Chapter 8: Mercy
The Clark house felt like a bunker when we returned. Madison immediately started checking windows, making sure they were locked. Nick disappeared upstairs without a word. Alicia went to her room and closed the door.
I stood in the living room, knife still in my boot, Matt's blood dried under my fingernails.
Madison came back from checking the kitchen. "Thank you."
"For killing her boyfriend?"
"For making sure he didn't kill her."
She was holding a dish towel, wringing it between her hands. Teacher composure completely gone now, just a mother who'd watched her daughter's world shatter.
"I need to ask you something," she said. "And I need the truth."
"Okay."
"How many people have you done that to? The... the mercy kill."
None. Calvin was different—he was awake, fighting. Matt was the first time I've killed someone asking for it.
"Does it matter?"
"It matters to me. I need to know if you're—" She struggled for the word. "Practiced. If this is something you've done before or if you're just... improvising."
"Medical training includes anatomy. I know where to strike for instant death."
"That's not what I asked."
We stared at each other. She wasn't going to let this go.
"Matt was the first," I admitted. "But he won't be the last."
She absorbed that. "You're very calm about it."
"Someone has to be."
"That's what you told Alicia."
"It's still true."
She set down the towel, smoothing it flat on the counter. "When this started—when Nick first told us about Gloria—I thought he was having a breakdown. Drug-induced psychosis, maybe PTSD from whatever he saw at that church. I wanted to help him, get him treatment, fix it."
"Yeah."
"Then you showed up. And you believed him immediately. No hesitation, no skepticism. Like you'd been waiting for someone to confirm what you already knew."
Careful. She's too smart.
"I'd seen the hospital cases. The pattern was obvious."
"To a medical resident barely out of school?"
"To anyone paying attention."
"Bullshit." She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You knew before the hospital cases. You prepared before anyone else noticed. You have supplies, weapons, plans. You knew this was coming."
"Lucky guess."
"I don't believe in luck."
"Then believe what you want."
"I believe you're hiding something. Something big. And I believe my daughter just watched you kill her boyfriend, so I need to know—are we safe with you? Or are you using us for something?"
[ TIMER: 40:47:33 ]
The numbers ticked in my peripheral vision. Less than forty hours. The pressure was building again, that familiar itch under my skin.
"I'm using you," I said. "For survival. For companionship. For having people to protect so I don't lose my mind when the world falls apart. You're using me for supplies, knowledge, and someone willing to do the ugly work. It's mutually beneficial."
"That's honest, at least."
"You asked for truth."
"What's your endgame? Save my family, then what?"
"Then we survive together. Build something. Find others. Outlast the apocalypse."
"And if we slow you down?"
"You won't."
"But if we do?"
I met her eyes. "Then I'll make that decision when I have to. But right now, you're worth protecting. Your family's strong, smart, adaptable. I'd rather have you with me than alone."
She studied me for a long moment. "Alicia thinks you're dangerous."
"I am."
"But necessary."
"That too."
"She's going to need time. To process Matt, to deal with the grief."
"We might not have time."
"Then make time. Because if you push her right now, you'll break her. And I won't let that happen."
"Understood."
Madison pushed off the counter. "I'm going to check on her. You should clean up. You've got blood on your hands."
"Literally or metaphorically?"
"Both."
She left. I went to the kitchen sink and scrubbed my hands raw, watching red-brown water swirl down the drain. Matt's blood. Evidence of mercy or murder, depending on perspective.
The front door opened. Travis walked in, followed by Liza and Chris. All three looked exhausted, carrying bags and wearing clothes that smelled like smoke.
"The hell happened?" Travis asked, taking in my expression. "We got Madison's text about Matt, but—"
"Matt's dead. Buried in his backyard. Alicia's upstairs dealing with it."
Liza's nurse instincts kicked in. "How did he—"
"Bitten. Wednesday. Infection killed him this morning. I made sure he didn't reanimate."
Chris made a small sound, half disbelief, half horror. Travis put a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Jesus," Travis breathed. "Poor Alicia."
"Yeah."
"How's she taking it?"
"About as well as you'd expect."
Liza set down her bags. "We need to leave. Now. The hospital was overrun this morning. I saw three patients reanimate on the floor. Security tried to contain it, but there were too many. The whole building's compromised."
"Where's your car?"
"Abandoned. Traffic's locked up everywhere. We walked the last four miles."
Travis rubbed his face. "The barber shop where we sheltered—the Salazar family—they're good people. But Daniel's planning something. I could see it in his eyes. He's preparing for war, not evacuation."
"Smart man," I said.
"Not helpful."
"True, though."
Madison came downstairs. "Liza. Thank god." They embraced, two women who'd shared a man and were now sharing a nightmare. "Is everyone alright?"
"Physically, yes. Mentally..." Liza shook her head. "How's Alicia?"
"Broken. But healing. I hope."
Nick emerged from upstairs, carrying a duffel bag. "I packed emergency supplies. Water, first aid, extra ammunition. If we're leaving, we should do it now."
"What about Alicia?" Travis asked.
"Give her ten minutes." Madison's voice was firm. "Then we go, ready or not."
