The kiss deepened slowly, their tongues meeting in a rhythm that felt natural, inevitable, as if all the time spent on the farm had led to this. Jason's hands slid up her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin shirt, her body molding to his in the tight space between the empty shelves. Maggie sighed against his lips, her fingers tightening at the nape of his neck, the affection she felt for him—that quiet passion that had grown day after day—finally breaking free in a touch that said more than words ever could....
But then Jason stopped, breaking contact abruptly, his lips pulling away with a reluctance he did not bother to hide.
Maggie opened her eyes, confused, her chest rising and falling quickly.
"Jason…?" she began to whisper, her voice hoarse, green eyes searching for his, looking for an explanation, her heart racing not only from the moment but from the unexpected interruption.
Jason did not answer right away. Instead, he turned his face toward the cracked glass of the pharmacy's façade, his eyes narrowing as he caught movement outside. His senses, extremely sharp, recognized the threat before it even became visible. From the sound of dragging footsteps alone and the growing chorus of hoarse moans, he was already able to estimate how many were approaching—there were hundreds of them!
Knowing it would be foolish to try to kill them using only a machete, even though he was fully confident that he could do it, he quickly began to outline a plan so they could hide.
"Walkers…" he murmured to Maggie, his voice low and controlled, without any sign of panic, as if he were commenting on the weather. "A lot of them…"
Maggie blinked, following his gaze, and the air escaped her lungs in a shocked breath.
The street outside was filling up—not with one or two isolated walkers, but with an entire horde. Hundreds of them dragged themselves forward en masse, rotting bodies colliding with one another, advancing like a slow, inevitable tide.
"My God…" she whispered, eyes wide, her stomach twisting not just from the number, but from the cruelty of the timing. There could not have been a worse moment for this to happen.
Part of her felt a stab of frustration at being torn away from her intimate moment with Jason. Still, that irritation was quickly swallowed by a suffocating mix of fear—after all, she had never seen so many undead gathered together—and determination. A cold, instinctive impulse, the same one that had kept her alive until now, took over her body, pushing her to do whatever was necessary to survive.
Her mind quickly worked on some idea, since if the walkers were passing by, they could very well be drawn into the pharmacy and she and Jason would be in danger—but it wasn't necessary.
Jason didn't wait for her to think of something or for them to discuss what to do. With a quick, silent motion, he grabbed her arm firmly but carefully and pulled her behind the counter. The two of them crouched down on the dusty floor, hidden from the view of the street. He braced himself against the old wood, his back firm against the counter, and pulled her close. His arms wrapped around her waist in a protective embrace, his chest pressed to her back, keeping her still and safe in that cramped space.
"Shh…" he whispered in her ear, his warm breath against her skin, his tone calm as always, without a trace of fear.
Maggie nestled against him. Her heart was pounding now from a mix of terror and something deeper, but despite everything, her body slowly relaxed within his embrace. She felt his warmth, the silent security conveyed by that simple gesture, while the moans of the horde drew nearer, filling the air outside like a slow, inexorable wave.
They stayed there, in absolute silence, waiting for the walkers to pass.
Time seemed to stretch as most of the horde moved on.
The moans, once deafening, gradually began to fade, swallowed by the distance of the highway. But not all of them left; a considerable number stayed behind, wandering the side streets, dragging shadows that still filled the air with the stench of death. Relative silence returned, broken only by isolated footsteps and occasional grunts....
The two remained silent.
Jason stayed completely still, holding Maggie firmly, his chin lightly brushing the top of her head, while the affection he felt for her mingled with the cold focus of his mind regarding their survival. Protecting her—just that—occupied his thoughts at that moment, his eyes glinting faintly as he thought about exactly what to do when a walker came in, something he had already noticed through his keen hearing....
The moment he thought that, a heavy dragging sound scraped across the pharmacy floor, followed by the dry clatter of bottles falling and boxes being pushed off the shelves.
Maggie felt her blood run cold.
The moan came right after—too hoarse, too close.
Maggie tensed within his embrace, her eyes snapping open in alert, her entire body rigid. Jason glanced over his shoulder and saw the walker stumble through the open pharmacy door. The grotesque body bumped into the empty shelves, knocking them over with a crash that echoed far too loudly in the confined space.
The hoarse moan filled the air. Maggie swallowed hard, panic rising too fast to be contained.
Jason acted without hesitation. He released her carefully but urgently and rose in absolute silence. Maggie followed him with her eyes, fear for him plain on her face.
He raised a hand in a calming gesture.
