After the meeting, Rhea, Lucien and I sat around a table in the corner of a room with the sun lighting us through the window.
"We shouldn't expect any of the volunteers to be willing to join, especially after Nancy and the second team," Lucien said, looking at the table.
At the mention of Nancy, Rhea flinched and tightened her fist. Her gaze dropped too.
"...There was a second team?"
Lucien looked at me, paused for a moment, and nodded.
"They never came back. We didn't find their bodies, or their cars, or their weapons—nothing."
Lucien stood up and turned his back on us.
"The people here... they're broken. I think beyond repair. I don't know why.
I don't think it's just the outbreak. Rhea and I—we weren't here at the start, so we don't know everyone's story."
"…"
Silence filled the room. I glanced between them, unsure of what to say. Eventually, I forced myself to speak.
"So... do we stay just the three of us?"
"I don't think we have much of a choice," Lucien replied.
Feeling conflicted, Rhea looked up at the ceiling and let out a deep sigh.
"Yeah, you're right."
"Then instead of waiting for teammates, we should discuss our next expedition."
Lucien sat back down, and Rhea opened a map on the table, the corner still stiff, which we kept in place with our knives.
---
**Day 35**
**10:00**
_Knock knock_
I closed my book and tossed it onto my backpack.
"Come in."
Lucas stepped in, smiling his usual soft smile as he shut the door.
"I wanted to talk about the volunteers.
Just in case you didn't see, yesterday I posted notes telling anyone willing to help to come to Room 107."
"I'll be here, but... to be honest, we don't really expect anything for the expedition team."
He smiled bitterly and nodded.
"Yeah..."
"So, what about the car? Do you have some good news for me?"
Lucas rubbed his forehead.
"I'm sorry.
People want to keep what little they have."
"Can't we take one by force?" I said quietly. "It's a matter of life or death."
Lucas's smile faded, his expression growing more concerned and serious.
"I know you want the best for us.
But there are things you don't know. You can't understand," he said with a calm but firm voice.
"Then explain! Why are you so soft?"
Lucas looked at me with pity.
That look unsettled me, as if I had missed a chunk of the conversation.
Lucas sat down on the edge of the bed next to me, his gaze losing focus as he stared through the window.
"When it all began, I was cleaning the hall downstairs."
He hesitated for a moment, the words scraping his throat.
"I heard screaming. I ran toward it, I opened a classroom door and..."
He stopped, biting his lip.
"I only saw red. Blood everywhere—on the wall, the ground, the tables, the blackboard.
Children biting, eating other children.
I froze."
He looked at the ground, ashamed, letting out a self-loathing laugh.
"You know what I did?"
I waited for his answer, but it didn't come, so I asked:
"What did you do?"
He clenched his fist and gritted his teeth.
"Nothing.
I ran away. I closed the door behind me and ran."
My jaw and throat tightened, processing what he had said.
"I fled to the roof. There were some children gathered with their teachers—pretty much the only ones who survived."
Feeling conflicted with his actions, I didn't offer any comfort and just bit my lip silently.
"Outside, I could see a crowd of parents, barely armed.
They shouted names—the names of their sons and daughters. So many names, the words overlapping—it sounded like a war cry."
"They barged in from every window, every door.
Most of them didn't make it to the next day."
He looked at me, his eyes glistening.
"I was ashamed. So ashamed.
So I decided to go down and help them.
I wanted to die trying.
But fate works in mysterious ways, I guess."
"Lucas..."
A hollow laugh escaped him, and he broke eye contact.
"Whenever I close my eyes, I see it.
The parents' desperate screams. The killing. The blood."
I rested my hand on his shoulder, offering my support.
He was right. I didn't understand.
"Everyone—eyes forced open, focusing on each face, trying to find their kin.
We cried, we bled, most of us died. But finally, we succeeded."
"I... I am sorry."
I was foolish indeed.
He looked straight ahead, not at me.
"For days, we gathered the bodies.
Moving them. Getting the names of the dead children. Telling their parents... just to see most of them kill themselves."
Lucas trembled, his voice breaking. Tears quietly slipped from the corners of his eyes.
I clenched my fist and punched the wall.
It hurt—but it still felt better.
A minute passed in silence while I caught my breath.
In my mind, I imagined it—the hallways, the screams. My stomach turned.
Just the thought of the scene made me tremble.
I couldn't. How did they live like this?
I understood—this story was a burden.
"How can you be fine?"
I sat back and looked at my feet.
"I don't know if I could smile."
Lucas stood up, wiped his eyes, and pointed out the window.
"Look at this."
Outside, a few children played, running around parked cars.
"I live for them.
I don't deserve to die just yet."
His voice, his eyes—translated his despair.
My heart felt empty and heavy at the same time.
"You're strong. I admire you."
He looked at me, and with a small, tired smile:
"Thank you."
"And I don't think you're a coward. I would have done the same.
You couldn't have helped them by staying—you would have died.
But now you're alive, and you can take care of this community."
"I appreciate it."
He tightened his fist with newfound motivation.
"I'll try to get you a car. Don't worry."