Chapter Text
It happened before you could stop yourself.
There were few things that you had come to regret over these last four months. In fact, you stood by each and every one of your decisions—well, for the most part.
But throwing yourself into the middle of a pack of undeads for a total stranger?
Yeah… this was definitely going in the regrets pile.
Two of the zombies got a little too close to you for comfort, but that was soon remedied with several animated thrusts of your trusty pitchfork—using your bodyweight to pin them down and incapacitate them.
Heaving with your body, you yanked your pitchfork free so you could repeat the process again—and again, and again.
“Fresh pack?” you called out—more of a rhetorical question than anything, just something to say as you knocked your fifth zombie to the ground.
“Yeah!” the stranger grunted from somewhere behind you, falling silent for a moment before adding, “Sort of.” he grunted again, “About a week old if I had to guess.”
The end of his sentence was punctuated with something squelching, but there was no time to check what he was doing as you just narrowly avoided a sixth zombie lunging for you.
You reckoned that his estimate was about right. It was usually more practical to sprint away from a pack this large. But since they were only relatively freshly-turned, they’d have no problems giving chase—and unlike the living, the undead don’t get short-winded.
No more words were exchanged between you and the stranger as the corpses piled up.
You figured this pack must have all originally belonged to the same group before they got turned because quite a few of them still sported the same strips of identifying red cloth around their arms.
Finally, just one more zombie remained.
You brought the long handle of your pitchfork down on the back of its neck, knocking it down for your usual pin-down-and-twist strategy.
But a large sledgehammer crashed down on its head instead, the air generated by the movement rushing past your cheek.
“Thanks.” huffed the stranger, strands of short dark hair sticking to his forehead with a machete in his other hand.
“Don’t mention it.” you answered with a crooked smile, your eyes scanning the corpses to make sure you really were done.
When none of them stirred, you allowed yourself to lean against the tree closest to you, your chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Do you recognize them?” you finally managed to ask as the adrenaline dissipated.
“No.” he shook his head, sledgehammer slung over one of his broad shoulders, “They must have been from the south.”
“Poor things.” you mumbled, rolling your bad shoulder, “Probably came up here in search of supplies.”
Naturally, it was hell on earth no matter where you went these days.
But based on reports from the stragglers and factions you had run into, the lower east, northern outskirts, and western outskirts of the city were the best places to try and survive.
And as someone who had to start on the upper east side and work her way down, you were inclined to agree.
“Heading back to your camp already?” the stranger asked the moment you picked your backpack up again.
“As politely as possible,” you looked over your shoulder with a sardonic smile, “that’s none of your business.”
The stranger exhaled through his nose, “Paranoid, are we?”
His broad chest rose and fell as he fought to regain control of his breathing, who knew how long he’d already spent fighting off the pack by the time you arrived?
“Obviously.” you scoffed, “After four months of this hell, the only people who aren’t paranoid at this point are the real crazies.”
As you felt your sweat start to dry, the cool autumn air started to give you goosebumps.
The stranger acknowledged your remark with an acquiescent shrug.
But the corner of his mouth still pulled itself into a smirk, “So you’ll gladly jump in to save my life, but won’t even tell me your name? That also sounds pretty crazy to me.”
You stopped in your tracks.
A part of you assumed that this smug bastard was only saying it to get a reaction out of you, but you decided to answer him nonetheless.
“First off,” you spun around on your heels, the pommel of your pitchfork’s handle crushing the dry leaves below you, “I didn’t ‘gladly’ jump in for you—I had no choice!” you hissed, “With your build, you would have made the most obnoxious zombie possible!”
Instead of answering verbally, he simply let out a chuckle. After all, it was a difficult argument to dispute.
The virus was fast acting once it hit the bloodstream, able to take over a victim’s brain and nervous system within mere minutes. This meant that freshly-turned zombies still had their muscle and motor functions, making them more than capable of quickly darting after new victims and striking them down—hard.
On the brightside, it only took a few weeks for their corpses to rot to a point where they had to drag themselves around, more closely resembling what you had seen in movies and shows before—slower, smellier, and much easier to decapitate.
But someone like this stranger—who still had plenty of muscle mass on top of his naturally large frame, who was so tall that you only came up to his chest, and who managed to move quickly despite his size.
Yeah, it would definitely take several people to bring him down regardless of how long it had been since he turned.
“It’ll be dark soon.” he stated matter-of-factly, leaning down to grab his own backpack, “I just wanted to make sure you’ll be able to make it back in time.”
“I’ll be fine, thanks.” you grunted, leaning on your pitchfork as if it was a walking staff as you turned to leave.
“You don’t… have a faction, do you?”
There it was again, that smug, self-assured tone.
And now it was your turn to avoid answering—however, the way that your body stiffened at the question was already enough of an answer in itself.
