When Vincent woke up, it was already noon. The growls of the zombies below had become a background noise he barely noticed, unless something out of the ordinary happened. As consciousness returned, he felt something soft against his face. Opening his eyes, he realized his head was resting on Manny’s chest, her body providing an unintentional pillow. Her left breast was slightly flattened under the weight of his head.

  Vincent had tested Manny’s chest before—her curves were natural, not the result of silicone. The difference was obvious: natural breasts spread when lying down, while augmented ones stayed perky. Manny’s were undeniably real and undeniably soft.

  “What time is it?” Vincent asked, sitting up and glancing around. Everyone else was already awake, scattered across the rooftop, looking bored and restless.

  Manny chuckled, grabbing his wrist and lifting it to show him his watch. “You’ve got a watch, genius. Why ask me?”

  The watch read 11:30 a.m. Vincent frowned, rubbing his temples as a dull headache pulsed behind his eyes. “Why didn’t anyone wake me? Anything happen?”

  “Nothing happened. That’s why we let you sleep,” Manny replied, pulling a pack of crackers and a bottle of water from her bag and handing them to him.

  Vincent took the food and stood, stretching slightly. “You okay? Headache?” Manny asked, noticing his discomfort.

  “Yeah, just stayed up too late last night,” Vincent muttered, walking to the edge of the rooftop. He leaned on the railing, looking down at the sea of zombies below. The stench was foul, but it didn’t kill his appetite. In a survival situation, eating was non-negotiable—you needed energy to keep going.

  “Hey,” Christine’s voice came softly from behind him.

  Vincent turned, offering her a warm smile. “Hey. Want some?” he asked, holding out the crackers.

  “No, thanks. I already ate,” Christine replied, her tone hesitant. The events of the previous day had been awkward, but after a night to process, she seemed more composed. She wasn’t the type to dwell on embarrassment for too long.

  “How are you feeling?” Vincent asked, studying her.

  “Okay, I guess. It hurts a little when I move,” Christine admitted, brushing her hand lightly over her injured hip.

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  “That’s normal. Just take it easy,” Vincent said, turning his attention back to the zombies below. Some of them had noticed him and were reaching up, their guttural growls filling the air.

  “About yesterday… I didn’t get a chance to say… thank you,” Christine stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Don’t mention it,” Vincent replied with a smile. Then, his expression turned serious. “Have you changed the dressing on your wound?”

  “What?” Christine blinked, caught off guard. Then, her cheeks flushed as she realized what he meant. “Oh, no. I didn’t…”

  Vincent sighed. Wounds needed regular dressing changes to prevent infection, especially in a world as filthy as this one. He called Manny over and quickly explained the steps for changing the bandages. It wasn’t complicated, but it needed to be done.

  “You’re not doing it yourself?” Manny teased, raising an eyebrow.

  “Cut it out,” Vincent said, swatting her playfully on the hip. “Just get it done. This isn’t something we can delay.”

  As Manny led Christine away, Vincent turned back to the railing, his mind already shifting to the next problem. He had inventoried their food supplies the day before—they had enough for three days, maybe four if they rationed carefully. Strong John, the retired general, had been refusing to eat much, feeling guilty about consuming resources he hadn’t contributed to. His daughter, Kelly, was quiet and withdrawn, barely speaking to anyone.

  Vincent had learned more about John during their conversations. The man was a decorated veteran, recently retired, when the outbreak hit. He had lost one son in combat and another who had been serving overseas when the world fell apart. Kelly was his youngest, a high school student before everything went to hell. John’s wife had turned into a zombie early on, and he had been forced to kill her to protect Kelly. The man carried a lot of pain, and his temper flared whenever his daughter was involved.

  “Any plans yet?” John asked, joining Vincent at the railing.

  Vincent hesitated, taking a sip of water before answering. “Yeah. I’ve got something in mind.”

  John’s eyes lit up. “You do? What is it?”

  “It’s… risky,” Vincent admitted, his voice low. “We should only try it if we have no other choice.”

  “What’s the plan?” John pressed, his tone serious.

  Vincent shook his head. “I can’t say. Not yet. Some people might act on it too soon, and that could get us all killed.”

  John nodded, though his curiosity was piqued. He didn’t press further, instead turning his attention back to the streets below.

  A moment later, Vincent heard John’s voice rise in anger. “I told you to stay away from my daughter! She’s not well—leave her alone!”

  Vincent didn’t need to look to know what was happening. Jason, ever the optimist, had been trying to strike up conversations with Kelly. The girl, traumatized by the horrors she’d witnessed, rarely spoke. Jason, however, was persistent, and his attempts to engage her had earned him John’s wrath more than once.

  “Sorry, I just… I thought talking might help her,” Jason stammered, backing away.

  John’s voice softened slightly, though his frustration was still evident. “She’s been through enough. Just… give her space.”

  Jason slunk over to Vincent, picking up a piece of broken brick and tossing it over the edge. “You like her, don’t you?” Vincent asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

  Jason grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah… I guess I do.”

  Vincent nodded, his gaze drifting back to the endless horde below. “Then prove it. Show her—and John—that you can protect her.”

  Two days later, the rooftop was tense. Their food had run out, and the group was growing increasingly restless. Without supplies, they were just waiting to die.

  Vincent stood at the railing, staring down at the zombies. He was still waiting—waiting for the right moment to take the risk he’d been considering. It wasn’t a plan so much as a desperate gamble, but it might be their only chance. Until then, all they could do was wait.