CHAPTER 59: RACHEL’S CONCERN [2]

After dropping that bombshell revelation on Rachel, I knew she needed time to process everything I’d just told her. The weight of learning that she was now a target, that her very existence put others at risk, that the zombie apocalypse wasn’t some random disaster but a calculated act of war by an alien species—it was enough to break anyone’s mind if they tried to absorb it all at once.

So I gave her space, turning my attention to methodically searching through the convenience store’s remaining inventory.

The store had been picked over pretty thoroughly, as I’d expected. Still, people often overlooked smaller items or things they didn’t immediately recognize as valuable.

Behind the counter, I found a plastic lighter tucked into a small display box that had fallen behind the register. The flame was strong and steady when I tested it—a small victory. It could be useful.

Continuing my search, I discovered a small pharmacy section that had been partially ransacked but not completely emptied. Tucked away on a bottom shelf were several toothbrushes still in their packaging, along with two tubes of toothpaste.

We already had basic dental hygiene supplies, but in a world where a simple infection could mean death, maintaining oral health was crucial. Plus, the psychological benefit of feeling clean and normal, even in small ways, couldn’t be underestimated. I pocketed the items quickly.

The rest of my search yielded disappointingly little. A few pens that still worked, some dusty reading glasses that might be useful for someone, and a small sewing kit that had somehow been overlooked. Most of the remaining items were just useless knick-knacks—cheap souvenirs, expired magazines, and promotional materials for products that no longer existed.

What frustrated me most was the complete absence of any preserved meat. The refrigerated section had been cleaned out entirely, and even the jerky and canned goods were long gone. Only empty shelves and the lingering smell of spoiled food remained as testament to what had once been available.

It had been four days since the world ended—of course anything perishable would be gone by now. But damn, I was really craving some protein. We’d managed to scavenge some meat and eggs from that market yesterday, but that wouldn’t last forever. What would we do when those supplies ran out?

The thought of having to hunt wild animals like some kind of primitive survivor made me grimace. I had basic knowledge of field dressing game from camping trips as a kid, but the idea of eating meat that hadn’t been processed, inspected, and properly prepared in sterile conditions made my stomach turn. What if we got sick from improperly cooked venison or contaminated rabbit?

Then again, maybe the Dullahan Virus provided some protection against foodborne illnesses? It was something to consider—if the virus had enhanced my physical capabilities in some ways, perhaps it also bolstered my immune system. Another mystery to add to the growing list of things I needed to understand about my condition.

As I continued searching, my eyes fell on something that made me pause. Tucked behind a display of motor oil was a tire iron—about two feet long, made of solid steel with a curved end for leverage. I picked it up, testing its weight and balance.

It was heavier than Rachel’s kitchen knife, but the extra reach would be invaluable in close combat. While it lacked the sharp edge that made knives so effective, the blunt force trauma from a steel bar could cave in a skull just as easily as a blade could slice through it. And for someone of Rachel’s strength I mean newfound strength, it would be a significant upgrade to her defensive capabilities.

The length would allow her to keep infected at a safer distance, reducing the risk of bites or scratches. Even if she couldn’t penetrate as deeply as with a knife, the crushing impact would be more than sufficient to stop most threats. Plus, tire irons were virtually indestructible—unlike knives, which could chip, dull, or break with heavy use.

I turned toward Rachel, who was still standing by the window with her arms wrapped around herself, gazing out at the empty street beyond.

"Rachel," I called softly.

She didn’t respond immediately, and I could see she was still lost in the implications of everything I’d revealed. Who could blame her? Learning that your entire existence had become a beacon for monsters, that simply being alive put everyone around you in mortal danger—it wasn’t the kind of information anyone could process quickly.

Finally, she spoke without turning away from the window.

"I can’t believe it," she said.

An alien race deliberately spreading a virus, turning people into weapons to conquer the world and who wanted our death because we had a more powerful and dangerous virus within us.

It did sound insane when laid out like that. In the past, such claims would have landed someone in a psychiatric facility.

"I know it sounds incredible," I replied gently. "But it’s the truth."

She turned to look at me then, and I saw that despite the shock and fear in her eyes, there was also acceptance. Over the past few days, Rachel had developed a deep trust in me I think.

"Do you think they’re involved with whoever’s been attacking the community here?" She asked, gesturing vaguely toward the municipal building where Margaret’s group had made their home.

I considered the question carefully. The timing was certainly suspicious—we arrive at a community, and suddenly they’re under assault. But I couldn’t be certain it was connected to us, and jumping to conclusions could be just as dangerous as ignoring a real threat.

"I can’t be sure," I admitted. "That’s what I’m trying to figure out, so we can decide..."

"Whether we need to leave Jackson Township," she finished bitterly. "How long are we going to have to keep running, Ryan? And what about the people with us? Won’t we keep putting them in danger since the infected are attracted to people like us? My sister Rebecca, Elena, the others..."

She was thinking about her younger sister, about Elena and anyone else who might be traveling with us in the future.

It was understandable.

But she didn’t have to carry that burden. Not entirely.

"You don’t have to," I said, the words coming out before I’d fully thought them through.

Rachel’s head snapped toward me, surprise replacing the anguish in her expression.

"You could all stay here if you want," I continued. "But I can’t stay. I’ll have to leave, and that would be okay. You guys only have a small portion of the Dullahan Virus—you’re relatively safe. I’m the original host, the primary target. The infected and that alien race can sense me from much greater distances than they can sense any of you."

It was true. Unless infected were practically a few feet away from Rachel or Elena, they couldn’t detect the trace amounts of the virus in their systems. But I was like a walking radio tower broadcasting on the frequency of death, impossible to ignore from miles away.

