Harem Apocalypse: My Seed is the Cure?!-Chapter 227: Claiming Atlantic City [5]

Approximately two hours had passed since we’d first entered the Whitesun Hotel, and we were still deep in the grueling process of clearing it floor by floor.

Maybe two hours was excessive time for what we were doing—I honestly wasn’t sure. Perhaps it would have seemed long to an outside observer, especially considering that people with supernatural abilities like myself, Sydney, Rachel, and Cindy were handling the majority of the dangerous work. Our enhanced speed, strength, and reflexes should theoretically allow us to move through the building much faster than normal humans could manage.

But unfortunately, the reality of clearing wasn’t just about rushing through hallways and killing whatever Infected we happened to stumble across. It was a painstaking process that required extreme attention to detail and couldn’t be rushed without risking dangerous consequences.

We were being extraordinarily careful about securing this hotel precisely because a large community of approximately sixty people—including children and elderly individuals would be residing here once we finished. Margaret’s entire group would be calling this building home, sleeping in these rooms, walking these hallways, trusting that we’d done our job thoroughly enough to keep them safe.

None of us wanted any drama or preventable deaths because we’d gotten careless and missed some corner or closet, dismissively judging that nobody could possibly be hiding there. The price of that kind of arrogance would be paid in innocent blood.

The clearing process itself consisted of several distinct stages that we’d established and were following religiously.

First, we systematically checked every single room on each floor, examining seriously every possible nook and cranny where an Infected could potentially be hiding. That meant looking under beds, inside closets, behind shower curtains, in maintenance spaces, behind furniture—anywhere a human-sized body could conceivably fit. We used flashlights to illuminate dark corners and listened carefully for any sound of movement or breathing that might betray a presence we couldn’t immediately see.

Second, when we encountered an Infected, we killed it, but we didn’t stop there. After confirming the creature was truly dead through brain destruction, we would physically move the corpse to the nearest window and throw it outside. The bodies would fall several stories to crash onto the concrete ground surrounding the hotel’s exterior.

Yeah, the method was barbaric and would probably haunt some of us later when we had time to process what we were doing. But we genuinely had no better alternative given our circumstances and the risks involved.

Some Infected had demonstrated the ability to appear dead, completely motionless, showing no signs of animation—only to suddenly wake up and attack when triggered by a loud sound or nearby movement. We’d witnessed this disturbing behavior multiple times during previous encounters. So even corpses that seemed thoroughly dead couldn’t be trusted to stay that way. They had to be removed from the building entirely, and the multi-story fall onto concrete provided additional assurance that the brain had been sufficiently destroyed.

Later, once the hotel was fully secured and occupied, all those bodies piled outside would need to be collected and burned. That would be its own unpleasant task, but it was a problem for future us to solve.

The Infected population had evolved in disturbing ways since the initial outbreak. We were no longer just dealing with the standard shambling corpses that had characterized the early days. Now there were variants even among the category of regular, non-Enhanced Infected.

Some demonstrated rudimentary pack behavior, managing to follow larger groups and form coordinated clusters that moved together. Others showed concerning slivers of intelligence, problem-solving abilities that shouldn’t exist in creatures supposedly driven only by mindless hunger. And increasingly, we were encountering Infected that could run rather than just walk, their deteriorated bodies somehow retaining enough muscle coordination for actual sprinting.

I’d personally encountered numerous types and variations over the past months, which was exactly why we were being so paranoid about our clearing procedures. Better to waste time being thorough than to cut corners and pay for it later.

And yes, of course, since we were working together as a coordinated team and checking each room methodically rather than racing through independently, we naturally took periodic breaks to rest and discuss what we were finding. Despite our enhanced abilities, we were still just people in our late teens, not some elite special forces squad trained for this kind of sustained operation. We got tired. We got mentally exhausted. We needed moments to decompress and maintain our sanity.

Seeing and actively dealing with Infected for extended periods—killing them over and over, disposing of corpses, confronting the reality of what they used to be was mentally and emotionally draining even after months of experience. Half an hour of continuous exposure was already headache-inducing and psychologically taxing. I couldn’t even imagine how Rachel and Cindy were coping, given that they were less accustomed to this kind of sustained violence than Sydney, Christopher and I were.

There was also the pervasive, pungent smell that permeated the entire hotel, a mixture of decay, stagnant air, mildew, and various unidentifiable odors that made breathing unpleasant. The scent clung to our clothes and hair, invaded our nostrils, and would probably linger in our sensory memory long after we’d left the building.

The whole structure would clearly require extensive, thorough cleaning later once everyone moved in. Opening windows to air out the rooms, scrubbing surfaces, maybe even finding industrial cleaning supplies to sanitize everything. But that was another future problem.

