Chapter 463: Working Hard To Forget

"You sure look like you got run over by a truck, Ryan."

Rico’s voice came from beside me as I carried a bundle of steel pipes toward the damaged barricades around the Boardwalk.

I glanced at him.

Then my eyes moved down to the sling holding his right arm in place.

"At least I didn’t break my arm while running," I said. "That’s even more pathetic."

Rico froze.

"W...What?"

His face immediately turned defensive.

"I didn’t break my arm while running. Who told you that?"

I adjusted the pipes in my arms and kept walking.

"Theo," Rico said before I could answer. "It must have been that brat."

I looked back at him.

"Looking at how you reacted, it’s true then."

"It wasn’t!" Rico snapped. "I was trying to move, and there was debris everywhere, and—"

I ignored the rest of his explanation.

Rico kept talking behind me for a few seconds, clearly trying to defend his pride, but I had already stopped listening.

The steel pipes were needed to reinforce the barriers around the roads leading toward the Emerald Hotel.

That area had become one of the Boardwalk’s most vulnerable points.

Too many people were living there now.

Marlon’s people. Margaret’s people. Jackson Township survivors. Injured civilians. Children. People who could not fight. People who could barely hold a weapon even if they wanted to.

The Emerald Hotel had become the center of the Boardwalk.

And that meant it would be one of Callighan’s first targets if he attacked again.

The wooden barricades had held against normal groups of Infected before. They had even held against some of the chaos during the Screamer attack.

But they had not been enough.

Not against hundreds of frenzied Infected.

Not against sabotage.

And probably not against an organized attack from Callighan’s men.

That was why people were adding steel pipes, metal sheets, heavier furniture, and anything else they could find to reinforce the roads. The barriers were becoming thicker. Harder to climb. Harder to smash through.

Still, I could not stop thinking about whether it would matter.

It was only a question of days before Callighan made another move.

Maybe he would send more people to place devices around the Boardwalk.

Maybe he would send Gaspar.

Maybe he would bring his entire force across the water and try to end this before we had a chance to rescue Mei and Emily.

What would be the best course of action if that happened?

Part of me thought we should leave the Emerald Hotel altogether.

Move the people who could not fight somewhere safer.

The Whitesun Hotel, perhaps.

Margaret had offered to take people in. Her place had more room, stronger defenses, and fewer damaged areas. It would be safer for children, injured people, and anyone who could not protect themselves.

But not everyone was comfortable with that.

Even people from Margaret’s own community had concerns.

They had already accepted many outsiders. They had helped during the Screamer attack. They had sent people, food, medical supplies, and weapons whenever they could.

But taking in everyone from the Boardwalk was different.

It could make Margaret’s place a target too.

Callighan might decide to attack there instead.

He might bring the same destruction to people who had never asked to be involved.

I understood why some of them were afraid.

In this world, kindness came with consequences.

Helping someone could get you killed.

Giving someone shelter could bring danger directly to your door.

That was why I did not blame them.

Not really.

But it still bothered me hearing some people criticize Margaret for wanting to help. Brad, Billy, Kyle, and several others had gathered to argue about it. Some believed that taking in more people would only spread their resources too thin. Others feared that Callighan would follow the Boardwalk survivors directly to their community.

They were not entirely wrong.

But Margaret had still stood there and offered help.

That was just who she was.

Honestly, Margaret was too good for this world.

Especially now.

After the outbreak, people had become more selfish because they had to. Food was limited. Shelter was limited. Bullets were limited. Every extra person could mean fewer supplies for someone else.

Survival made people choose themselves.

And I could not fully judge anyone for that.

But Margaret had somehow kept her kindness anyway.

She still looked at strangers and saw people who needed help instead of problems to avoid.

That kind of person was rare now.

The part I hated was that she was being criticized for it.

As much as I wanted to speak up for her, I stayed quiet.

After admitting that I had hidden Kunta’s existence from people, after everything that had happened with Lucy and the secrets I had kept, I had lost the right to act like I knew what was best for everyone.

At least, that was how it felt.

I could not stand in front of Margaret’s community and tell them to trust me when I had spent so much time hiding things from them.

Thankfully, Margaret was not alone.

A lot of people still supported her.

People who remembered how she had helped them.

People who had seen her fight for Jackson Township.

People who understood that leaving the vulnerable behind would not make anyone safer in the end.

I reached the barricade and carefully lowered the pipes beside the people working there.

My ribs ached when I bent down.

The pain was still there, even if Dullahan’s healing had helped more than it should have. My body looked better than it had two days ago, but I still felt every bruise when I moved too quickly.

"Hey, Ryan."

I turned around.

Molly stood behind me carrying a smaller stack of materials beneath one arm.

"You should be resting," she said.

"You want some help?" I asked.

Molly gave me a dry look.

"Don’t treat me like an old lady."

I laughed a little.

"Not much."

Molly shook her head, though she was smiling.

She was close to Margaret’s age, maybe even around the same age, but she was not someone anyone should underestimate. I had seen her with a rifle during the fighting. She was calm, patient, and terrifyingly accurate. While other people panicked, Molly could pick targets off from far away as though she had been born with a scope in front of her eye.

She had probably killed more people with that rifle than I had ever seen.

"You’re recovering fast, aren’t you?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Something like that."

Molly tilted her head.

"That the perk of having some kind of alien inside you?"

I looked at her.

"Pretty much."

"Hm."

She gave me an amused look.

"From the old alien movies, usually having an alien inside you is not a good sign."

I sighed.

"I know what kind of movies you mean."

I glanced down at my stomach.

"And don’t worry. I won’t give birth to some monster crawling out of my chest."

Molly laughed.

Not quietly, either.

A few people nearby glanced over at us, confused about what was funny, but she only shook her head and carried the materials toward the barricade.

