Chapter 62 - 61: The Final Hour
The farther they ventured into the city, the louder it became.
Smoke drifted between rows of high rise buildings, softening the pale morning light into a dull gray haze. The roads were choked with abandoned vehicles, some left with doors hanging open, others still sitting in the middle of intersections where their drivers had simply fled. Shattered glass crunched beneath every step, mixing with broken concrete, scattered luggage and belongings people had discarded in desperate attempts to run faster.
The countdown continued to tick away in the corner of Alexander’s vision.
[Time Remaining: 5:01:36]
He ignored it.
Five hours was both a long time and no time at all.
Beside him, Cassandra walked in silence, her breathing steadier than before but still carrying the fatigue from everything they had endured since yesterday. She kept close without needing to be told, instinctively matching Alexander’s pace as they crossed another deserted intersection.
It wasn’t truly deserted. People were everywhere. Not together, they were scattered.
Some hurried down the streets with backpacks stuffed so full they looked ready to burst. Others pushed shopping carts piled high with bottled water, canned food, blankets, and anything else they had managed to seize before someone else did. Parents pulled frightened children along by the hand, constantly glancing over their shoulders as though expecting death to appear at any moment.
Fear hung over the city like a second sky.
A sharp crack echoed through the streets.
Gunfire.
Neither of them flinched this time. Moments later, another shot rang out from somewhere farther away, followed by shouting that quickly dissolved into terrified screams.
No one ran toward the sound.
If anything, the nearby survivors moved faster in the opposite direction.
Ahead, a small pharmacy had become the center of another struggle. ts glass doors had been smashed inward, leaving jagged shards scattered across the entrance. Shelves inside had been overturned, medicine bottles rolling across the floor as nearly a dozen people shoved and argued over what remained.
"I saw it first!"
"My daughter needs those!"
"You already took enough!"
The desperate voices overlapped until none of them could be understood.
An elderly man lost his footing during the struggle and crashed onto the pavement outside. The bag he had been carrying split open on impact, spilling packets of medicine across the ground.
Several people rushed forward. Not to help him but to grab the medicine.
Within seconds, every packet had disappeared into someone else’s bag.
The old man remained where he had fallen, staring blankly at his empty hands.
Cassandra slowed . Her expression tightened as she watched him struggle to sit up alone. "...Should we help him?"
Alexander’s eyes swept across the surrounding streets instead of the man.
Three infected wandered less than fifty meters away, weaving aimlessly between abandoned cars. They hadn’t noticed the crowd yet, but the shouting would draw them sooner or later.
"No." His answer was quiet. Then he spoke again, certain. "We’ll be trapped."
Cassandra looked back at the old man one last time before forcing herself to continue.
She hated that he was right.
The city was changing faster than anyone could have imagined.
Less than a day ago, these people had been neighbors, coworkers, strangers passing one another without a second thought.
Now every bottle of water, every packet of medicine, every loaf of bread had become something worth fighting over.
The infected were still hunting the living.
But fear was beginning to do something far worse.
It was teaching the living to see one another as obstacles instead of people.
Alexander continued walking, his gaze moving calmly from one street to the next.
The infected were predictable. Loud noises attracted them. Blood excited them.
Given enough distance, they could usually be avoided. People were different. People lied. People panicked. People made desperate choices.
As supplies dwindled and hope became harder to hold onto, desperation would spread faster than any infection ever could.
Without saying a word, Alexander adjusted the strap of his backpack and continued toward the heart of the city.
For the first time since the apocalypse began, he found himself watching the living as carefully as he watched the undead.
*~*
They left the commercial district behind, following a road lined with apartment buildings whose windows stood open like empty eyes.
The farther they walked, the fewer infected they encountered.
That should have been reassuring. Instead, Alexander’s vigilance only deepened.
The streets had become unnaturally quiet. No distant screams. No frantic footsteps.
Even the scattered survivors they had passed minutes earlier had vanished.
Something was wrong.
Alexander slowed.
Cassandra noticed immediately. "What is it?"
He didn’t answer, His gaze swept across the road ahead.
