Chapter 48: A Different Kind of Comfort

The night deepened.

Another night in the aftermath of the end, the once-brilliant city reduced to scattered pockets of light fighting back the dark. Just a few faint glows in the sea of blackness proved life still clung to this broken place.

Nine o'clock, top floor of the hotel, the suite that faced the street. In the dim yellow light of the living room, Robby and Strong stood by the window, each holding a can of beer. They kept their voices low, casually chatting. Both had military roots, so there were always things to talk about. Across the street, in the building directly facing the hotel, a few windows glowed—likely survivors, like themselves. Up and down the block, other flickers of light told the same story.

This street still had life in it.

People think differently. Liam wanted to leave New York as soon as possible. He thought too much, worried too much, saw danger in every shadow. But others didn't want to leave. They believed it made more sense to stay—where else could you find steady food? Zombies were brainless; as long as you stayed hidden, there wasn't much to fear. Unless some explosion or unexpected human activity stirred them up, the risk of being found was low. On the other hand, traveling was full of unknowns. Unless you were overprepared, most people wouldn't dare risk it.

Those who stayed hadn't yet realized the danger of disease. It wasn't that they were stupid—they just didn't think that far. Liam had the background to understand what came next. With this many corpses and stagnant air, an epidemic was only a matter of time. But he hadn't told anyone. Not yet. Fear could ruin people. It was enough that Strong had mentioned the truck—they all had reasons to move. They didn't need another.

On the north couch, Jason sat with his headphones on, bobbing his head to the beat. Eyes closed, then open. Across the room, he noticed Kayleeti, sitting alone on the western couch. She had taken off her shoes and tucked her legs under her, curled up like a child. Her arms hugged her knees, her chin resting on them, her gaze lost somewhere past the coffee table.

Jason slowly pulled off his headphones and glanced around. Strong and Robby had their backs to him, still talking by the window. He looked back at Kayleeti and quietly slid off the couch, creeping toward her until he sat beside her.

Kayleeti flinched, startled, then turned her head with those familiar wary eyes. Jason smiled.

"Hey, don't be scared. It's just me—Jason. What're you thinking about?"

Kayleeti looked at him, lips twitching like she might say something. Then she dropped her gaze to her toes and said nothing.

Jason, as always, didn't mind. He was good at entertaining himself. Even if she didn't speak, he had more than enough words for two.

"You're not scared of me anymore, right? So what's going on?"

"Your hands are really pretty. Can I… nah, forget I said that."

"Want to listen to something? Rihanna's new album—damn, if the world hadn't gone to hell, I was gonna see her live. That show would've been wild."

"You kinda look like her, you know. Are you sure you're not related?"

He rambled, and Kayleeti stayed silent. She wasn't mute—she could speak, at least with Strong. But she rarely talked to anyone else. Jason figured it wasn't a physical thing, more like a mental block. Liam had said it was psychological, a trauma response. Keep talking to her, he'd said. Let her hear voices. Help her find hers again.

Jason tried, every day. Sometimes he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Sometimes a smile, almost too small to notice. But that was enough.

Mike and Laura had already turned in. They were older and didn't have Strong's stamina. There were three bedrooms. Mike and Laura shared one. Christine and Manila shared another. Strongen and Kayleeti had the third. That left Liam, Robby, and Jason sleeping in the living room. It was the top floor of a reinforced building. As long as the main door was secure, it was safe enough.

Inside the room Christine and Manila shared.

After storming out, Christine had cried for ages before finally unlocking the door for Manila. She hadn't spoken much—just cried in Manila's arms until she passed out. It wasn't until nearly nine that she woke up, hunger gnawing at her. She hadn't eaten enough at lunch, burned energy running around in the afternoon, and hadn't had dinner at all. The crying only drained her more. Now she was starving.

The room was softly lit by two bedside lamps. New sheets and blankets from the closet replaced the bloodied originals, which had been tossed out the window. The bloodstains on the floor were dried, too deep to clean. So they left them.

On the bed, Manila lay on her right side, idly twirling a lock of Christine's hair around her finger while staring up at the ceiling. Whatever she was thinking, she didn't say.

Crunch, crunch.

Christine lay beside her, on her stomach, a pillow under her chest as she slowly nibbled on snacks, her movements mechanical. Her eyes were puffy. She looked like a kicked puppy.

"Christine," Manila finally said, turning to her and gently rubbing her back.

"Hmm?" Christine looked over with a hoarse little voice.

"You were brave," Manila smiled, pinching Christine's nose playfully. "Honestly, I've wanted to bite him before too. He's so dense sometimes, totally clueless. But you—you actually did it. Well done."

"Really?" Christine blinked, dumbfounded. That wasn't what she expected to hear. She thought Manila would hate her now.

"Of course. You don't know what it's like with him. When we're alone… he's strange. Always serious. Always in control. God, I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"Why didn't you bite him, then?"

"Because…" Manila paused, her eyes rolling up as if searching for the right words. "…because if I did, he might leave me. No matter what happens, I wouldn't come out of it okay."

"That sounds scary," Christine said, her tone small.

"You don't believe me?" Manila scooted closer. "No wonder he doesn't like you. You don't understand him yet."

"Then why didn't he leave me?"

"Because you're young. You're allowed to screw up. He might forgive you. He can tell it wasn't on purpose. But me? I don't have that excuse. I'm not crazy. I'm not naïve. I'm a grown woman. He knows what I used to do before all this. I see the world for what it is. If I bit him? He'd assume I meant to. That I wanted to hurt him. And with a guy like Liam, that'd be the end."

Christine looked at her doubtfully but didn't argue. She picked up another snack and started chewing again.

"Whether you believe me or not," Manila added, "you should talk to him tomorrow. Alone. Apologize. Otherwise, he might just decide you're a nutcase."

Christine stared into space for a long time before replying, "Okay. Thanks."

The night sank into silence. One by one, the lights in the suite went dark, until the whole floor was quiet, blanketed in sleep.

A dreamless night.

At dawn, Liam stirred on the couch, woken not by a nightmare but by something real—noise from the street below. Raised voices. Shouting.

Something was happening.