested.

"Don’t worry," she said, reaching over to pat my knee. "Mommy Sydney always stay by your side. We can’t trust women nowadays—I’ll protect your precious manhood with my life."

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "You’re never going to stop, are you?"

She laughed.

Despite that... it was one of the things I loved most about Sydney—her ability to find humor even in the most complicated situations. But then her expression grew more serious, and she asked the question that made my heart skip a beat.

"Do you love Rachel, Ryan?"

"What are you asking suddenly..." I started, but the words felt hollow even as I spoke them.

"See these blue eyes?" Sydney said, pointing to herself with exaggerated drama. "They have superpowers. And that power tells me you’re in love with Rachel—like, really in love. The kind of love that makes you stare at her when she’s not looking and get that dopey expression on your face."

My mouth went dry. "Sydney—"

"But they also tell me," she continued, her voice dropping to something more intimate, "that you love me as well. Which would mean you’re in love with several women at the same time. Impressive, really."

I opened my mouth but no words came. She was right—devastatingly, completely right. But she had no idea how much she was underestimating the situation. The truth was even more complicated than she realized. There was maybe still in a corner of my mind, Emily and also Elena recently.

My feelings had become a tangled mess that I couldn’t begin to sort out.

"I’m a weirdo, right?" I finally managed.

Sydney’s expression softened, and for a moment, the teasing mask slipped away entirely. "Well, in a weird world, a weirdo is just an ordinary man. And you’re a weirdo with a handsome face, so you’re forgiven."

"What do you think about it, personally?" I asked, eager to hear her real thoughts beneath all the jokes and deflection. "Not the teasing version—what do you actually think?"

She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel in a rhythm that matched the song on the radio. When she finally spoke, her voice was gentler than I’d ever heard it.

"Are you worried I’ll hate you? Think you’re some kind of horny trash monster for having feelings for multiple people?"

"Kind of, yeah," I admitted, surprised by my own honesty.

"Nope," she said simply.

"Really?"

She nodded, glancing at me. "Anyone else would be despicable. But coming from sweet Ryan, I find it... endearing, actually. Your heart’s too big for your own good."

I didn’t know what to answer that.

It felt like I was falling all over again for her.

It made me want to tell her everything...

"Then..." I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. "Do you want to try something together? Really talk, I mean. There are things about me that I haven’t told anyone."

Sydney’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, and for a moment, I thought she might deflect again with another joke. Instead, she looked straight ahead at the road stretching before us, her profile serious and beautiful in the dashboard light.

"Choose the day," she said quietly.

I nodded delighted.

Minutes later, the familiar crunch of gravel under our tires announced our arrival home.

Rebecca was out of Rachel’s car before it had fully stopped, her exhaustion evident in every heavy footstep as she trudged toward the front door. Her shoulders sagged with the weight of another day spent vigilantly protecting her sister from well-meaning but overwhelming strangers. She seemed upset for some reason. I watched as Rachel hurried after her, concern etched across her features.

"Becca, wait—" Rachel called, but her sister was already disappearing through the front entrance, her bedroom door slamming shut moments later with a finality that echoed through the house.

Rachel paused in the doorway, her hand resting against the frame. Even from across the yard, I could see the guilt written in her posture. She blamed herself for Rebecca’s exhaustion, I knew. Rachel’s compulsive need to help everyone, to cook extra meals for the elderly residents, to listen to every sob story and comfort every worried soul—it was beautiful and heartbreaking in equal measure.

"She pushes herself too hard," Sydney murmured beside me, following my gaze. "Both of them do."

As we gathered our things and headed inside, the familiar sounds of home greeted us.

Elena, Alisha, and Daisy had descended hearing us arriving.

"How was the township today?" Alisha asked first.

Sydney launched into an animated recap of our day. Her storytelling was masterful as always, drawing laughter from our small audience while managing to spotlight my most embarrassing moments with surgical precision.

"And then Ryan nearly walked into the same door three times because he was too busy staring at—" Sydney began with a wicked grin.

"Alright enough..."

Christopher and Cindy chimed in with their own observations about the day, their voices overlapping with the comfortable ease of people who’d learned to live in each other’s pockets.

During the conversation, I became aware of Elena’s presence who glanced at me to which I just smiled.

