Chapter 210: Back to Galloway

"Finally home," Clara said softly as she gazed out the car window at the familiar streets of Galloway passing by.

The late afternoon sun cast shadows across the cracked pavement and abandoned storefronts, painting everything in shades of gold and amber.

"Not for long," I replied.

The words came out flat, almost harsh, but they were true. We couldn’t afford to get comfortable anywhere, couldn’t allow ourselves to sink roots when we might need to move at a moment’s notice.

Clara turned her head to look at me, her expression tinged with resignation and weary acceptance. "I just hope this doesn’t become our routine—constantly running from one crisis to another, never staying anywhere long enough to catch our breath."

"Well..." I trailed off, keeping my eyes on the road ahead as I navigated around an abandoned vehicle that had been pushed to the side. "I can’t promise anything on that front."

The honest answer seemed to satisfy her more than false reassurance would have.

I continued driving until we reached the street that ran along the residential block where we and Margaret’s people had established our temporary place.

We immediately caught sight of the same convoy of vehicles the community had used to evacuate from Jackson Township. Some had clearly seen better days, their paint faded and bodies dented from hard use and hasty modifications.

People were everywhere, spread throughout the street in small clusters. Some sat on folding chairs or overturned crates, engaged in quiet conversations. Others worked on various tasks—repairing equipment, sorting through scavenged supplies, tending to cooking fires. The entire street had transformed into an impromptu outdoor living space.

"Despite having actual houses available to them, everyone’s just living outside in the street," Clara said.

"Well, those aren’t really their houses," I pointed out, pulling the car to a stop near the edge of the gathered vehicles. "Not in any meaningful sense."

There was an extremely high probability that the former residents of these homes were dead now—killed in the initial outbreak, transformed into Infected, or fallen victim to any number of other apocalyptic hazards. Moving into those houses, sleeping in beds that had belonged to the deceased, eating from their kitchens, living among their abandoned possessions—it would feel wrong. Awkward at best, deeply creepy at worst. Some psychological boundary that most people weren’t quite ready to cross yet.

"From now on, no place is really going to belong to us in the way homes used to," I said. "You’d better get used to that idea. The concept of ownership, I mean...of having a space that’s truly yours—that’s a luxury from the old world."

Ever since I’d lost my actual home roughly three months ago—god, had it really only been three months? It felt like years—I’d been forced to adjust to this new reality. I doubted I could ever recover that profound sensation of belonging, that deep-rooted feeling of security I’d experienced when living with my mom in our apartment.

But when we’d all been together in that house in Jackson Township—me, the girls, Christopher, all of us crammed into borrowed space—despite the strangeness of the arrangement, despite knowing it wasn’t really ours, it had felt closer to home than anywhere else since the beginning of that nightmare.

I pulled the car to a complete stop in front of what had become the community’s central gathering area and killed the engine.

"Stay there for a second," I said to Clara, already opening my door.

I climbed out, then walked around to the passenger side. Opening Clara’s door, I extended my hand to help her out.

"Thanks," she said gratefully, gripping my hand as she carefully maneuvered herself out of the vehicle.

"Make sure you get yourself checked by Ivy too, just to be safe," I said, keeping my hand on her elbow to steady her as she found her balance. "I know Shawn already looked you over, but a second check never hurts."

Clara laughed. "Do you think Shawn did something wrong? He didn’t exactly look the part of a medical professional, but I think he is competent enough."

I offered a small smile. "It’s nothing against him or his abilities," I explained. "I just... I trust Ivy more."

She was nurse and he was a doctor so it was maybe a bit strange now that I thought about it.

"Because she always has that calm, cool, collected demeanor that just seems incredibly reliable?" Clara asked knowingly, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "That unflappable quality that makes you feel like everything will be okay as long as she’s handling it?"

"That’s exactly it," I confirmed, nodding.

Ivy possessed an almost supernatural composure that I’d witnessed firsthand in the most dire circumstances. I’d seen her remain perfectly calm when facing down groups of Infected, surrounded and seemingly overwhelmed but never panicking, never losing focus. That might be way I trusted she would handle whatever situation arose with maximum competence.

"Oh thank god, they’re finally back!"