"Stay there..." he mouthed without making a sound, as he drew the machete from its sheath in a fluid motion, feeling no emotion in his heart as he attacked a walker for the first time in his life, the metal sliding free without a sound. In two quick steps, he positioned himself behind the walker. One arm wrapped around the creature's torso, holding it with enough force to immobilize it, and the machete came down in a short, precise movement, burying itself in the back of its neck.
He remembered a study about fear that was often cited in psychology courses.
The case involved a patient known only by the initials S.M., who had a very rare genetic condition called Urbach–Wiethe disease, which caused the complete destruction of both amygdalae in the brain—small, almond-shaped structures deep within the temporal lobes that are strongly linked to threat detection and fear.
In controlled experiments, researchers exposed S.M. to situations that would normally provoke intense fear in anyone, such as large snakes or live spiders, horror films, or a visit to a haunted house. Surprisingly, she showed no fear and reported feeling only curiosity or interest, although she could feel other emotions normally. This strongly suggested that the amygdala plays a fundamental role in the experience and recognition of fear in humans.
This study is considered one of the most famous because it showed clearly and directly, using rigorous scientific methods, that specific parts of the brain are necessary for certain components of emotional experience. The research helped shape how psychologists and neuroscientists understand the neural basis of fear and emotions, supporting the idea that our instinctive response to danger is not just "feeling afraid," but involves concrete brain circuits that help us navigate threatening situations.
What he felt—or rather, did not feel—was not abnormal, nor a sign of cruelty or lack of humanity. It was a well-documented psychological state. In situations of extreme threat, the brain can drastically reduce the activity of the amygdala, the structure responsible for generating the conscious sensation of fear. When this happens, the emotion does not disappear entirely, but it ceases to be experienced subjectively as panic or anguish.
In place of fear comes an almost mechanical mode of functioning. The mind begins to operate on a simple, direct axis: perceive, decide, act. There is no room for revulsion, guilt, or hesitation, because those emotions require conscious processing—something the brain considers a dangerous luxury at that moment. That was why he could calculate distance, force, and timing with such precision, while his heart remained strangely steady.
He was not "without emotions" in the absolute sense. His affection for Maggie still existed, but it had been pushed to the background, functioning only as a silent directive: protect her. Everything else was shut down. The brain prioritized older, more efficient circuits responsible for immediate survival, exactly as described in classic studies on human fear.
The case of patient S.M., which he vaguely remembered from class, proved that fear is not a moral abstraction, but a concrete neurological phenomenon. When the amygdala does not engage, danger is still recognized, but without the emotional load that paralyzes. He did not feel courage, nor terror; he simply knew what needed to be done, and that was enough.
In his past life, he had already been a calm and fairly logical person, but not to this degree. The only explanation he could find for the change—so evident in that moment—was his [Perfect Condition]. Because of it, he operated on a completely different level from ordinary people, both psychologically and neurologically. He approached what many researchers might call, even if only in theory, a human being functionally ideal for survival.
The "perfect human," in this sense, is not someone stronger or more intelligent—though he was—but someone whose brain can use each emotion only when it is useful. He did not eliminate feelings; he subordinated them. Fear did not dominate him because it was unnecessary. Empathy did not interfere because it would disrupt timing. Disgust did not arise because it consumed attention. All of that was shut down automatically, without internal conflict, without conscious effort.
For him, actions like killing a walker did not require immediate moral adaptation. The brain had already categorized the situation clearly: active threat, direct solution. When the brain does this, the decision stops being "difficult" and becomes obvious. Difficulty arises when emotion and reason compete for space; when that competition does not exist, the act becomes simple, almost banal.
That was why things that would destroy other people from the inside seemed easy for him—not because they were light, but because they carried no emotional weight at the moment of execution. The weight only came later, if it came at all. And sometimes it did not, because his brain understood there was nothing to process beyond survival achieved.
While most humans oscillate between panic, hesitation, and regret, he remained aligned. Body, mind, and decision functioned as one. No energy was wasted on internal conflict. No action was delayed by doubt. That did not make him cruel; it made him efficient.
In a normal world, this kind of functioning would be rare, perhaps even dysfunctional. But in that world, dominated by death and chaos, he was someone whose brain operated exactly as evolution had always intended.
And that was what made him, literally and coldly, the perfect human for that world.
The walker's body twitched once.
Jason held it until the last spasm ceased, then guided it carefully to the floor, avoiding any impact that might echo through the pharmacy.
Silence.
Maggie let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and stood up, relief visible on her face.
"Thank God…" she murmured, barely audible.
That was when everything went wrong.
A movement behind her.
Before she could react, a cold, rigid arm tried to grab her from behind. The moan exploded far too close to her ear, and Maggie's world shrank to pure panic.
"Jason!" The name came out in a muffled scream as she tried to defend herself.