Abandoned vehicles formed a crooked barrier across the street. A delivery van sat sideways between two sedans, leaving only a narrow path wide enough for a single person to pass. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than another traffic jam left behind by the panic.
Then a man stepped out from behind the van.
Another emerged from between two cars. A third climbed down from the bed of a pickup truck, then two more.
Five in total. All of them carried weapons. Not firearms. Improvised ones.
A length of rusted pipe. A fire axe stained with dried blood. Kitchen knives. A wooden baseball bat wrapped with electrical tape.
Ordinary people.
Ordinary people who had decided to become something else.
The tallest among them rested the bat across his shoulder and smiled without warmth. "Looks like we got lucky."
His eyes lingered on Alexander’s backpack before shifting to Cassandra.
"Leave the bag."
Another man pointed his knife toward Alexander’s waist.
"And the weapon."
A woman among them tightened her grip on a crowbar. "Don’t make this harder than it has to be."
Cassandra instinctively took half a step backward.
Alexander remained where he was.
His expression didn’t change.
Around them, the morning remained eerily still.
The infected hadn’t found this street yet.
These people had chosen it carefully.
A choke point.
Somewhere frightened survivors would have no choice but to pass.
The man with the bat took another step forward. "Didn’t you hear us?"
Alexander finally spoke. "You should leave."
The words were calm, Matter-of-fact, almost... indifferent.
For a heartbeat, the group simply stared at him. Then someone laughed another joined in.
The tall man shook his head. "I don’t think you understand how this works."
He lowered the bat from his shoulder. "We’re the ones giving orders."
Alexander sighed almost imperceptibly. "I gave you a warning."
The smile vanished from the man’s face. "Get him."
The man with the knife lunged first.
Alexander moved only after the attack had already begun.
He stepped aside just enough for the blade to slice through empty air before driving his elbow into the attacker’s jaw.
Bone cracked.
The man’s feet left the ground before he crashed onto the hood of a nearby car.
Alexander’s knife appeared in the same motion he gave one precise strike. The attacker collapsed without another sound.
The remaining four froze. Not because of the death of one of their own, but because of how quickly it had happened.
The woman with the crowbar screamed and charged anyway.
Alexander caught her wrist before the weapon could swing.
He twisted.
The crowbar clattered onto the pavement.
A sharp kick drove her backward into the side of the delivery van, knocking the breath from her lungs.
The man with the pipe rushed in from Alexander’s blind side.
Cassandra’s eyes widened. "Behind you!"
Alexander pivoted.
The metal pipe whistled past his shoulder by barely an inch.
He seized the attacker’s forearm, redirected the momentum, and slammed him headfirst into the side mirror of a parked car.
Glass exploded across the pavement.
Before the man could recover, Alexander struck once.
Clean.
Final.
The man crumpled onto the pavement, his weapon slipping from numb fingers.
The last two finally broke.
One abandoned his weapon and ran without looking back.
The other hesitated for a single fatal second.
Alexander’s gaze met his.
The man stumbled backward, terror replacing the confidence he had worn only moments earlier. "I..."
Alexander didn’t move.
He didn’t need to.
The man turned and fled after his companion, disappearing between the abandoned buildings.
Silence settled over the street once more.
Only the distant groans of infected drifted through the morning air.
Alexander crouched beside the fallen crowbar and nudged it farther out of the road with his foot before wiping the blood from his knife onto a discarded piece of cloth.
Then he sheathed it. "Let’s go."
His voice was as calm as if nothing had happened.
Cassandra remained rooted where she stood.
She looked at the bodies piled up the on the ground, blood everywhere. Then at the man already walking away.
There had been no anger. No satisfaction. No hesitation. He hadn’t fought because he wanted to.
He had fought because, the moment those strangers chose violence, he had already decided the outcome.
She hurried after him, her heart still pounding.
Until now, she had only seen Alexander protecting her from the infected.
This had been different.
He had protected her from other humans with the same quiet efficiency.
For the first time, Cassandra understood something that sent a chill through her despite the morning warmth.
Alexander wasn’t merciless.
He wasn’t cruel.
But if someone threatened the people under his protection...
he would never hesitate.