Vincent instinctively wanted to push Manuela away, but her kiss was wild, desperate. She was already pulling off her clothes, and every time Vincent tried to break the kiss, she shoved him back against the wall, pressing her body against his. Vincent knew that pushing her away now would only hurt her more.

  Manuela was no longer a stranger to Vincent. Her bravery in helping Christine earlier had earned his respect. If Vincent had once seen her as just another streetwalker, useless in this apocalyptic world, that perception had changed.

  So, Vincent didn’t push her away. He hadn’t wanted to cross the line with Manuela, knowing that emotional ties could be a liability in a world where survival was paramount. But in the short span of a day, their relationship had become complicated. Maybe it was fate. Maybe Vincent was destined to have some kind of connection with this woman.

  It’s not my fault, Vincent thought, almost deluding himself. He could have refused her, but he didn’t. His body relaxed, and he grabbed Manuela’s shoulders, returning her kiss. Her lips were soft, still carrying the faint taste of chocolate. Their tongues intertwined, saliva mixing.

  Frequent kissing and saliva exchange can boost immunity, Vincent, ever the medical professional, couldn’t help but think.

  “Mmm… wait,” Manuela suddenly pushed Vincent back, her hands reaching behind her to unhook her bra. She tossed it aside and pressed her bare chest against Vincent, kissing him deeply. One of her hands guided his left hand to her breast, encouraging him to touch her.

  In the cramped bathroom, under the dim yellow light, the two of them tumbled onto the wet floor, their lips locked, the sound of their passion filling the small space. Manuela’s breathing grew heavier.

  “Baby, love me…” Manuela murmured, her eyes glazed with desire. She tugged at Vincent’s pants, quickly kicking off her own.

  “Wait, we don’t have a condom…” Vincent tried to stop her.

  “I’m clean,” Manuela assured him. Vincent wanted to explain that it wasn’t just about diseases—it was about the risk of pregnancy. But Manuela didn’t give him a chance. She positioned herself over him and lowered herself down.

  “Oh…”

  The bathroom filled with muffled moans.

  Much later, Manuela suddenly grabbed Vincent’s arms, pulling him up as she leaned back, her head bumping against the bathroom door. She shifted her body further onto the wet floor.

  “Mmm… you’re so good…” Manuela’s face was flushed, her forehead glistening with sweat, her hair disheveled as her body moved rhythmically.

  Vincent didn’t speak, focusing on the act. Once something like this started, it was hard to stop, and it only grew more intense.

  Twenty minutes later.

  Vincent leaned against the mirror, breathing heavily. The reflection showed only his upper body, Manuela was out of frame. Moments later, Manuela stood up, covering her mouth as she hurried to the sink. She turned on the faucet and began rinsing her mouth. She had taken precautions to avoid pregnancy.

  After spitting out the water, Manuela wiped her mouth and turned to look at Vincent, who was still catching his breath. Their eyes met, and Vincent smiled, a hint of resignation in his expression. Manuela smiled back, genuinely happy.

  In the living room, the atmosphere was awkward. The bathroom’s thin walls did little to muffle the sounds. Manuela had tried to keep quiet, but her muffled moans had still reached the others. Old Mike and Laura seemed unfazed—they’d seen and heard it all before. But Jason and Christine looked uncomfortable.

  Jason lay sprawled on the sofa across from Old Mike, his expression conflicted. He couldn’t figure out what Vincent and Manuela’s relationship was. If they were a couple, why had Vincent been so calm when Manuela went into the lounge with Andrew? And if they weren’t, what was going on now? Had they just hooked up that quickly?

  Christine sat in the corner of the living room, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She stared at the bathroom door, her gaze unwavering. It seemed normal, but it wasn’t. No one would stare at a door like that—except Christine.

  The sounds from the bathroom had barely faded when the door clicked open. Jason sat up abruptly, and Christine quickly stubbed out her cigarette.

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  Vincent stepped out, wearing only shorts. He opened the door just enough to slip through, then closed it behind him. He glanced at the group in the living room before walking over to a pile of clothes. He rummaged through them, picking out a few items—both men’s and women’s—before returning to the bathroom.

  About two minutes later, Vincent and Manuela emerged, fully dressed. Manuela had tied her hair back into a long ponytail that draped over her shoulder. Her past had made her immune to judgmental stares.

  Vincent wore new clothes, except for his leather jacket, which he seemed fond of despite its worn cuffs. He was good at hiding his emotions, and with Manuela acting normal, he showed no signs of discomfort.

  “Alright, let’s talk,” Vincent said, pulling a chair over to the coffee table. He gestured for Christine to join them, and she quickly dragged her chair over.

