[41] Word Gets Around

---

"Hey."

She didn’t answer.

Neither did my son, Krishna.

The three of us had been taking a walk.

The weather was good. There were cars on the road, people talking somewhere behind us, the sound of a bus pulling away from a stop.

Normal things. ...I just couldn’t remember where we were going.

My wife was holding our son’s hand.

Then, without warning, they were farther ahead.

Farther, farther ahead.

"Wait."

I quickened my pace, but as if they hadn't heard me, their feet did not stop.

The pavement stretched between us.

My son’s little legs shouldn’t have been able to move that quickly.

"Hey!"

Neither of them looked back.

They were approaching a busy road, cars swept past in both directions.

"Stop!"

My wife stepped off the curb.

I broke into a run.

My son followed her.

"What are you doing?! Krishna stop your mum!"

A horn screamed.

I could hear my own breathing now.

"Ayla!"

I pulled them back to the pavement.

"Ayla? What were you thinking? You were..."

Then both of them turned around.

There was nothing on their faces.

No eyes. No nose. No mouth.

Just skin, smooth from forehead to chin.

There was no sound anymore except my breathing.

I took one step back, ...then another.

"No."

They stood there... just... watching me without eyes.

I shook my head.

"No, no, no…"

Something wrapped around me from behind.

Arms. I screamed.

A cheek pressed against the side of my head.

Smooth. Warm. It was my faceless wife.

I threw myself forward, but her arms tightened... so I twisted, drove my elbow backward and felt it connect with something soft.

She didn’t let go.

"Get off me!"

I kicked behind me. The second kick sent her sprawling across the pavement.

I stumbled away and turned.

Then Krishna came running. His face was blank like Ayla’s...

...until the skin where his mouth should have been suddenly puckered inward and tore open with a wet rip, splitting wider across his cheeks as blood welled along the ragged edges. Pale teeth pushed through swollen flesh at crooked angles while his jaw forced itself down with a sickening crack, stretching the new mouth far beyond anything human, until it became the only feature left on his face.

And that... creature... rushed towards me with frightening speed.

I raised my hands, there was something in them.

A steel rod. I didn’t know where it came from. I didn’t have time to wonder.

He lunged... and I thrust. The rod punched through his throat... and his body stopped against me.

"Khaaaghhh-!"

Small hands grabbed at the metal between us.

My hands started shaking.

"No…! My son...!"

He gagged again as I pulled the rod free.

A dense spray of blood burst from the wound and struck me across the chest and face, hot enough that I felt it before I understood what had happened. More followed in thick pulses, running down the steel rod and over my hands as Krishna folded in on himself and collapsed.

I stared down at him, my heart pounding.

There were still no eyes. Only that mouth opening and closing against the pavement.

Behind me, something moved.

My wife, no... monster. It was getting up again.

I screamed at her, not even remembering what I said. She came toward me, and I tackled her. We hit the ground together.

I climbed on top of her and locked both hands around her throat. Her skin was warm—alive, familiar. She clawed at my arms as I squeezed harder.

"Stop..."

She thrashed beneath me.

"Stop...!"

My vision blurred.

"Please... die! Die, die, die!!!"

My hands tightened. Tears ran down my cheeks.

"I’m sorry... my love..."

She stopped moving, but I was still squeezing. I didn't want to think about what I was doing.

Because this thing wasn't my wife. Even then...

"I’m sorry…"

My heartbeat pounded harder. Faster.

"I’m sorry… ugh…"

Each beat slammed through my chest until it became one continuous roar.

"I’m—"

—I jolted awake.

Darkness. At first, I didn't know where I was. My hands were clenched around nothing, my heart still hammering. I tried to sit up and cracked my head against the pipe above. “Fuck.”

The room slowly came back to me. Concrete wall, plastic containers, my bag.

I wiped the sweat from my face, only to feel the wetness around my eyes too.

"...Again."

I sat there for a while until my breathing settled, then reached beside the blanket for the small monitor.

The screen flickered on and split into four feeds. One showed the open ground floor beneath the flats, concrete pillars stretching toward the carpark beyond. Another watched the lift lobby, its doors shut and stained with grime. The third faced the stairwell, while the last looked across the sheltered walkway toward the next block.

These were battery-operated cameras I had mounted around the ground floor, all set to record only when they detected movement.

