Chapter 446: Ryan’s powerlessness

My first encounter with Gaspar was over.

We had stopped the Screamer.

We had saved what remained of the Boardwalk.

But there was no way anyone would forget what happened that night.

For the people who had never heard the Screamer before, it had become a nightmare they would carry with them for the rest of their lives. For the survivors from Jackson Township, it had dragged open wounds that had only begun to close.

They had already lost one home to that sound.

Now the Boardwalk had almost suffered the same fate.

I had survived the fight with Gaspar.

That was all I could say.

I had survived.

The thought did not make me feel better.

I lay on the same couch where Christopher, Lucy, Rachel, Sydney, Cindy, and the others had brought me after escaping the anti-Symbiote blast. A thin cover was pulled over me, though it did little against the stiffness in my body.

I had not slept once since the fight.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again.

Gaspar standing in the road beside the Three Stones Matrix.

His yellow Plasma blocking my wind blades.

The way he moved faster than I could react.

The way he had looked at me like I was nothing more than an inexperienced kid playing with powers I barely understood.

Then Ravager.

The real form of Gaspar’s Symbiote.

Its teeth.

Its glowing eyes.

The way it had spoken after licking the blood from my cheek.

My stomach tightened.

I opened my eyes again.

The room around me was dim, but sunlight slipped through the gaps in the boarded windows. Since I had been awake through the entire night, I could tell how much time had passed from the changing light outside.

It was already noon.

The streets sounded different now.

There were fewer Infected growls than before. Their snarls no longer came from every direction, though I could still hear some wandering outside through my enhanced hearing. Gunshots had echoed steadily since sunrise, sometimes close, sometimes several streets away.

Marlon must have started reclaiming the Boardwalk.

The Screamer had stopped during my fight with Gaspar. Some Infected had probably drifted away once the sound no longer controlled them, returning to their aimless wandering through Atlantic City.

But many would have stayed.

Enough to keep Marlon, Rico, Molly, Martin, and everyone else fighting through the morning.

Maybe I should have helped.

Even hurt, I could have gone outside and cleared the streets with them. I could have used the wind blades, taken down the Infected, and helped rebuild what Callighan had tried to destroy.

I should have done that.

But I had not been able to make myself move.

Once the adrenaline faded, all I felt was empty.

Pathetic.

Against Gaspar, I had used everything I had.

Wind blades.

Plasma.

Kinetic Reverse.

Time Freeze.

I had pushed myself until I could barely stand, and it still had not been enough. I had landed hits. I had damaged him. I had even forced him to reveal Ravager.

None of it mattered.

Gaspar’s regeneration was stronger than mine.

His control over his Symbiote was better than anything I could do with Dullahan. He understood his Plasma. He shaped it into armor, tails, shields, hands, and weapons as naturally as I moved my own arms.

And when Ravager appeared—

How was I supposed to beat something like that?

I pulled the cover away and forced myself upright.

Pain hit me immediately.

"Fuck..."

My hand flew to my bandaged abdomen.

My ribs still hurt badly. The side Gaspar had kicked felt bruised beneath the wraps, and my back was stiff from being thrown into walls, cars, and the street over and over again.

I felt like I had cracked ribs.

Maybe I had.

Dullahan had healed a lot overnight. More than a normal person could recover in a week. But even with my faster healing, I could tell it would take time before I was fully back to normal.

At least a week.

Maybe longer.

"Ryan, careful."

Cindy rushed over the second she saw me trying to stand.

"I’m fine," I said.

She gave me a look that made it clear she did not believe me.

I reached for the clean shirt someone had left near the sofa. It was dark, plain, and a little too large, but it would do. I pulled it over my bandaged upper body, and pain shot through my ribs as I lifted my arms.

I stopped halfway through.

Cindy stepped closer.

"Take your time," she said quietly.

She helped guide the shirt over my shoulders, careful not to touch the places that hurt most. Once it was on, she began fastening the buttons for me.

I let her.

I looked down at her while she worked.

Cindy was shorter than me, and something about the way she stood there made her seem vulnerable in a way I had not noticed before. She had Dullahan inside her. She had powers.

Still, all I could think about was how badly things could have gone if she, Sydney or Rachel had fought Gaspar.

If any of them had met Gaspar in that street instead of me, they would not have survived.

The thought made my fist tighten.

"Hey."

Cindy looked down.

"You’re bleeding."

I followed her gaze.

My fingernails had dug into my palm hard enough to reopen a cut.

Cindy gently took my hand before I could pull it away. She grabbed a tissue from the nearby table and wiped the blood from my palm, her expression focused and worried.

I watched her for a second.

Then I raised my free hand and touched her cheek.

Cindy looked up at me.

Her blue eyes met mine.

I did not know what expression I had on my face. I only knew that seeing her there, alive and worried about me, made something in my chest hurt worse than my injuries.

Cindy slowly lifted a hand toward my hair.

"Your hair..."

"What?"

She brushed her fingers carefully through the front of it.

