Chapter 2

The first month after the apocalypse is the most difficult.

I set off with Amelia from an abandoned supermarket in Brooklyn, heading towards Manhattan. She insisted on going to Wall Street to find Adam, and even though I knew it was a sea of zombies, I agreed to go anyway.

Because I couldn't bear to see the despair in her eyes.

"Jack, do you think Adam is still alive?" She gripped my hand tightly, her nails digging into my flesh. We had been hiding in the abandoned underground parking lot for three days, waiting for the zombie horde outside to disperse.

"Yes, he'll survive. He's so smart." I said against my will, but I knew perfectly well that in that kind of chaos, no human being could survive more than a day in downtown Manhattan.

But I can't tell the truth. She's like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment. If she loses hope of finding Adam, she might just break down.

We proceeded along the abandoned subway tunnel, which was relatively safer there, where zombies were less likely to come down. In the darkness, I shone my flashlight along the way, with Emilia close behind me. The tunnel was littered with discarded items—backpacks, cell phones, wallets, jewelry—things that had once been precious but now held no meaning.

Emilia hadn't eaten properly for three days; her face was as pale as paper, yet she stubbornly insisted on continuing her search. Her lips were cracked from dehydration, but she always shook her head in refusal whenever I suggested she rest.

"Let's find a place to rest first." I pulled her to a stop at an abandoned subway station. Thousands of people used to pass through here every day, but now it was eerily silent.

"No! I'm going to keep looking!" She shook off my hand, her blue eyes bloodshot. "You don't understand. Adam and I made a promise to meet at the coffee shop downstairs from his office if anything happens!"

A sharp pain shot through my heart. Even while fleeing for her life, all she could think about was her promise to another man.

"Emilia, listen to me..."

"You don't understand love at all!" she suddenly exploded, her voice echoing in the empty subway station. "You think I should thank you just because you saved me? I've never loved you! Never!"

Her words cut like knives into my heart, but I still patiently said, "I know I don't expect your gratitude. I just hope you can live."

She paused for a moment, a hint of guilt flashing in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by her obsession.

"I'd rather die than not find Adam."

At that moment, I understood what infatuation meant. Not my infatuation with her, but her infatuation with Adam. A blind, reckless, almost pathological obsession.

We spent a full month wandering through the ruins of Manhattan. This once-thriving international metropolis had become a ghost town. Skyscrapers had shattered windows, their interiors pitch black; the streets were littered with abandoned cars and skeletons; shops had been looted, leaving only broken door frames.

I killed countless zombies. I smashed their skulls with a hammer, cut their necks with a knife, and broke their limbs with a baseball bat. My clothes were always stained with blood, my hands were covered in wounds, and I nearly died several times, all to take her to every place Adam might appear.

Times Square, once the crossroads of the world, is now littered with corpses. The doors of Broadway theaters are wide open, emanating a stench. Central Park has become a zombie abode, where thousands of monsters roam.

The skyscrapers of Wall Street had become hell, littered with severed limbs and dried blood. The building housing Adam's company had long been overrun by zombies, and the coffee shop downstairs was littered with corpses.

"No...it's impossible..." Emilia knelt at the entrance of the coffee shop, tears streaming down her face.

I searched the area and found a familiar wallet among the corpses. Adam Kane, that handsome face from the driver's license photo, was now looking at me with a mocking gaze. Inside the wallet was their photograph—him with his arm around Amelia, both of them smiling so happily.

I hesitated for a long time, but in the end I hid the wallet. I told myself that this was for her own good, at least this way she still had hope of survival.

"Maybe he escaped." I helped Emilia up. "Let's look elsewhere."

And so, we searched for another two years. From New York to Boston, from Philadelphia to Washington, we traveled to almost every city on the East Coast. In every place we went, Amelia would inquire at every possible refuge, post missing person notices, and ask for any news about Adam.

Emilia was obsessed, asking everyone she met about Adam, even if it was just a vague resemblance, she had to confirm it. Once, she heard that there was a blond man in Boston who looked a lot like Adam, so we walked for three days to get there, only to find out that he was just a homeless man.

And I was like a loyal dog, following behind her, protecting her, taking care of her, and enduring her indifference and occasional harsh words.

Over these three years, we encountered all sorts of survivor groups. Some were tightly organized military units, some were spontaneous mutual aid groups of civilians, and some were plundering gangs composed of thugs. Some welcomed us to join, some wanted to steal our supplies, and some tried to harm Emilia.

I always managed to escape danger because I was sustained by a belief—as long as she lived, there was still hope. I learned more combat skills, becoming more ruthless and pragmatic. To protect her, I killed many people, not just zombies, but also living people who wanted to harm her.

But Emilia never gave me a second glance. In her eyes, I was just a tool, a bodyguard, someone she could use. She would occasionally be a little kinder to me, but that was only because she needed me to continue helping her search for Adam.

Sometimes late at night, when she thought I was asleep, I would hear her sobbing softly, murmuring Adam's name. Those nights, I felt like I was being torn apart.

In the winter of our third year, we arrived in a small town called Green Mountain in Vermont. There was a small survivor settlement there, about fifty people, led by a veteran named Tom. It was a relatively safe place, with walls, watchtowers, and a well-organized system of management.

"You can spend the winter here," Tom said, looking at us. He was a Black man in his forties with a disability in his left leg, but his eyes were resolute. "But you must follow our rules; everyone must work and contribute to the community."

I readily agreed, but Amelia remained distracted. Every day, she stood on a high point in the town, gazing into the distance, waiting for that figure that would never appear.

"Jack, do you think I can still find him?" she suddenly asked me one night.

We sat by the campfire, and for the first time, she spoke to me not to ask for directions or food. The firelight danced on her thin face, and she looked so fragile and exhausted.

"Yes, it will." I still answered that way, even though we both knew it was just a beautiful lie.

She turned to look at me, the firelight dancing in her eyes.

"Jack, thank you for these past three years."

My heart almost stopped. This was the first time she had ever thanked me.

"If there is an afterlife, I will definitely make it up to you," she whispered.

What I didn't know was that these words would become a cruel irony. Because soon, I will have an afterlife. And her so-called compensation is a sharp dagger and an unrepentant heart.

But that night, I thought she was finally starting to care about me. I thought that after three years of relying on each other, I finally had a place in her heart.

How naive I was.