I ran through the live feeds first, then opened yesterday’s clips and skipped through them. A cat passed under the block. One zombie wandered through the carpark sometime after midnight. A plastic bag rolled across the lobby and caught on a pillar. Nothing stopped near my door. Nothing came back twice. Only then did I relax.

I set the monitor down and looked around the room properly.

A small folding table took up most of one corner, buried beneath loose papers and a calendar covered in circles, crossed-out dates and notes I had written. Food was stacked beneath it in little groups: canned meat, biscuits, instant noodles, two packets of potato chips I had been saving.

My mess tins sat beside a stack of compact solid-fuel tablets, lighters and batteries. A ladder leaned against the wall beside my old work clothes, the green safety vest folded over a rung and the yellow helmet hanging from it by the strap. The steel bar lay beside them, brown-black blood dried along one end. I caught myself staring at it and forced my attention back to the supplies instead.

I checked the water bottles, food and medicine, then the last few packets of three-in-one left in the box.

The last time I did a supply run was... two weeks ago.

"...There's no choice then," I murmured to no one in particular.

I opened the small vent above the door, placed a fuel tablet in the little metal burner, and lit it. Then I balanced the mess tin over the flame and waited for the water to steam before tearing open a packet of three-in-one coffee.

The smell of roasted beans and powdered creamer filled the room.

I sat there and watched the powder dissolve, the closest thing I still had to a morning routine. I poured the coffee into a flask, packed the rest away, then changed into my work clothes. Green vest, rubber boots, thick insulated gloves, and a yellow helmet.

Before picking up the steel bar, I turned to the little space I had cleared on the table. I pressed my palms together and closed my eyes.

I murmured the same prayer I had said every morning since I was a boy.

For Ayla. For Krishna. Then, after a pause, for myself.

Opening my eyes, I slung on the backpack and secured the steel bar to the short clip along its side, keeping it tight against my body but within easy reach.

"Alright."

Before touching the door, I checked the live feeds one last time. The lift lobby, stairwell and void deck were empty.

I eased the door open until it caught against the junk outside, then pulled the pieces in one at a time until there was enough room to squeeze through. I slipped into the lift lobby and pulled the door shut behind me. The pile went back in place piece by piece until the entrance disappeared behind bent shelving, cardboard and broken furniture. I left the handle buried and no lock in sight.

Before walking away, I checked the arrangement once more, then I headed out across the void deck.

Morning had already started warming the concrete. The flats around Rivermere stood quiet, windows dark or hanging open, laundry poles bare. A few abandoned cars sat along the road with their doors left open, and weeds had begun pushing through cracks near the drains.

Rivermere used to feel crowded at this hour. Now I could cross half the estate without seeing another living person.

I kept to the sheltered walkway where I could, steel bar low at my side.

The DailyMart Superstore was several blocks away, built into the ground floor beneath a row of flats. Its shutters had been forced upward in places months ago, but only enough to leave narrow gaps near the floor. I couldn't see much through them beyond darkness and the occasional overturned shelf.

I kept walking. Around the side of the building was a stairwell leading to the residences above. I climbed to the second floor and stopped at the corridor. Three flats shared the stretch ahead, their doors facing the open railing. I checked each one as I passed, and only then did I stop outside the three-room flat I had entered weeks ago.

Taking out a small pair of cutters from my bag, I slipped them through the gap and snipped the cable tie I had looped around the inside latch. It wouldn't stop anyone determined to get in, but from the corridor it made the door look untouched.

It opened, and I stepped inside.

Before doing anything else, I checked the flat. Living room. Clear. Kitchen. Clear. Bathroom. Two bedrooms. Nothing had changed since the last time. I returned to the smaller bedroom and dragged a cabinet aside. Beneath it was a narrow hole in the floor, just wide enough for me to squeeze through.

Crouching over the opening, I peered into the darkness before switching on my torch and lowering myself through.

The opening led into the service void between the flats and the supermarket below, cramped with pipes, conduits and cable trays. I knew the layout. Years ago, I had worked on the electrical runs here, so I knew the route passed directly over the supermarket's rear storeroom.

I crawled along the narrow gap until I reached the access point above the storeroom. The grille below was still where I had left it. My backpack went down first, landing on the shelving below, before I followed and used the same shelves to ease the drop.

The room smelled stale and dusty. I stood still and listened, but couldn't hear anyone. My torch swept across stacked cartons, empty crates and shelves packed tighter than anything on the sales floor had been. The storeroom door was still locked from the inside. Good, nobody had found this place yet.

