"I'm twenty-seven. My mother worked as a translator for the State Department, and my father was a surgeon. I speak seven languages: English, Chinese, German, Korean, French, Russian, and Thai. Four years ago, I graduated from Harvard Medical School. Over the next two years, I participated in research projects at two American laboratories, earning dual master's degrees in biopharmaceuticals and clinical surgery. Two years ago, I moved to New York. Before the apocalypse, I worked as an executive assistant at Greenpoint Biopharmaceuticals during the day. At night, I served as an underground doctor for gangs, specializing in treating severe trauma. In two years, I performed fifty-seven surgeries, all successful."
"About a year and a half ago, I bought a gun and trained with it, anticipating potential dangers due to my involvement with gangs. My marksmanship is average—not exceptional, but not poor either."
"And I'm quite skilled with a scalpel. I can even use it as a throwing knife."
"Also, I remain calm under pressure. Performing surgery requires a steady hand and a composed mind. That's another of my strengths," Liam concluded with a smile, leaning back in his chair.
He had shared a lot—details no one else knew. He wanted everyone to understand that he was exceptional and highly capable. In a post-apocalyptic world, a doctor's value is immeasurable. Being bitten by a zombie doesn't necessarily mean death, promptly removing the affected tissue can prevent infection. Liam's underlying message was clear: he was the most competent person here, and they should follow his lead.
Everyone fell silent after Liam spoke, unsure of how to respond. His self-introduction was impressive. No one doubted his claims, in these times, exaggerating one's abilities could be fatal. However, Manila looked at Liam with a hint of skepticism. She had lived next door to him for two years and knew his life was modest. He wasn't wealthy, he wore the same leather jacket for two years. That didn't align with someone who worked as an executive assistant at a biopharmaceutical company.
"Where's your money?" Manila whispered in Liam's ear, ensuring others couldn't hear. In the pre-apocalyptic world, asking a man about his finances might be taboo, but now, money was worthless. If Liam hadn't lied, he should have been well-off, yet Manila had never seen any signs of wealth.
"I spent it," Liam replied, glancing at Manila without further explanation. He then turned to the others. "Let's discuss our plan. We need to leave here as soon as possible."
"You've thought it through, haven't you? Let's hear it," Old Mike said, sensing Liam had a plan and giving him the floor.
"I'll explain," Liam said, nodding. "Leaving New York won't be easy. First, we need sufficient weapons. When we first met, you were trying to get guns but failed due to the number of zombies. This time, we'll go back to that gun store. My plan is as follows…"
Liam outlined his initial plan. Old Mike nodded in agreement but cautioned, "It's risky. We don't have much fuel left."
"It's a risk worth taking. Without guns, we can't survive in a city with at least fifteen million zombies. And you'll drive. I trust you," Liam said. He had calculated the number of zombies. In 2025, New York's population was nearly twenty million, making it the third most populous city globally. With a seventy percent infection rate at the apocalypse's onset, and considering the chaos that followed, fifteen million was a conservative estimate.
With the plan set, Liam decided they would rest for a day at the Dream House clothing store before moving. Early morning was ideal, zombies were less active then. More importantly, the group hadn't rested properly since the apocalypse began. They needed rest.
"That's settled," Liam said, standing up. Suddenly remembering something, he pulled out his only handgun from his waistband. It was a SIG P210 with a seven-round magazine, currently holding five bullets.
"Hey…" Jason exclaimed as Liam drew the gun, causing everyone to tense up.
"Relax," Liam said with a smile, adjusting the gun to hold it by the barrel, offering the grip to Laura. "Laura should take the gun. There aren't many bullets, but getting a feel for it is better. I'm sure your aim is better than mine."
Liam knew his limitations and chose to trust Laura. This gesture would also ease tensions. If he kept the gun, others might see him as a threat. Liam wasn't naturally sociable, he preferred to keep to himself. But when he wanted to connect, his appearance and calm demeanor helped him make friends.
Laura looked surprised but took the gun, examining it carefully. It was relatively new, a personal firearm unlikely to have fired hundreds of rounds. In the U.S., while guns were common, most households had shotguns for home defense. Handguns were less common unless for specific purposes.
"Thank you," Laura said, looking up at Liam before focusing on the gun. She seemed to have missed handling one for a while.
"You're welcome," Liam replied with a smile. He bent down to rummage through the travel bag on the coffee table, pulling out a bag of chips. Opening it, he walked to the window, parted the curtain slightly, and looked outside, casually eating the chips.
Watching blood-soaked zombies while eating chips seemed grotesque. But Liam was unfazed. He had a high tolerance for blood. Chips, though considered junk food, were high in calories—useful for replenishing energy. Liam was observing the zombies, hoping to learn something.
After all, no one said you couldn't eat chips while watching zombies.
"Good appetite," Manila commented, impressed by Liam's composure.
"Ask if you have questions," Liam said, offering the chip bag to Manila. "Want some?"
"You go ahead," Manila declined, pushing the bag back. She then asked quietly, "Is there something you're not telling us?"
"Everyone has secrets," Liam replied, turning to Manila with a slight smile.
Crunch! Crunch!
At that moment, Christine approached with her own bag of chips, chewing as she looked out the window. She didn't flinch at the sight of zombies. Glancing at Liam's chips, she took one and tasted it, then shook her head slightly, seemingly unimpressed with the Original flavor.
"Want to try mine? Barbecue flavor," Christine offered, holding out her chips to Liam.
"I'll try… Hmm, not bad. We can share."
"Sure, yours isn't too bad either."
"Liam, look at that zombie. What's it holding in its mouth?"
"Looks like a liver… No, maybe a lung. Livers aren't that big… It's too dirty to tell."
In a city overshadowed by death, on the second floor of a clothing store, a man and a girl shared chips and critiqued zombies outside the window.
Liam didn't think it was wrong for Christine to be exposed to these things. It had nothing to do with age. Yes, it was disgusting. But the world was now filled with things far worse. Avoiding them wouldn't help. Facing them calmly might just be what kept someone alive.
He glanced at Christine. She was sixteen, still a child by many standards. But she didn't blink, didn't even flinch as a zombie tore into a corpse just across the street. She munched on her chips like she was watching a scene from a movie she'd already seen a dozen times. Liam wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but he knew one thing—this girl would live. She had already begun adapting.
Behind them, the others were quieter now. The tension had eased somewhat, and the group had started to feel like… well, not quite a team, not yet. But maybe something close. Maybe it was because Liam had shared so much about himself. Or maybe it was because he'd handed Laura the gun. Either way, for the first time since this nightmare started, no one was eyeing each other like threats.
Manila stood nearby, arms folded, quietly watching the back of Liam's head. She didn't say anything else. She didn't need to. She had heard his answers. And she had seen enough to know this man wasn't like the others. Dangerous, yes. But not cruel. Not lost.
Liam took another chip from Christine's bag and nodded toward the street below. "That one—see the way it's moving? Dragging one leg, but still fast when it gets close. We'll need to be careful. Not all of them are slow."
Christine squinted through the glass, then nodded. "It's like they get smarter when they smell blood."
"Or more focused," Liam said. "Either way, it's good to watch. Helps to know what we're dealing with."
She didn't answer, just leaned her head slightly against his arm, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Liam didn't move away.
For now, they were safe. There was food, there was water, there was time to rest. But morning would come, and with it, everything else—the noise, the danger, the running. Maybe even death.
But for now, they had chips. They had each other. And Liam had a plan.
He was good at staying alive.