When Mary fully regained consciousness, she saw Jarlath holding her diary. Her first instinct was to lunge at him, but the cold bite of steel around her wrists stopped her short. Both arms were chained against a wall.
The slightly familiar surroundings didn't help; all she could tell was that she was on a rooftop. Turning her head, she caught sight of zombies tending to crops below—a grotesque parody of normal life.
"Where the hell am I!?" Mary demanded, her voice sharp and filled with rage.
"Feisty as ever, Class President," Jarlath said, not even glancing up as he flipped through her diary. "Not exactly the tone you should use with your savior."
Her glare hardened. "Shut up and release me, or I'll kill you!"
Jarlath chuckled, though a hint of unease flickered in his expression. "And here I thought I was the monster. Shouldn't you be thanking me first? If I hadn't intervened, you'd be getting torn apart by zombies on an endless loop. Sure, you'd regenerate, but that sounds more like torture than survival."
Mary scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. You didn't save me—you just wanted something. You didn't even know I could regenerate. You left me to die, remember?"
He waved off her accusation like it was trivial. "Details. Not important right now."
He continued flipping through her diary, his eyes scanning its contents.
"So, you had an experience like mine. A humanoid figure appeared to you, and then a voice asked you a question in a different language. Your language I presume. I couldn't understand it, but you did. What did it say?"
Mary hesitated, her anger bubbling to the surface as he casually rifled through her most private thoughts. "It said, 'What is your desire?'" Her voice was cold and steady, though her fury was building with every page he turned. "Now drop my diary, or I'll kill you!"
"Desire, huh? So, our abilities are shaped by our desires." Jarlath's expression briefly softened, a flicker of melancholy crossing his face before his sinister smirk returned. "I heard the same question two years ago, just before my abilities manifested. Makes me wonder..."
He looked at her with mock curiosity.
"What was your mother's desire, I wonder? That her life would be better without you? Or maybe your not-so-girlfriend's desire is to find—"
Before he could finish, Mary acted. With a sickening crunch, she tore her hands free from the chains, the flesh ripping apart gruesomely. Without hesitation, she smashed her forearm against the wall, breaking it with enough force to expose a jagged, sharp bone.
Using the makeshift weapon, she lunged at Jarlath, pinning him to the ground with the bone pressed against his throat.
Two zombies appeared behind her, their rotting hands holding rusty pistols aimed squarely at her head.
Jarlath let out a nervous laugh, though he couldn't hide his amusement. "I had Gunners stationed to keep you in line if you tried something stupid. I expected a reaction, sure, but nothing this reckless."
"And you think that will stop me?" Mary's voice dripped with disdain.
She didn't even glance at the zombies behind her, fully aware of her regenerative abilities.
"Pull the trigger if you want. It won't matter."
"True," Jarlath said, his tone dripping with mockery. "But here's the thing—you'd be unconscious for a while if the deep part of your brain is hit. Remember that bloodbender who targeted your brain? You slept like a baby for four days after that. It means your brain is your main weakness."
Mary's jaw tightened as his words sank in. She hadn't considered that possibility—being left defenseless for an indefinite amount of time if her brain was struck.
"And," Jarlath continued, his grin widening, "I've got another zombie on standby. The moment you kill me, that zombie will shoot a flare to attract Byron Kade's men. They were nearby earlier, and I doubt they'll ignore a signal like that. So, go ahead. Kill me. You'll pass out, and Kade's men will come running. If I go down, you're coming with me."
Mary clenched her fists, anger bubbling beneath her regret. She cursed herself for ever saving this psychopath. It was the biggest mistake of her life. She had fallen for his schemes, shown him pity when she should have let him die at the hands of his so-called "friends" that night.
She didn't need his help—she could have infiltrated Byron Kade's base herself, even if it took longer and nearly impossible to do so. And now, because of her mistake, this maniac had her entire life story in his hands. Her diary. Her secrets. Things she hadn't even shared with her master.
"So, are you going to get off me?" Jarlath's voice was mocking, his grin infuriatingly smug. "Or do you really want to kill me? You think you're the only one who has the upper hand? Don't be so naive next time."
"Yes," Mary spat, her frustration evident as she pushed herself up. Her arm began regenerating with a sickening crackle. "You're right. After I kill Byron Kade, I'll make up for my mistake by killing you. Mark my words."
Jarlath chuckled as he stood and dusted off his hoodie with exaggerated nonchalance. "I'm counting on it. Now, where's Byron Kade?"
Mary hesitated. The Gunners' pistols were still aimed at her head, leaving her with no choice but to cooperate. She sighed, her tone reluctant. "You've already seen it—you just avoided it because of the numbers. What you didn't realize was that it's the location of the man we're targeting."