The shelves closest to the door came first. Most of the obvious food had already spoiled, but farther back were boxes of dried goods, canned drinks, seasoning packets and cleaning supplies.

Only the useful things went into my bag. Rice crackers. Canned fish. Powdered drinks. Batteries.

Then I found the coffee.

"...Thank you."

Several packets went into my bag before I moved on. Damp packaging, insect-eaten flour, burst drink cartons and expired sauces filled most of the next section, but a few cans were still tucked behind a collapsed box on the lower shelf.

Beans, sardines, luncheon meat. Jackpot.

All of it went into the bag.

By the time I reached the last shelf, my backpack was getting heavy.

"...Maybe one last thing for the trip."

The things I normally ignored got one last look, and a small bag of sour-powdered gummies won out.

Halfway into my bag, something went thunk above me.

I stopped.

A second sound followed. Feet shifting against concrete.

Then voices. Muted. A group.

My eyes went to the opening overhead.

...Survivors.

Maybe they had found the flat by chance, but another footstep directly above the storeroom told me otherwise. They had followed me.

Three months had taught me enough about people. Whether they wanted food or everything I had, hunger was reason enough. I hauled my backpack on, crossed to the storeroom door and threw the lock.

The moment it opened, someone shouted above.

"Hey!"

"Oi, curry boy! Stop!"

"...Assholes." I ran. The supermarket beyond was dark, shelves stripped and overturned across the aisles. Shapes moved between them.

Zombies.

Their heads snapped toward me a beat too late, and I was already past the first aisle before they began moving. The shouting behind me grew louder, but I kept my eyes forward. By the time I reached the front shutters, I could hear footsteps and the first hungry groans gathering behind me.

Only a strip of daylight showed underneath.

I dropped the steel bar, shrugged off my backpack and shoved it through the gap first. It caught halfway.

"Come on..."

I grabbed the bottom of the shutter with one hand and forced it upward just enough to kick the swollen bag through.

Then I dropped to the floor and followed.

Something lunged behind me.

Rolling onto the pavement, I kept one hand under the shutter until most of my body was clear.

Then I let go.

The shutter crashed down across my lower leg.

"Ghh!"

I bit the rest of the cry back, yanked my foot free and grabbed the bag. The pain sharpened the moment I put weight on it.

There was a service alley two blocks over. If I could reach it before they came out of the supermarket, they wouldn't see which way I went. I forced myself toward it, but every step sent a sharper pain up my leg. By the second block, I was limping badly.

A scream carried from somewhere behind me, followed by another that cut off halfway, but I didn't slow down.

"Serves you right," I muttered.

By the time I reached the alley, my leg was throbbing hard enough that I had to stop. I ducked behind an abandoned utility shed, set the bag down and pulled up my trouser leg.

The shutter had caught me just above the ankle. The skin was already swelling, with a shallow cut running across it.

I wasn't walking all the way home on that without getting it looked at.

The subway community was closer. There was a doctor there, people willing to trade, and... that strange girl.

If she still wanted information, I could squeeze another meal out of her. Wasn't bringing the whole haul to the subway though. Too much food, too much attention. A cache nearby sat hidden beneath a loose panel behind one of the utility boxes. Most of it went inside, but I kept enough supplies to trade.

Strap tightened, leg tested once more. Still hurt like hell, but it held.

"Okay... Rivermere Station."

---

The walk there took longer than usual. Every few blocks, the pain around my ankle got worse, forcing me to slow down and put more weight on the steel bar. By the time the station entrance came into view, getting it checked no longer felt optional.

I took the wheelchair ramp down instead of the stairs. Longer route, less pressure on the leg.

Voices carried up from below before I reached the bottom.

The station looked the same as the last time I came through. Metal fencing, benches and scrap had been packed across the entrance, with barbed wire closing off everything except a narrow path through.

Hard to match it with the place I remembered before all this. Back then, Rivermere Station was just where I caught the train after work. Buy a drink, tap in, go home. Now... the entrance looked more like a checkpoint.

Zombies caused all of this.

Zombies...

The nightmare from this morning came vividly to mind. Blood-seeking creatures that refused even the peace of death, turning this world into a living hell.

In my family, the dead were burned, prayed for, and sent on their way. They were supposed to stay gone.

Maybe the gods had left us. ...Why else were the dead still walking?

