Chapter 183: Scouting Atlantic City [6]

"Infected are approaching our position right now because of your loud weapons discharge," I continued. "I’m going to fight. What you and your group do is entirely up to you. You can help, you can run, you can stand there and watch. I genuinely don’t care which option you choose as long as you don’t actively interfere or shoot at us while we’re trying to survive."

The words emerged harsher than I’d perhaps intended. But Clara’s blood was still wet on my face and clothes, the memory of that bullet passing inches from my own skull was still fresh in my Dullahan nervous system, and somewhere out in Atlantic City’s darkness lurked a sniper who’d tried to kill us without warning or provocation.

Rico and the others fell into a stunned silence—not quite speechless, but visibly taken aback by the cold bluntness of my tone. Several exchanged glances that I couldn’t quite interpret: surprise, maybe some offense.

I saw Jake’s mouth open, probably preparing another aggressive retort or call for violence, but the older woman’s hand clamped down on his shoulder again with enough force that he actually winced.

"Ryan..." Rachel called me softly. Her cool, delicate hand found mine, fingers intertwining with a touch that managed to be both comforting and grounding.

Feeling her hand in mine—soft but with strength, cool against my own skin that was probably running hot with adrenaline and suppressed fury—I felt the worst of my aggressive emotional state beginning to ebb.

I guess I had overdone it with the confrontational approach. But Clara had been injured by a coward who’d shot from concealment and then fled rather than facing the consequences of his actions. That fact gnawed at me, creating an anxiety I couldn’t quite articulate or dismiss.

If that shooter appeared again... I mean, yes, I possessed enhanced Dullahan senses that gave me significant advantages in threat detection. Yes, I could freeze time for ten seconds, creating a window where I could react to threats that would overwhelm normal human response capabilities. But I didn’t have literal eyes in the back of my head. I couldn’t maintain 360-degree awareness constantly without exhausting myself mentally. My reaction time, however enhanced, would still be measurably slower than a bullet traveling at supersonic velocity from an unknown firing position.

The sniper represented a threat vector I couldn’t adequately defend against through personal capability alone.

"Listen," Christopher spoke then. "I think we should cooperate for immediate survival purposes, and then after we’re secure and not facing imminent death by infected swarm, we can all speak calmly and work out the details of who we are and what we’re doing here. Does that sound reasonable to everyone?"

Rico looked at Christopher, then at me, then back toward his own group as if seeking silent input or confirmation from his people. Whatever he saw in their faces apparently satisfied him, because he nodded slowly—a single sharp dip of his shaved head that conveyed agreement.

"Alright," Rico said simply. "We cooperate until we reach safety. Then we talk."

"Rico?!" Jake’s voice emerged as an incredulous squeak of protest, his eyes widening. "You can’t be serious about this! These people—"

"Shut up, Jake," Rico’s voice snapped. The rebuke was delivered with enough force that Jake actually flinched physically, his mouth clicking shut with audible impact of teeth meeting teeth.

Rico turned his attention fully to the broader situation. "Then we’ll lead the approach route," he said, gesturing toward the darkened streets ahead. "Our people know the terrain, know which routes are relatively clear versus which are infected hotspots. Just follow our movement closely. We’re heading for a fortified position about four blocks north—reinforced structure, barricaded entrances, medical supplies cached inside."

"Follow where exactly?" Brad’ asked. "How do we know you’re not leading us into an ambush or some kind of trap? For all we know, you’re working with that shooter—"

"Oh, somewhere safe from the infected that are literally approaching our position right now," Rico interrupted with barely-concealed irritation at having to explain obvious necessities. "You’re welcome to stay here and argue about trust issues while several hundred infected tear you apart. I’m sure that philosophical debate will be very stimulating right up until the moment your intestines are being eaten in front of your eyes."

Jake couldn’t restrain himself despite Rico’s earlier rebuke. "Wait, Rico! You absolutely cannot take these unknown people to our secure location! They may not be directly working with Callighan’s forces, but they could still be extremely dangerous! They could be spies, or scouts gathering intelligence, or—"

"Hello? Reality check?" Sydney’s voice cut through Jake’s escalating paranoia. "We are significantly outnumbered by your group—twelve of you versus six capable fighters among us if you don’t count our three useless civilians and one critically wounded person. If we genuinely wanted to kill you all and take your supplies or whatever paranoid scenario you’re constructing, believe me when I say you would already be dead. Like, several minutes ago. We’d have struck during that initial standoff when you were all conveniently clustered with predictable firing lines."

