The convenience store's roll-up shutter, made of dull steel, was meant to keep thieves out, and while it held—for now—the zombies were already beating it out of shape. If they kept going, it was only a matter of time before the whole thing broke down.
Thankfully, they weren't smart. Memory wasn't their strength either. After two minutes of pounding, they just… stopped. Like they'd forgotten what they were doing in the first place. Forgotten that two living humans had slipped inside.
Liam stayed crouched for a while, unmoving, waiting. His legs had gone a little numb, but his breath started to steady. Moving from daylight into darkness made it hard to see at first, but his eyes began adjusting. Gradually, the blurred contours of the store became visible.
It wasn't big—maybe fifty square meters at most. No back door. Three rows of shelves, with goods lined neatly along the walls. Toys, cheap kitchenware, basic supplies. The racks were fully stocked with food, and everything was in order. Nothing looked looted. To the right of the shutter was a small cashier counter, above which hung a shiny new Coca-Cola poster. The place was untouched.
Liam nudged Manila gently. She hadn't moved since they got in. He stood slowly and flexed his legs, trying to work out the stiffness.
"Come on," he said in the lowest voice he could manage. He led her to the back of the store and finally allowed himself to speak a little louder. "That rack's got cheap travel bags. Double up two of them to make it stronger. Grab long-lasting food. Stuff it tight. Take whatever else you want, just don't make noise. It's dark. Be careful."
Manila nodded. Her eyes, adjusted to the dark, reflected what little light there was.
Liam turned to walk away, but Manila hesitated and reached out, catching his arm.
"What?" Liam turned back, frowning.
"Thank you," she whispered. Her voice was low, unsure. It wasn't just for the store. It was for pulling her out from under the zombie, for not leaving her behind.
Liam gave a crooked smile. Maybe it was wry, maybe just tired. It was too dark for her to read. He started to step away again, but Manila tugged at him once more.
"Now what?" His brows drew together. He didn't like clingy women, not now, not ever.
"You… I mean, did you…" She hesitated, drew in a slow breath, then let it out. "Back there, when you ran ahead… were you planning to leave me? I thought maybe I could draw the zombies' attention so you could get away easier. But then you came back…" She smiled, softly.
"That's not funny," Liam cut her off.
"I wasn't trying to—"
"Listen," he said, pointing a finger right at the tip of her nose. "I never said I'd take you. I said you could follow. That's different. Whether you kept up or not was your choice. I went back because I'm still human. I couldn't watch you die. That's all. I'm not a saint, but I'm not as filthy inside as you think I am."
He turned and walked toward the shelves stocked with household goods and cheap knives. He didn't even glance back.
In the darkness, Manila sat there stunned. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly, staring at Liam's back. She always thought of herself as desirable. Men always looked at her like they wanted her. That wasn't shameful to her—it was power. A woman's allure was measured by how men responded. But in the past few days, she'd felt that power slipping. This man, a few years older than her, didn't fall for any of it. He wasn't interested in her looks, her body, her charms.
They say a woman's heart takes a thousand pages to describe and a man's takes a hundred—but maybe those hundred are the expanded version. She stared, confused and embarrassed, and felt the flicker of something close to resentment.
But she got to work. She pulled two cheap travel bags from a wall hook, nested them together like Liam had told her, and began moving down the central shelves, tossing in any packaged food she could grab. Soon, the bag was half-full, maybe fifteen kilos. She swung it over her shoulder and moved toward the cashier counter, grabbing small things—gum, chocolate, cigarettes, anything that caught her eye.
Behind the register, she crouched down and searched. She was looking for a gun. Stores like this often had one. Legal carry. She didn't know if the owner took it home at night, but it was worth a shot.
After a few minutes of rummaging, no luck. Her face tightened with disappointment. She opened the drawer—
Ding-ling!
A sharp, clear chime echoed through the quiet store. Manila froze. So did Liam.
Silence.
