The two men moved at a brisk clip. Before long Scarface gave a greasy chuckle. "Here. This is the spot."
Shorty lifted his gaze. A textbook slice of rural Japan ten-odd detached houses lined up along a country lane. Most were old wooden builds with mossy walls and gates hanging open on empty yards. Even this far out, there were hardly any zombies.
Under the low, heavy sky, the silent hamlet felt like a horror movie set. A shiver crept up Shorty's spine.
He tamped the feeling down. "Scarface, only a few places still have the doors shut. You remember which house she was in?"
Scarface was already fidgeting, eyes bright. He waved, impatient. "How would I remember that clear? I just know it was by a pond. Worst case, we go door to door. We've killed living folks who's afraid of the dead? Hey smoke. Over there." He snickered. "She knew we were coming and started dinner early for us."
He loped to a low wall and vaulted over.
A hard glint flashed in Shorty's eyes. He followed, easing a pistol into his palm as his feet hit the yard. Inside, the rooms were neat, dusted, almost tenderly kept. A cup sat on a low table.
Scarface beat him to it, palming the ceramic. "Warm," he grinned, turning. "She's still here."
"Then where is she?" Shorty swung the muzzle in a careful sweep.
"The smoke kitchen." Scarface jerked his chin.
They'd done their share of break-ins. Their steps went soft by instinct as they ghosted to the kitchen doorway.
Both men stopped dead.
A beautiful housewife stood at the stove, stir-frying.
She wore loungewear under a tied apron, but the fabric couldn't hide her poise. Early thirties at most by the eye; in the dim light her skin looked milk-pale, her figure lush and balanced. The small sway of her hips as she worked made her lines all the more arresting.
Shorty had seen plenty of faces. Few could stand beside this one.
It was, unmistakably, Mrs. Yuigahama.
Scarface followed his stare, leaned in and sucked a breath. "Well? Told you I wasn't lying." He kept his voice low, eager. "I brought you in on this, so don't forget me when you're sitting pretty."
A voice, warm and scolding, drifted from the stove. "Didn't I tell you to rest? Don't think being young means you can ignore your body."
She set the spatula down and glanced over then blinked at the strangers framed in her doorway.
"Who… are you?"
She'd expected the handsome young man she'd pulled from the water, not two hard-eyed intruders one with a long, mean scar. Her heart kicked once, but her face smoothed.
Shorty swallowed and put on his best imitation of TV manners. "Ma'am, we're refugees. It's nearly dark. We were hoping to shelter for the night. I'm sorry we intruded."
Her surprise passed. She smiled. "I see. It's getting late, and outside is dangerous. Stay here tonight. It's only a few more bowls and chopsticks. These days, we should help each other. I'll go call my husband, my son, and a few friends down. Then we can all eat together."
Shorty blinked. Others? From her tone, more than a couple. He wasn't ready to shoot with unknowns upstairs. He pasted on a grateful grin. "We're obliged."
Mrs. Yuigahama dipped her head. "Please, sit in the living room. I'll fetch them." She turned and walked out.
Scarface never took his eyes off her. Full without a hint of heaviness, her curves filled the apron's outline; her waist wasn't a girl's narrow reed, but it traced a generous line that made her mature allure complete. It was a body honed by care, and it radiated temptation.
His Adam's apple bobbed as she disappeared up the stairs. "Shorty… that woman is… too much." For a second, he regretted bringing a partner.
Shorty forced calm, though his throat had gone dry. His eyes flicked. "Don't rush. Let's see how many there are. Then we move. Aside from her, no witnesses." He clicked his tongue softly. "A wife like that… lucky husband."
"I almost tore her dress off right then," Scarface muttered, wiping a string of drool with the back of his hand. "You're right, though. Even one time, and I could die happy. Watch your shots don't you dare put a hole in her."
When Mrs. Yuigahama's steps faded upstairs, Shorty slipped into the kitchen, eyes raking the counters. The wok still held bright greens. After days of instant noodles, the sight made his fingers itch. He snatched a few leaves and chewed. Scarface leaned in to grab a handful then froze as Shorty's face changed.
"Damn. She played us."
"What?"
Shorty poked the wok with the spatula. "This wouldn't feed more than two. And in the chopstick jar only two pairs are wet. Just washed." His mouth went hard. "She's running."