“All of the lower east camps are pretty established and close-knit.” the stranger explained from behind you, twigs snapping under his weight indicating that he was drawing closer, “So it’s safe to say that any fresh faces around here are flying solo.”
“Fair enough.” you admitted, grip tightening on your pitchfork as you grit your teeth, “I can more than handle myself though, so if you’re thinking of trying some-”
“You should come to our base.”
For the second time in the course of this conversation, you found yourself spinning on your heels.
“What?” you let out an incredulous scoff, more surprised at the nonchalance of the offer rather than the offer itself.
“We’ve got food and water.” he smiled, “Regardless of your motivations, at the very least I owe you a meal for helping me out.”
You swallowed an involuntary gulp at the mention of water.
It had been a week since you crossed over into the lower east side and you were close to running out of the new liquid gold. That’s why you were desperately trying to get lower—where the River Pilt bisected the east from the south.
But despite constantly being on the move, the foldable tourist map of the city you had acquired in the early days of the outbreak told you that it was still about a day and a half away.
Apprehensively, you looked over the stranger from head to toe—properly this time.
Hazel eyes, tanned skin, unkempt hair, and shadow-like stubble in combination with his impressive build made you wonder if he used to be a model or fitness instructor of some kind.
Indeed, he looked handsome, but most importantly of all, he looked honest.
You took a tentative step towards him.
“Okay.” you breathed out shakily—already wondering if this choice would also wind up in the regrets pile, “Guess I could use a night to get some real rest in. Thanks, um-”
“Jayce.” he said with a warm smile, “And you’re welcome.”
The two of you hardly said another word as you followed him to his camp. After what must have been thirty minutes of silent trudging, he stopped in front of a sizeable hunter’s lodge.
“Is this it?” you furrowed your eyebrows.
“M-hmm.” he answered, “I know it’s not much, but it still beats a sleeping bag on the ground, don’t you think?”
“For your information,” you rolled your eyes cursorily, “I was going to set up in the bough of a tree. But more importantly, I wasn’t disparaging it, I just meant that after your whole spiel about factions being close-knit around here, I didn’t think you’d be ‘flying solo’ too.”
“I’m not.” he shrugged, “Our group’s just pretty small.”
The front steps creaked as he ascended them, raising his knuckles to the door.
Two quick knocks, a pause, and then two more quick knocks.
A few moments later, the sounds of clinking bolts were followed by the door creaking open, an amber eye peeking through the small gap before the door slammed shut again.
This time the sounds of a chain being undone were followed by the door swinging open to reveal a tall, lanky man with overgrown brown hair supporting himself against the doorframe with one hand as he gripped a pistol with the other.
His eyes flickered to you for just a moment before he stepped aside wordlessly, allowing you both to enter.
That’s it? you asked yourself in disbelief. No follow-up questions? Not even a search to check that I’m not concealing any bites?
“Any luck?” he asked the taller man, his deft fingers quickly slamming the door behind you both as he worked numerous bolts and slid the chain.
“Mission success! He was right, those guys had a ton of stuff to trade, V.” Jayce chirped, an arm already digging into his backpack to retrieve his spoils, “Ta-da!”
“Tomatoes?” you blinked, unable to help the expression your features had screwed into, “You almost died for tomatoes?”
“He what?” the smaller man looked over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed in concern.
“Tomatoes and onions—and some spare parts too.” Jayce corrected you with a chuckle before crossing the room to empty the entirety of his backpack onto the dining table, “And the key word is ‘almost’ died, V. Thanks in no small part to her.” he nodded towards you.
Once again, the second man’s gaze met your own, lingering much longer this time.
“Thank you.” he smiled, his accent heavy and tone sincere, “And I apologize on his behalf for the trouble.”
Before you could reply, Jayce had already piped up, “Don’t get too close though.” he warned with a playful wink, “She bites just as hard as they do.” he nodded towards the boarded-up window, evidently referring to the undead that lurked in the great unknown.
The stranger began limping towards the wooden table with a snort, “Ah, it’s no wonder then that you invited her over.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jayce huffed, maneuvering a chair under the other man so he could sit—the naturalness of the movement telling you that he’d done it hundreds of times before—and inspect their trade profits together.
“It means exactly what you think it means.” came the indifferent reply, followed by the light thunk of metal on wood as he set his pistol down.
You gripped your pitchfork hesitantly, not knowing whether to join them at the dining table or to stay on this side of the living room.
The sight of someone with a gun when you didn’t have one of your own should have been more unnerving—but these two seemed alright… for now. Of course, your eyes still darted towards the door, mentally rehearsing how to work the bolts and chain as efficiently as possible in case you needed to leave at a moment’s notice.
There were two windows in this room, but they had both been boarded up. If you’d ever want to use them to escape, you’d have to either kick through the boards or find something heavy to-
Something light hit your collarbone and fell to the floor, stunning you out of your thoughts.