"What are you talking about?" Jarlath's confusion was evident, though irritation crept into his voice. He hated cryptic answers.
"Think about it," Mary replied, her tone sharp. "What's the largest settlement in New York City? You've spent enough time here to know."
Jarlath frowned, his mind racing. Then it clicked, and his eyes widened. "You're kidding me. Central Park? That settlement belongs to that fat bastard?"
"I'm surprised it took you this long to figure it out," Mary said, her voice laced with disdain. "You've never bothered to invade it."
She paused, her brow furrowing as realization dawned.
"Come to think of it, you haven't attacked any settlements in the past two years. A lot of people don't even know what you look like. They don't have the same resources as Kade. You could've unleashed your zombies and let them do the work. Why didn't you? Were you afraid?"
Jarlath scoffed, crossing his arms. "Afraid? Me? If I wanted to, you'd have heard about settlement after settlement being overrun by zombies, all thanks to me. But I didn't. You know why? Because I didn't feel like it. That's all."
Mary stared at him, a flicker of something like understanding in her eyes. "You're more human than I thought."
"Anyway," Jarlath said, brushing off her comment, "when are we going to kill that fat bastard? Tonight? Because I'm ready."
"Are you stupid?" Mary snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. "You have no idea how massive Byron Kade's settlement is! There are armed guards equipped with weapons that haven't even been distributed yet—cutting-edge tech from Williams Technologies, Robertson Corporation, Allegra Enterprise, and countless others!"
She stepped closer, her tone growing more urgent.
"If you'd decided to attack them at any point, you would've been dead the second you walked in. I might survive their firepower, but you? Not a chance."
Jarlath sighed, clearly annoyed. "So what? You're saying we need a plan? Ugh, how boring."
"Yes, we need a plan," Mary shot back. "And we're not just dealing with advanced weapons. There are people in that settlement—people like us, with abilities."
Jarlath's eyes narrowed, his usual arrogance faltering for a moment. "More of us?"
"Exactly." Mary folded her arms. "I need my weapons. Then we can talk about strategy."
Jarlath was silent for a beat, an amused smile creeping across his face as he delivered the bad news. "About your weapons... When you were knocked out four days ago, I was planning to carry you back to your base. But then someone fired a rocket—a big one. The blast completely obliterated the building without so much as a shockwave. Your stuff, unfortunately, went poof."
Mary's fury erupted. She slammed her fist into the ground, her knuckles splitting and bleeding from the force. "Damn it! Those bastards! They targeted my base on purpose, just to deprive me of my weapons! I spent months gathering everything!"
Jarlath chuckled, squatting lazily at the edge of the roof. "So, what's your plan now? Fight Byron Kade's men with a pipe wrench? You know, the one you stole off a corpse?"
Mary's glare was as sharp as a blade. "What do you mean, 'stole'? I took it because no one else was using it!"
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Drawing attention to their location wasn't an option.
"I'll need to borrow weapons from somewhere else. The Chelsea Settlement owes me a favor. I'll get what I need from them."
"Chelsea Settlement?" Jarlath asked, raising an eyebrow.
Mary rolled her eyes at his ignorance. "It's a settlement around 28th and 21st streets, west of Fifth Avenue. They've enclosed Chelsea Park and Clement Clarke Moore Park, if I'm remembering correctly. It's close enough to reach quickly—unless, of course, you'd rather stay behind and avoid being killed by them."
Jarlath frowned, his tone shifting to seriousness as he bit into an apple. "Wait, how do you know we're in Grand Central—never mind that. What do you mean by being killed by them?"
Mary stared at him incredulously. "Are you serious? Not only do you have a notorious reputation, Lone Wolf, but you also toyed with one of their own for your sick entertainment."
Her voice dripped with disdain as she fixed him with a hard look.
"Remember when you had your zombies beat up a father, made his daughter and her friend fight zombies, and then forced his little niece into the same hell? And then you let them go? Yeah, they remember that. Everyone does."
Jarlath's eyes widened in realization. "Them. Is that how you found me? Because of them?"
"Exactly. You made a critical mistake by letting them live. I always thought you'd care about a consistent kill count, so I was surprised when you left them alive, especially knowing you were still nearby." Mary's expression hardened. "That was the only reason I found you after two years. Why'd you let them go?"
Jarlath took another bite of the apple before crushing it in his hand. He looked away, his voice unusually quiet. "That's none of your business. I should've killed them, like you said."
"You're not making any sense." Mary shook her head, brushing off her confusion. "Anyway, we're heading to the Chelsea Settlement to get some equipment. Are you coming, or staying here? Because I'm not promising to protect you from them. I hate you, after all."
