CHAPTER 46: WHO IS ABRAHAM LINCOLN?

Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to approach her. But as I drew closer, Liu Mei suddenly raised something in her free hand and pointed it directly at my face without looking up from her book.

I stopped immediately, my eyes focusing on what she was holding.

I was a bit caught off guard.

Is that for real?

It was a claw hammer—not just any hardware store variety, but a quality tool with a polished steel head and a comfortable grip.

"Where did you find that?" I asked, genuinely impressed by her choice of weapon.

"What do you wish, Abraham Lincoln?" Liu Mei asked in a perfectly calm voice, still not bothering to glance up from her reading.

"Abraham Lincoln?" I felt a grimace creeping across my face.

"You are from Abraham Lincoln High School, are you not?" She inquired, finally lifting her eyes from the page to regard me with what appeared to be mild amusement.

"Yeah," I nodded, remembering that I had indeed told the Lexington Charter students in the library that I was from Abraham Lincoln High School.

"But that’s not my name. I’m Rya—"

"I call you however I want," she cut me off with casual voice. "Does that bother you, Abraham Lincoln?" She asked, and I caught the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Call me whatever you want, but you’d better start communicating with us if you want to survive out here. You might as well get torn apart by the Infected, and we won’t even know about it until we find your bones scattered across the asphalt."

Mei’s fingers paused mid-page, the worn paperback trembling slightly in the morning breeze. With a casual flick, she closed the book. Her palm pressed against the sun-warmed hood of the car as she pivoted to face me.

"What exactly are you looking for?" She asked.

"What?" I blinked, caught off guard by the directness of her question.

"I asked what you’re looking for, Abraham Lincoln." The nickname rolled off her tongue with just enough sarcasm to sting.

It wasn’t a question I expected from her. I found myself staring at the cracked asphalt beneath my boots, searching for an answer.

"I’m just trying to survive," I replied, the words tasting hollow even as they left my mouth. It was the truth, but only the surface of it. Underneath lay the real answer: I was trying to find meaning in a world that had stripped away everything that once mattered.

Mei’s expression shifted, disappointment flickering across her features. "So boring," she sighed, turning her gaze away.

Before I could say something Sydney appeared appeared besides me.

"What’s up, Ryan?"

"She called me boring," I muttered.

Sydney burst into laughter making me grumble.

"Oh, Ryan," Sydney giggled.

Without warning, she rose on her tiptoes, her breath warm against my ear as her teeth grazed the sensitive skin there in the gentlest of bites.

"Huh!" The gasp escaped before I could stop it. I spun around, my hand flying to my ear as if I’d been stung by something far more dangerous than Sydney’s playful nip. The skin burned under my palm, not from pain but from something entirely different—something that made my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Sydney stood there, her cheeks flushed pink, looking both embarrassed and pleased with herself. "If it helps ease your wounded pride," she said, her voice softer now, more intimate, "you’re anything but boring to me, Ryan Gray."

Before I could process what had just happened, she twirled away rejoining Rachel and Rebecca at the trunk of her car where they were organizing our supplies.

I stood frozen, my brain struggling to catch up with the rapid-fire sequence of events. The ear she’d bitten still tingled, and I could swear I still felt the ghost of her breath against my skin. My cheeks burned with a combination of embarrassment and something else—something I hadn’t felt in so long I’d almost forgotten it existed.

Did anyone see what just happened?

My eyes darted around.

Elena and Alisha had definitely witnessed the exchange as they averted their gazes when I looked at them.

But.

What the hell was that supposed to be?

The question looped through my mind as I tried to make sense of Sydney’s behavior. Was this just another example of her playful teasing? She’d been flirtatious since we’d met, but this felt different—more intentional, more... intimate.

But that couldn’t be right. Sydney was the kind of woman who belonged on magazine covers, not scavenging through abandoned buildings and sleeping in the dirt. She was vibrant and alive in ways that seemed impossible in this dead world. What could someone like her possibly see in someone like me?