"Stop there."

One of the soldiers raised the long metal pole in his hands, its sharpened tip leveled at my chest.

I did.

"Bag down. Vest and shirt off."

No argument. The backpack went to the ground, followed by the helmet and vest. I pulled my shirt over my head and turned slowly when he motioned for me to.

"Purpose of visit?"

"Seeing doctor. Trading also."

"Arms up."

Front. Back. Both sides. No shame in it. They were checking for bites, keeping this place safe from troublemakers. If I were standing where they were, I'd do the same thing.

"Pants."

I rolled them up.

The soldier's eyes stopped at my swollen ankle.

"Not a bite," I explained. "Hit my leg."

He crouched long enough to look at it, then waved me through.

"Doctor Park's here today. Not many visitors, so don't stay for long."

"Thank you sir."

I put everything back on and limped past the barricade.

The station opened up beyond it. Hundreds of people covered nearly every open patch of floor, sitting on cardboard, blankets and thin mattresses with their bags piled beside them. From a distance, it looked like an entire street of homeless camps that were moved underground.

Plastic chairs, cabinets, folding tables and even bedframes had been dragged in from the flats above, making the concourse look strange and crowded. Sheets and plastic boards gave some families a little privacy. 

I headed toward the section where the doctor usually worked. A few people watched me as I passed, parents drawing their children a little closer until they noticed the limp. Most looked away after that.

A little girl stood near the edge of my path, close to her mother. I remembered the sour gummies in my bag and offered her one. Kids could still enjoy something like that, at least.

She looked at her mother first. The woman gave a small nod.

"Thank you."

Her mother gave me a tired smile and shifted aside to clear the path.

I nodded back and moved toward the lower level where the doctor usually worked.

The dead escalator was just another set of metal steps now. Going down hurt more than the walk here, so I took it slowly, one hand on the rail and most of my weight off the bad leg.

"...I'm telling you, that's what they said."

A rough middle-aged voice carried up the escalator, loud enough to cut through the low murmur of the station.

"Shh."

"Keep it down, man."

He ignored them.

"Kid couldn't have been more than fourteen. Burned three of them without touching anything."

By the time I reached the bottom, I could see the man sitting in front of the doctor with one sleeve rolled up while she cleaned a cut along his forearm. Middle-aged, heavy around the waist, thinning hair, and talking like the whole station had asked to hear him.

A few chairs had been placed nearby, so I took the one behind him and stretched out my bad leg. My eyes drifted toward the doctor who would be treating me next.

She's beautiful. Even with the mask.

Pastel-pink hair framed her face in a neat inverted bob, though the left side had been left much longer, falling to her chest and fading gradually into red. A white mask covered the lower half of her face, paired with disposable gloves and a doctor's apron over jeans that widened slightly near the ankles. Somehow, she was still wearing heels.

A younger woman stood close to Doctor Park in simple medical wear. I didn't remember her from my last visit. Probably a new assistant.

Everything else had been arranged within easy reach. Instruments, sealed wipes, dressings, IV bags, medicine, and several large containers of clean water where a working sink should have been.

She noticed me looking and gave a small nod. "I won't be long. Thank you for waiting."

"No rush, doctor. Please take your time." I smiled back and gave a small wave.

The man in front glanced over his shoulder at me, his expression souring before he turned back around.

He's making it too obvious.

Every time the doctor leaned closer, his eyes followed her. She kept smiling and answering him, but it felt more like she was trying to finish the treatment without making things awkward.

Still... maybe I was reading too much into it. Some men had gotten worse since the outbreak. Less rules, less shame. I'd seen what happened when the wrong ones found someone alone.

"...Anyway, I'm telling you, the kid burned three zombies," he continued. "Fire straight from his hands. Soldiers showed up after and took him away."

This guy... what is he on about?

"You saw this?" Doctor Park asked while reaching for a fresh wipe.

"Not me. My friend's cousin heard it from someone who was there." He puffed himself up a little. "But everyone's saying the same thing, you know... word gets around."

He hissed when his wound was cleaned.

"Careful... doctor. ...Anyway, there's more. Some girl can move things without touching them. Another one stopped a zombie dead just by looking at it."

That made me listen properly.

A kid making fire with his hands? A girl moving things without touching them?

It sounded like nonsense. Same as the early days. Zombies doing this, zombies doing that. Half of it made up. People died believing things like that. I never had much patience for charlatans.