Right now, we were on the eighth floor, moving together through yet another dimly lit corridor that looked essentially identical to all the previous floors we’d cleared.

Each floor contained approximately fifteen to twenty rooms when you counted not just the standard guest accommodations but also storage spaces, utility closets, housekeeping areas, and other auxiliary rooms. That substantial number was part of why we’d chosen to split into smaller teams rather than all moving through each room as one large group, it was simply more efficient time-wise.

I’d partnered with Cindy for room-clearing duties, while Christopher had gone with Sydney and Rachel to form the second team. We maintained visual and auditory contact, never getting more than a few rooms apart, but worked semi-independently to cover more ground.

The pairing arrangement had a sense of course. Christopher wasn’t a superhuman like the rest of us, which meant he needed the protection of having two enhanced individuals with him. And while Cindy possessed a Dullahan-enhanced body with improved strength and durability, she still hadn’t awakened any specific ability like Sydney’s speed or Rachel’s barriers. So having her work with me, someone who could react extremely quickly to threats provided an extra safety margin.

All precautions in the possibility of stumbling in front of an Enhanced Infected.

Safety first. Always.

With my flashlight gripped in one hand and my axe ready in the other, I reached out and slowly pushed open the door to the room ahead.

With the electricity completely dead throughout the building, none of the electronic locks functioned anymore. We could enter each room immediately just by turning the handle, one of the few conveniences this situation offered.

As soon as I opened the door wide enough, I stepped inside ahead of Cindy, sweeping my flashlight beam across the interior to illuminate potential threats.

Like most of the rooms we’d checked, this one was plunged into near-total darkness broken only by whatever weak daylight managed to filter through the heavy curtains covering the window. The silence was eerie and oppressive, that particular quality of stillness that came from a space that had been completely undisturbed for months.

There was definitely the musty smell of a long-sealed room, stale air that hadn’t circulated in ages, dust settling on every surface. But importantly, I didn’t detect the distinctive smell of blood or the nauseating odor that accompanied Infected presence. That was encouraging. Probably meant the room was clear, though we’d verify thoroughly before moving on.

"Look, Ryan," Cindy said from behind me, directing her own flashlight beam toward the bed.

I turned my light in that direction and saw what had caught her attention. Two suitcases sat on the bed, both partially opened with clothes and personal items visible spilling out.

I approached the bed cautiously and reached out to examine one of the suitcases more closely.

The contents were exactly what you’d expect from someone staying in a hotel for a night or two, clothing appropriate for travel, toiletries, various miscellaneous items that people pack when they’re away from home. Nothing unusual or noteworthy.

The two people who’d owned these suitcases clearly weren’t here anymore. Either they’d been outside the hotel when the Infected outbreak had reached this area, or perhaps they’d been standing in this exact room when screams and chaos had erupted in the hallways. Maybe they’d heard the sounds of violence approaching, made the split-second decision to flee for their lives, and abandoned their luggage in their desperate rush for the exits.

"It all happened on the same day everywhere, didn’t it?" Cindy mumbled quietly beside me, examining the other suitcase which appeared to belong to a woman based on the clothing styles and personal items.

My suitcase was clearly a man’s, probably the woman’s husband or boyfriend. They might have been a couple enjoying a romantic getaway or business trip, completely unaware that the world was about to end.

"Yeah, same day throughout America and probably the entire world," I said, unable to keep a bitter scoff from escaping. "Nobody saw it coming—not ordinary citizens, not local governments, not even federal authorities. Or at least, that’s what they want us to believe."

All these government rulers and elite decision-makers had almost certainly chosen to save themselves first and foremost, keeping the impending invasion secret from the general population by making whatever devil’s bargain or pact they could negotiate with the Starakians. That seemed like the most likely scenario given how coordinated and simultaneous the outbreak had been across the entire planet.

Right now, while the rest of us struggled to survive day-to-day like stray dogs fighting over scraps, those chosen few were probably living in comfortable, secure homes somewhere—fortified compounds or underground bunkers or remote facilities where no Infected could reach them and the Starakians had agreed not to attack. Protected by whatever agreement they’d made in exchange for... what? Cooperation? Intelligence on human resistance? Access to resources? The betrayal of their own species?

"Elena’s and Alisha’s father was among those chosen ones, wasn’t he?" Cindy asked quietly.

Chosen ones. That was the term Mei had used back at Lexington Charter when she spoke first of the theory that certain elites had advance knowledge of what was coming.

She was truly miles ahead.

"Yeah," I confirmed with a nod. "He definitely was."

The evidence pointed clearly in that direction. The unnatural calmness had displayed when we’d encountered him, the way he’d seemed to be actively trying to contact Elena and Alisha even before the outbreak had fully manifested, the resources and organization he’d demonstrated, all of it suggested someone who’d been prepared because they’d known what was coming.

