Chapter 12: The Rescue - Part 2
Tuesday Morning - Day Five
Griselda woke at dawn, fever-bright and confused. She spoke in rapid Spanish, reaching for Daniel, asking for water. He gave her sips carefully while Ofelia cried with relief.
"She's going to make it," Liza confirmed after checking vitals. "Infection's stable, wound looks clean. Martinez did good work."
The mood in the house lifted slightly. Still grim, still desperate, but tinged with hope. We'd faced impossible odds and won. Maybe we could keep winning.
I didn't share their optimism.
Standing at the window, watching the street, I could see the pattern forming. More walkers every hour. Small groups becoming larger ones. The herd mentality—they congregated, drawn by sound and movement. Give it another few days and the neighborhood would be impassable.
"We need to leave," I said during breakfast. "Today, if possible. Tomorrow at the latest."
"Griselda can't travel yet," Daniel protested.
"Griselda will die if we stay here. So will the rest of us." I gestured at the window. "Look at the street. Count the walkers. Every hour there are more. We're in the middle of a population center watching the population turn. Simple math."
Travis looked. Counted. His face went pale. "Jesus. There must be thirty out there."
"And growing. We need to move before we're completely surrounded."
"Where?" Madison asked. "The cabin's still too far with Griselda injured."
"Then we find somewhere closer. Somewhere defendable, isolated. Rural if possible."
Nick pulled out the map we'd been studying. "What about here?" He pointed to a spot twenty miles northeast. "Small town, maybe two thousand people. Has a community center, farmland nearby. Could be our staging area before pushing to the cabin."
"What's it called?"
"Pacoima. Former agricultural town, mostly residential now."
I studied the map. Twenty miles through infected streets. Doable in a convoy if we were careful. And if the town was as small as Nick said, it might not be completely overrun yet.
"We scout it first," I decided. "Today. Four people—me, Travis, Nick, and—"
"Me," Alicia said. "I'm going."
Madison started to object. Alicia cut her off. "Mom, I'm eighteen. I can shoot. And you need to stay here with Griselda and Liza. I'm going."
"I don't like this."
"You don't have to like it."
Mother and daughter stared at each other. Madison broke first. "You stay with Jax. Don't take stupid risks."
"I'll keep her alive," I promised.
"You better."
We loaded up at ten AM—Travis's truck, better fuel economy than the SUV. Four people, weapons, limited supplies. The plan was simple: drive to Pacoima, assess the situation, return by nightfall. If it looked viable, we'd move the whole group tomorrow.
The drive out of the neighborhood was tense. Walkers had thickened overnight—we had to push through several of them, the truck bumping over bodies. Travis gripped the wheel, jaw clenched, trying not to think about what he was doing.
Once on the main roads, traffic thinned. Most cars had been abandoned days ago, drivers either fled or turned. We made decent time, only stopping once when a jackknifed semi blocked the entire highway.
Nick hotwired a motorcycle to get around it—apparently a skill he'd picked up during his addict days. He rode ahead, scouted the alternate route, waved us through. The kid was useful when he wasn't high.
Pacoima appeared around noon. Nick had been optimistic about the population—looked more like five thousand from the housing density. But the streets were quiet. Too quiet.
"Where is everyone?" Alicia asked.
"Dead or fled." I scanned the storefronts. "Or hiding."
We drove through the main street slowly. A few walkers shuffled between buildings, but nothing like the hordes in LA. The community center Nick had mentioned sat at the center of town—two-story building, parking lot, chain-link fence around a basketball court.
"There," Travis said. "That could work."
We parked and approached on foot. The community center's doors were locked. Windows intact. No signs of violence.
I picked the lock—another skill from Jax's memories that came naturally. Inside, the building was dark, dusty, but intact. Cafeteria, gymnasium, classrooms. Space for at least twenty people comfortably.
"This is perfect," Nick said.
"Check the perimeter first. Make sure we're alone."
We split up—Travis and Nick took upstairs, Alicia and I cleared downstairs. The building was empty except for supplies: canned food in the cafeteria kitchen, medical supplies in a first-aid station, blankets and cots in storage.
"Someone was preparing to use this as a shelter," Alicia observed. "Then they either left or died."
"Their loss, our gain."
We regrouped outside. Travis confirmed the upstairs was clear. Nick had found a generator in the utility room—old but functional if we could find fuel.
"So we're really doing this?" Travis asked. "Relocating everyone here?"
"Better than staying in that neighborhood waiting to die." I checked my watch. "Let's head back. We'll move tomorrow morning, convoy style."
The drive back was uneventful until we were five miles from home. Then we saw the smoke.
Thick, black, rising from the direction of the Clark house. Travis floored the accelerator.
We pulled into the neighborhood and found chaos. The house was still standing, but the Dawsons' place across the street was burning. Walkers had gathered—drawn by the flames, maybe, or by something else.
Madison met us at the door, rifle in hand. "Thank God. We've been under siege for three hours."
"What happened?"