"Really? Mr Chen, that sounds quite... hard to believe." A light laugh slipped through the doctor's mask as she kept cleaning the wound.

"No, I'm telling you! I'm hearing things everywhere now. They're calling them Awakened." Chen leaned forward despite Doctor Park pushing him back into place. "Maybe the apocalypse changed people. Zombies get stronger, people get powers. Makes sense, right?"

She gave a small hum and continued cleaning the wound, and the man took that as permission to keep talking.

"And those things falling from the sky? The metal ones. People have been finding them all over."

The whole country heard about that one.

Hard not to. One of those things hit hard enough to shake the land. Everyone thought it was an earthquake at first.

"They say there's a guy who can open them."

Doctor Park paused, a strand of pink hair slipping forward as she reached for another wipe.

"Open them? What does he do with whatever's inside?"

"That's the thing. Nobody knows." He clicked his tongue. "They say he takes whatever he finds, gets on some black motorcycle, then disappears. If it is food, weapons, medicine... you would think this guy would share some of it."

The doctor gave another small hum.

"Maybe he needs them...?"

"Needs all of it?" Chen snorted. "And that motorcycle too. Goes around like the roads still belong to him."

Riding a motorcycle around sounded crazy enough. The noise would pull zombies, and half the roads weren't even clear anymore. One bad turn and you'd be forced off-road.

"Either he's good," the man said, "or he's a complete psychopath."

That, at least, I could agree with.

Doctor Park's eyes curved slightly above her mask.

"I'd hope it's the first one."

Chen looked at her, then laughed.

"Yeah. Sure. Let's go with that."

Footsteps came from the other end of the platform.

A few people nearby looked up.

"Angie's back."

"Good haul?"

"Angie, how was the swimming complex?"

"Morning Angie."

A woman in a dark green scarf walked in with a full rucksack on her back, a bow over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows behind her. A black beanie covered most of her hair, except for the streak of green running through her fringe.

So that was Angie. I'd heard about her from people here before. The woman who kept going outside, bringing things back, helping where she could. Never spoke to her myself.

Funny thing was, nobody asked if she was alright. Maybe they just expected her to come back that way.

She glanced toward Doctor Park, who gave her a small nod without stopping her work. Angie returned it, then crouched near a group of children and started pulling sweets from her bag.

Chen followed her with his eyes.

"That's how it should be. People still going out there, bringing things back for everyone."

A few children crowded around Angie as she handed the sweets out one by one.

"Sister Angie!"

"Thank you Sister Angie..."

A mother nearby smiled. "Thanks, Angie... we appreciate you always doing this for the kids."

Angie gave the woman a small nod, then squatted so she was closer to the children, ruffling one boy's hair before doing the same to the girl beside him.

"One each, alright? Make sure the little ones get some too."

Her voice was clear and gentle. Strange how nice it was just hearing someone speak like that these days.

"Okie!"

"We will be nice, Sister Angie."

The children nodded quickly, already sorting themselves out around her.

"Hehe. Keep behaving, okay? Good kids...?"

"...Gets more sweets!"

Angie laughed softly and tapped the girl who answered on the nose.

"Good kids."

So the stories about Angie weren't exaggerated either. She had a striking kind of beauty, sharp features softened by an easy smile, but most of what I'd heard was about what she did for the station.

Chen seemed even more pleased with his own point.

"See, that's what I mean. Then you've got this other guy finding all that stuff and just keeping it to himself."

Angie was helping one of the smaller children with a stubborn wrapper.

"Maybe he has his reasons," Doctor Park said lightly.

"Reasons?" He scoffed. "If you've got that much and people are starving, what reason is good enough?"

The wrapper finally tore open. Angie handed it back to the child.

"Sounds like a selfish bastard to me."

... ... ... ...

Angie's hand stayed there for a second.

Then she looked over. Doctor Park did too.

Chen must have noticed, because some of the confidence left his face.

"...What?"

Angie didn't answer. She just went back to the children.

Doctor Park reached for a syringe from the tray beside her.

"Almost done."

He flinched when the needle suddenly went into his arm.

"Ah— what was that?"

His voice wasn't quite as loud after that. He glanced at the syringe, then back at the doctor.

"What's that for?"

She pressed the plunger.

"Pain."

"...Pain?"

"Fentanyl. It's like morphine... fifty to a hundred times stronger?"

"Wait, what?"

His face changed immediately.