You glowered at the culprit.
“Jayce!” hissed the other man.
“What? I said ‘heads-up’.” Jayce said with an innocent shrug, “If you had seen her earlier, V, you’d know that her reflexes are more than fast enou-”
“Is this supposed to be the meal that you promised me?” you drily cut him off as you bent to pick up the wrapped granola bar, “If so, I’d hate to see what you count as ‘water’.”
Jayce appeared completely unbothered by your retort, pushing himself away from the table with a grin, “Oh yeah. Hang on, I’ll grab you a few bottles.”
“What would you like to eat?” the man that Jayce had referred to as ‘V’ also rose from his seat, cradling the tomatoes in his arms as he worriedly checked the dining area as though he were searching for something.
“Uh, honestly, just anything cooked would be nice.” you answered sheepishly, “These last few nights I've been too exhausted to go through the whole rigamarole of cooking over an open fire, so I’ve been mostly living off of biscuits and dry goods these last few days. If you aren’t comfortable with me digging into your stash, I’m carrying some corned beef of my own that I could-”
“It’s alright.” he raised a hand to gently stop your rambling, “You are our guest, so you are more than welcome to our supplies.”
But he didn’t give you long to enjoy the wholesome remark because it was quickly followed by a hissed swear as he continued to scan the room, “Ty vole. Where did I put my- Ah.”
He jerked his chin towards the wall behind you, “Would you mind passing me my crutch?
Looking over your shoulder, you spotted the crutch he was referring to, almost the same length as your pitchfork’s handle—which you now awkwardly realized you were still gripping rather uneasily.
On the one hand, it was still far too early for you to be letting your guard down.
But on the other hand, this guy had a gun, so if he actually wanted to hurt you, he doubtless would have done it by now.
With that rationale, you fought against your better instincts and leaned your pitchfork against the same wall you retrieved his crutch from.
“Here you go.” you mumbled, crossing the room to hand it to him, “Can I, uh, help you carry anything?”
“Yes, please.” he smiled, tucking his crutch under his arm as he nodded towards the table, “Would you mind grabbing those onions? I don’t know why Jayce decided to empty his bag here instead of just bringing it to the kitchen.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle as you swept your arm to gather the produce, “Maybe he was just excited to get your approval of his new treasures.” you hugged the onions close to your chest as you followed him out of the room.
“Interesting.” he gave you a once-over out of the corner of his eye, “It appears you have already picked up on his everlasting hunger for attention.”
“It makes sense, in a way.” you let out a dry laugh, the hardwood floors creaked under your boots, “A guy that looks the way he does must have been showered in attention before everything, y’know… combusted.”
“He certainly was.” this so-called V used his body weight to nudge a door open, “But perhaps not for the reasons you are thinking.”
You almost smushed into his back when he suddenly stopped, raising his crutch to run its handle along the wall.
A soft click later and your eyes were adjusting as the lights flicked on.
“No way!” you gasped, “You guys still have electricity? But ho-”
“The lodge is solar-powered.” he grinned smugly, clearly reveling in your reaction as he set the tomatoes down on the counter, “Originally it was just about Jayce’s family saving money since they only ever used this as a vacation home. But now… well, it is quite literally a lifeline.”
“That’s incredible!” you exhaled, resisting the almost childlike urge to twirl in giddy celebration. Instead, you righted your feet and joined him at the counter so you could set the onions down.
“Damn, the last time I stayed in a place with electricity was like… two nights before the grid shut down.” your eyes widened in realization, “Does this mean you guys have hot running water?”
It took you a second to realize he was watching your expression carefully.
“What?” your eyebrows furrowed, “Something on my face?”
“Not at all.” he answered, wordlessly gesturing for you to step back so he could open a drawer and retrieve a chopping board, “It’s just… you called attention to what Jayce was like before the outbreak. And I think… you just let slip a small part of who you were back then as well.”
“You wish.” you exhaled, sounding a tad more bitter than you had intended.
Deciding it was time to turn the spotlight on him instead, you asked, “What about who you were? Did your parents actually name you ‘V’? Or did the rest of your name get left behind in the outbreak?”
“It’s short for Viktor.” he chuckled, but he was evidently too astute to take the bait or elaborate further—which, of course, only served to heighten your curiosity.
Viktor leaned his weight on the counter as he suggested, “How about we make some minestrone soup? We don’t have all of the ingredients, of course. But we have enough for a stripped down version of it.”
Never before had you seen a more obvious attempt to change the subject, but you decided to let it go for now. You didn’t need to—almost literally—bite the hands that fed you, especially before they actually fed you.
“Sounds good… Viktor.” you tugged your sleeves higher, “I’ll wash the tomatoes.”
“Already making ourselves at home, are we?” Jayce’s voice filled the small kitchen as he entered, “Left the water bottles for you in the living room, by the way.”
