Chapter 189: Chapter 189 - A Body
The Land Rover climbed the parking structure in a slow spiral, tires grinding over loose gravel as Malcolm kept the wheel steady and his eyes on the ramp ahead. The headlights swept across concrete walls and rusted rails as they moved higher.
"This place looks creepy," Lance muttered from the back, leaning slightly forward as the light cut through the dark drive path.
"You should’ve seen Ohio," Marybeth said, squinting through the narrow gap of the window, her gaze fixed outside.
Iyisha glanced at Lance and gave a small smile. He looked better. Still thin, but standing on his own, moving without help. A week of rest had done something. Enough for this.
Susan and Mark had given them the go signal that morning. Find Aljun. Get into Manhattan. No delays.
"Check the shadows," Malcolm said, voice low.
Iyisha shifted her gaze, scanning the edges where the light didn’t fully reach. She hadn’t seen a single undead since they left Fort Washington in Pennsylvania. It sat wrong in her chest. Clean didn’t mean safe. It meant something had cleared it.
Malcolm steered toward the far end where a collapsed section of wall cast a deeper shadow and brought the vehicle to a stop. The engine died and the silence settled in around them.
"Be careful," Iyisha said, turning slightly toward the back.
Lance nodded, already gripping his weapon. There was a spark in him. Too eager.
Marybeth caught it and shook her head. "Fucking amateur," she muttered.
Lance grinned. "You’ll keep me alive."
She rolled her eyes and checked her own weapon instead.
Iyisha exhaled a small breath, a quiet grin slipping through.
"Let’s go," Malcolm said.
He stepped out first and moved around the vehicle, checking corners and sightlines with quick, practiced movements. Iyisha stepped out after him, her eyes moving across the rooftop, taking in the openness, the way the shadows stretched longer under the weak light.
Their flashlights cut through the dark, beams steady, controlled.
Marybeth climbed out from the back and stretched once before settling into alertness. Lance followed slower, one hand bracing briefly on the door before he straightened. Malcolm glanced at him. Lance met it with a small nod, still holding that grin.
They moved to the stairwell.
Their descent was steady, footsteps echoing along the concrete walls. Malcolm led. Iyisha stayed close behind him. Lance followed, and Marybeth took the rear, her attention shifting between them and the space behind.
At the ground level, the exit hung open, the metal gate bent outward.
They stepped into the street.
Wind moved through the open space, carrying the sound of loose metal shifting somewhere down the block. The buildings stood hollow on both sides, windows broken or dark.
Iyisha slowed slightly, her eyes moving across the street, then up the buildings, then back again.
"Seems like the military swept here," she said.
Malcolm kept walking. "They did."
Iyisha let out a quiet breath and adjusted her grip on her weapon. The tension in her chest eased just a little.
They kept walking down the empty street, their footsteps carrying in a steady rhythm as Malcolm guided
They covered more than a mile that way. The city stayed dead around them. High-rise buildings stood hollow, their windows dark, no movement inside and no sound coming from within. It felt cleared. It felt watched.
Near the river, the block changed.
Iyisha saw it first. Paint across a wall with rough and thick strokes.
FREE ZONE.
An arrow pointed forward.
"We’re close," Lance muttered.
Iyisha swallowed. Free zone.
They had passed through safe ones before. Structured. Controlled. Places that still followed rules. The only lawless zone she had been in, she had not even seen. Malcolm had told her later. They had been attacked. They had barely made it out.
Now they were walking into another one.
This time awake.
This time aware.
Ahead, the street shifted again. The road looked used. Worn paths cut through dirt and debris. A rusted drum sat near the side, ash built up around it from repeated fires. A fence had been set up along the block, uneven and pieced together from scrap.
A makeshift gate stood open.
People moved inside.
Iyisha slowed.
Her eyes lifted.
Something sat above the entrance.
A sound dragged from the side, low and wet.
Her head turned.
Two zombies were forced inside metal dog crates set beside the gate. Their bodies pressed hard against the bars, fingers pushing through the gaps as their jaws snapped at the air. A choking sound pulled from their throats, uneven and constant. One jerked forward, slamming into the metal, the crate scraping hard against the ground.
"Fuck," Lance muttered behind her.
The undead were almost down to bone, skin stretched thin, faces pulled tight, but they still reached, still pushed, still reacted to movement.
"Why the fuck would they keep... that" Lance muttered.
"Probably to warn them," Marybeth said walking past them. "Like a dog."