She winked at me conspiratorially, and I found myself suppressing a slight smile despite the circumstances. Sydney wasn’t wrong about our capabilities. If I’d wanted to eliminate Rico’s group, I could have activated Time Freeze during that tense standoff, systematically disarmed or killed them while they were frozen, and established complete control of the situation before time resumed. Obviously I wasn’t some kind of monster to pull such things...

But paranoid survivors didn’t tend to think in terms of "what could have happened but didn’t"—they focused obsessively on potential future threats rather than past restraint.

"Alright, enough fighting among ourselves," Christopher said. "Let’s prioritize survival. Martin, come on—we’ll form a protective formation around you and Clara while you move. Rachel, Sydney, and I will provide close cover, Ryan can take point or rear depending on where threats emerge."

"Yeah," Martin nodded acknowledgment. He supported Clara carefully on one shoulder, taking most of her weight while she struggled to remain conscious and mobile despite blood loss and trauma.

"I...I’m so sorry, everyone," Clara’s voice emerged weak and thready. "I’ve become a burden, slowing you all down when we need to move fast. If you need to leave me behind to save yourselves—"

"Don’t speak, don’t even think thoughts like that," Martin interrupted with fierce intensity. "Everything will be fine. Ivy will have you completely recovered and back to full capability within a week, maybe less. She’s performed minor miracles with worse injuries than this. You just need to stay conscious and keep pressure on that wound until we can get you proper medical attention."

I thought briefly that perhaps we should have brought Ivy with us. She was a trained nurse, and more than that, she possessed a remarkably sharp mind that made her surprisingly effective in combat situations despite lacking Dullahan enhancements. She prioritized survival with almost ruthless pragmatism, made sound decisions under pressure, and could actually kill infected pretty easily.

But I’d deliberately chosen to leave her back at Galloway with Mei. The reasoning had been sound at the time: Mei was exhausted from days of travel and stress, clearly needing rest and someone trustworthy to watch over her. Ivy had naturally gravitated toward that protective role, and I hadn’t wanted to separate them. Maybe sharing the same room at Jackson Township for over two months really brought them closer.

Now, watching Clara struggle with a gunshot wound that might have been treated more effectively with Ivy’s expertise present, I questioned whether that decision had been sound or merely convenient.

I hadn’t even bothered to explicitly inform Ivy and Mei about our detailed plans, now that I thought about it with some guilt. Mei had said she was tired and retreated inside one of the empty houses to rest, and Ivy had followed her almost immediately. They’d probably discovered we’d left for Atlantic City only after Rebecca, Cindy, and Daisy joined them and mentioned our departure.

Would they be upset about being excluded from the operation? It was genuinely hard to predict. Concerning Ivy specifically, I couldn’t easily picture her displaying overt upset or anger—she barely showed any strong expressions under normal circumstances, maintaining an almost unsettling emotional neutrality most of the time. But there was a subtle coldness I’d learned to recognize when she was displeased. A certain quality in her already-cool gaze, a particular precision in her movements, a tendency toward tersely efficient responses rather than her usual slightly-more-elaborate communication style.

As for Mei... I genuinely didn’t know how she’d react. She wasn’t particularly useful in combat situations, similar to Rebecca and Daisy in that regard—better kept safe in protected locations rather than brought along on dangerous operations. But that didn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t feel hurt or excluded by not being consulted about the plan.

"Rachel, stay close beside Martin and Clara along Christopher," I said, pulling my attention back to immediate priorities. "Keep all your senses sharp and barriers ready to manifest instantly. If that sniper makes another appearance, your abilities are our best protection."

Against bullets specifically, Rachel’s manifested barriers were indeed the defensive capability. The shields weren’t invincible—sufficient kinetic force could shatter them, and maintaining them required concentration and drained her stamina—but they represented our best option for protecting vulnerable members of our group from sniper fire.

Rachel nodded understanding. "Be careful yourself, Ryan. Don’t take unnecessary risks."

I nodded acknowledgment and glanced toward where Sydney had positioned herself near Rico at the formation’s leading edge. She caught my look and flashed a quick hand signal indicating she was ready.

Brad, Kyle, and Billy had naturally gravitated to the perfect middle of both our group and Rico’s formation—maximizing the number of capable fighters between themselves and any potential threats from any direction. I wasn’t going to blame them for that survival instinct, honestly. At least they had enough self-awareness to recognize they were liabilities in combat situations and position themselves where they’d cause minimal disruption to people who actually knew what they were doing.

