In the dimly lit auto repair shop, Robbie stood over Dog's lifeless body, his voice low and hoarse. His back was turned to Jondans, the gang leader, hiding his expression. His hands rested on his hips, slowly drawing the two pistols he had holstered earlier.

  "Jondans, you killed Dog before he even turned?" Robbie's voice was heavy with accusation.

  "Robbie... I... he was bitten..." Jondans stammered, realizing the gravity of the situation. He had indeed killed Dog before the infection could take hold. The moment the shutter door had closed, he had acted, unwilling to share the space with someone who was doomed to turn. He hadn’t expected Robbie to return alive.

  Killing a bitten human and killing a zombie were two entirely different things. One was still a person; the other was already dead. And Dog wasn’t just anyone—he was Robbie’s younger brother, his only sibling.

  As Jondans tried to explain, he subtly signaled to his two henchmen, Arthur and Anthony. They understood, their eyes darting between Jondan's and Robbie. Slowly, they raised their rifles, the barrels vaguely pointing in Robbie’s direction.

  They knew what Robbie was capable of. Jondans had become the gang leader through money and connections, but Robbie had earned his place through sheer skill. His marksmanship and combat abilities were unmatched, even among New York’s most notorious gangs. That’s why rival factions had tried to eliminate him, leaving him severely injured and nearly dead. To them, Robbie was a threat.

  "Why didn’t you give him a chance?" Robbie suddenly turned, his piercing gaze locking onto Jondans, who towered over him in both height and bulk. Both pistols were now fully drawn, and in the dim light, Robbie’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  "Robbie... I..." Jondans took a step back, his hands raised in a feeble attempt to explain.

  "He might have had a chance! You could’ve cut off his arm, or... or waited until he died before killing him. At least then he wouldn’t have died in fear, knowing his people shot him. He wasn’t a monster yet. Why couldn’t you wait?" Robbie’s voice cracked with emotion as he took a step forward. "Were you scared? So scared that you’d betray the people closest to you just to save yourself?"

  Though Robbie’s pistols were still pointed at the ground, his aggressive step forward was a clear warning. For a man of his skill, it was a prelude to violence.

  Arthur and Anthony, standing on either side, raised their rifles fully, aiming directly at Robbie’s head.

  *Pfft!*

  Two shots rang out, but the sound was almost singular due to the suppressors on the pistols.

  Robbie stood with his arms extended, his gaze fixed on Jondans. His lips trembled, but no words came out. The weight of his grief was overwhelming. He had imagined Dog’s death when he left the Walmart, but he never expected it to end like this.

  The repair shop fell into an eerie silence. Jondans stared at Robbie, his eyes wide with fear.

  *Thud! Thud!*

  Arthur and Anthony collapsed to the ground, their foreheads marked by single bullet holes. They were dead before they even realized what had happened.

  "Don’t... don’t do this, Robbie..." Jondans pleaded, sweat dripping down his forehead as he backed away. He had a gun on his hip, but he didn’t dare reach for it. He knew Robbie too well.

  "Robbie, he was bitten, we couldn’t—"

  Meanwhile, back at the Walmart on Second Avenue, the atmosphere was starkly different. Jason was riding a stunt bike through the aisles, a music player clipped to his waist and Bluetooth headphones in his ears. He bobbed his head to the beat, carefree and oblivious.

  Christine, now dressed in a more casual outfit but still sporting her twin ponytails, sat in a secluded corner of the store, smoking a cigarette. Her expression was sullen, her mood down.

  Old Mike and Laura were inseparable, pushing a shopping cart through the aisles and stocking up on non-perishable, high-calorie foods. Bovin, the Walmart employee, remained slumped against a shelf, his demeanor unchanged despite Jason’s earlier attempts to cheer him up.

  "Hey, hiding out here all alone? What’s wrong, Christine?" Mannila approached, her single-strap backpack slung over her shoulder. She sat down beside Christine, tilting her head to study the girl.

  Christine glanced at Mannila but remained silent, her gaze dropping to the floor.

  Mannila reached out, gently brushing Christine’s hair. "Come on, talk to me. You seem upset."

  Christine suddenly stood, ready to leave, but Mannila called after her, "Hey, Christine... do you like Vincent?"

  Christine froze, then slowly turned back and sat down. She stared at the shelves ahead, her voice barely above a whisper. "He doesn’t like me." She glanced at Mannila out of the corner of her eye, gauging her reaction. After all, Mannila was the one currently with Vincent.