But something about that timeline still bothered me when I thought about it too carefully.

If he had genuinely been aware of the impending disaster in advance, if he’d had sufficient warning to prepare himself and ensure his own safety, then why hadn’t he used that foreknowledge to protect his daughters more effectively? Why risk their lives at all?

He should have manufactured some excuse to extract them from their normal routines and bring them to whatever secure stronghold or safe location he’d arranged for himself. A week before the outbreak started would have been plenty of time to get them somewhere safe without raising suspicions. Hell, even a few days’ warning would have been enough.

Instead, Elena and Alisha had been at their normal locations when everything went to hell, vulnerable, exposed, forced to survive on their own.

That seemed like incredibly reckless behavior for a father who supposedly cared about his children and had the power to protect them. Unless... maybe he’d been warned at the absolute last moment? Maybe the timeline had been tighter than I was assuming, and he’d tried to reach them but failed due to the chaos and communication breakdowns?

Or perhaps there were other factors I didn’t understand—political considerations or operational constraints that had prevented him from acting on his foreknowledge in the way I would have expected.

I’d probably never know the full truth unless I confronted him directly and demanded answers.

Cindy sighed heavily beside me.

"We aren’t born equal, are we," she said softly, her hands clenching into fists where they rested on the opened luggage. "Not even close to equal. The circumstances of our birth, who our parents are, what connections they have, how much money or power they possess—all of that determines whether we live or die when catastrophe strikes."

She paused, then continued in a low voice. "You know, for a brief moment back then, I actually thought maybe my parents were among those chosen ones too. That they had advance knowledge, that they’d been spared, and that they would come to rescue me from Lexington Charter."

I turned my full attention to her, hearing the pain beneath her words.

"I... I received calls from them, you know," Cindy continued, her voice growing even quieter. "When the outbreak first started spreading through the city. They called me while we were all trapped at Lexington Charter, the day before you arrived with the others.."

Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the luggage tighter. "They said they were coming to get me. They promised they’d fight through whatever obstacles were in their way and bring me home safely. That was the last thing they told me—that they were coming."

"Cindy..."

"But they never came," she said. "And I stopped receiving calls entirely after that last one. Their phones went dead, or they did, or both. That final call with them telling they were coming to rescue me was the last time I ever heard their voices."

"Cindy," I called her trying to stop her.

"I know it was stupid to hope," she continued, a bitter laugh escaping despite the tears I could hear threatening in her voice. "Stupid to imagine they might be among the protected elite, that they might have access to resources and safety that could help me. If they really had been part of that group, the people who sold out humanity to the Starakians in exchange for their own survival—I would have resented them for that betrayal. I would have been angry at their selfishness and cowardice."

Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "But at least they would still be alive somewhere. At least I could hold onto the possibility of seeing them again someday, even if I hated what they’d become. Instead, they’re just... gone. Dead, probably. Maybe turned into Infected themselves, shambling around some street I’ll never visit. I’ll never know for certain what happened to them, and that uncertainty is its own special kind of torture."

"Cinderella," I said her full name with more force this time, trying to break through the spiral of grief I could see pulling her down.

She turned her gaze toward me, and even in the dim lighting of the room—illuminated only by our flashlights creating stark shadows—I could see her blue eyes glistening with unshed tears that caught and reflected the light.

I didn’t hesitate. I reached out my hand to gently cup her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin and the slight trembling that betrayed how hard she was fighting to maintain control. Then I slid my hand to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, and pulled her into a firm embrace.

"I’m sorry," I said quietly against her hair, holding her close and stroking her back in what I hoped was a comforting rhythm. "I’m so sorry you went through that. Sorry you’re still going through it."

Cindy nodded weakly against my shoulder, her arms coming up to cling to my back. Her fingers gripped my jacket tightly.

I could feel her body shaking slightly, could sense that she was on the very edge of breaking down into tears. But she was holding back with obvious effort, forcing herself to maintain some measure of composure despite the emotional dam that was clearly threatening to burst.

We stood like that for a long moment, just holding each other in the darkness and silence of an abandoned hotel room.

Finally, Cindy pulled back slightly to look at me directly. Her blue eyes were luminous in the flashlight’s glow, swimming with tears that stubbornly refused to fall despite how close she was to crying.

"That’s why," she said, her voice stronger now despite the emotion coloring it, "please, Ryan. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t be another person who promises to stay and then disappears. I can’t... I can’t go through that again."

I felt my chest constrict hearing that.

It wasn’t my intention to hurt her or anyone else...

I reached out to cup her face again with both hands, making sure she could see the sincerity in my expression even in this dim lighting.

"I won’t."