12 hours ago.
The helicopter was forced to divert, unable to enter the restricted airspace above the army base.
The pilot skillfully guided it toward one of the hangars just outside the facility's perimeter, the rotors whipping up clouds of dust as they descended.
"This isn't looking good," the pilot muttered, casting a wary glance over his shoulder at Linzy and Cynthia. "I have a bad feeling about this. With the commander not designating this as a priority mission, there's bound to be restrictions. The doctor is safe here, so I say we should head back before we run into trouble."
"No!" Linzy's voice was sharp with urgency. "We've come too far to turn back now. We at least have to try. Please?"
The pilot frowned, eyes narrowing as he weighed the risks. "I have a schedule to keep, ma'am. I need to report back to my commander in one hour."
"We'll be back on time, I promise," Cynthia interjected, her tone steady and reassuring.
The pilot, a stoic man who valued protocol above all else, hesitated before giving a curt nod. "Fine. But if you're not back within the hour, I'm taking off without you."
Linzy and Cynthia exchanged a glance, determination glinting in their eyes. They stepped out of the helicopter as the roar of its blades subsided.
At the main gates, Linzy and Cynthia faced a sprawling, chaotic queue filled with people desperate to gain entry.
The crowd spanned every layer of society: weary parents with tear-streaked children clinging to their backs, the poor clutching their last scraps of food, and wealthy individuals honking impatiently in luxury cars, their horns blaring at the unyielding guards.
Cynthia grimaced as she surveyed the scene. "Linzy, this isn't going to be easy," she muttered, attempting to edge through the throng.
Her path was quickly blocked by a stout, bitter elderly woman whose glare could cut glass.
"Trying to cut in line, are you?" The old woman's voice dripped with indignation. "Some of us have been here all day, standing on aching legs, and you think you can just waltz past?"
Heads turned, the crowd's tension shifting toward Cynthia and Linzy. The frustration was evident; hours in the scorching sun had left tempers frayed, and the mere hint of someone cutting ahead threatened to ignite a full-blown uproar.
"I'm so sorry," Cynthia said, raising her hands in an attempt to placate the woman.
"Sorry?" The woman's eyes blazed with indignation. "You think an apology will fix my swollen feet or this day of misery? No, someone needs to set an example!"
Before Cynthia could respond, the woman's arm shot up, poised to strike.
Linzy's eyes widened, ready to step between them, when a hand—strong and sure—intercepted the blow.
A tall man with striking white hair, eerily similar to Jack's, stood between them. He wore a pristine white jacket, matching those of the humanitarian group that had just been let through the gates.
"And what do you think you're doing?" His tone was calm but laced with steel as he fixed his gaze on the woman.
He turned to Linzy and Cynthia, eyes softening slightly. "I think I know you two. Come with us and avoid the chaos."
Linzy's relief was immediate. "Yes, thank you," she said, not bothering to question the unexpected help. They needed an in, and he was providing one.
Once past the gates, the man introduced himself with a warm, confident smile.
"Name's Naaman. I'm with the Sceptre Medical Wish Foundation, founded by Dr. Misika Chester to help poor children access healthcare. Wear these jackets, and no one will question you." He handed them white jackets identical to his own.
Linzy slipped hers on, a slight smirk forming. "Thank you, Naaman. You mentioned you knew us—how's that?"
Naaman shrugged with casual charm. "You work for Mr. Chester's company, don't you? I've visited a few times with Mrs. Chester. Maybe I saw you there—it's that strange feeling of knowing someone without remembering why."
Cynthia nodded slowly, but her eyes still held a hint of skepticism. "That makes sense. Thank you for your help, truly."
"If you're heading somewhere specific, we could escort you," Naaman offered.
Linzy shook her head, polite but firm. "We appreciate it, but we have something personal to take care of."
Naaman's eyes lingered for a moment, as if he sensed more, but he nodded and stepped away.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Linzy leaned toward Cynthia, her expression shifting from grateful to determined. "Now, we need to find out where they're holding him."
Cynthia sighed, her caution pressing against Linzy's fierce resolve. "You know breaking him out is treason, right?"
Linzy's eyes gleamed defiantly. "What's treason in the middle of an apocalypse?"
Cynthia opened her mouth to retort, then closed it, unable to argue against that strangely convincing logic. "Fine. But even if the soldiers don't notice he's gone, we still need to find him first."