  Vincent sat down, with Manuela standing behind him, leaning on the back of his chair. To his left sat Jason on the sofa, and to his right were Old Mike and Laura. Christine sat across from him. The group of six was now gathered.

  “What’s this about?” Old Mike asked, breaking the silence.

  “What are your plans?” Vincent scanned the group. “How do you plan to survive in this world?”

  “Take it one day at a time,” Jason said with a shrug. “There’s not much hope left anyway.” Despite his words, his tone was light, almost optimistic.

  “And the rest of you?” Vincent looked at the others.

  Old Mike and Laura exchanged a glance. “What about you?” Old Mike asked, turning the question back to Vincent.

  “I want to leave this place, go somewhere less populated, and survive,” Vincent said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced. “I think we should work together. Leave New York, head to the countryside. What do you think?”

  “I agree,” Old Mike said immediately. There was strength in numbers, and their chances of survival would be better if they stuck together—assuming everyone pulled their weight.

  Old Mike’s response spoke for Laura as well. Vincent turned to Christine, but Laura cut in. “Christine and Jason will come with us. You don’t need to ask.”

  “So, we’re all in agreement?” Vincent straightened up, reaching back to tousle Manuela’s hair. It was a clear signal that she was with him now.

  Everyone nodded. There was no reason to disagree.

  Vincent scanned the group again, his gaze lingering on Old Mike for a moment. Then he leaned forward, resting his hands on the coffee table. “Let’s get straight to the point. We need to know each other’s strengths and experiences. That’s the only way we can work together effectively.”

  Vincent had been thinking about this for a while. The area around the clothing store was swarming with zombies, and trying to fight their way out alone would be suicide. With the group’s help, especially Old Mike’s, their chances of survival were much higher. Vincent had seen Old Mike’s driving skills firsthand—his calmness under pressure was rare. Old Mike’s profession likely involved driving.

  As for the others, Vincent saw them as potential liabilities. But Laura was Old Mike’s wife, and Jason was her nephew. Laura would never leave Christine behind. If Vincent wanted Old Mike’s help, he had to take everyone.

  “Laura, you first,” Vincent said, turning to her. He seemed to have taken control of the situation, partly because he had the gun. Andrew’s fate was a stark reminder of what happened to those who crossed him.

  “I… used to work at a social welfare center. I like cooking…” Laura hesitated, looking at Mike and then at Vincent. She couldn’t think of any particular skills she had. She was just an ordinary woman.

  “Old Mike, what about you?” Vincent quickly shifted the focus to Mike, sensing Laura’s discomfort.

  “It’s fine,” Old Mike said, patting Laura’s shoulder reassuringly. He looked at Vincent and said simply, “I’m a bus driver. I’m good behind the wheel. When I was younger, I wanted to be a professional racer, but then I met her…” He glanced at Laura, who smiled fondly. “She said racing was too dangerous, so I gave it up to marry her.”

  Not an ordinary man, Vincent thought.

  Old Mike suddenly remembered something and added, “Oh, and Laura and I first met at a shooting range in California. She was a pretty good shot back then.”

  Laura seemed to have forgotten about that until Mike mentioned it. She turned to Vincent and said, “That’s right. I was twenty-six, and I loved shooting. But I stopped after we got married.”

  Given Laura’s age, that was at least fifteen years ago. No wonder she hadn’t thought of it.

  Vincent nodded, smiling. “That’s great.”

  Even if someone hadn’t handled a gun in years, the skills would come back quickly. Vincent had thought Laura might be the least useful in the group, but her experience with firearms changed that.

  “Christine, what about you?” Vincent turned to the girl sitting across from him.

  “I’m a high school student…” Christine trailed off, unsure of what else to say. She had no real life experience, and she was too young to have handled guns.

  “Never mind…”

  “I was last year’s prom queen…” Christine tried to defend herself, but her voice grew quieter. Being prom queen didn’t exactly help in a zombie apocalypse.

  Vincent gave her a sympathetic look. “Alright.” He turned to Jason. “And you?”

  “I can dance,” Jason said simply. Vincent was initially disappointed—dancing wasn’t exactly useful against zombies. But then Jason stood up and executed a flawless backflip over the sofa, landing gracefully on the other side.

  Vincent’s interest was piqued. Jason wasn’t just a dancer—he was an acrobat. His agility and control over his body were far beyond that of an average person. In a world like this, those skills could be lifesaving.

  “Okay, that’s impressive. You can stop now,” Vincent said, waving a hand. Jason awkwardly stopped his display and hopped back over the sofa.

  “Good. Now let’s talk about our plan…”

  “What about you?” Old Mike interrupted. “Aren’t you going to tell us about yourself?”

  “Me?” Vincent rubbed his nose, dragging out the word.