Doctor Park tilted her head at his reaction, pink hair slipping slightly over one shoulder.

"You said morphine?"

"Mhm."

"I don't need morphine!"

He swallowed. And then... quiet laughter slipped through the doctor's mask.

"Just kidding. Did I scare you?"

"...P-Please... that wasn't..."

"I'm sorry, Mr Chen. I couldn't resist. It's only lidocaine. I need to numb the cut before I stitch it."

She pulled the needle free and set the syringe aside.

"See? Still alive."

Chen laughed too, though his sounded a lot less comfortable now. Doctor Park waited a little, tested the skin around the cut with the tip of her forceps, then started stitching once he stopped reacting. He finally stayed quiet while she worked.

A few minutes later, the doctor tied off the last stitch and covered the wound with a dressing.

"And we're done. That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"Phew... you do good work, as always, miss."

"Of course. I'm a professional."

"Ah, as for the payment..."

"Hayoon will handle that for you." Doctor Park glanced toward her assistant. "Thank you, Hayoon."

Chen carefully pulled his sleeve back down and started to get up.

Doctor Park suddenly lowered her mask.

"By the way, Mr Chen..."

He stopped.

"Be careful with rumors. You never know who might be listening."

Her tone stayed pleasant, but there was something sharp underneath it.

"...Right."

He muttered something under his breath, settled the payment with the assistant, then left without looking back at Angie.

Doctor Park watched him go before pulling her mask back up.

Then her eyes settled on me.

"Your leg, right? Don't worry, you're in good hands~"

---

By the time she finished with my ankle, it had been cleaned, wrapped, and checked twice. Nothing serious, she said. Keep weight off it when I could, come back if the swelling got worse.

The price was almost nothing. A few supplies for whatever she had used.

I left Doctor Park a little more than she asked for anyway.

After Chen, I figured she'd earned it.

Trading took longer. Coffee went quickly. Batteries even quicker. Canned food still carried the most weight, and I nearly walked away when one of the traders told me what he wanted for the beer.

"Two tins for one."

"For one can?"

He shrugged. "Take it or leave it. That's the price here."

"..."

In the end, I gave up four tins for two cans.

Terrible trade. Still took them.

I was Hindu, but a drink once in a while had never bothered me. Just never enough to get stupid. Warm beer was another problem. No refrigeration meant most of it tasted worse than I remembered.

But it was still beer. Could drink it. Could trade it. Someone would want it.

I tucked both cans deep into my bag with what remained of the supplies. By the time I climbed back toward the station entrance, my ankle felt better under the fresh wrapping, though every step still reminded me it was there.

The soldiers checked me on the way out, then pulled the barricade aside just enough to let me through.

The afternoon heat hit me the moment I stepped outside.

I adjusted the strap on my bag, ready to head back for the cache.

Then I stopped.

Right. The girl.

I'd nearly forgotten the other reason I came here. If she was still around, I might as well see her while I was still near the station.

---

Knock. Knock.

I gave the worn-down door a few taps.

Something shifted inside.

A few light footsteps crossed the room and stopped just behind the door.

"It's me."

"..."

I glanced once down the corridor before lowering my voice.

"Err... R*nescape. St*rcraft. And..."

I tried to remember the last one.

"...Cyber World Online, was it?"

Even after saying all three like she'd told me to, the woman behind the door didn't move.

What was the point of codewords then?

I sighed eventually, and got the point.

"...Miss Kei. I've visited the subway, like you asked."

I heard the latch turn, followed by the sound of something heavy being moved away from the door. It finally opened just wide enough for someone to look out.

Kei stood behind the door, the same woman I'd met before, her dark hood up as usual. Large headphones hung around her neck, black hair slipping out around her cheeks and down past her shoulders. Her face looked pale against all that dark clothing, and those grey-green eyes stared at me without much expression.

She opened the door wider.

Black cargo pants. Running shoes. Nothing that looked like a weapon.

Same thought as last time. How had she managed alone for this long?

"Miss Kei, you really shouldn't open the door this easily."

She blinked.

"I know I'm the one saying this, but still. Random people knock, you don't just let them in. Especially men." I pointed at myself. "What if I wasn't a proper person?"

Kei stared at me for another second, then simply turned around.

"Close the door. Lock it." Her voice came out low and husky, almost gravelly.

"..."

"Leave the furniture. I'll put it back when you go."