"So your approach is to use firearms without concern about the sound that generates?" I asked Rico as we began moving, falling into step beside the massive man. "That seems incredibly risky in an urban environment with heavy infected concentration. The noise will draw every infected within hearing range—potentially hundreds or thousands depending on acoustic propagation through the city’s structure."

"There’s a secure building not far from here—maybe three, four blocks if we move efficiently," Rico explained. "Reinforced construction, barricaded entry points, elevated firing positions for defensive advantage, medical supplies we’ve cached there specifically for emergency situations like this. If we can reach it before the infected swarm fully materializes and surrounds us, we’ll be secure enough to hold position indefinitely if necessary. We just need to prioritize speed over stealth for the next few minutes."

His reasoning made sense from a certain perspective—if you had a known safe location within short distance, rapid movement using firearms to clear the path could be more efficient than slower, stealthier approaches that might allow infected to converge from multiple directions and cut off your retreat route.

"I don’t know," I said, unable to completely suppress my skepticism and the anxiety that came from recent traumatic experience. "If we get surrounded by massive numbers before reaching that secure location, this could end catastrophically. Firearms create so much noise that we’re essentially advertising our exact position to every infected in this entire district."

The scenario reminded me far too vividly of the nightmare that had been Jackson Township’s final night.

I wasn’t the only person in our group carrying that particular trauma, either. Everyone from the Municipal Office community had experienced Jackson Township’s fall, had watched their home destroyed and their friends killed, had run for their lives through streets packed with infected. That collective psychological wound was still fresh, still influencing our decision-making.

The sound of infected was growing steadily louder now—no longer distant background noise but approaching threat that would manifest visually within minutes at most.

"Then let’s hurry up and pick up the pace," Rico said. He glanced at me specifically, his dark eyes assessing. "Don’t you have a gun? You’re moving with just melee weapons when we’ve got a running firefight developing?"

Did I really want to waste my precious bullets in this situation, though? That was the genuine question running through my mind.

I had my Glock 19—seventeen rounds in the magazine plus one chambered, along with two spare magazines in my jacket providing another thirty-four rounds for a total of fifty-two shots before I’d be completely dry on handgun ammunition. But ammunition was extraordinarily rare in this collapsed world, becoming scarcer with each passing month as existing stockpiles were consumed and no new manufacturing replaced what was used. Every bullet fired was one fewer available for future emergencies that might be even more critical than this one.

Meanwhile, Rico’s people had clearly accumulated substantial firearms and ammunition stockpiles—probably through systematic scavenging of police stations, gun stores, military installations, and private collections over the months since the collapse. They didn’t seem to hold back at all in using their ammunition after all.

So I wasn’t going to waste my limited ammunition just to show off or prove I possessed firearms capability. Rico’s group should be more than sufficient to deal with the relatively straightforward threat of ordinary infected converging on our position. I could save my bullets for genuinely critical situations—like that mysterious sniper reappearing, or Enhanced Infected showing up, or human threats that required ranged response.

"Sydney, fall back with me," I called out. "We’re on rear security and overwatch."

Sydney’s face fell into an exaggerated pout. "Aw, but I wanted to shoot things and feel like a badass action hero," she complained, though the lightness in her tone indicated she wasn’t seriously objecting. She jogged back to join me at the formation’s trailing edge, her knife already drawn and ready.

"Cowards," Jake’s voice emerged as a contemptuous snort from somewhere in Rico’s group ahead of us. I glimpsed several others casting mocking glances back in our direction—sideways looks that combined amusement with dismissal, clearly viewing our decision to hang back as evidence of weakness or fear.

How old these guys were?

I ignored them completely.

"Keep your senses focused and sharp, Sydney," I said quietly, my enhanced Dullahan hearing already straining to pick up any sounds that didn’t match the expected pattern of approaching infected. "Watch for movement in windows, on rooftops, in doorways. Anything that suggests human presence rather than infected."

I would rather focus my attention on detecting other potential threats—specifically that cowardly sniper who’d shot Clara and then fled like the gutless piece of shit he was.

"Do you think that shooter might be associated with this Callighan guy Rico’s group keeps mentioning?" Sydney asked then.

"You’re thinking along the same lines I am," I confirmed with a nod. "Rico’s group is clearly at odds with that Callighan. If Callighan’s people thought we were with Rico’s group based on our approach vector and equipment, that might provide motivation for taking shots at us."