I watched her go for a moment.

Then I picked up another pipe.

People kept telling me to rest.

Cindy had told me.

Rachel had told me.

Marlon had not said it directly, but he had made me cut fish instead of putting me back into training, which was probably his version of concern.

Even Molly had said it.

But I was not in the mood to rest.

Every time I sat still, my mind became too loud.

Callighan.

Gaspar.

Mei.

Emily.

The rescue mission.

The Resonance Disruptor Marlon had given me.

The possibility that the plan would fail before it even began.

And above all of that, Ivy’s words.

You do not have much time.

You are going to die.

I did not want to think about them.

I did not want to think about Ivy at all.

The more I thought about what she had said, the more uneasy I felt. She knew too much. She spoke about the Starakians as though she understood them personally. And the way she had looked at me when she warned me had not felt like someone guessing.

It had felt like she knew something.

Something I was not ready to hear.

So I worked.

I carried steel pipes.

I helped reinforce barriers.

I moved supplies until the pain in my ribs became easier to focus on than the thoughts in my head.

Right now, I had to be strong.

Not for myself.

For Mei and Emily.

That was the urgent problem.

Get them out.

Get them home.

Then deal with Callighan.

Then Gaspar.

Then the Starakians.

Then whatever Ivy was hiding.

I had once thought that, after dealing with Gaspar and Callighan, I would finally have some time to breathe.

A little peace.

A chance to rest.

Maybe I had been stupid for thinking that.

Nothing had gone the way I wanted since Dullahan entered my life.

Every time I thought I had reached the end of one problem, another one appeared waiting behind it.

More enemies.

More people in danger.

More reasons to keep moving.

Because I was the King Host of Dullahan.

And Dullahan was an S-Rank Symbiote.

I had finally started to understand what that meant.

It did not mean I would become strong and live peacefully.

It meant the opposite.

It meant people would keep coming for me.

It meant there would always be something I had to protect.

Someone I had to save.

Someone I could not afford to abandon.

I lifted another steel pipe onto my shoulder and headed back toward the barricades.

Maybe I would never get rest.

But Mei and Emily were still out there.

So for now, rest was not something I could allow myself to want.

I kept working until late afternoon.

At some point, I stopped counting how many times I had walked back and forth between the supply piles and the barricades. My shoulders hurt. My hands were dirty with rust, dust, and dried blood from old cuts reopening under the weight of the pipes.

The ache in my ribs had become sharper too.

Dullahan’s healing was helping, but it was not magic. It could not make me forget how badly Gaspar had beaten me. Every time I bent down too quickly or lifted something too heavy, pain pulled through my side.

Still, I kept going.

The sun had started sinking behind the buildings, turning the sky above the Boardwalk orange and red. Long shadows stretched over the damaged streets. People were beginning to slow down, some heading toward the Emerald Hotel while others took over the evening watch.

I was carrying another piece of metal toward the barriers when I heard someone call out.

"Hey, Ryan!"

I turned just in time to see Shannon rushing toward me.

She was moving far too quickly, her attention completely focused on me instead of the scattered construction materials around her feet.

"Careful," I said.

I reached out and caught her arm before she stepped directly onto one of the steel pipes lying on the ground.

Shannon stumbled anyway, but she did not fall.

"Ah, sorry," she said with a small laugh.

"You really need to watch where you’re going."

"I was watching."

"You were looking at me."

"That counts."

I gave her a tired look.

Shannon smiled, clearly not bothered by it.

Then her expression changed into a small pout.

"Anyway, you have to come tonight for dinner."

I blinked.

"What?"

"You didn’t even come yesterday," she said accusingly.

"That..."

Shannon folded her arms.

"Why?"

I had no answer.

Because I had slept with your mother, and I did not know how to sit across from her at dinner afterward without making everything painfully awkward.

Obviously, I could not say that.

Especially not to Shannon.

I looked at her, still waiting for an explanation, and rubbed the back of my neck.

"I was busy," I said.

"You’re always busy."

"That’s true."

"And you were hurt," Shannon added. "Mom said you needed rest."

I almost laughed at that.

Instead of resting, I had spent most of the day carrying steel pipes and reinforcing barricades until my ribs felt like they were going to split apart.

"Yeah," I said. "I’m better now."

Shannon narrowed her eyes at me.

"You don’t look better."

"Thanks."

"I mean, you look less dead."

"That’s somehow worse."

She giggled.

Then she grabbed my sleeve lightly.

"Come tonight. Mom is making food, and she said there will be something other than fish."

That got my attention.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Then that changes things."

Shannon looked pleased.

"So you’re coming?"

For a moment, I hesitated.

I had avoided Carmen since that night.

Not because I regretted saving her.

I never would.

But I did not know what I was supposed to say to her now. Maribel had already spoken to Carmen about the stabilization. Carmen knew there were things she needed to understand. Things we eventually needed to discuss.

Avoiding her would only make it worse.

And lately, I had started to understand something.

There would always be reasons to run from difficult conversations. There would always be another threat, another repair job, another mission, another excuse to say later.

But later was never guaranteed anymore.

Not in this world.

Not with Callighan waiting across the water.

Not with Gaspar out there.

Not with Ivy’s warning still sitting in the back of my mind.

I looked down at Shannon.

"Alright," I said.

Her face immediately brightened.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Good," she said. "And don’t be late."

"I’ll try."

"No," Shannon said firmly. "You’ll come."

I smiled a little.

"Okay. I’ll come."

She nodded as though she had just successfully completed a very important mission.

Then she turned and hurried away toward the hotel area, though she moved more carefully around the pipes this time.

I watched her go.

Dinner with Carmen would be awkward.

Probably very awkward.

But I needed to speak with her eventually.

And tonight, I decided, would be the time.