"You could stay in that house you found, cooperate with Margaret’s community," I pressed on, warming to the idea. "I think you could even build a real life here if you work together. Plant gardens, secure the perimeter, establish trade routes with other settlements. This is a small town—with enough people and resources, you could make it into a genuine safe haven."

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Jackson Township was geographically defensible, with clear sight lines and multiple escape routes. The municipal building was solid construction that could withstand most attacks. Margaret’s group had already proven they could work together and make smart decisions under pressure.

Of course, I’d still need to stabilize entirely Rachel and Elena before I could leave with a clear conscience. But if things could be stabilized, if the community could be secured... maybe Rachel and the others could have the normal life they deserved.

Rachel stared at me for a long moment.

"Are you... are you really serious about this, Ryan?" She asked.

"Yeah," I nodded with complete conviction. "I am."

Being with Sydney, Rachel and Elena had been a blessing, even more sharing such an intimate time with them but I’d never asked them to share my burden. They’d been dragged into this nightmare through no choice of their own, infected with the Dullahan Virus through contact with me. The least I could do was give them a chance at the life I could never have.

But even as I said the words, I felt a hollow ache opening up in my chest. I honestly didn’t want to leave them but if I was forced and their lives were truly in danger because of my presence close to them, I wouldn’t hesitate.

"And what about you?" She asked quietly. "What happens to Ryan when he’s out there alone, fighting this war that nobody else even knows is happening?"

I didn’t have a good answer for that question. The truth was, my chances of survival dropped dramatically without companions to watch my back, to help me think through problems, to simply remind me what I was fighting for.

When I said that I might have lost my sanity after my mother’s death if I hadn’t heard Rachel’s and Rebecca voices below and be reminded of Sydney, it was true.

I didn’t know if I was capable of survive alone. I mean, I could survive but whether my mind will survive was another thing.

"I’ll figure it out," I said.

Rachel fell silent, her eyes searching my face with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher. There was something there—hurt, maybe, or frustration, mixed with what looked like stubborn determination. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Ryan—"

"It’s my problem," I interrupted, perhaps more sharply than I intended. "You don’t have to get involved in this, Rachel. Not you, not anyone else. I don’t think you fully realize the weight of what we’re dealing with yet. Hell, I don’t either, but I can feel it pressing down on me like a physical thing."

The words came out in a rush, driven by the mounting anxiety that had been building inside me since my encounter with that white lady. Ever since I’d learned about my abilities, about what I truly was, there had been this constant undercurrent of dread running through my thoughts. It wasn’t just fear—it was something deeper, more primal. An instinctive warning that seemed to emanate from the Dullahan Virus itself, like it was trying to tell me something I wasn’t quite ready to hear.

The sensation had been growing stronger throughout the day, a low-frequency vibration in the back of my mind that set my teeth on edge. It reminded me of the way animals acted before natural disasters—restless, agitated, responding to signals that human senses couldn’t detect. Maybe that was exactly what was happening. Maybe the virus was picking up on something my conscious mind hadn’t recognized yet.

I’d learned to trust my instincts over these past few days. They’d kept me alive when logic and planning had failed. And right now, every instinct I had was screaming that tonight was going to bring trouble. Yet I was choosing to be here yeah I know it was stupid but I wanted to make sure I was right.

"We should get that car back already," I said, effectively cutting off whatever Rachel had been about to say. I could see she wanted to continue our conversation, probably to argue about my decision to leave, but there would be time for that later. Right now, we had to be ready.

Rachel nodded reluctantly.

Together, we positioned ourselves on either side of the yellow car. The car was heavier than it looked, and pushing it across uneven pavement while watching for infected would have been challenging for most people. But between my enhanced strength and Rachel’s one, we managed to establish a steady rhythm.

The journey back to the municipal building took about ten minutes of hard work. We had to stop twice to deal with infected that wandered too close to our path—single stragglers that I dispatched quickly with my axe before they could attract attention from others. Rachel kept watch while I worked, her new tire iron ready in her hands, though thankfully we didn’t encounter anything she couldn’t handle with vigilance alone.

By the time we reached the community’s perimeter, both of us were quite tired. The car’s wheels left tracks in the dirt and debris as we maneuvered it into position against the southern section of their makeshift barrier, where it would help plug a gap between two other vehicles they’d positioned earlier.

The workers who had been reinforcing other sections of the barricade stopped what they were doing to stare at us in amazement. I could see the calculation in their eyes—the distance we’d traveled, the weight of the vehicle, the fact that only two people had accomplished what most groups would need four or five to manage safely.

Mark approached us, taking a long drag from his cigarette and studying us with newfound respect.

"You actually brought a car back," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "And just the two of you?" He looked us both up and down, as if trying to figure out how we’d managed it. "You must be hiding some serious muscle under that shirt, friend."

His attention focused primarily on me, which made sense. Rachel, for all her strength and capability, had the lean build of a runner rather than the obvious bulk of someone who could single-handedly move vehicles. To an outside observer, it would seem like I’d done the lion’s share of the work.

"Well, a little," I said awkwardly.

Mark smirked around his cigarette. "A little, he says." He gestured to the other workers, who had returned to their tasks but were still shooting curious glances in our direction. "Well, it’s far from over! We’ve got to make sure these damn monsters don’t get anywhere near our walls!"

He was right, of course. One car was just the beginning. Looking at the perimeter they were trying to establish, I could see dozens of gaps that still needed to be filled. It would take all night to create a barrier comprehensive enough to keep out a determined assault.

We nodded and threw ourselves back into the work. As the sun continued its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and red, more vehicles joined the growing wall with enough mass to serve as an obstacle was dragged into position and locked in place with chains, ropes, and whatever other securing materials the community could scrounge.

But as evening settled over Jackson Township, that feeling of mounting dread only grew stronger...