And she walked further into the flat.

I looked at her back, then at the open doorway.

...Like that motorcycle man the patient had been talking about earlier.

Either this woman was very good at judging people...

Or she trusted people way too easily.

I stepped inside and locked the door behind me.

The living room was the same as last time. Fabric posters covered most of the walls. Shelves were packed with little painted figures, books, boxes, and other things I couldn't name.

Otaku stuff. That was what Krishna used to call it. So women in their twenties liked this kind of thing too. Maybe that was normal now. I wouldn't know.

Kei dropped onto the couch and leaned back, one arm resting along the top.

"So?"

"I went to see the doctor today."

She looked at me properly.

"Anything strange?"

"Hmm..."

"Anything. Something she said. Something she did. Just note it."

I thought back through the visit.

"Nothing much. She treated my ankle. There was a man there talking her ear off."

Kei waited, so I told her about it. The kid who supposedly made fire with his hands. The girl who could move things without touching them. Someone else stopping a zombie just by looking at it. Then the talk about people calling them Awakened, and the EDF apparently taking some of them in.

Kei stayed quiet after I finished, staring somewhere past me.

Then she leaned over, opened a drawer beside the couch, and pulled out a small foil packet from a biscuit tin.

"Here."

I stared at it.

"One?"

"Thank you."

That was it?

My eyes went briefly to the drawer.

If I wanted to, I could probably take the whole tin from her. Maybe more. She was alone, smaller than me, and I hadn't seen a weapon anywhere. ...I didn't like where that thought was going.

No. That was how those beasts thought.

"Miss Kei... surely that's worth a little more."

Without arguing, she reached for a notebook on the table and passed it over.

"You think I've shortchanged you, right?"

...I opened it silently. Then ate my words.

Awakened. Possible sightings. Different districts. Dates. Descriptions. EDF movements. Rumors about strange abilities, some of them matching what I'd just heard almost word for word.

There was more here than what I knew.

"You haven't been going out much, Ramesh? This started spreading about a week ago."

I flipped to the next page.

No mention of children, though. Her notes only said people had started appearing who could do things that shouldn't be possible. Nothing about how old they were.

Kei tapped the page with her index finger and raised it to me.

One biscuit for the trip? Surely there's something more I can share?

"...Not sure if it's helpful, but there was also the ranger who dropped by also."

"Go on."

I told her Angie had been there too. Mr Chen comparing her with the motorcycle rider, praising Angie for bringing things back while calling the other man selfish. That was when both women looked at him.

Hearing this, Kei's fingers stopped against the edge of the notebook.

She stared at me, then pushed the entire biscuit tin across the table.

"...Bring me more stuff like that next time. Wait here." Kei stood and disappeared into one of the rooms. She came back carrying a small Ziploc bag and dropped it beside the tin. Cotton buds, a few sealed wipes, and a small tube of antiseptic cream.

"For your leg."

"Miss Kei... this is too much."

"Can't have my informant lose his leg."

Before I could say anything else, she pointed toward the door.

"Alright. Go. Sun's going down. Don't want you bringing unwanted attention here."

She's right. I suppose she's feeling generous today.

I packed everything away and bowed.

"Thank you, Miss Kei."

She was already back over the notebook by the time I reached the door, pen moving quickly across the page.

I took one last look at her before stepping out.

Maybe I should take back what I thought earlier.

This woman wasn't as gullible as I'd thought. She read people well enough.

My ankle started complaining again on the way down from the fifth floor, so I slowed down and kept checking the time. I still had to collect the rest of my supplies from the cache and make it home before the light was gone.

No point surviving the whole day just to get caught outside after dark.

---

By the time I got back to my block, there was barely any light left.

Made it.

I turned the corner toward the maintenance room and... stopped.

The broken chair was facing the wrong way, one of the crates had been pushed from the wall, and the plywood I'd left across the front was lying flat.

Someone had been here. My hand went to the steel bar as I listened, but the room stayed quiet.

I set my bag down, moved closer, and eased the door open. The room looked untouched at first, until something shifted near the back.

"Come out."

No answer.

"I don't want trouble. Just... come out, alright? This place is mine. You can't stay here."

Two hushed voices answered from somewhere inside.

More than one...?

I pushed the door wider, ready for a fight.

Two... three... No. Four. But...

"Huh?"

"Alan, be careful!"

"Teucer!"

Those voices. Those faces.

Teenagers?