Scarface swore. "I said we should've gone straight in. You had to 'take a read.' Move! That meat's not getting away."
"Save it for later." Shorty's fingers tightened around the pistol. He bolted for the stairs. Scarface followed, breath hot with anger and anticipation.
The second floor was empty doors ajar, rooms bare. A crash sounded below. Scarface rushed to a window. A rope dangled from the sill into the yard.
"She's down!" He swung a leg out and slid.
They followed the noise into the garden. A ladder leaned against the wall. Scarface snorted. "Came prepared." Outside, dusk pressed in. A few zombies wobbled from the lane; the men cut them down in passing and saw a slim figure slip into the corn.
"Persistent…" Scarface puffed as they plunged after her. The corn rose in a whispering sea, shoulder-high and dense.
"How do we find her in this?" he hissed.
"Use your head," Shorty snapped, savoring a chance to preen. "Stalks she steps on will bend. Track the trail. Even if she's got four legs, she won't get far."
He pushed through the rows, eyes down, then forward at a jog.
The storm had left the earth soft and wet. The corn was tall and thick good country growth.
Thinking of that ripened, elegant body lit the men with a dull, hot hunger. They drove themselves on. Soon leaves shivered ahead.
"Ma'am!" Shorty called, voice honeyed. "We mean no harm. It's almost dark. It's dangerous alone. Come with us. We won't hurt you."
His feet sped up as his tone smoothed out. He flicked a glance back at Scarface keep her running then peeled off to flank the path.
Mrs. Yuigahama's heart raced.
After the world fell, her husband vanished; she and her daughter Yui had been separated in the chaos. She'd finally found this village, ten-odd kilometers from the airport, and buried herself here.
She'd slipped through dangers before. This felt worse.
One look at the two "strangers" in her kitchen and she'd known. Their "accident" was a lie; out of all these homes, why hers? One carried a gun, the other a weapon. The only answer was intention.
The colder the moment, the steadier you must be words from her youth surfaced. She'd smiled, spun them a story, and slipped away.
She knew her own pull. She'd seen how men looked at her. Even an ordinary woman would be in danger out here; in this body, falling into their hands meant a fate she refused to name.
She had been a wife; she was Yui's mother. Better death than violation.
She could handle a stray zombie years of dance and yoga had kept her legs strong but two men like these? No. So she ran.
Her foot caught on a slick stalk. She pitched forward, hit wet dirt hard.
When she clawed up, a shape slid from the green a short man with a pistol and a grin like a knife. "See? Tripped? We told you not to run. We're not bad men."
Her blood iced. She turned and Scarface pushed through the leaves, chuckling. "Don't run, ma'am. One look and I'm already gone. Usually we don't leave anyone breathing. You behave, maybe you live."
Her chest rose and fell. They closed in, throats working as they stared. Trapped between them, she edged sideways, voice sharp. "Stay back! I'll call for help. There are others nearby with guns."
"Call them." Scarface laughed. "You think it's the old world? Even if they hear you, no one's dying for you. But I do like your voice. Scream a lot later."
The words landed like ice. Brutal but true. If anyone were coming, they'd have come already.
"Thank heaven for the end of the world," Shorty breathed, stepping closer. "Otherwise how would I ever meet a woman like you?" He flicked a look at Scarface. "You found her. First turn's yours. I'll watch the line."
Scarface lit up. "Don't mind if I do."
Panic burst Mrs. Yuigahama spun and ran. Fingers clamped her arm. Scarface, trembling with a dry throat, yanked and doubled over with a strangled grunt. She'd baited the opening and drove a neat kick into his lower belly. His grip loosened; he dropped to a knee, clutching himself.
"Stupid !" he snarled, face twisting. Rage flared. His hand went to the steel crossbow at his back.
"Don't !" Shorty barked, alarm flashing.
Scarface wasn't aiming to kill. "I know!" he snapped, and leveled low.
Mrs. Yuigahama didn't dare look back. She ran two steps and a white-hot nail drove through her thigh. The bolt hit square.
She crumpled with a bitten-off cry. Footsteps closed. Cold spread through her chest as the world narrowed to corn, mud, and the pounding of her own heart.
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