Sydney’s voice rang out across the street. I looked up to see her standing near one of the houses, a wide grin spreading across her face as she turned to Rachel, who was approaching with obvious worry etched into her features.

"Told you, Rachel," Sydney continued. "Didn’t I say they’d be perfectly alright? You worry too much!"

Rachel completely ignored Sydney’s self-congratulatory commentary, her focus entirely on us as she broke into a jog. "Ryan! Clara!" She called out, worried "Are you okay?"

"Better now, yes," Clara replied with a tired but genuine smile. "A bit worse for wear, but nothing that won’t heal."

"Just take her straight to Ivy so she can—" I started to say.

"There’s no need for that."

I turned to see Ivy standing there, her ever-present white medical coat somehow still pristine despite the apocalyptic conditions we were living in. She looked exactly as composed as ever.

"Ivy..." I called.

She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes seeming to look directly through my soul.

It seemed to last forever until her attention shifted to Clara, and I felt myself relax slightly.

"Can you walk on your own?" Ivy asked Clara directly.

Clara nodded, and I gently released my supporting hold on her elbow. She took a few experimental steps then followed as Ivy turned and began walking off.

I watched them go for a moment, then turned my attention forward to find Sydney, Rachel, and Cindy all looking at me with expressions that could only be described as stern. Three sets of eyes fixed on me with varying degrees of suspicion and concern, their gazes heavy with unasked questions.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing’s wrong at all, buddy!" Christopher said cheerfully, appearing seemingly from nowhere to throw his arm around my shoulders. "We were just worried about you, that’s all. Standard concern for a friend. But now that you’re back safe and sound, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened during that short time you spent with the Boardwalk people? Every detail you can remember."

"Yeah, tell us everything you saw," Sydney chimed in, falling into step beside us as Christopher began steering me toward the houses. "Their numbers, their weapons, their defenses, their leadership, their supply situation—everything, Ryan. We need a complete intelligence report."

"What am I, a spy now?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Exactly!" Sydney said without missing a beat, apparently taking my sarcastic question as genuine agreement. "Now do your job properly and tell us absolutely everything about their group. Leave nothing out."

"Why?" Cindy asked from behind us. "Are you preparing for war against them, Sydney? Planning a military campaign?"

"We’re already in a war, Cindy," Sydney shot back. "Against the Starakians, remember? This is about gathering intelligence on potential allies or threats."

Cindy rolled her eyes in response.

"Wow, you’re really getting into this whole thing, aren’t you?" Christopher said.

"Of course I am!" Sydney said, clenching her fist. "We need to protect Ryan and Wanda from the Starakians. That’s what superheroes do—they protect people who can’t protect themselves. With great power comes great responsibility."

My lips twitched involuntarily at hearing that particular phrase. I glanced sideways at Christopher, who caught my eye immediately.

"It’s getting worse, yes," he whispered directly into my ear. "Much worse. She’s fully committed to the superhero narrative now."

Despite the absurdity of Sydney’s increasingly theatrical behavior, her words had triggered a different train of thought in my mind. That phrase about responsibility reminded me, oddly enough, of Emily—and the fact that I still needed to tell everyone about encountering her, about her current situation.

"Save you from what?"

We all stopped mid-stride and turned as one to see Wanda standing several yards away.

She stood perfectly still, her posture rigid and defensive, arms crossed tightly across her chest. The afternoon sunlight caught her white hair, making it seem to glow even more bright, while her red eyes fixed on our group or rather me.

"Are you sure you should be out here?" I asked before I could think better of it. "I mean... under direct sunlight like this?"

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. Wanda’s eyes narrowed.

"That was very tactful of you, Ryan," Sydney said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she shook her head at me.

"What?" I glanced at her, genuinely puzzled by her reaction. "I was just concerned about—"

"Well, she might be suffering from albinism or something similar, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to burst into flames in sunlight, you know?" Sydney interrupted. "I mean, yes, her face is extremely pale and she looks physically weak compared to most of us, but she can obviously tolerate sun exposure just fine! You can’t treat her like she’s some kind of fragile porcelain doll or vampire who’ll disintegrate if touched by daylight! That’s incredibly insensitive!"