“Thanks.” you nodded, moving the vegetables to the edge of the sink.
Your breath involuntarily hitched in your throat as you simply watched the water pour out of the faucet—a sight that had once been so familiar but was now so foreign since the outbreak started.
A part of you wondered if this was how your prehistoric ancestors felt when they first discovered fire.
In the meantime, Viktor had disappeared into what looked to be a pantry of sorts to grab more ingredients.
If this is a dream, wake up now. you begged your brain, knowing that if this went on any longer, it would be too cruel.
Were you really about to help make minestrone soup—like… an actual dish? Not something canned; not some kind of freakish, frankensteinian abomination born from combining whatever ingredients you could scavenge; not something dug out of the trash; not something pre-packaged; but an actual, honest-to-goodness-
“Hey… so, I’m pretty sure the water has to actually touch the tomatoes if you want them to get clean.”
“Well, aren't you just hilarious, Jayce?”
***
You woke up to the sounds of something banging.
Two loud thuds, a pause, then two more thuds—and they sounded close by.
Your eyes flew open in alarm, your right arm shooting out to grab your pitchfork. But rather than its familiar handle, your hand met the air instead.
Instead of open sky or the canopy of trees, your eyes were met with wooden rafters—a ceiling.
Oh yeah. you exhaled in relief—for the first time in over a week, you hadn’t spent the night outdoors. More specifically, you had spent it indoors, on a couch.
As you pushed yourself up, the bulkier of your hosts jogged into the living room with a small radio tucked under his arm, throwing a quick “G’morning!” your way before undoing the front door’s bolts and chain.
You opened your mouth to protest.
Not only was Jayce opening this door without double checking who it was, but he wasn’t even carrying a weapon. And yours was propped against the wall where you had left it yesterday—it was so far out of your reach that if the person on the other side of the door turned out to be hostile you’d have to-
Jayce grinned as he swung the door open, “Punctual as always. Wanna stay for breakfast?”
You remained frozen on the couch, eyes wide and breath held worriedly.
“Thanks, but no time today.” a man’s voice answered.
An arm appeared through the doorway to take the radio out of Jayce’s hands.
“Here’s your cut.” the same voice said again, before his other arm appeared through the door to hand Jayce a-
“A chicken?” you breathed out in amusement, unable to stop the small smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.
“Don’t you want to test that it works first?” Jayce asked, tucking the small creature under his arm as if it was the most normal thing to do in the world.
“No need, I know you guys are always good for it.” was the last thing you heard the stranger say before Jayce closed and locked the door again.
He turned to catch you staring at him in amused disbelief.
“If you’re hungry, I’m afraid this one’s still a bit too young to eat.” he joked, adjusting his hold on the little creature.
You pushed yourself off of the couch, mindful of your bad shoulder as you lightly stretched your arms and mused, “Minestrone soup, electricity, running water, and now chicken deliveries? You guys really have the apocalypse figured out, huh?”
Jayce flashed a smile at your remark, but unlike his usual ones, this one didn’t reach his eyes.
“Come on.” he nodded towards the hallway, “How about a bit of labor to earn your breakfast?”
You stifled a yawn as you nodded, already reaching for your boots.
As you stepped towards him he gestured over his shoulder, “Oh. And bring your pitchfork, please.”
After having the best sleep in over a week, some real food, and so much drinking water, you were glad to have the chance to pay these guys back even just a little bit.
You followed him into the kitchen, out of the backdoor, and into a pretty sizeable yard.
“Damn.” you grinned, “What exactly did your family used to do? This place gets sweeter and sweeter every minute.”
A tinge of pink appeared on the crests of his cheeks as he descended the steps, the chicken no longer fidgeting under his arm.
“Honestly, my family wasn’t really that well off.” Jayce answered, leading the way towards a makeshift enclosure, “But I eventually saved up enough for a downpayment for some land here in the hopes that maybe one day I could give my mom-”
He cut himself off with a harsh swallow.
If this was the old world, it wouldn’t be out of place to gently pat his arm, to pull him in for a quick hug, to rub sympathetic circles on his back.
But this wasn’t the old world—this was the new hell.
So the best you could offer was an understanding nod and a weak: “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Jayce didn’t hear you, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Busy instead with reaching down to lift a wire mesh frame so he could slip the chicken under it.
After patting his hands on his shorts, Jayce finally revealed what he wanted your help with, “Once I get the fire pit started, would you mind pitching the dead leaves into it?”
“No problem.” you nodded, following him towards the aforementioned piles of leaves, “I think this might be the first time since the outbreak that I get to use my pitchfork for its intended purpose.”
Jayce let out a dry chuckle, “Would it be weird to say that this was the first thing I thought about when we first met? Like, I saw your pitchfork and remembered that I’d been meaning to clear these piles for days now.”
