CHAPTER 18: A NEW HOPE

  It wasn't grand. It wasn't triumphant. And I certainly wasn't na?ve enough to believe there was light waiting at the end of this tunnel—a tunnel thick with doubt and despair. Yet somewhere within that darkness, belief still lingered—thin, fragile, but stubborn. A faint hope of standing up again. Of pushing back against the crushing exhaustion. Of awakening, if only barely, the instinct to keep living.

  Joy had never truly died. But sorrow and regret were burdens one couldn't simply cast aside.

  After I told Jane about the scar on my right arm—the twisted blue veins branching from it like grotesque roots—she kept her distance. It wasn’t just fear; it was a test. She made me sleep as far from her as possible in the cellar, clutching a thick wooden plank so heavy it would have taken real effort to swing. It took her the entire night to convince herself the wound was harmless—that I wouldn't turn into one of the undead like the unlucky souls she had seen before.

  The next morning, when the sun was nearly at its zenith, she finally woke. If not for that ridiculous plank still resting beside her, I might have said aloud what I was thinking: she looked... almost cute.

  "We don’t have all day to sit around enjoying canned food," I said.

  Jane rubbed her tired eyes, squinting at the light pouring through the ventilation shaft. "That’s because I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night."

  "You chose that. I didn’t ask you to stay up and pull sentry duty on me," I replied dryly.

  "And how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t turn?" she shot back.

  "Hmph. I’ll let you know if I do. For now, I need you to help me fix the cellar door."

  "You really think something can break through it?" she asked, half-skeptical, half-mocking.

  "It already did," I answered. "Something ripped it open the night before last. There are things in this forest I don’t understand—things far worse than the undead. Last night we survived because it didn’t know I was back. Today might be different. It could come hunting."

  "You’re starting to scare me…"

  "I’m not joking, kid. Go check the shed for any nails or screws. Reinforce the hatch with the planks I prepared while you were sleeping."

  "And what are you doing?"

  "Investigating."

  "You’re leaving me alone?"

  "If you want, Ogris can stay," I chuckled.

  She immediately rejected that. She still treated Ogris with a mixture of caution and quiet fear. And Ogris wasn’t exactly friendly toward her either; he stuck close to my heels, wandering off only to paw at cans and give me that exaggerated, pleading stretch until I opened them for him. He was eating more by the day. Growing. That was natural for a lion in his prime.

  A few minutes later, I stepped outside with a long hunting rifle slung over my shoulder. If I intended to stay here long term, I needed to scout the area. More importantly, I wanted a trace—any trace—of whatever had ripped open that cellar hatch. It wouldn’t be pleasant if it returned at night.

  "Let’s hope the monster doesn't feel bold in daylight," I muttered to Ogris. "Otherwise, we’re finished."

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  Without a machete, moving through the forest was a struggle. Branches tangled together, and thorned bushes clawed at anything trying to push through. The clearer paths were worse—those were claimed by wandering herds of undead. Some leaned against tree trunks, staring blankly up into the canopy, groaning through torn mouths.

  I often wondered where they got the energy to hunt every night. How could something so decayed remain viciously alive? There were too many things about this world I still didn’t understand.

  It took nearly four hours to scout the area around Richard’s house. I found several "nests" of undead gathered in rock crevices and deep shadows. Most never noticed us. Except one.

  He stood near the river, about two miles from the house. I was ready to head back when the light began to fade. I knelt to drink from the river when I heard a sharp clatter—followed by Ogris’s urgent growl.

  I turned instantly, unslinging the rifle.

  BANG.

  The shot roared. The zombie buckled.

  But it wasn’t dead. In my haste, I had only hit its thigh. Flesh tore open, blood pouring freely. The creature wore a pilot’s uniform; its face was purple and cracked, with one eye nearly hanging loose. It screeched in a strange accent, something between southern and central Iberian tones, then charged at me with a limping stride.

  BANG!

  The rifle thundered. The body fell for good.

  Now I could call it a corpse without hesitation. I hated looking at the blood-spattered remains, but instinct told me to search. Even rot can hide opportunity.

  Six pockets. Nothing useful—except a ring of keys. I didn’t know what they opened yet. But if the plane was still across the river… they might matter.

  That night, beneath the reinforced hatch, I told Jane everything. When I mentioned the pilot, her eyes shimmered with tears she couldn't hold back.

  "That was Ricky," she whispered. "He was... a good man."

  "I’m sorry," I said, the atmosphere suddenly turning heavy.

  "It’s not your fault. Anyone would’ve done the same." She paused. "I’m going to sleep."

  She pulled the blanket over her head and turned toward the wall. She didn’t guard me that night. I knew she was crying, but I didn’t know how to comfort anyone. Comfort wasn’t something I understood anymore—not since I lost my past. But I could understand loss. Sometimes the best kindness was silence.

  The undead began their nightly groaning outside. The sound seeped through the vents, thickening the gloom. I blew out the candle and lay down on the hay, pulling a rough cloth over myself—only to lift it again so Ogris could crawl in and curl beside me.

  "Go ahead," I muttered. "Break it down if you can."

  Something warm and fragrant drifted toward me the next morning, stirring me awake.

  "Still sleeping, Nick?" Jane’s voice echoed. "Wake up, breakfast is ready."

  I forced myself upright, stretching with a sigh of relief. I stared up at the brown cellar ceiling before looking toward the light. Jane stood there with her hands on her hips, watching me.

  "If you don’t eat, I’ll let Ogris have it," she warned. "He seems more interested than you are."

  I smiled and sat up fully. "You cooked?"

  "Who else? The lion?" she replied sharply.

  "I'll eat," I said. "I'm not refusing something that smells that good."

  It wasn't just the smell; Jane was a hell of a cook. She had transformed canned salmon and wild greens from the riverbank into a vibrant, delicious meal.

  "Any plans?" she asked later as we sat on the porch swing facing the river.

  "I’m thinking," I sighed.

  "About?"

  "Staying."

  Her eyes widened. "Here? After what broke the hatch?"

  "I checked. No sign of it within miles. The only disturbance I found was a trail of broken trees heading southwest."

  "I don’t follow."

  "It means whatever that thing was, it moved upstream. Maybe tracking Richard and Michael."

  "Or maybe… the gold?" she added with a dry laugh.

  I laughed too. The idea was absurd, yet strangely comforting.

  "Jane, the plane you used—is it badly damaged?"

  "You want to use it?"

  "I heard of a place called the Palusian Continent. They say the cold keeps the undead away. If the plane is airworthy, we could reach it."

  "The plane is mostly intact," Jane said, "but the fuel’s almost gone. And even if we find fuel… can you fly it? Don’t look at me. I can’t."

  "I can handle that. I know a guy in Harvint who can. A pilot. I don’t remember his name… or his face. But I remember the way to his place."

  A sharp headache spiked through my brain.

  "Stop," Jane said gently. "Don’t push it."

  "If we can gather enough people from the city, we could move the plane to this clearing. More people means better chances."

  "Why would anyone follow us? In this chaos, people only look out for themselves."

  "Then we make them believe. We turn this place into a fortress first. Build a community. And if Palusia is real—we move everyone there."

  Jane gave me a strange look. Maybe it was a wild, poetic dream. But I believed in it. I stood up, breathing deeply as I surveyed the land.

  "It’s going to be a long road," I said.

  And for the first time in a long while, that didn’t frighten me.