In a supermarket like Walmart, indoor fire hydrants were easy to find.

  On the second floor, Jason quickly dragged over the hose connected to the fire hydrant, while Christine ran to turn on the valve. Jason and Bovin aimed the high-pressure water gun out the window, swiftly extinguishing the dozen or so fires outside. The powerful water stream also knocked back several zombies.

  Vincent and the others soon arrived on the second floor. Robbie collapsed to the ground, leaning against a shelf and shaking his head. Vincent rushed to the window to check that the fires were completely out, then patted Jason on the shoulder. Jason had been running around all day, doing whatever Vincent asked.

  "Good job, Jason," Vincent said.

  Jason, though lean, was strong and had more stamina than anyone else in the group. As a street dancer, he was in excellent shape, but even he was exhausted from the day's work.

  "Thanks, Vincent..." Jason panted, dropping the water gun. He flashed a bright smile, his white teeth contrasting with his dark skin. Then, his expression turned serious. "Vincent, can I ask you something?"

  "What is it?" Vincent asked, catching his breath. He glanced at Robbie, who was sitting on the floor, then back at Jason.

  "Why did we put out the fires? Wouldn’t it have been better to let the zombies burn?" Jason sounded genuinely confused. With thousands of zombies outside, the fires could have spread and taken out a large portion of the horde.

  "We could’ve burned too," Vincent replied, giving Jason a look that said, *Are you serious?* "Walmart’s exterior is mostly glass. If the fires burned long enough, the glass would crack, and the zombies would flood in. We’d either be eaten or burned alive." Vincent paused, realizing that while Jason could be overly energetic and a bit slow on the uptake, he was reliable. Despite his doubts, Jason had followed orders without question.

  "Got it," Jason said, tapping his head. "Don’t look at me like that. I get it now. I just... didn’t think it through earlier." He shrugged, and Laura, watching her nephew, burst into laughter.

  "Auntie..." Jason rolled his eyes at her.

  "Okay, okay, I’ll stop laughing," Laura said, still chuckling as she leaned on Old Mike’s back. Her nephew could be so entertaining at times.

  "Let’s clean up and move away from the windows," Old Mike said, closing one of the windows. He kicked aside the scattered shell casings, picked up a couple of guns and a bag of bullets, and motioned for Laura to follow him deeper into the store.

  Soon, the windows were closed, and everyone had left except for Vincent, who stood by the window, and Robbie, who was still sitting against the shelf.

  After a while, Robbie struggled to his feet and limped over to Vincent.

  "Doc..."

  "You weren’t thinking clearly," Vincent said, turning to face Robbie, his expression calm.

  "Yeah... I... I lost my cool," Robbie stammered, trying to explain but ultimately just saying, "I’m sorry."

  "Apology accepted," Vincent replied, studying Robbie. After a long moment, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before disappearing. Robbie was impulsive, but he had the skills to back it up. More importantly, he knew when to admit his mistakes. Vincent felt a sense of relief—he hadn’t wasted his effort saving him.

  "How are your injuries? Any bites or scratches from the zombies?" Vincent asked, eyeing Robbie’s bloodied and battered state. It was hard to tell how badly he was hurt under all the grime.

  "No bites or scratches. Just a lot of scrapes... some might’ve come into contact with zombie blood. I might turn soon, who knows? Also, I hurt my left leg when I fell. Not sure if it’s broken," Robbie said, pulling off his jacket. His white tank top underneath was soaked in blood. His arms were covered in small cuts, none too serious, but they might have been exposed to zombie blood. Still, it wasn’t a guarantee he’d turn. Survivors had developed some immunity to the virus, allowing them to heal from minor infections. Without major wounds, it was hard to say if Robbie was infected.

  "Is that why you came back?" Vincent suddenly understood. He’d been puzzled as to why Robbie would risk returning through the horde. With his skills, Robbie could’ve easily made it out of the city alone. But now it made sense.

  "Yeah. You’re a doctor. You’ve saved me more than once. I figured you might do it again... hopefully. God hasn’t taken me yet, so maybe this time won’t be any different," Robbie said, clapping Vincent on the shoulder. "I trust you, Doc."

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  "Let’s get those wounds treated."