A shadow of a grin crossed Linzy's lips. "Growing up bouncing between foster homes taught me a thing or two. In places like this, there's always someone willing to talk for the right price."
Cynthia rolled her eyes. "Bribery. Another law to break. You're on a roll."
Linzy's smirk deepened. "You'll thank me later. Now, lend me your account. My bank's a pile of rubble now , the monsters stormed it already."
"Your plan is terrible," Cynthia muttered, mimicking Hamilton's words when he intended to show disapproval.
But she relented, unlocking her phone and showing her balance. A lifetime of frugal living had left her account well-stocked.
Within minutes, they found a watchman of dubious character who agreed to help in exchange for a swift payment. With a knowing nod and a greedy smile, he gestured for them to follow him through a maze of barracks.
"Stick close," Linzy whispered, eyes hardening as they stepped into the unknown. "We're just getting started."
The watchman halted abruptly in front of the weather-beaten door of an abandoned building, its upper floor skeletal with half-finished construction. The structure loomed ominously, casting jagged shadows in the dimming light. Linzy's eyes darted to the chipped walls and shattered windows, an uneasy feeling coiling in her gut.
"This place? Really?" Linzy's voice cracked, betraying her nerves.
"Just get this over with," Cynthia muttered, trying to sound braver than she felt. She shot the watchman a glare. "And don't try anything funny."
The watchman smirked, a glint of hidden menace flashing in his eyes as he gestured for them to enter.
He felt the cold metal of his pistol against his side, heart racing with anticipation. These women were naïve, so easily baited into a trap.
The building's interior was dimly lit, with thin shafts of moonlight slicing through gaps in the boarded-up windows.
Dust clung to the air, and cobwebs stretched across the corners, long undisturbed. Linzy hesitated, her fingers tracing the cracked, dusty rail of the staircase. Something felt wrong.
"Hey, are you sure he's here?" Linzy asked, taking a step back.
The watchman's smirk widened as he withdrew his pistol, the click of the safety a jolt in the silence. "No need to ask anymore. The man you're looking for didn't make it here. I lied to you ,now, hands up."
Cynthia let out a startled yelp, cut short as the watchman fired a warning shot near her feet.
The echo of the shot ricocheted through the building, making Linzy's heart pound in her chest. The man's aim was dead-on; there would be no bluffing their way out.
"Don't worry, ladies. In this apocalypse, what does it matter who lives or dies?"
The watchman's eyes were wild as he walked over to them and patted them down, snatching their wallets and phones. He pocketed their valuables, eyes lighting up when he found the wallet that belonged to Timothy.
"My, my. This is the famous Dr. Chester's photo, isn't it?" He sneered, opening the wallet and pausing when he saw the other picture inside. "And this? She is with her husband I think? What are you, the mistress?"
Linzy's face flushed with rage, every muscle in her body tensed. "If it's money you want, take it and go. Just leave us alone," she spat, voice sharp with fury and regret. The reality of her desperation was sinking in—she had put Cynthia in danger without a second thought, driven by her obsession with finding Jack.
The watchman chuckled darkly. "Funny thing is, even if I left you both unharmed, I doubt you'd report me. You'd just scurry off, still hunting and looking for that man Jack. But I'll still kill you."
He raised the gun, pointing it squarely at Linzy's head, finger hovering over the trigger.
Time seemed to slow. The sound of her heartbeat drowned out Cynthia's frantic breaths. Just as the watchman exhaled, finger tightening—
A shot rang out, clear and sharp.
The watchman's eyes widened in shock as blood bloomed on his chest, the pistol clattering to the ground as he fell face-first onto the dusty floor.
Behind him stood Dr. Misika Chester, flanked by a small squad of soldiers, one of whom still had his rifle aimed at the now-dead assailant. The tension crackled in the silence that followed, until Dr. Chester's voice cut through like a blade.
"Linzy Chase and Cynthia Snow," she said coolly, eyes narrowed. "You work for my husband. Next time, think twice before following strangers into abandoned buildings at night."
She waved a hand, and two soldiers stepped forward. "Head to the main hall with the other survivors. These two will escort you. And get rid of those jackets."
Linzy's breath came out in shuddering gasps as she tried to process what had just happened. Dr. Chester turned on her heel, ready to leave when Linzy's voice, laced with desperation, stopped her.
"Wait, Dr. Chester!" Linzy called. "Your husband told me to say this to you—March 4th, 2023."