"Here she was, lecturing Ryan about being tactful," Cindy muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, she just made the situation about a hundred times worse than Ryan’s original comment," Christopher added, wincing sympathetically.

I looked back at Wanda and realized with sinking dread that her expression had indeed grown even more severe during Sydney’s well-intentioned but thoroughly misguided defense.

Without a word, she turned sharply on her heel and began walking away.

"Wait," I called out, my legs carrying me forward before I’d consciously decided to move.

I caught up to her in a few quick strides and reached out, my hand gently grasping her forearm to stop her retreat. She froze at the contact but didn’t turn to face me immediately.

"Wait, please," I said again, more softly this time.

Slowly,, she turned her head to look at me.

"I’m sorry," I said, feeling the genuine need to apologize. "I wasn’t trying to insult you or treat you like you’re helpless. I was just... I was worried. That’s all."

I mean I don’t know much about albinism and she was Half Starakian so I didn’t know exactly how she was.

"You don’t need to be worried about me," she replied, her voice very curt. "In fact, I’d prefer if you’d stop worrying about me altogether. Stop using me as some object for your own sense of righteousness or heroism."

The accusation stung more than I’d expected. Before I could formulate a response, she shook my hand off her arm with a sharp motion and resumed walking away.

I stood there watching her retreat, my hand still extended in the empty air where her arm had been moments before.

What could I say that wouldn’t make things worse?

"Well, you heard her, Ryan," Sydney’s voice came from behind me. "She seems pretty angry with you."

"I probably shouldn’t treat her like I’m her guardian or protector or whatever," I sighed. "Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m overstepping boundaries I don’t even realize exist."

"Well, you did save her life, regardless of how she feels about it now," Cindy pointed out.

"She probably thinks she’s personally responsible for what happened to Jackson Township," Christopher said thoughtfully. "She’s carrying all those deaths on her shoulders, thinking that if she didn’t exist, if the Starakians weren’t hunting her, none of it would have happened."

"Isn’t that sort of correct, though?" Sydney asked. "I mean, technically speaking, they were there because of her."

"No," I shook my head. "She isn’t responsible for anything that happened. And if anyone bears responsibility beyond the Starakians themselves, it’s me just as much as her. I’m the one who got involved, who made choices that drew their attention even more than necessary. The only ones truly responsible are the Starakians—they’re the ones who decided to attack innocent people, to use overwhelming force against civilians. That’s on them, not on Wanda."

I looked in the direction Wanda had gone. An urge to follow her, to somehow make her understand that she wasn’t at fault, pushed me forward a step.

But Sydney’s hand shot out and caught my arm, holding me in place.

"You really do love to meddle in everyone’s personal affairs, don’t you, Ryan?" She asked, exasperated.

"I just want her to understand that none of this is her fault—" I started to explain.

"Oh, believe me, she understands that perfectly well," Sydney interrupted. "She’s not stupid, Ryan. She knows logically that she didn’t cause the attack, that she didn’t pull the trigger or give the orders. That’s not the issue here."

"Then what is?" I asked.

"As always, you’re incredibly naive and frustratingly dense when it comes to emotional intelligence, Ryan," Sydney sighed, shaking her head.

"Come on, Sydney," Cindy intervened, grasping Sydney’s arm and physically dragging her back a step. "That’s enough."

Then Cindy turned to look at me directly, her expression softer and more sympathetic than Sydney’s had been. "I think, Ryan, that Wanda is just feeling emotionally upset right now. And her pushing you away, telling you not to worry about her—that’s her way of showing concern. Her own way, you know? It’s complicated."

"Concern?" I repeated, struggling to understand the logic. "I’m fine. She’s the one in the most danger here. The Starakians are hunting her, not me. I mean she is the main target."

"Yeah, right," Cindy replied, but her tone was uncertain, as if she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the right words to make me understand.

The whole exchange left me feeling a bit frustrated. I looked once more in the direction Wanda had gone, but she’d disappeared from view now.

I sighed heavily.

"Okay, guys," I said finally, turning back to face Sydney, Rachel, Cindy, and Christopher. "I need to talk to all of you about something important. Something that happened while Clara and I were at the Boardwalk."