Might provide yeah, because I actually didn’t understand the concept of fighting between survivors...

Weren’t we all in the same boat? Rather we should help each other.

"Still, just shooting at random people like that without any warning or attempt at identification..." Sydney’s voice was quite tinged with anger.

"Yeah," I nodded. "And if I get the chance, I’m going to make sure that shooter understands exactly what happens when you attack my people."

"Infected ahead!" Jake’s voice suddenly erupted at volume loud enough to physically hurt my ears. Since I currently had all my enhanced Dullahan senses raised to maximum sensitivity to detect potential threats, the unexpected auditory assault felt like an ice pick driven into my skull. The sound waves crashed through my enhanced hearing with painful intensity.

"You absolute idiot!" Sydney’s hands flew up to cover her ears, her face contorting with genuine pain. "We’re not blind! We can see them approaching! Stop yelling like a complete moron when some of us have enhanced hearing!"

It seemed she’d also gotten hurt by Jake’s unnecessary volume, her own enhanced senses making her vulnerable to the same auditory assault I’d experienced.

"What did you say to me?" Jake whirled around, his face flushing dark red. "Cowards hiding in the back giving me lessons about tactics? Why don’t you come up here to the front where the real fighting happens and prove you’re not just talk!"

He snorted dismissively and pushed ahead with his rifle raised, clearly intent on demonstrating his supposed superior courage through aggressive positioning.

"Looks like every group has its own share of complete idiots," Sydney observed dryly, glancing pointedly toward where Brad, Billy, and Kyle were huddled in the protective center of our combined formation. "Some more than others, but the distribution seems fairly universal across survivor communities."

"Who exactly are you calling the idiot in our group?" I asked, curious.

"You, obviously," Sydney grinned at me with mischievous delight.

I frowned at the unexpected answer, which only seemed to make Sydney’s grin widen further. She reached out and pinched both my cheeks with her fingers, squeezing and pulling them slightly. "Aren’t you just too cute when you make that serious grumpy face? Like an angry puppy trying to look intimidating."

"Let’s focus on the actual complicated situation please," I said with an exasperated smile I couldn’t quite suppress, gently batting her hands away from my face.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The gunshots rang out with explosive force, the muzzle flashes creating strobing light effects that painted the darkened street in shadows. Rico’s group had engaged the first wave of infected approaching from ahead, their weapons discipline reasonably good as they fired controlled bursts rather than panicking and spraying bullets wildly.

We advanced quickly, maintaining formation coherence while following Rico’s group through Atlantic City’s broken streets. The pace was aggressive but controlled—fast enough to stay ahead of the infected converging from behind, but not so reckless that we’d stumble into unexpected obstacles or ambushes.youtube

There were definitely infected behind us, but they appeared to be the ordinary slow variants—the standard shambling infected that made up the vast majority of the viral population. As long as we maintained even moderate walking speed, they wouldn’t be able to catch us. The real danger would come if we got pinned down or trapped in an enclosed space where their numbers could overwhelm through sheer mass.

As for the infected ahead blocking our advance toward the safe house, they fell one by one under the concentrated gunfire from Rico’s group. The suppressed weapons some of them carried reduced but didn’t eliminate the noise, while the unsuppressed rifles created thunderous reports that echoed off surrounding buildings and certainly carried for blocks in all directions.

"Keep an eye on the ground beneath the fallen infected," I called out to Sydney and anyone else who might be listening. "I don’t think these shooters are landing clean headshots on every kill. Some of those bodies might still be moving—still dangerous if we step within grabbing range. Everything can deteriorate very fast if someone gets pulled down and surrounded."

An infected lying motionless on the ground with a shattered ribcage might still possess enough neural function to grab an ankle as you stepped past, pulling you down into a vulnerable position where other infected could converge.

"Shoot them in their heads, you idiots!" Kyle’s voice suddenly erupted. "Otherwise they won’t properly die! What’s wrong with you people?!"

"Yeah, are you all stupid or something?" Billy added. "Did you never fight infected before? Headshots only! It’s basic zombie apocalypse knowledge!"

I have to commend for these guys’s audacity...

"These guys... are genuinely shameless," I heard Christopher mutter from behind.

"Rico," one of the women in his group called out. "Can I please kill those three? Just those three. Everyone else can live, but I really need to shoot the loud useless ones. It would significantly improve group morale and reduce complications."

Rico’s response emerged as a low growl. "Later... maybe."

Wait.

Had I actually heard ’later’ rather than ’no’?

Must have been a joke...