"Some of it looks different," she said. "A few strands are white. Or silver?"

"It’s nothing."

I took her hand from my hair and held it against my cheek for a moment.

Then I kissed her palm gently.

"I’m sorry," I said.

Cindy looked at me concerned.

She looked like she wanted to ask what I meant, but I pulled away before she could.

My eyes moved around the room.

Near the door, leaning against the wall beside some supplies, was my hand axe.

They must have recovered it while they were getting me away from the Matrix.

I walked over, ignoring the pain in my side, and picked it up.

The familiar weight in my hand helped a little to give me some comfort and ground strangely.

"Ryan..."

Cindy’s voice was soft behind me.

I looked back at her.

"We should join the others," I said. "Marlon needs help."

Cindy hesitated.

Then she nodded.

"Okay."

She gathered her things, checked the small bag she had brought with her, and stepped to my side. Before we left the room, she gently took hold of my arm, ready to support me if I lost my balance again.

I did not pull away.

Together, we headed for the door.

When Cindy and I stepped outside, I expected the streets to still be full of Infected.

Instead, the route ahead had been cleared.

There were bodies scattered near the corners and along the roadside, some covered with sheets or dragged away from the main path. Broken glass and spent shell casings crunched beneath our shoes. The air smelled of blood, smoke, and the damp salt coming in from the ocean.

But there were no Infected waiting for us.

Christopher, Lucy, Rachel, Sydney, and the others must have cleared a safe route toward the Emerald Hotel before they left. At least enough of one that Cindy and I could get there without needing to fight our way through another group.

I was grateful for that.

I did not think I could handle another long fight.

Cindy stayed beside me as we walked. She kept hold of my arm, not forcing me to lean on her but ready whenever my steps slowed or my balance shifted. I hated how much I needed the support, but my body still felt wrecked from Gaspar.

We walked slowly.

The Emerald Hotel was not far, but it took us around fifteen minutes to reach it.

By the time we got close enough to see the entrance, the Boardwalk looked more alive than it had since the attack. People moved through the streets carrying boards, supplies, tools, and bags of food. Others worked around the damaged barricades. Someone had set up a table near the hotel entrance to hand out water and simple meals.

Marlon’s community was still exhausted, but they were standing.

They were rebuilding.

And they were not doing it alone.

Margaret was there too.

She stood near several people from her own community, speaking with Molly and helping direct supplies toward the workers repairing the barricades. Clara and Linda were nearby as well, passing food to survivors who had been working since dawn.

It was good to see them helping.

Still, I could not say I was surprised.

Margaret had always been kind. She cared about people, even when helping them put her own community under pressure. After what happened in Jackson Township, she understood better than anyone what the Screamer could take from people.

"Ryan!"

I turned my head.

Shannon came running toward me.

She ran so fast that Carmen called after her from farther back, but Shannon did not slow down. The second she reached me, she threw herself against my chest and wrapped both arms around me.

Pain flared through my ribs.

I let out a small groan before I could stop it.

Shannon pulled back right away, her eyes wide.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No," I said quickly.

I forced a smile and patted her head.

"I’m okay."

"A...Are you sure?" Her voice shook. Tears were already running down her face. "I was so scared.... You didn’t come back with Maribel, and then they said you were injured, and I thought something happened to you....I was so...so worried."

She looked over my body.

The bandages beneath my shirt were visible in places. My face was bruised, and I knew I looked worse than I felt.

Or maybe I did not.

"Yeah," I said again. "I’m still here."

I tried to keep smiling.

It did not last.

Too much had happened. The damage around us, the people missing from the Boardwalk, the fight with Gaspar, and the knowledge that he was still alive all pressed down on me at once.

I could not pretend everything was fine.

Shannon seemed to notice the change in my face, but before she could ask anything else, Carmen approached us.

"Ryan..."

I looked up.

Carmen had stopped a few steps away.

She looked awkward.

Her gaze went briefly to Cindy, then back to me. The memory of what happened upstairs in her room was clearly still there between us, making it difficult for her to meet my eyes for long.

Still, relief showed in her expression.

"I’m glad you’re okay," she said.

"I’m glad you’re okay too," I replied.

"Y..Yes."

She nodded with a small stutter.

Then she quickly reached for Shannon’s hand.

"Come on," Carmen said. "Don’t bother Ryan too much. He needs to rest."

"But—"

"Shannon."

Shannon looked at me one last time.

"Okay," she said quietly. "But you better rest."

"I will."

Carmen led her away before the conversation could become any more awkward.

Thankfully, Cindy did not seem to notice anything strange in Carmen’s behavior. She only watched them leave, then looked back at me with a worried expression.

I still needed to tell everyone about Maribel.

That was something Maribel and I had agreed on together. It would be difficult, but it had to be handled honestly.

Carmen was different.

What happened with her was too recent, too complicated, and tied to a moment when she had been terrified of leaving Shannon alone.

I did not know when—or how—I was supposed to tell anyone about that.