  Vincent helped Robbie limp to the southwest corner of the third floor, where the medical supplies were stocked. Most of the items were for home use, with few hospital-grade supplies or prescription medications.

  Vincent carefully examined Robbie’s injuries—thirteen cuts and scrapes in total, the worst on his back. As for Robbie’s leg, Vincent could only assess it externally. The joint was swollen, but without proper equipment, he couldn’t determine if there was serious damage.

  "You’ve got a lot of scrapes, so the risk of infection is high. But since you were wearing clothes, only a few wounds might’ve been exposed to zombie blood. And they’re just scratches, so don’t worry too much. The main issue is your leg. You’ll need at least a week to recover," Vincent said as he cleaned Robbie’s wounds with disinfectant. Robbie stood naked against the wall, clearly uncomfortable. Vincent, however, was unfazed. He’d seen more naked men than women in his line of work.

  Half an hour later, on the second floor, Robbie was tied to a chair in a cleared-out area behind some moved shelves. This was a precaution in case Robbie turned. He’d insisted on being tied up, even though Vincent had suggested just having someone watch him.

  Night fell, plunging the once-bustling city of New York into darkness. Inside the Walmart, all the lights were off. Unlike a regular home, the supermarket’s large windows would make it a beacon in the dark, attracting zombies. The only light came from small desk lamps, as Vincent had banned flashlights—their beams could easily shine outside and draw unwanted attention.

  "Hey, man, why aren’t you talking?" Jason circled Robbie on his bike, having pestered him for what felt like hours. Robbie, exasperated, closed his eyes.

  "Hey, what did you do before all this? I heard you’re a great shot..."

  "Man, you’re pretty banged up. Charging through a horde like that? That’s badass!"

  "Hey, man..."

  Jason could be incredibly annoying when he was bored. Robbie stayed silent, feeling like a fly was buzzing around his ear. He regretted asking to be tied up—now he was stuck listening to Jason’s endless chatter.

  "Jason, leave him alone. When I untie him, he’s going to beat you up," Vincent’s voice came through Jason’s walkie-talkie. Jason turned to see Vincent and Mannila approaching.

  "Congratulations, Robbie. Time’s up," Vincent said, checking his watch before untying Robbie. Robbie opened his eyes and smiled.

  "You’re still here?" Mannila teased Jason, her finger on her lips as she smirked. Robbie, playing along, glared at Jason with a menacing look.

  "Uh... I’ll just... go now. You guys talk..." Jason stammered, pedaling away awkwardly.

  Once untied, Robbie stood and stretched. Vincent handed him a crutch. "Jason means no harm. He’s just... energetic," Vincent said with a shrug.

  "I get it."

  By 10 p.m., the group had moved mattresses from the third floor to the second floor, creating a makeshift sleeping area. They avoided the small employee break rooms, opting to stay together in case of danger. They also strung up bells and wind chimes around the area, creating an alarm system to alert them if zombies got too close.

  The night passed without incident.

  The next morning, the sun rose over the desolate city, its light doing little to dispel the gloom of the zombie-infested streets.

  Before everyone went about their day, Vincent called them together.

  "Today, I’d like to officially introduce our new friend—Robbie," Vincent said, gesturing to him.

  *Clap clap!*

  Jason clapped twice, then awkwardly stopped when no one joined in.

  "Introduce yourself. Be thorough. We’ve all done it," Vincent said to Robbie, adding, "They know I’m an underground doctor. You can be honest. No need to hide anything."

  Robbie nodded, scanning the group. He wasn’t used to speaking so openly, but he cleared his throat and began. "I’m Robbie. Twenty-eight years old. Born in rural New Jersey. Never went to college. Joined the military at eighteen. Served in combat, got injured, earned a Silver Star and a Purple Heart. When my unit withdrew in 2015, I came back to the States. I’d killed twenty-three enemies by then. I was twenty-three when I left the military. I applied for discharge because I had PTSD. The pressure was too much, and I’d have violent outbursts. To cope, I moved to New York in 2011 and joined a gang. I’ve been a gang enforcer ever since. That’s how I met Vincent."

  "That’s it," Robbie finished, looking at the group.

  "He’s the best shot I’ve ever seen," Vincent added with a shrug.