"I hate you too," Jarlath retorted with a wicked grin. He gestured toward the zombies farming in the distance. "But don't worry about me. I have my 'friends' at my disposal. Not even the surviving armies could stop me a year ago."
"Sure. Now move your ass—it's going to be a long walk," Mary barked, yanking the gun from the Gunner zombie and punching clean through its head. "It's not like your 'friends' can speed us there."
"Oh, they could carry us if I ordered them to," Jarlath said, a smug grin on his face. "But it's not exactly comfortable."
He grimaced slightly, recalling the mortifying time six months ago when a Runner had princess-carried him. The memory was both humiliating and uncomfortable.
"Fortunately, I've got a better way."
---
A few minutes later, they stood on the street, where Jarlath revealed a sleek, black GMC motorhome. Mary's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he led her inside. The RV, though compact, was surprisingly well-equipped.
It had a functional toilet, electric lights, a small television, and even a stocked refrigerator. The cozy interior was a stark reminder of life before the apocalypse, albeit much smaller.
"You stole this, didn't you?" Mary asked, her eyes narrowing as she spotted a baby dining chair tucked into the corner.
Her expression shifted to one of disgust as she turned to Jarlath.
"You're sick. You stole it from a family, didn't you?"
"That's where you're wrong," Jarlath replied, his voice laced with amusement. "I met the family two weeks after the apocalypse started. Their only child, an infant, had already turned into a zombie. The parents, in their desperation and disillusionment, planned to feed me to their undead child."
His lips curled into a sinister smile.
"So, I commanded the child to devour them instead. Afterward, I had the parents kill each other and buried them alongside their little monster. Then I took the RV and left. It's been mine ever since."
Mary groaned, pressing a hand to her temple. "You just had to go overboard, didn't you? At least you put the kid out of their misery in the end."
"Well, I don't need a zombie baby as a 'friend.' Why would I keep her?" Jarlath retorted nonchalantly.
He slid into the passenger seat and tossed the keys to Mary.
"Here. I might own this van, but I hate driving. That's why I don't use it much. You take the wheel."
Mary stared at the keys in her hand, then at the wheel, hesitating. "...I don't have a driver's license," she admitted quietly.
Jarlath shot her a look of disbelief, his voice dripping with disdain. "Are you serious? How useless are you, princess? Is studying and fighting all you've ever done in life?"
"Shouldn't that be my line, psychopath?" Mary snapped back, her voice sharp as a blade. "You, who does nothing but torment survivors, can't even drive your own van because you're scared of it?"
Jarlath snorted, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "At least I have a driver's license! Looks like I'll have to drive because this fucking berserker is too much of a coward! Just my luck!"
Mary bristled at the insult. "I can drive, you mangy wolf! Keep pissing me off, and I'll crash this precious RV of yours—with you in it!"
"Whatever you say," Jarlath replied lazily, leaning back in his seat.
His eyes flicked to the building he had spent so much time in, its familiar silhouette etched against the sky. Something told him he wouldn't be seeing it again anytime soon.
Meanwhile, two motorcyclists observed Jarlath and Mary from a distance as the RV rumbled to life and disappeared down the street.
The duo had been under surveillance for the past four days, their every move meticulously tracked. The motorcyclists, however, remained patient. Now was not the time to strike.
"Just as you predicted, sir. They're not planning to attack Byron Kade yet," the woman said, her voice carrying a note of intrigue.
Her helmet, adorned with playful rabbit-like ears, added a whimsical touch to her otherwise striking ensemble. A worn purple jacket hung loosely over her sleek, glossy bodysuit, which clung to her figure like a second skin. The jacket's frayed edges offered a stark contrast to the polished sheen of the leather-like material beneath.
Cinched at the waist by a corset, her outfit highlighted her silhouette, exuding both defiance and allure. Black gloves completed the ensemble, adding a futuristic sharpness to her look.
"Indeed, they're not," the man replied, his deep voice muffled slightly by the visor of his bulky black helmet. The reflective surface obscured his face entirely.
His heavy, padded leather jacket hugged his broad frame, reinforced with armored panels at the shoulders and elbows for extra protection. Metallic knuckles on his gloves gleamed faintly. His entire presence radiated strength, endurance, and quiet menace.
"It's because that woman is heading to the Chelsea Settlement for weaponry," he continued after a pause. "Unfortunately for her, those weapons won't help against the tyrant."
"Why's that?" the woman asked, her curiosity piqued.
"That," the man said, revving his motorcycle to life, "is something only time will reveal."
"Good," the woman muttered, her tone tinged with barely concealed anger as she mounted her bike.
The man glanced at her briefly before steering his bike into position. "Come on. Our part will begin soon, just as I promised."
With a sharp nod, she followed, her helmet's ears swaying slightly as their engines roared.