Laura stood nearby for a while, watching, then quietly turned and left. It wasn't the blood that got to her—it was Christine. The girl reminded her too much of Jason, and it hurt to see her like this. Liam was a man, yes, but Laura knew the kind of man he was now. He wouldn't cross the line. Christine was safe with him. She didn't need to watch over them.
Only Manila remained, lingering at the side. She didn't have to. Liam didn't need help with something this minor—it wasn't even surgery, really. But Manila stayed to make it less embarrassing for Christine, so she wouldn't feel so alone.
Time passed. Liam reached out and pinched Christine's firm, youthful backside gently. "Can you feel this?"
He needed to check if the anesthesia had kicked in. Some people had slow reactions. Some didn't react at all.
Christine wasn't crying anymore. The pain was gone, replaced with something more complicated. Her face was flushed. Her heart beat a little too fast. She liked Liam. And now she was lying there, half-naked, completely exposed to him. He'd seen everything. Touched her.
Lying on her stomach, arms folded under her head, she gave a small nod and whispered, "No. Can't feel it."
"Good," Liam said, pulling out a small roll of cloth from inside his jacket and spreading it out over her legs. Surgical tools lined the fabric, arranged with practiced precision. He picked out a curved needle, sterilized it in antiseptic, threaded it, and began stitching her up.
The wound was deep, maybe three centimeters long. Four or five stitches. Quick work for him. When it was done, he bandaged it neatly.
"All set. It'll need about a week, maybe a little more. Don't move too much. Easy, now…" he said as he and Manila slowly helped her sit up. Then, with practiced calm, they removed her jeans completely.
Liam was different now—no longer in doctor mode, he shifted his gaze away, avoiding her body as best he could.
Manila cleaned the blood off her skin, careful and gentle, then pulled a clean pair of underwear and jeans from Christine's pack. The bag only had one change of clothes. With the numbness from the injection still in effect, Christine couldn't do it on her own, especially with the wound where it was.
"All done," Manila said with a soft smile as she buckled Christine's jeans and gave her a light pat on the head. Then she glanced up and caught Liam staring awkwardly at a crack in the wall like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
"Hey Liam, what are you looking at?" she teased. "You just got an eyeful, now you pretend you're all proper?"
She was trying to break the tension for Christine, to make it less mortifying. But even so, Christine's face burned brighter.
"Cut it out," Liam turned to her with a sheepish grin, shooting her a look, then said to Christine, "I'll carry you back."
He bent down and lifted her onto his back. Manila picked up the two backpacks, and together they stepped out from behind the tanks.
…
Night fell. The stars above were scattered, faint. They huddled in the northwest corner of the rooftop, phones casting dim light as they ate. Christine lay on her stomach, a couple shirts cushioning her from the hard concrete. It was summer. The nights weren't cold, not really, but they weren't comfortable either.
She could walk now, carefully. The numbness was wearing off. Her injury hadn't hit the muscle, just skin and fat. And she had plenty of that in the right places—full hips, a tight, curvy frame that had already started hinting at the kind of beauty Manila wore so easily. Christine's face was still soft with youth, but her body didn't lie.
And now she had to lie still, listen to the wind, and wait.
The undead had quieted down with the sunset, but looking over the edge of the rooftop, you could still see them. Thousands of them. Packed tight in the streets. More than the eye could count.
Liam kept hoping someone would come by, someone to draw the horde away. But who? When? There was no answer. Just that creeping weight in his chest.
That night, Liam didn't sleep. He sat with his back to the concrete wall, staring out at the glittering skyline in the distance, lights flickering atop the towers like false stars. Manila had dozed off beside him, her head on his shoulder. Everyone else had fallen asleep too, one by one. But Liam stayed awake long into the night.
He wasn't the same man who'd started all this. Back then, he was selfish. He would've left anyone behind to save himself. But not now.
Now there were people. Real people. Friends, maybe even something more. People who had trusted him enough to follow. And with that came a burden he hadn't expected.
No one called him "leader," except maybe Jason, but they followed him anyway. Ten days. That was all it had been since the world went to hell. But those ten days had packed in more life-and-death than most people faced in a lifetime. And in all of that—through every decision, every fight, every choice—it had been Liam leading them.
Leaving the Walmart had been his call. Going into Manhattan. Surrendering to Brook. Every fork in the road, every risk—they'd taken it because Liam had believed there was no other way.
Maybe he'd been wrong. If they'd stayed, they'd be sleeping in clean beds right now, not swatting mosquitoes and praying the rooftop door didn't give out. He could've spent the night with Manila wrapped in his arms, maybe had a beer, watched a movie, played cards. Safe. Simple. For a while, at least.
"Was I wrong?"
He didn't know.
He didn't think he was. Not really. He had plans. He'd prepared. He wasn't acting on impulse, but out of fear—real, cold fear that nowhere in this city was safe. That the infected would break down every door, that disease would spread, that death was coming whether they waited for it or not.
There was no government anymore. No military. The president was dead. Who would come to rescue a few survivors hiding on a rooftop?
No one.
They had to save themselves.
To Liam, safety meant one thing—distance. Fewer people, fewer chances of exposure. A small town, the countryside. Not perfect, but better odds. That belief had driven him to lead everyone out of the supermarket and into this mess. And now they were paying the price.
He was responsible.
And that responsibility felt like it was crushing him.
He didn't know how to get them out of this.
Not yet.
Maybe, he thought, this weight would follow him to the end. Maybe he'd carry it with him right into the horde, one step behind the people he couldn't protect.
At four in the morning, with his mind still tangled in guilt and fear, Liam finally drifted into sleep