Sure, I’d proven myself capable in fights. I’d kept the group alive through some tight spots. But physical competence didn’t automatically translate to romantic interest. This wasn’t some post-apocalyptic romance novel where the strong, silent type wins the beautiful girl just by swinging a weapon effectively.

Maybe she does like me.

The thought surfaced before I could suppress it, sending another wave of heat through my system. But even as the possibility tantalized me, logic pushed back hard.

How could someone like her fall for someone like me?

I wasn’t like self deprecating but I was in the ordinary side character wise I mean. Clearly I wasn’t charming or the type of person women would fall in love with. That was more like Tommy who was capable of such things, making even Emily fall for him.

And I was clearly not a charming guy capable of making a woman blush by a wink or a smile.

The sound of dragging footsteps snapped me back to the present. An Infected had wandered into view, its shambling gait carrying it directly toward Mei, who remained perched on the car hood with her book open again, apparently oblivious to the approaching danger.

For a split second, I considered letting the situation play out. Maybe seeing Mei forced to deal with immediate danger would crack that impenetrable composure of hers. Maybe she’d show some real emotion, some sign that she was as human as the rest of us underneath that detached exterior.

But the thought lasted only a moment before my conscience kicked in. I wasn’t that cruel, and more importantly, we couldn’t afford to lose anyone. In a group this small, every person mattered—even the ones who acted like they didn’t want to be here.

I moved toward the Infected, my hand finding the weight of my newest acquisition: the black-handled tactical axe I’d claimed from the store. The weapon felt good in my grip—balanced and purposeful in a way that the makeshift weapons we’d been using never had. The rubber grip molded to my palm as if it had been made for me.

"Grrrrr..." The sound that emerged from the Infected’s throat was barely human—a wet, rattling growl that spoke of vocal cords damaged beyond repair. Its eyes locked onto me with that familiar combination of hunger and emptiness that had haunted my nightmares since this all began. White, milky orbs that had once held thoughts, dreams, fears, and loves, now reduced to nothing but an endless, consuming need.

What kind of monster creates something like this?

The question had plagued me since the first days of the outbreak. Someone, somewhere, had engineered this horror. They’d taken a virus—something that should have been contained in a laboratory—and weaponized it into a tool of mass destruction. But why? What possible goal could justify turning millions of innocent people into shambling shells of their former selves?

Was this an invasion? Some twisted way of conquering Earth by destroying its population?

The anger that followed wasn’t the quick flash of temper I’d grown accustomed to. This was something deeper, darker—a rage that started in my bones and spread through my bloodstream like poison.

If I ever find the bastards responsible for this...

The promise I made to myself was dark and absolute. Whoever had unleashed this plague on the world, whoever had stolen my mother from me—along with billions of other mothers, fathers, children, and dreams—they would pay. Not just with their lives, but with suffering that matched the agony they’d inflicted on humanity.

Because of them, I lost everything that mattered.

My mother’s face flashed through my mind—not as I’d last seen her, twisted and infected and trying to bite through the bedroom door, but as she’d been before. Laughing at my terrible jokes, staying up late to help me with homework.

She’d deserved so much better than becoming another casualty in someone else’s war.

The Infected stumbled closer, close enough now that I could smell the decay that clung to its clothes and skin. Without hesitation, I raised the axe and brought it down in a clean, powerful arc.

The blade bit deep, and the creature’s head separated from its shoulders with far less resistance than I’d expected. My old kitchen knife had required multiple strikes and considerable effort. This axe, with its sharp steel edge and perfect weight distribution, cleaved through bone and tissue like they were made of soft wood.

The head hit the ground with a wet thud

, rolling a few feet before coming to rest against a chunk of broken concrete. The body swayed for a moment—some final electrical impulse firing through its nervous system—before crumpling to the asphalt in a graceless heap.

I stood over the remains, breathing heavily, the axe still gripped tightly in my hands.