Jason cursed under his breath.
He spun instantly. There was no hesitation. The machete cut through the air in a clean arc, severing the walker's head from its body before it could bite Maggie. The corpse dropped to its knees and toppled forward, inert.
Maggie staggered back a step. Fear finally caught up with her. Although she had come to the city many times and faced several walkers, she had never been so close to death as in that instant. It had been grabbing her—one more second and she would have been bitten. She would have become one of them. The thought hammered at her mind, insistent and suffocating.
If it weren't for Jason, she...
Jason dropped the machete to the floor and pulled her into him without thinking, holding her tightly. She clutched his shirt, her body shaking now that the tension had broken. The tears came silently at first, then stronger, muffled against his chest.
"It's okay, Maggie. I'm sorry I didn't notice that walker coming in..." Jason said quietly, his hand sliding through her hair, firm and present. "But it's over. I'm here...."
She nodded through her sobs, breathing deeply little by little, feeling her heart slow against his. The world was still dangerous, still broken, but in that moment—among empty shelves and dead bodies—she was alive because of Jason....
On the other hand, Jason cursed silently at himself. He could not afford to be distracted in moments like that; he needed to maintain absolute focus on his surroundings. Thinking about his college days and trying to find an explanation for his own change had been a mistake. It had nearly cost Maggie her life. The mere possibility made his chest tighten, and a deep guilt settled there.
That would not happen again....
He promised himself as he held Maggie tightly.
Unfortunately, the embrace lasted only a few seconds.
A sharp crack echoed from the front of the pharmacy.
Then another.
And then the unmistakable sound of something heavy slamming against the door.
The first walker stumbled through the entrance, immediately followed by another… and then another. In a matter of seconds, a dozen of them began forcing their way in, drawn by the earlier noise, by the bodies on the floor, by the smell of fresh blood.
Jason lifted his head instantly.
"Shit..." he murmured, releasing Maggie urgently but carefully, grabbing the machete from the floor. She blinked, her crying stopping abruptly, green eyes widening at the sight of the threat. "Jason..."
Jason grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the back of the pharmacy.
"Come on... now."
They ran down the narrow hallway as the moans behind them multiplied.
Jason slammed the back door shut and, in a single motion, shoved a heavy metal cabinet against it, using his own body as leverage. The wood groaned as the walkers began crashing into the other side.
Impact after impact.
Maggie pulled the shotgun from her back, her fingers trembling but firm as she aimed at the shaking door.
"I can shoot them..." she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying, the fight instinct shining in her eyes, showing the tough farm girl he knew—ready to protect them both.
"No!" Jason said immediately, firm and low. "If you shoot, you'll attract everyone who just passed by."
She hesitated, fingers trembling on the trigger.
"Then what do we do?! This door won't hold!"
Jason was already looking around.
The space was cramped—stacked boxes, a rusted sink, empty shelves. Then he saw a small window high up on the back wall, narrow, almost forgotten, leading to the alley behind the pharmacy.
"There," he said, already moving.
He grabbed a metal support and broke the glass with precision, catching the larger shards before they fell. Then he quickly cleared the edges with his forearm in a way that didn't even cut him.
"You go first."
Maggie looked at the window, then at him.
"And you?"
"Don't worry about me," he replied without hesitation. "I'll be right behind you."
Another hard impact made the cabinet slide a few centimeters.
"Jason..." she insisted, eyes worried, affection tightening her chest. She didn't want to leave him behind—not now.
He held her face for a second, firm enough to make her focus.
"Maggie, trust me."
With no more time, he lifted her with impressive ease, boosting her body up to the window. Maggie grabbed the edge, took a deep breath, and carefully climbed through, managing to get to the other side. She landed on her feet in the alley and turned immediately.
"Come on, Jason!" she called, noticing some walkers staggering at the end of the street.
Jason threw the backpack through the window and turned to decapitate a walker that was forcing its way through the door with a clean machete strike. The head rolled to the floor with a dull thud, the body collapsing like an empty sack. Blood splattered, but he ignored it, slid the machete into his belt, then planted a foot on the wall and, in a fluid, almost casual motion, climbed. Despite the tight space for such a muscular body, his absurd flexibility made it look easy. He pushed off, passed through the window, and jumped down, landing calmly.
Maggie ran to him as soon as his feet hit the alley floor.
"Are you okay?" she asked immediately, her voice still shaky, eyes scanning his body for any sign of injury.
Jason nodded, retrieving the backpack and adjusting the strap on his shoulder.
"I am. Not a scratch."
She let out a sharp breath, relief coming too fast to be held back. But it didn't last.
A moan echoed to the left.