The people near the entrance turned to watch them.
Two stood closer to the gate, upright, still, eyes fixed on the group. The other three stayed along the walls, sitting or lying down against broken structures, their bodies loose, their gazes dull as they looked over with little interest.
No one spoke.
No one moved to stop them.
Malcolm kept walking.
Iyisha followed.
The others stayed close.
They passed through the gate.
Inside, the space opened just enough to breathe, but it felt heavier. People filled the area in scattered positions, some watching, some doing nothing, some focused on their own tasks.
Ahead, a fire burned low and steady.
Two men worked over it, turning strips of meat on a metal rod with careful hands. The surface of it glistened as it cooked, fat dripping into the fire. One of the men noticed them looking and shifted slightly, angling his body, his hand tightening on the rod.
"Don’t stare," he muttered under his breath, sharp.
The other snorted and spat to the side, pulling the meat closer to himself.
Iyisha caught the smell.
Barbecue.
It looked like it.
Her eyes flicked back to the strips hanging over the fire.
Rat.
Her jaw tightened as she looked away.
They kept moving until the space opened toward the shore. The air shifted there, cooler, carrying the sound of water moving fast. Iyisha slowed and then stopped, her eyes lifting toward the skyline ahead.
Manhattan stood across the river.
The buildings were still there. Tall. Intact. Dark shapes against the fading light.
Behind it, farther to the side, something else pulled her attention.
Brooklyn.
The ground stretched out in a wide, uneven scar. Burned. Flattened. Sections missing. What remained looked broken and scattered, like the city had been torn open and left that way.
"Damn," Marybeth muttered.
Lance said it at the same time, quieter.
Iyisha nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on it. That place had meant something. Something people worked toward. Saved for. Planned around.
During the first infection, when everything broke loose, the government had sent in Black Hawks. They bombed Brooklyn to contain the outbreak.
They were too late.
Too late.
"It’s gone," she said.
Her chest tightened as she stared.
"Brooklyn’s gone now. I always wanted to visit the museum," Lance said beside her.
Iyisha glanced at him. "You like those?"
Lance grinned. "I wanted to see what stolen things they kept there."
Iyisha let out a short chuckle.
"Hi."
She turned.
A man stood a few steps away.
Malcolm’s gun was already up, trained on him.
"Woah, easy," the man said, chuckling lightly. "Unmanned here."
He looked out of place. Sunglasses. Fitted clothes. Clean posture. Like he had stepped out of a different world and walked into this one without adjusting.
"Nice clothes," Lance said, giving him a nod.
"Thanks," the man replied easily. His eyes moved across all four of them, quick, measuring. "New faces. You here to cross the river? And please put that down. You’re making me nervous." He pointed at Malcolm’s gun.
Malcolm didn’t move.
Iyisha almost smiled. He’d have better luck asking a rat to dance.
She looked back at the river. The current moved fast, cutting hard across the surface.
"What?" Marybeth muttered. "We’re not swimming in that."
"Well, there’s no other way to cross," the man said with a small shrug. "One bridge still works, but it’s heavily guarded."
"Nah," Marybeth said flatly.
Iyisha looked at Malcolm. She knew how to swim. She had learned. But this current could pull someone under in seconds. And Lance—
"We’re looking for Aljun," Malcolm said.
The man dipped his head slightly, a small, almost amused bow. "Aljun at your service."
Iyisha let out a quiet breath. They found him. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "We’re looking for you. The Stevens recommended you."
Aljun’s expression shifted just enough. Interest. Recognition.
"Ah," he said, looking over them again, slower this time. "Thought you were like the others trying to cross."
He turned and started walking toward a building near the river, motioning for them to follow.
"Come," he said. "Let’s talk inside."
They moved after him.
"Got worried for a moment there," he added with a grin.
"Yeah... sorry," Iyisha muttered, glancing at Malcolm, whose finger still rested on the trigger.
"Oh, it’s fine," Aljun said lightly. "That’s not what I worry about."
Marybeth and Lance followed behind her.
They reached the building. Aljun pushed the door open and stepped inside.
They followed.
"We’ve got enough meat for a week," he said. "Two tried crossing two days ago."
Iyisha slowed.
Her stomach tightened.
The smell hit first.
Then the table.
Something lay on it. What was left of a body. Open. Cut through. Ribs exposed. Flesh taken in uneven sections.
Iyisha froze.
Malcolm moved faster.
His gun came up, steady, aimed straight at Aljun.