I drew in a long, steadying breath, feeling anger slowly recede from my chest.

Pulling a torn piece of cloth from my pocket, I methodically cleaned the axe blade, wiping away the dark, viscous fluid that had once been someone’s blood. The fabric came away stained and reeking, but the steel gleamed clean in the fading daylight. I tucked the weapon securely into my belt then and threw the cloth away.

The sky above us had begun its daily transformation from pale blue to deep amber, streaks of orange and purple painting the horizon like watercolors bleeding across wet paper. In the old world, I might have called it beautiful. Now, it simply meant we were running out of time.

"We need to find somewhere to sleep," I said, turning back toward the group.

The Infected were more active at night, drawn by sounds and movement in ways that still defied explanation.

"Yeah, but where exactly?" Christopher asked, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"We find a house!" Sydney replied as she slammed the trunk of her car shut.

She straightened up, pressing both hands against the small of her back and stretching with a soft groan of exhaustion. "God, I feel like I’ve been loading trucks all day," she muttered.

Behind her, I could see the fruits of their labor: both cars packed to capacity with supplies from our raid. Canned goods, bottled water, medical supplies, batteries—everything we’d managed to salvage from the abandoned market now organized with military precision. Miss Ivy’s car was equally loaded.

The only exception was Mei’s collection of books, which remained in a worn canvas bag at her feet. She’d refused all offers to store them with the other supplies.

I supposed everyone had their own way of maintaining sanity in this broken world...

"A house? We’re just going to break into someone’s house?!" Jason’s voice cracked slightly on the last word, his youthful face flushed with what looked like moral indignation.

Rebecca fixed him with a dumbfounded look. "You literally broke into the Director’s office just yesterday, Jason," she said, her voice dripping with exasperation.

Jason’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, his face cycling through several shades of red as the realization of his hypocrisy hit home. "R...right..."

"We just need to find an empty house," Sydney smiled. "I’m sure plenty of people fled when this all started. Half the houses in any suburban neighborhood are probably sitting vacant, just waiting for someone to use them."

"We might encounter Infected inside," Alisha said. "Families that didn’t make it out, or people who got bit and came home to die. We need to be ready for anything."

Cindy nodded. "Then it’s decided. Let’s get moving before we lose the light entirely. Standing around talking isn’t going to make the darkness wait for us."

I swung my leg over the motorcycle without wasting time.

The others settled into their assigned vehicles like before.

As we pulled away from our temporary stop, the streetlights began flickering to life along the roadway. Thankfully some infrastructure still functioned in this broken world.

I rode point, my headlight cutting through the gathering dusk as I scouted for both obstacles and threats. The infected we encountered seemed sluggish in the cooling air. Still, we gave them a wide berth whenever possible, our engines barely above idle to minimize noise.

After a few minutes, it was Sydney who finally called for a stop, her car pulling to the curb beside a house that seemed to epitomize everything the American dream had once promised. Two stories of brick and vinyl siding, a three-car garage, bay windows that probably once framed holiday decorations, and a wraparound porch that had likely hosted countless family gatherings.

"This one," she said through her open window, pointing at the imposing structure. "It’s big enough for all of us, and that garage will hide the cars completely."

I killed the motorcycle’s engine and looked. The house sat on a corner lot with good sightlines in multiple directions. The garage was indeed large enough to conceal our vehicles, and the second story would provide an excellent vantage point for keeping watch. Multiple exits, sturdy construction, and enough space to spread out—it was, I had to admit, an excellent choice.

More importantly, exhaustion was beginning to weigh on all of us. We needed rest, and we needed it soon, before fatigue made us careless.

"No arguments here," Christopher said, his voice heavy with relief. "I don’t think I have the energy to evaluate another option."

Elena nodded in agreement from the back seat. "It looks perfect. And honestly, I’m too tired to be picky at this point."

The consensus was clear: we’d found our shelter for the night. Now came the dangerous part—making sure it was actually as empty as it appeared.