“No way.” you laughed in disbelief, “We were neck deep in semi-fresh undeads and that’s what you were thinking of? Is that the real reason you invited me here?”
“Watch your step.” Jayce warned, gesturing to a shallow pit with a small stack of coals in its center, “And of course not.”
He answered your question as he grabbed a lighter and a piece of cardboard off of the patio table, “I was getting pretty tired by the time you showed up and you saved my life.”
He lit the cardboard and bent down to slide it beneath the mound of coals.
“It’s just a bonus that you happened to come with a handy pitchfork.” he finished with a grin as the fire slowly but surely spread between the coals.
“Mind if I borrow your rake?” you craned your neck as you scanned your surroundings, “More leaves have built up there and… there. And since we’re burning these piles already, I might as well make the most of the fire and gather those up too.”
Jayce stilled for a moment, evidently stunned by your willingness to go beyond what he had originally asked you for. But he soon leapt to his feet and grabbed the rake for you as requested.
After everything these two strangers had done for you—with essentially no questions asked at this point—you honestly didn’t mind the extra bit of work. Besides, this didn’t seem like the sort of task that Jayce could fairly push onto Viktor whenever he was too busy.
So you got to work—pitching the leaves, raking more of them towards the pit, pitching those ones in. Repeating the process again and again as the pleasant aroma and smoke filled your nostrils.
You soon found yourself lost in the therapeutic repetitiveness of the task, only vaguely aware that Jayce was going in and out of the house, clearly busy with something else.
“Hey Jayce!” you called out as you pitched the last of the leaves, “Uh, I think I’m done here.”
“Awesome, thanks!” he answered, leaning on a shovel with his back turned to you, “V’s got breakfast started. I’ll join you guys once I’m done as well.”
With your pitchfork, you spread out the coal and ashes so the fire would die out quicker.
But as you climbed the steps to the backdoor, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at what Jayce had been so preoccupied with.
“What the hell is that supposed to be?” you snorted, “Trying to make an offering to the Mighty Onion God or something?”
“Shut up.” he threw you a glare over his shoulder, “You only need to cover the onions in a thin layer of soil for them to grow—I think.”
“Yeah…” you began descending the stairs again, “but you’re supposed to chop off two-thirds of them and then plant just the bottom parts. They grow much faster that way. You don’t just stick them whole in the ground.”
“Oh.” he tilted his head sideways, “I didn’t know you were into gardening.”
You stuck your pitchfork in the soil, freeing up your hands to pick up one of the barely covered onions.
“That’s one way to put it.” you patted the soil off of the little bulb before meeting his gaze, “I was raised on a ranch.”
Jayce emitted a noise of acknowledgement, and only then did you notice something red in the little garden patch this poor guy had been trying to put together.
“I feel like I don’t have to say it at this point.” you pointed to the red spot with your boot, “But you should have sliced up the leftover tomatoes too. Once the seeds germinate, repot or transfer each of the sprouts so they have enough space to grow properly.”
“So in other words, I got absolutely nothing right.” Jayce let out a dry exhale.
“I mean, they definitely still would’ve grown with the way you did them,” you assured him, “I’m just saying that there’s an even more… efficient way to go about it.”
“Looks like I gave you the wrong job.” Jayce chuckled, “But come on, breakfast first. I’ll fix this disaster later.”
When you reentered the kitchen, Viktor had already set out some oatmeal and french toast for the three of you.
There was something so normal and domestic about the sight—but rather than relieve you, it only stoked your agitation and curiosity further.
“Okay.” you pinched the bridge of your nose with your free hand, “I didn’t ask this last night out of politeness, but could you guys please explain what’s going on here?”
Both men looked at you questioningly.
“Is something wrong?” Viktor blinked, his hand frozen mid-air with the forks and dinner knives he was about to set down.
“I just-” you set your pitchfork against the wall as you gestured to the table, the electric stovetop, everything in this—almost irritatingly—cozy kitchen, “How is this- What did-”
You hadn’t intended it to, but you could feel your voice growing louder. So you took a deep breath to better compose yourself, “I mean, I’m thrilled that you guys have managed to carve out a relatively normal existence for yourselves here. But the longer I spend with you two, the more questions I have.”
“For example?” Jayce gestured to one of the chairs at the breakfast table, wordlessly encouraging you to sit.
“It’s just the two of you here. Why?” you raised an eyebrow, but still took a seat, “I presume you must’ve fixed that radio for the guy who traded you the chicken, right? That means you’re useful! And with skills like that, you could bring in resources for whatever faction or camp you join, so why aren’t they banging on your doors begging you to?”
The men exchanged wordless looks, also taking their own seats. Their silence only encouraged you to keep going.
