Inside the store, Liam and Robby were holding back a surge of adrenaline, both of them waiting, poised. The moment they heard the first snarl of an approaching infected—no matter how faint or distant—they'd act. It didn't matter if some of their own got hurt in the process. If that sound echoed through the street, it meant the horde had entered, and they'd have seconds left. Delay now and they'd all drown under the wave.
"Hey," Manila suddenly said, her voice soft, her eyes fixed on Murray. Somewhere along the way, her fear had drained from her face. What remained was flat, blank, and then—slowly—curving into a smile.
Murray had been watching her from the start. He wasn't hiding it. The way she called to him made his lips twitch. "What's up, sweetheart? You need to pee too?"
"Do you like me?" Her voice carried a strange edge of sadness, a flicker of something wounded, but the smile stayed.
Murray scoffed at first. To him, women weren't something to be liked anymore. Not in this world. He didn't need romance to get what he wanted. He had a gun, and a gang. But after a pause, staring at her chest, he answered, "Yeah, babe. I like you."
"Don't believe him," came Narkov's voice from by the door, grin full of yellow teeth. "He just wants to screw you, like all of us do. That's all it is." His pudgy hips even jerked forward in a crude pantomime. Whatever kind of man he'd been before the world fell apart, he was now fully the kind that decay suits best.
"Shut up, old man. Try showing a little class in front of a lady," Murray snapped, not even turning his head. He'd always hated Narkov. If someone else had made the same comment, maybe he would've laughed. But coming from that greasy lump? It only made him want to spit.
Manila glanced at both men, then brought her eyes back to Murray. She shifted, shoulders rolling back, chest rising. Her smile stretched wider, warmer, a glint of seduction sparking in her gaze. "If you like me," she said, voice like honey, "then you'd protect me, right? You've been staring this whole time… Want to touch? I won't scream. Promise." She even cast a coy glance at her cleavage, the way her shirt dipped low.
Murray chuckled, glancing quickly toward the staircase—no sound from Brook upstairs. That meant freedom, even if just for a minute. He moved, slow and grinning, toward her.
"Don't mess around, Murray," Narkov muttered. "If Brook sees—"
"You shut your damn mouth or I'll shoot you where you stand," Murray snapped over his shoulder, waving the barrel of his pistol in Narkov's direction, before returning it to point lazily toward Liam's group.
"Whatever," Narkov muttered, going back to his cigarette, already shrinking in the doorway like a scolded dog.
Murray knelt before Manila, pistol in his right hand, left drifting straight to her breast. He groped without shame, then slid his hand lower, fingertips trailing beneath her shirt, brushing the swell of her breasts. Manila bit her lip and let out a quiet hum, her gaze locked on his.
Robby sat right beside her. He could've acted, could've reached for the gun right then—but he didn't. Not yet. Because Narkov was still watching, and he had a shotgun. That kind of firepower didn't need perfect aim at this range. One blast would hit them all.
But Manila… she had a plan. Robby could tell.
Less than a minute remained before the dead reached them.
"Feel good?" Manila whispered.
"Oh yeah," Murray grinned, completely sucked into the moment.
"I've got something better."
"Yeah? What's th—"
Thud.
"Ah—YOU BITCH—"
It happened fast. So fast no one had time to stop her. Her hand darted out from behind her back, gripping the scalpel she'd hidden, and she plunged it into Murray's arm—right through the meat of his bicep. His scream cracked through the store as blood sprayed, the blade sinking down to bone.
Before he could react, she dropped the knife, grabbed him under the arms. With one explosive kick off the wall behind her, she drove him forward like a human shield, barreling straight at Narkov by the door.
It was chaos. Narkov blinked, stunned, not understanding what was happening, only that something was very wrong. His finger squeezed the trigger.
BOOM.
Murray's back exploded in a mist of red. Manila had ducked low, using him as cover. The shotgun blast tore through him, steel pellets ripping him open like paper.
By the time his body collapsed, Robby had already moved. He scooped up Murray's dropped pistol, rolled to the side to break the line of sight, and fired.
Pop.
Narkov's head snapped back as a bullet bored a hole clean through his forehead. The shotgun slipped from his hands, his knees buckled, and he dropped like a sack of bricks. His body smacked against the metal shutters with a loud clang.
Manila let go of Murray's twitching corpse, her eyes blazing. "You think you can touch me and live?" she hissed, and drove a heel into his chest, then another for good measure.
Robby was already moving again, cool as ever. He stepped over Murray's wreckage, aimed through the shop's broken entrance, and fired a single, clean shot.
Crack.
One of Brook's men, hearing the commotion, had run up. He barely made it to the threshold before a bullet punched through his skull, bursting from the back of his head like a busted pipe. He dropped hard.
Robby turned back to Manila, who now had a hand on the shotgun. He raised an eyebrow.
"Let me," she said, her voice steel.
He nodded. Fair enough.
Liam, meanwhile, was already slicing through rope, freeing the big old man in the corner. He didn't look up as Manila stepped over what was left of Murray.
"Please… don't," Murray wheezed. Blood bubbled at his lips. "I didn't mean…"
Boom.
His skull cracked open like a melon. Pink and red sprayed the wall. She lowered the gun with a crooked smile, her lips twitching into something like satisfaction.
Then, faint but rising fast, the howls of the infected echoed down the street.