I checked the street through the window. A car was parked wrong at the end of the block, door open, no driver visible. Smoke rising from downtown, thick and black. A dog barking somewhere, frantic and afraid.
"We won't make it to the cabin," I said. "Not today."
"Why not?" Travis demanded.
"Look at the roads. They'll be parking lots by now. We'd be stuck in traffic when night falls, surrounded by infected, no defensible position."
"Then where?"
I thought fast. The marina—too far. The desert—exposed. High ground somewhere closer, somewhere we could fortify...
"The school," Madison said. "Kennedy High. Where I work. It's got fences, multiple exits, supplies in the cafeteria. And it's only two miles away."
"A school?" Liza frowned. "That's not defensible."
"It's more defensible than here. And closer than anywhere else." Madison was already pulling out her keys. "I know every entrance, every lock, every hiding spot. We can hold it for a day or two, then move when the roads clear."
Travis looked at me. "What do you think?"
"Better than staying here. Residential neighborhoods will be the first places the infection spreads—people visiting neighbors, helping sick friends. A school's isolated enough to buy us time."
"Then we go to the school."
Madison went upstairs. I heard her knock on Alicia's door, heard low conversation. Five minutes later, they came down together. Alicia's eyes were red but dry, face set in hard determination.
She looked at me. "We leaving?"
"Yeah."
"Good. I hate this house now."
We loaded the vehicles—Madison's SUV and Travis's truck. Distributed supplies, weapons, people. Madison drove with Alicia and Liza. Travis took Nick and Chris. I drove alone in my car, rear guard again.
[ TIMER: 39:22:18 ]
The convoy pulled out at noon. The neighborhood was eerily quiet. A few faces in windows, watching us leave. One man standing in his driveway with a shotgun, guarding his property. We passed a house with the front door smashed in, no movement inside.
The first walker appeared three blocks from the school.
He—it—had been a businessman once. Suit torn, tie hanging loose, briefcase still clutched in one hand. It shuffled into the road ahead of Madison's SUV, jaw working soundlessly.
Madison braked hard. The walker turned toward the noise, began moving toward us with that terrible jerking gait.
"Don't stop," I said into the phone, already on speaker with both vehicles. "Drive around it."
"I'm not going to hit—"
"Drive around it or through it. But don't stop."
Madison swerved. The walker followed with its eyes, turning to track the SUV. It reached out as they passed, fingers scraping paint.
Then it saw my car.
I accelerated, aiming for center mass. The impact was anticlimactic—a thump, a crack of bone, the walker crumpling under my bumper. I drove over it and kept going.
"Jesus Christ," Travis said through the phone. "Did you just—"
"It's already dead. I just made it stop moving."
"That's not the same thing."
"It is now."
We reached Kennedy High five minutes later. The parking lot was empty except for three abandoned cars. The main building looked intact—windows whole, doors closed. Madison used her master key to let us into the main entrance.
The school smelled like floor wax and old textbooks. Lockers lined the hallways, posters about homecoming and SAT prep still on the walls. A trophy case displayed fifteen years of achievements that no longer mattered.
"Cafeteria," Madison directed. "We'll set up there. It's got multiple exits and no windows at ground level."
We secured the building room by room—checking classrooms, locking doors, barricading ground-floor windows. The cafeteria became our base. Tables pushed together for sleeping, supplies organized in the kitchen, weapons laid out within easy reach.
By mid-afternoon, we were as safe as we could be.
Alicia sat alone at a table in the corner, staring at nothing. I left her space. Madison stayed close but didn't push. Nick and Chris explored the school, teenage boys finding adventure in the apocalypse. Travis and Liza argued quietly about their next move.
I stood at a window overlooking the parking lot, watching the sun sink toward the horizon.
[ TIMER: 35:12:44 ]
Tomorrow night, I'd need to infect someone. The pressure was building, that constant whisper in the back of my mind. Hungry. Need to spread. Find a host.
But who? The group was off-limits—I needed them too much. Random survivors? Maybe, if we encountered any. But the city was collapsing fast. Finding someone who deserved it was getting harder.
One problem at a time. Survive tonight. Deal with tomorrow when it comes.
Alicia appeared beside me, arms wrapped around herself. We stood in silence for a while, watching the sky turn orange and red.
"I keep thinking about him," she said quietly. "Matt. Wondering if there was something else we could have done."
"There wasn't."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Medical training. Pattern recognition. Experience with the infection." All true, all incomplete. "He was dying, Alicia. The virus had already won."
"So you killed him."
"So I stopped him from becoming something that would've killed you."
She turned to face me. "Why do you care? You barely know me. You barely know any of us. Why risk everything to protect my family?"
Because I've watched your story play out on television. Because I know you're strong enough to survive what's coming. Because I need people to stay human for, and you're one of the only ones who might understand.
"Because being alone in this world sounds like hell."
"That's it? Companionship?"
"Is there a better reason?"
She looked at me for a long moment, then back at the window. "I think you're lying. But I also think you mean well. That's going to have to be enough."
"Yeah. It is."
The sun set. The city's power grid flickered and died, plunging everything into darkness. Emergency lights kicked on in the school, battery-powered and dim.
In the distance, fires burned. Gunshots echoed. Screams carried on the wind.
Los Angeles was dying.
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