“At the very least, why don’t you have people begging for you to let them stay here?” you accepted a fork and knife from Viktor and laid them on your plate, gesturing broadly to emphasize your point, “Hell, why’d you let a stranger like me just come stay here? This is basically an oasis in a deser-”
You froze in realization, deft fingers picking up the dinner knife you had just set down.
“Easy there.” Jayce held up a hand, having noticed the movement immediately.
“You guys aren’t cannibals or something…” you slowly edged your chair back, “are you?”
“Cannibals?” Viktor retorted drily, “In a zombie apocalypse? Why? Are some people jealous that the undeads get to keep all of the flesh to themselves?”
“I’ve heard reports!” you huffed, still clutching the knife, “But regardless, you guys have to admit that your little slice of paradise here is insanely suspicious.”
“And you waving our own cutlery at us is neither insane nor suspicious, right?” Jayce mused.
With a throaty scoff, you reluctantly lowered the knife, eyeing your slightly warped reflection in the blade as you quietly let out, “Whatever. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”
Viktor swallowed his food before turning to Jayce, “We should tell her.”
Your ears perked up at the remark, watching with rapt attention as Jayce’s eyebrows furrowed in protest, “I don’t know, V…” he said with a mouthful of french toast, “I mean, you said it yourself, nothing’s sure just yet-”
“But with her help, we’ll definitely be able to now.” Viktor cut him off, plunging his spoon into his bowl while his free hand contemplatively twirled one of his wavy brown locks, “You said she could fight.”
“Yes…” Jayce swallowed.
“And she isn’t loyal to any other encampments.” Viktor blew on his spoon of oatmeal to cool it down, “She’s perfect.”
Amber eyes met your gaze at the end of his sentence, and his word choice made your palms suddenly start to sweat.
But you couldn’t afford to falter in front of them.
If these two needed your help with something, it was worth maintaining whatever little leverage you had.
“Perfect for what?” you asked, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“After breakfast.” Jayce answered, his tone surer now, “It’ll be easier to show you.”
***
“Okay, this just confirms you guys are weird.” you chuckled, eyeing the cluttered room, “What kind of hunter’s lodge has a library in it?”
“One that belongs to a former biomechanical engineer, I guess.” Jayce glanced over his shoulder with a smile.
The revelation of his former career caught you so off-guard that you almost stopped in your tracks.
Yeah, and I was the Crown Princess of Genovia. you almost retorted.
Thankfully, however, the more agreeable part of your brain shut your big mouth before you got the chance.
Besides, he seemed to be telling the truth, as evidenced by the tall bookcases overflowing with hardback references, textbooks, and even charts.
Talk about not judging a book by its cover. you silently reflected, even as your gaze lingered just a second too long on Jayce’s much-too-muscular back.
Snapping yourself out of it, you decided to put your eyes to more productive use by checking for potential exits in case you needed to bolt, which in this room appeared to be just the door itself and three boarded-up windows.
You had learned the hard way—several times—over the last four months that neglecting this practice could prove deadly regardless of how secure you felt at the moment.
As you trailed behind them, your hosts switched on a couple of the lamps littered across the room to add to the light already being provided by the ceiling lights.
Finally, the men stopped in front of two long, sturdy workbenches pushed up against the far wall—cluttered with even more lamps, styrofoam prototypes, folders, open notebooks, rulers, pens, and so forth.
Before either of them could say anything, you spotted a familiar shade of royal blue out of the corner of your eye.
“Shit.”
The curse left your mouth even before your feet started moving backwards.
Viktor followed your line of sight to see what had provoked your reaction. He slowly raised a defensive hand, “Just wait… let us explain.”
“You bastards were with OptiFusion?” you hissed, your eyes still fixed on the royal blue employee ID lanyard on the far end of one of the workbenches.
“Not in the virology department.” Jayce explained, “Neither of us had anything to do with the outbreak.”
“Typical.” you scowled as you met his gaze, your eyebrows furrowing so hard they could practically meld together, “Passing the buck just like every single OptiFusion scum they interviewed in the outbreak’s early days.”
“It was a literal megacorporation!” the taller man’s voice was slightly louder now, “We didn’t-”
He sucked in a deep breath to compose himself, “We didn’t have access to other departments’ projects and vice versa. The vast majority of OptiFusion employees were just as shocked as everyone else when the outbreak happened.”
“Oh, boo-hoo.” you bit back sarcastically—albeit with just the smallest twinge of guilt upon registering the honesty in Jayce’s voice, “It doesn’t change the fact that you served the company that did this to us!”
“And can you honestly look me in the eyes and say you’ve never bought an OptiFusion product?” Jayce folded his arms, “‘Cause if you have, then according to your own logic, you helped ‘fund’ the company that did this to us.”
The best you could do was let out a defeated exhale.
OptiFusion made everything from cars, boats, and trucks to medicines, kitchen appliances, and even schoolbags. If you could think of it, OptiFusion probably manufactured a version of it.