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  "I envy girls your age," Mannila said with a smile, though her tone carried a deeper meaning. "So fearless in love. Did you have a boyfriend?"

  Christine shook her head, taking a drag from her cigarette before answering. "We broke up."

  "Are you still..." Mannila’s expression turned playful as she gestured vaguely at Christine’s body.

  "I am. I was going to... after graduation, but we split before that." Christine’s tone was matter-of-fact. The open sexual education in the States made the conversation feel natural, especially between two women.

  "Ah," Mannila nodded, reaching for a pack of cookies leaning against the shelf. She opened it and popped one into her mouth before turning back to Christine. "Why do you think Vincent doesn’t like you?"

  "He’s not a typical American. He’s got that Chinese mindset. He probably thinks I’m too young. I’m sixteen; he’s twenty-seven. That’s an eleven-year gap..." Christine trailed off.

  "Wrong," Mannila interrupted, wagging a finger. "Vincent’s... different. Compared to most American men, he’s..." She paused, tilting her head as if searching for the right words. "He’s not tall—if I wear heels, I’m taller than him. He’s not bulky, but he’s handsome. The thing is, you can never tell what he’s thinking. You know?" She patted Christine’s shoulder. "When the outbreak first happened, he even considered leaving me behind. He thought I’d just slow him down."

  "Really?" Christine looked at Mannila, surprised.

  "Absolutely," Mannila nodded. "Right before we met you guys, he told me he wouldn’t help me escape. He saw me as a liability. But then... he saved me anyway. He’s strange like that. He says one thing but does another."

  Mannila leaned back, licking cookie crumbs from her lips. "You know what I used to do? Before all this?"

  Christine shook her head.

  "Guess."

  "Office worker? Sales clerk? Model?" Christine threw out several guesses, but Mannila kept shaking her head. Finally, Christine gave up. "I don’t know."

  "Streetwalker," Mannila said bluntly, her tone indifferent. Christine’s eyes widened, but Mannila continued before she could respond. "Vincent and I lived in the same old apartment building. We were neighbors for two years, barely spoke. I had no idea what he did for a living—just assumed he was some office worker. When the outbreak happened, I ran out of my apartment half-naked. He saved me, then told me he wouldn’t help me escape because he thought I was just a useless streetwalker."

  Mannila paused, chewing another cookie. "But when he ran out, I followed him. I got into trouble, and he saved me again. After that, we hid in a convenience store, and he tried to leave me behind again. But I stuck with him, and eventually, we ended up with you guys."

  She turned to Christine, her expression serious. "Vincent knows exactly who I am—what I used to do. He knows I slept with countless men, did things I’m not proud of. But now... he wouldn’t abandon me. He might not love me, but he’s accepted me. Why do you think that is?"

  Christine shook her head, unsure.

  "Because I was brave," Mannila said with a smile. "When I saved you, and after Vincent killed Andrew, something changed. He saw me as more than just a liability. I think that’s what you need to show him—that you’re more than just a pretty face. You’re young, yes, but you’re not a child. If Vincent saw that in you, he might see you differently."

  As Mannila finished speaking, Vincent’s voice interrupted from the end of the aisle. "What are you two talking about?" He held a handful of medical supplies, his expression curious.

  Christine panicked, quickly shoving the half-smoked cigarette into Mannila’s mouth and grabbing the cookies from her hand. She forced a smile, her heart racing. Vincent had caught her smoking, something he’d explicitly told her not to do.

  "Girl talk," Mannila said smoothly, taking a drag from the cigarette. "We’re discussing bras. Want to join?"

  "Carry on," Vincent said with a shrug, turning to leave.

  Once he was gone, Christine looked at Mannila, her expression a mix of gratitude and confusion. "Why did you tell me all that?"

  Mannila simply smiled, not answering. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a walkie-talkie, handing it to Christine. "Keep this on. We need to stay in touch." That had been her original purpose for finding Christine—distributing the walkie-talkies Vincent had requested. But the conversation had taken a different turn.

  Just as Mannila handed the walkie-talkie to Christine, the sound of a diesel engine roared outside. A small truck plowed through the zombie horde, heading straight for the Walmart. The noise was unmistakable, and everyone inside the store froze.

  "Someone’s here!" Vincent shouted, rushing to the window with a pair of binoculars. He scanned the scene outside before turning to the group. "It’s Robbie! We need to let him in!"