Then another, closer.
Maggie turned slowly, feeling the chill crawl up her spine. The exit of the alley began to fill. Bodies emerged from the shadows, dragging their feet, stumbling among torn trash bags and rusted doors. It wasn't just two or three. There were many. Some came from the main street, others from the side passages, drawn by the noise, the smell, and the recent movement.
"Jason…" she murmured, reaching for the shotgun again.
He followed her gaze and narrowed his eyes.
"Looks like the sound of the glass breaking must have attracted more of them into the alley...."
Maggie swallowed hard. The alley seemed to narrow ahead, the walkers slowly closing the path. Her heart pounded, but her mind didn't freeze. She quickly analyzed distances, angles, possibilities. To the right, a corner. A dark storefront. Mannequins standing still behind dusty glass.
"There..." she said, nodding with her chin. "The store."
Jason nodded once, already moving.
He crouched and picked up a rusted piece of iron from the alley floor, heavy enough to serve as an improvised weapon. Then, without wasting time, he extended the machete toward Maggie.
"Here, Maggie. I'll feel less worried if you have something to protect yourself with."
"But what about you?" Maggie looked at him, concerned.
"It may not look like it, but I'm very good at using a piece of iron...." Jason pushed the machete closer and added casually, "I can handle myself—and if anything happens, I've got you to watch my back...."
Maggie hesitated for half a second, surprised, but accepted it. Her fingers closed firmly around the handle.
"Stay behind me..." he said, already advancing.
The first walkers were only a few meters away. Jason took the lead without hesitation, the iron describing a brutal arc that crushed the nearest skull with a dry crack.
The body fell to the side, opening a path.
Maggie came right behind him, heart hammering but feet steady. A walker stumbled toward her, arms outstretched. She took a deep breath, remembering everything she had faced since the beginning of the end of the world, and attacked. The machete came down diagonally, clean enough to knock it down even if the strike wasn't perfect.
Jason was there the next instant, finishing the movement before the creature could react.
They advanced together.
Jason was always one step ahead, clearing the way, blocking arms, dodging bites. When a walker came at her from the side, he shoved Maggie back with his shoulder or pulled her by the waist out of reach, creating space for her to strike safely.
Maggie felt fear, yes—but also something new mixing with it. Trust. Not blind, but built with every gesture, every time Jason put himself between her and death without even thinking. She wanted to do the same, because the idea of losing him began to outweigh any fear she carried in her heart.
So she didn't stay passive either.
When two walkers approached together, she shouted a warning and moved first, slashing the knee of one to bring it down and opening space for Jason to crush the other with the iron. The teamwork was almost instinctive, as if they had done it hundreds of times before.
The store's display window was right there.
"Now!" Maggie said, breathless.
Jason hurled the iron at the head of the last walker trying to block the way, the solid impact opening a path. He grabbed Maggie by the arm and practically dragged her into the clothing store, shoving the door hard enough to make it slam against the inner wall.
They stumbled inside among fallen racks and scattered fabric.
Jason closed the door and barred it as best he could, pushing a fallen shelf against it.
Outside, the moans grew louder, accompanied by dull thuds against the glass.
Inside the store, the two of them paused for a moment.
Maggie leaned on her knees, breathing deeply, the machete still firm in her hand.
Jason approached her slowly, alert to every detail, his eyes scanning Maggie from head to toe for any hidden injury, any sign that something had gone wrong.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low but loaded with concern he didn't try to hide.
Maggie breathed deeply, trying to steady the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her hands still trembled slightly around the machete, but she nodded, lifting her gaze to him. Her green eyes were full of relief.
"I am… I am." She swallowed, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Thanks to you."
She straightened up slowly, feeling all the accumulated emotions of what had just happened crash down on her at once. The image of the walker appearing behind her, the cold arm trying to grab her, returned with enough force to make her shiver. If Jason had been one second slower…
Maggie closed her eyes for a moment, then took a step forward without thinking too much. She dropped the machete to the floor and wrapped Jason in a tight, almost desperate embrace. Her face buried itself in his chest, her voice muffled.
"You saved my life." There was gratitude there, but also something deeper, almost fragile. "More than once...."
Jason stood still for a brief moment, surprised by the gesture, before bringing one hand to her back, holding her firmly.
He lowered his head slightly, his chin lightly brushing the top of her hair.
"I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you, Maggie," he said sincerely. "Never."
Maggie felt her heart tighten at those words.
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes shining under the dim light of the store. A small, tired smile appeared on her lips.
"Then it looks like we'll have to keep taking care of each other," she said. Her voice was still a little hoarse, but there was determination there. "Because I don't want to lose you either."