Even the little hatchet you carried in your backpack had been manufactured by OptiFusion. Granted, you had stolen it from an abandoned apartment in the inner city, where it had been wedged into a wall—a rather ominous sight that you decided to avoid thinking too hard about.
But Jayce’s point still stood: anyone and everyone who’s existed in the last 30 years or so has—at some point or another—bought, used, or benefited from an OptiFusion product.
When you couldn’t answer, Jayce didn’t bother to hammer the point home further—knowing full well that the uncomfortable silence that hung in the air had done a more than sufficient enough job.
“If you two are finished,” Viktor chimed in, “we have more pressing matters at hand.”
You opened your mouth, but he cut you off before you could even breathe out your first syllable.
“And before you ask me what could be more important than analyzing how our world ended,” he nodded towards the workbench behind him, “I shall tell you: it’s doing what we can to salvage what’s left.”
“Ugh…” you rolled your eyes, “You guys are cultists? I think I’d actually prefer if you were cannibals instead because if I have to hear one more stupid fairy tale about an all-immune messiah’s blood-”
“Are you just allergic to letting people finish their trains of thought?” Jayce snapped.
“Stop allowing her to provoke you.” Viktor chastised the other man with an elbow jab to his side, before using the same arm to beckon you closer, “Come here. I promise it’s worth it.”
Begrudgingly, you closed the distance between you, dropping into one of the barstools. Viktor did the same, pulling up a barstool to your left while Jayce remained standing on your right.
Sliding a notebook in front of you, Viktor asked, “Do you remember the z-virus vaccines the government promised us?”
“Of course.” you nodded, “Along with the so-called cure that our ‘best minds’ were working towards, blah-blah-blah—it was all PR drivel.”
“A lot of it was.” Viktor acquiesced, “And obviously, the term ‘undead’ makes it abundantly clear that there is simply no cure to the virus once it has taken over. But before the grid shut down, we were in touch with a cluster of scientists from here and two cities over who confirmed that a vaccine was indeed in the works.”
Something dangerous lit in your chest as your heart began to race. Whatever it was, much like a lot of your experiences in this lodge so far, it was something familiar that had been so long forgotten that it felt almost foreign.
“We tried to reestablish contact via radio.” Jayce explained, nodding to the aforementioned device nearby, “But no luck.”
“Thankfully, at least they had already shared some results from their tests.” Viktor turned the pages of the notebook for you and you took in as much as you could despite being barely able to decipher the chicken scratch writing, “Based on them, Jayce and I believe that if we only had the right equipment, we could create a version of the z-virus vaccine that we could then make available right here.”
“Really now?” you raised a skeptical eyebrow, “But I thought you guys—and I quote—‘weren’t in the virology department’ at OptiFusion?”
“We are aware of how improbable it sounds,” Viktor sighed, “but I was a nanorobotics researcher, and our department at OptiFusion spent a lot of time studying, encoding, and manipulating DNA and proteins to create experimental organic nanobots. I imagine there is some overlap when it comes to working with microorganisms.”
“And at its core, biomechanical engineering is essentially just the study of biological systems—even microbiological systems—so we can augment them.” Jayce added, “Viktor and I may not be the best qualified for the job, but…”
He paused to meet the other man’s gaze before continuing, “We’re qualified enough to at least try.”
“That’s a lot of self-confidence.” you let out a dry chuckle, “No offense, but if all those other scientists have failed so far, then…”
You didn’t bother to finish your sentence. After all, if these two were really as smart as they claimed to be, then they’d have no problems deducing the rest of it.
“It’s not that we believe we’re smarter than our peers.” Viktor patiently explained, reaching across the workbench to bring another notebook closer, his finger tapping a list of several other viruses on the page, “We simply believe that they were going about it wrong by tackling the aggressive z-virus head-on, whereas we would try to tackle ‘from the side’, so to speak.”
“It’s the same concept as the very first vaccine.” Jayce took over, hazel eyes brimming with excitement, “Everyone’s heard of how Dr. Edward Jenner used the cowpox virus to successfully vaccinate a kid against the much deadlier smallpox virus.”
“In a proper lab,” Viktor turned the page for you again, this one being filled with diagrams, “we could possibly take it even further—we could selectively combine the z-virus with something milder to create a weaker, slower-acting version—an antigen—that could serve as the vaccine.”
There it was again, the mysterious sensation that had flickered to life in your chest earlier, now growing into a blaze.
“Hypothetically…” you began cautiously, “if you successfully managed to develop this vaccine, then anyone who took it would develop total immunity to the z-virus?”
“In the best case scenario, yes.” Jayce answered with a solemn nod, “But at the very least, we’re aiming for the vaccine to boost people's immune systems so that they stand a chance of fighting off the initial stages of the infection and potentially recover.”