No pounding. No new groans. A full minute passed. Then, slowly, they went back to work.
She looked down at the drawer. A few compartments held coins and small bills, maybe a hundred dollars total. Change for the next day's opening. The previous day's earnings were long gone.
Money.
Once, Manila had sold her body over and over for it. Let men touch her, use her, own her for a while. And now, here it was, untouched and worthless. She didn't take any of it. In the end, money meant nothing in a world where you had nothing to buy and nowhere to spend.
She didn't know if she should laugh or cry.
When her bag was packed, she slung it over her shoulder and walked to where Liam was crouched.
"What's that?" she asked in a low voice. There was something colder in her tone now, something almost irritated. Whether with him or herself, she wasn't sure.
Liam placed down a pair of pliers and turned something in his hand. "A spear."
Of course, it wasn't a real spear. He'd made it from parts found in the store—a hollow stainless steel mop handle with a cheap kitchen knife wired to the end. Crude, but sharp. And long. Just what he needed against a crowd of slow, stumbling zombies. He'd made two.
"This one's yours," he said, handing one to her.
Manila held it in one hand. It wasn't heavy. The metal was light.
"What's the plan?" she asked.
"Give me the bag," Liam replied. He took it, slung it over his back, then stood. "We're leaving. Most of the zombies are gone—chasing that van. I'm heading to the north end of Oak, turning left on Vigo Street. There's a parking lot there. I'll find a car and get the hell out of here."
"That's a full kilometer away. You think we'll make it with this?" Manila shook the spear.
"We can stay here and wait to die if you'd rather," Liam said. "But I'm leaving. That street had barely any zombies earlier. That van came from there without bringing a crowd. It's now or never."
He walked to the shutter. It had bent inward from the pounding, and a narrow gap at the edge let in a sliver of light—just enough to see the street outside.
Manila stared at his back, clutching the spear. She wanted to jab it right between his shoulders. "You can stay here if you want"—was he serious? What the hell was she supposed to do here? Wait and rot?
Liam crouched, laid his spear down, and drew his gun. Then he gripped the handle of the shutter and yanked it upward.
Scrraaaaaakkkk.
The warped metal screamed, but he got it up high enough to slip through. Sunlight poured in.
He ducked, snatched the spear, and burst out—pop pop pop pop—each shot exploding a head. Then he ran north.
Manila had two choices. She could close the shutter and wait. It might be safe, for a while. Or she could follow him, risk death, but maybe—maybe—escape this city.
She didn't hesitate long.
She ducked and ran.
Comfort meant nothing if it only delayed death. She wouldn't stay behind alone. New York had once been the heart of everything. Now it was a trap with too many bodies, too many teeth, and not enough time.
The smell outside hit her hard. She grimaced, breathing through her nose. She wasn't wounded, wasn't weak. For now, she could keep up.
Zombies roared. The moment they appeared, they were like a magnet. The street filled with red eyes and twisted limbs. Their clothes were stained and torn, skin a sickly blue-gray, blackened veins pulsing just beneath the surface. They weren't just dead. They were changed.
Pop pop pop pop…
Liam's silenced pistol emptied fast. He flung it at a zombie's skull, then grabbed his spear with both hands and swung.
Schlick!
Half the thing's head came off in a wet arc. Blood splattered his jacket. He shoved the body away and ran again.
Behind him, Manila stayed close, breathing hard, swinging her spear when she had to. Her hands were slick with blood, some of it on her face. She kept her mouth closed, breathing through her nose, afraid of what might happen if infected blood made it inside.
This street wasn't packed. The infected weren't fast. And there was still space to run.
They had a chance.
Liam was only three hundred meters from the intersection.
And then, from the far end of Oak Street, a Ford E450 burst around the corner—the same van from before.
"Goddamn it!" Liam shouted, spinning around.
Behind that van, pouring into Oak like a tidal wave, were over two hundred zombies. All of them running straight at him