What had happened?

  Vincent stood there, drenched in blood, holding a sharp scalpel. Drops of blood dripped from the blade onto the floor, and the pungent smell of blood wafted out from the lounge, filling the living room.

  Everyone in the living room was frozen in shock. Manuela unconsciously held a cigarette in her mouth, staring blankly ahead, not even noticing the ash falling onto her clothes.

  Laura, sitting next to Old Mike, covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide with horror.

  The reaction was expected. Vincent walked step by step through the living room, and everyone’s eyes followed him. He stopped near Christine and Manuela, crouching down.

  “What did you do?” Manuela quickly took the cigarette from her mouth and tossed it to the ground. She looked at Vincent, who was now right in front of her, her voice trembling slightly. She seemed to have guessed, but she couldn’t quite believe it. After all, killing a person was entirely different from killing a zombie.

  Vincent raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smile as if to say, *You guess.* Then he turned his gaze to Christine beside Manuela.

  “Smoking at such a young age isn’t good for your health. What about your future?” Vincent smiled, plucking the cigarette from Christine’s lips and crushing it under his foot.

  Christine shrank back, hugging herself and looking at Vincent timidly. Her beautiful golden curls were disheveled.

  “Oh my God!” A scream came from behind Vincent. He turned his head to see Old Mike and Laura standing at the door of the lounge. They must have walked over while Vincent was talking to Christine. Old Mike was peering inside, while Laura covered her mouth in shock, pulling Old Mike back and looking at Vincent.

  Vincent shrugged at them, his lips twitching as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he only muttered three words: “He deserved it.”

  Christine’s eyes suddenly brightened. She tried to look past Vincent to see what was inside the lounge, but from her angle, she couldn’t see Andrew’s body. Her gaze returned to Vincent. The man who had seemed like a blood-soaked demon now looked entirely different in her eyes.

  “Jason, come help me,” Vincent said, still crouched on the ground. He stood up and walked back into the lounge, gesturing for Jason to follow.

  Jason hesitated, glancing around at the others. Old Mike gave him a nod, and Jason followed Vincent into the lounge.

  “Oh God, what did you do to him?” Jason took a step back, nearly gagging at the sight of Andrew’s body. Even though he had seen his share of zombies, the gruesome state of Andrew’s corpse was hard to stomach.

  Vincent sighed and pushed open the lounge window. The strong smell of blood wafted outside, and the zombies grew excited, their sharp growls echoing into the room. “He kept struggling…” Vincent explained as he walked back to the bed and grabbed Andrew’s limp arms. “Come on, help me throw him out.”

  Andrew’s body weighed at least a hundred kilograms. It wouldn’t be easy for Vincent to throw him out alone.

  By now, everyone in the living room had gathered at the lounge door. Manuela tried to cover Christine’s eyes, but Christine pulled her hand away. The bloody scene was unsettling for anyone, but strangely, Christine showed no signs of discomfort. Perhaps it was because Andrew had tried to assault her earlier. Her eyes kept darting between Andrew’s body and Vincent.

  Vincent was twenty-seven, practically an “uncle” to a sixteen-year-old girl like Christine. But with his handsome features, he made quite an impression. And in the United Americas, girls matured early. Christine couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of emotions toward him.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  *Thud!*

  Andrew’s body hit the ground like a sack of sand. The lounge window faced the street, and many zombies saw Vincent and Jason at the window. They roared and charged toward the Dream House clothing store. The zombies already gathered outside the store pounced on Andrew’s body, tearing it apart in a frenzy of blood and gore.

  Vincent watched for a moment before closing the window, muffling the zombies’ growls. He picked up the travel bag that Jason had brought earlier and left the lounge with him, closing the door tightly behind them. No one would likely enter that room again.

  “Anyone hungry?” Vincent tossed the travel bag onto the old coffee table between the two sofas. He then walked toward the bathroom, pulling off his blood-soaked T-shirt.

  The bathroom door clicked shut behind him.

  Jason looked down at his blood-stained clothes and shook his head. It would be a while before he could clean up—the bathroom was too small. He wiped his bloody hands on his shirt and reached for the travel bag Vincent had left behind, but stopped when he noticed the others hesitating, exchanging uncertain glances.

  Jason straightened up, feeling awkward.

  Manuela, sensing their hesitation, walked over to the coffee table and opened the travel bag. Inside were various foods—chocolate, canned meat, bread, ham, and other ready-to-eat items. There were also cigarettes, gum, condoms… things Manuela had packed earlier.

  “It’s fine. Vincent… he’s not bad,” Manuela said, catching herself before she could call him “good.” She remembered how he had treated her earlier. She pulled out some food and handed it to the others.

  Manuela knew what they were thinking. Vincent appeared calm, quiet, and composed, but the brutal way he had killed Andrew—who posed no immediate threat—showed a darker side. The bloody scene had shaken them. Vincent wasn’t as “kind” as he seemed. His violent tendencies might not be far from Andrew’s, just better hidden.

  They were afraid Vincent would become another Andrew, especially now that he had the gun.

  Fortunately, Manuela’s presence eased their worries. They sat on the sofas or chairs, eating quietly. Manuela leaned against the wall outside the lounge, holding a chocolate bar and staring at the bloodstains on the floor. The bathroom was just a few steps away.

  After a moment, Manuela seemed to remember something. She stuffed the remaining chocolate into her mouth, chewed quickly, and swallowed. Wiping the dark smudges from her lips, she turned and pushed open the bathroom door.

  The door clicked shut.

  Inside the small bathroom, the dim yellow light cast long shadows.

  “Hey,” Manuela leaned against the door, arms crossed, and tilted her head to look at Vincent.

  “Hey,” Vincent responded, turning slightly from the mirror where he was shaving. He had only glanced at her when she entered. Vincent was shirtless, wearing only black shorts, and his upper body glistened with water.

  “I came to apologize. I’m sorry. I take back what I said about you not being a man. You… you’re very much a man,” Manuela said, her finger tracing the wall absentmindedly.

  “Oh, it’s fine,” Vincent replied without turning, focusing on the mirror as he shaved.

  The bathroom fell silent. Manuela watched him for a while before speaking again. “You know, you don’t have to shave. A little stubble looks good on a man your age. It might even attract girls like Christine.” She gestured toward the door, her tone light and teasing.

  “Habit,” Vincent replied simply. It had been over a day since the outbreak, and a light stubble had grown on his face. He preferred to stay clean-shaven, so when he found a razor in the bathroom, he decided to use it.

  The bathroom grew quiet again. Vincent seemed uninterested in talking.

  “Are you still mad at me?” Manuela suddenly took two steps forward, resting her hands on the sink and tilting her head to catch Vincent’s reflection in the mirror.

  “No,” Vincent denied.

  “Do you want me to make it up to you?” Manuela’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. She took another half-step forward, her hand reaching out to touch Vincent’s face gently. Her chest pressed against his arm as she deliberately ignored his denial.

  Vincent set the razor down and turned to face her, frowning slightly. “Do you always flirt with men like this?”

  The words stung.

  Manuela was a streetwalker, but that was business—a means of survival. Flirting with a man without expecting anything in return? That was something else entirely.

  “Is that how you see me?” Manuela’s hand froze, and her smile faded. She took a step back, her eyes reddening.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean—” Vincent realized he had misspoken and tried to explain.

  Manuela turned to leave, but Vincent quickly grabbed her arm, his voice tinged with regret. “Wait, let me explain. I didn’t mean it like that…”

  Manuela suddenly spun around, pushing Vincent against the wall and kissing him hard. The move was so quick that Vincent had no time to react.