“That would be amazing.” you swallowed, “But there’s no way you’d be able to produce enough of the vaccine to go around. Once word gets out, the scarcity of a vaccine like that would just trigger another bloodbath as people fight for-”
“Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” Jayce cut you off with a chuckle, “Of course, we’d share our finalized formula with other scientists once it’s confirmed to be safe. Plus, we could always scavenge and repurpose old manufactories’ equipment to create more batches.”
Finally, you recognized the blazing sensation in your chest as it began coursing through you: hope.
“I guess it actually sounds… feasible.” you reluctantly admitted.
Viktor flashed you a pleased smile, “It would be even much more feasible with an extra set of hands helping us gather resources, defend our base, and eventually help us move our things to a proper lab.”
“I can’t.” you breathed out, “I’d love to help but I need to see my parents first.”
“Where are they?” Jayce asked.
“You haven’t heard of it.” you shook your head, “Our hometown’s pretty small and far south of here. I need to make it to them before winter sets in,” you stole an absent-minded glance at your boots, “while it’s still safe to trek.”
“Were they injured or unwell when you last spoke to them?”
“No, thankfully, they-”
“Then go see them in the spring.” Viktor flatly remarked.
“Are you insane?” you snapped, “Every day I'm away from them increases the risk of-”
“At best, they’re doing perfectly fine for now and do not require your assistance.” he leaned against his crutch—practically reclining on it at this point—as he met your gaze, “At worst, they have already been killed and turned into undeads, in which case they would be beyond your assistance.”
“Viktor…” Jayce rebuked.
“What?” scoffed the other man, “Am I wrong? Staying here to help us with this…” he gestured with an open hand to the notebooks and clutter before you, “would be a far more productive use of her time and skills.”
“It doesn’t have to be me specifically, though.” you folded arms tightly—partially to express your discontent, but mostly in the hopes of adding more bravado to your tone, “You’d definitely find better candidates out there, ones that are stronger than me and can actually fight. I’m just relying on the handful of self-defense classes my dad made me take when I first got here.”
“If we find other useful solo travelers like you, then of course, we can recruit them too.” Viktor shrugged, “But almost everyone here in the lower east is loyal to one faction or another, each with its own agenda and core values. It… complicates who we can trust and whether or not the larger camp they belong to will eventually strong arm Jayce and I into doing their bidding.”
“What makes you so sure you can trust me?” you pushed, the tightness of your folded arms slowly easing up.
“Because with your, eh, strong personality, you appear to have a distaste for people in general—so it is relatively safe to assume that you won’t betray our trust out of loyalty to someone else.” he grinned, “Besides, even if you did try to tell others about our plans for a vaccine, they’d probably assume you were-”
“-crazy.” you finished his thought with a half-smile, “Not only does it sound like a far-fetched dream, but it’s also pretty common for lone travelers to suffer mental breakdowns.”
“Exactly.” he nodded, “No offense meant, of course.”
“None taken.” you mumbled, tentatively reaching forward to turn a page.
“So?” asked your pale host, his tone anticipatory and his accent heavy, “What do you say?”
Your eyes ran over the diagrams in the other notebook again, then to the slender figure to your left, then to the brawny figure to your right.
Perhaps sensing you were right on the cusp of giving in, Viktor spoke up again—but softer this time, “Wouldn’t it be much more preferable if you could return to your parents bearing the vaccine?”
You massaged your temples in irritation as you realized that he had, once again, made a very good point.
If you at least had a car, you would have been able to cram it full of supplies before driving homewards to the ranch.
But instead, you just had nothing but a hiker’s backpack, a pitchfork, and a hatchet to your name. If Mom and Dad were still alive, there was nothing you could bring them and very little you could do for them right now.
After a long silence, you sucked in a deep breath to ask, “Could you guys really have the vaccine ready by spring?”
“Absolutely.” Viktor assured you, although Jayce’s expression appeared less certain, “Or at the very least, we will have made significant progress by then and would be in a position to handsomely compensate you for your hard work—either way, we can guarantee that you won’t be returning home empty-handed.”
Your eyes once again landed on the sketched diagram of the z-virus, tracing a tentative finger along its edges.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…” you cast a wary glance at Viktor, then Jayce, “I’m in.”
“Are you sure?” Jayce asked, thick eyebrows shooting upwards in concern.
You sucked in a deep breath, “Yes.”
Slowly and tentatively, Jayce placed a hand on your shoulder, “Then welcome to the team, partner.”
As you reciprocated his small smile, you knew how insane it was to be changing your plans at the drop of a hat for two men you had barely known for less than 18 hours at this point. Not to mention, the plan that they had just roped you into was equally unhinged—true, it was also ambitious, compelling, and even noble to an extent, but insane nonetheless.
A sane person would have turned them down and moved on.
But then again, this was the apocalypse, could you really be blamed for having gone just a little out of your mind?