"The bodies you buried started drawing walkers. Then someone—I don't know who—set fire to the Dawsons' house. The smoke drew more. We've been fighting them off in waves."
I could see it in the street—a dozen dead walkers, freshly killed. Shell casings on the porch. Blood on Madison's hands.
"Is everyone okay?"
"Chris took a bite," Liza said, emerging from inside. She looked exhausted. "Just a small one, on his arm. I cleaned it immediately, gave him antibiotics. He should be fine."
Should be. Not will be. Because nobody knows the rules yet. Nobody knows that everyone's infected already.
"We need to move," I said. "Now. Not tomorrow—now."
"Griselda—"
"Will die if we stay. So will all of us." I looked at Daniel. "Can she travel?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "If we're careful."
"Then we're leaving in one hour. Pack essentials only. Leave everything else."
The next sixty minutes were organized chaos. Loading vehicles, distributing supplies, making impossible choices about what to take and what to leave behind. Photos, books, keepsakes—all abandoned for space to carry food and weapons.
Chris sat pale and shaking while Liza monitored him obsessively. The bite was small, barely broke skin. But it was enough. If the rules from the show held true, he'd turn when he died. But nobody knew that yet. Nobody except me.
Should I tell them? Should I explain that everyone's infected, that the bite doesn't matter, that death is the trigger?
No. Not yet. Too much information too fast would break them. Let them think the bite is the danger. Let them think avoiding bites means safety. They'd learn the truth eventually.
We pulled out at three PM. Three vehicles—Travis's truck with Griselda, Daniel, and Ofelia; Madison's SUV with Madison, Liza, and Chris; my car with me, Nick, and Alicia. Ten people, three vehicles, heading for an uncertain future in a town that might already be overrun.
The convoy drove in tight formation. Travis led, I took rear guard. Madison stayed in the middle, protecting the injured.
We passed scenes of devastation. Entire neighborhoods burning. Bodies in the streets—hundreds of them. A crashed National Guard convoy, soldiers reanimated and wandering. A school with all the windows broken and small corpses visible in the classrooms.
"Don't look," I told Alicia when she started crying. "Eyes forward. Focus on what you can control."
"How do you do that? How do you just... not feel it?"
"I feel it. I just don't let it paralyze me."
She wiped her eyes. "I hate that you're right."
Nick navigated from the passenger seat, calling out directions. The route to Pacoima was longer than expected—roadblocks forced multiple detours. What should have been forty minutes took two hours.
The sun was setting when we finally reached the community center. We unloaded quickly, securing the building before full dark. Daniel carried Griselda inside and laid her on a cot. Liza checked Chris's bite—unchanged, not spreading. Good sign, maybe.
We barricaded the entrances, posted watch schedules, divided the space into sleeping areas. Ten people in a building designed for hundreds. It felt too big, too empty.
But it was safe. For now.
That night, I took first watch. Standing at a second-floor window, I could see Pacoima spreading out below—a small town that would become our new home or our tomb depending on how things went.
[ TIMER: 66:48:23 ]
Sixty-six hours. Still plenty of time. But the pressure was building again, that familiar itch.
Daniel joined me at the window. He didn't speak for several minutes, just stood there watching the street.
"You knew," he said finally. "Before anyone else. You knew this was coming."
"I had suspicions."
"More than suspicions. You prepared. You planned. You knew exactly what to do and when to do it."
"Medical training. Pattern recognition."
"That's what you keep saying. But I don't believe it." He turned to face me. "In El Salvador, during the war, I did things. Necessary things. Things that required me to become someone else."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I recognize the look in your eyes. You're not a doctor playing soldier. You're something else. Something harder."
Careful. He's too observant.
"Does it matter what I am? I've kept your wife alive. Kept all of us alive."
"It matters if you're dangerous."
"Everyone's dangerous now. That's the whole point."
"Some more than others." He held my gaze. "I'm watching you, Jax Mercer. Whatever you're hiding, whatever you really are—I'll find out eventually."
"Good luck with that."
He left. I stayed at the window, watching darkness swallow the town.
Daniel was right to be suspicious. I was hiding something massive—Patient Zero, the System, my knowledge of what was coming. Secrets that could get me killed if revealed.
But he was wrong about one thing. I wasn't dangerous to them. I was dangerous for them. There was a difference.
Below, a walker shambled through the parking lot. Alone, slow, no threat. I watched it until it disappeared around a corner.
Alicia appeared beside me, silent as always. "Can't sleep?"
"Someone has to keep watch."
"Daniel doesn't trust you."
"Smart man."
"Should I trust you?"
I looked at her—eighteen years old, grieving her boyfriend, trying to survive the end of the world. She deserved honesty. But honesty would destroy everything.
"I don't know," I said. "But I'm the best chance you've got."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's not supposed to be."
She smiled despite everything. "You're a terrible person."
"Yeah. Probably."
We stood together in silence, watching the dead world below. Two survivors, bound by necessity, divided by secrets.
The apocalypse had just begun.
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