Eventually, fatigue began to claim us one by one. Daisy was the first to excuse herself, followed by Alisha and Elena. The rest of us gradually drifted toward our respective rooms.

I headed upstairs to the bathroom I shared with Christopher, grabbing a change of clothes and my small collection of toiletries. The daily ritual of "washing" had become an elaborate dance of conservation and efficiency since the water had stopped flowing from the taps a week ago.

Our makeshift washing station consisted of a large plastic basin, a pitcher of precious water from our dwindling reserves, and a collection of mismatched towels. We’d become experts at the art of the sponge bath—quick, thorough, and using as little water as humanly possible. The water towers scattered around town had become our lifeline, but we all knew they wouldn’t last forever. Every drop was measured, every splash counted.

Ten minutes later I had just changed into clean clothes and settled onto my narrow bed with a paperback novel when Christopher emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp and sticking up at odd angles.

"Hey, Ryan," he said, dropping onto his own bed with a dramatic sigh. "I need advice."

I didn’t look up from my book. "About?"

"About Cindy, of course!"

"I should be the last person you ask for love advice," I said, finally meeting his eyes. Christopher’s face was flushed with embarrassment and determination.

"Come on, you’re popular with girls, right? How do you make them notice you?" He leaned forward, his expression earnest and slightly desperate.

I almost laughed.

Popular with girls.

"I don’t think you need to do anything special for Cindy to notice you," I said carefully. "She’s already noticed you, Chris. Trust me on that."

His face lit up with hope before clouding over again. "Yeah, but I want to take the next step, you know? Like, make us official. A real couple."

I closed my book, giving him my full attention.

"How about a date?" I suggested, remembering my conversation with Sydney earlier. "Just the two of you, somewhere away from all this." I gestured vaguely at our cramped living situation.

Christopher’s face fell. "A date? Ryan, we’re surrounded by infected. The last romantic spot in town is probably crawling with zombies by now."

"So?" I shrugged, warming to the idea. "Kill them if they get too close. Show Cindy you can protect her. Women like that, right?" The words felt strange coming from my mouth—relationship advice based on zombie-slaying prowess wasn’t exactly covered in dating guides.

Christopher’s eyes widened, then a slow grin spread across his face. "You know what? You’re right. I knew I could count on you, man!"

I watched him flop back onto his bed, already lost in planning what was probably going to be the world’s most dangerous romantic outing. They were both so slow to act on their obvious feelings, probably because the world ending felt like a poor time to start a relationship. But maybe that was exactly why they should seize whatever happiness they could find.

You never knew when it might be your last day, after all.

"The candle, Chris," I said, nodding toward the flickering flame on our shared nightstand.

"Yeah, but don’t do anything weird while I’m sleeping," he said with a grin, leaning over to blow it out.

"Fuck off."

Darkness enveloped the room like a heavy blanket. I lay on my back, arms crossed behind my head, staring up at the invisible ceiling.

Two weeks since the apocalypse had started. The phrase still felt surreal rolling around in my mind. Fourteen days since the world as we knew it had ended, since the dead had started walking, since everything safe and predictable had crumbled into chaos and uncertainty. Some nights, lying in this borrowed bed in this borrowed house with these people who’d become like family, it felt like a dream I might wake up from.

I turned my head toward Christopher’s bed, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. It had taken him less than ten minutes to fall asleep—a skill I envied. My own mind refused to quiet, churning through the events of the day, the conversations yet to be had, the decisions looming on our horizon.

My watch glowed faintly in the darkness: 12:47 AM. Close enough to one o’clock for what I had planned.

Carefully, I slipped out of bed. I eased the door open, wincing at the soft click of the latch, and stepped into the hallway.

Then I made my way downstairs, grateful when I saw that the living room was empty—Sydney must have actually gone to sleep early for once.

The basement door stood closed at the end of the hallway, innocuous in daylight but somehow ominous now. I paused with my hand on the handle, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

The wooden steps creaked under my weight as I descended, the temperature dropping noticeably as I moved below ground level. Candles flickered in the basement’s converted space, casting dancing shadows on the concrete walls. The air smelled of melted wax and something else—lavender, maybe.

When I finely stopped down the last stair I saw her.

Elena.