"I mean you no harm. I only want to help. I apologize for any inconvenience."
Yasin raised his hands above his head and slowly stepped out from behind the pillar, moving toward the front yard's wall. "I'll leave now."
Faced with the woman's extreme wariness, Yasin decided to retreat—for now.
He wasn't worried she'd shoot him.
This mother and daughter had just lost the only man they could rely on.
And now, they were reduced to eating roots and tree bark.
Faced with his goodwill, they wouldn't be able to resist for long.
As he stepped back, Yasin kept his eyes on the balcony.
If he could just earn their trust—offer them food, protection—they'd lower their guard soon enough.
"Wait!"
A woman's urgent voice rang out. Then, Yasin saw her—rifle in hand—slowly rise from the balcony.
She wore a sky-blue tank top, her golden wavy hair tangled and dirty. Her fair skin was smudged with grime, her face pale from exhaustion.
But none of that could hide her voluptuous figure—full breasts, wide hips, a face that was both delicate and striking.
When she stood, the deep cleavage between her ample bosom made Yasin's mouth water.
Her thighs were thick and milky-white, not as slender as Lena Whitmore's, but soft and inviting. The way her denim shorts hugged her plump ass made him want to grab it, spread her cheeks, and—
"Thank you… for confirming what happened to my husband. And for the food. We have no way to repay you."
She pulled the young girl beside her into a deep bow.
Yet even as she spoke, her grip on the rifle never loosened. Every movement was guarded.
"It's the apocalypse. Zombies everywhere. As fellow survivors, I just want you to live. I've done what I can. If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."
Yasin bowed slightly, the picture of a gentleman, then took a few steps back.
The woman had a gun. He couldn't be sure she wouldn't turn on him. Right now, he didn't need more trouble—Vivian Sinclair was waiting for him at the estate.
"Mister… can I ask you for a favor?"
The girl's sweet voice, trembling with tears, was still achingly innocent.
"Go ahead." Yasin dragged his gaze from the woman's cleavage to the girl's face.
And froze.
That déjà vu hit him again, stronger than before.
The girl in the photo… and this young face… merging in his mind.
"Melisa…"
"Ken Kalba…"
The woman had called the girl Melisa. The gun was engraved with Kalba.
Then it clicked.
Blue tight suit. Golden hair. That bombshell from the movies.
Anyone who'd seen Super Four would remember her—the stunning heroine who could fly, manipulate gravity.
Especially that scene where she phased out of her clothes, revealing every inch of her breathtaking body.
"Melisa Kalba!"
That was it!
This girl looked just like her—Melisa Kalba!
"Mister… could you bring my father's body back? I want to bury him in the backyard. So I can talk to him every day. And if we die too… please bury us together."
Melisa wiped her tears, her expression shockingly mature for her age.
Yasin was taken aback.
This wasn't the plea of a twelve-year-old.
Seeing his hesitation, she begged, "I know we have no right to ask. But if you won't do it… take me to him. Let me see him one last time!"
"It's not that I refuse… but… he wouldn't want you to see him like that." Yasin shook his head. "It's dangerous outside. Stay here. I'll bring him back. Just… don't look when I do."
He turned to climb the wall.
His mind was made up.
If this really was Melisa Kalba… then he'd help.
"Wait!" The woman's voice stopped him again.
Yasin turned back.
"Thank you!" The woman's eyes brimmed with gratitude, tears streaming down her cheeks, her face etched with helpless despair.
"My name is Gabrielle Olsen. You can call me Gabrielle. It's an honor to meet you. Thank you… for everything. And I apologize for my rudeness earlier."
Gabrielle bowed deeply again, her full breasts swaying slightly, the deep cleavage glistening under the sunlight—irresistibly tempting.
"Thank you, mister!" Melisa Kalba also bowed gratefully. "I'm Melisa Kalba. You can call me Melisa."
Melisa Kalba!
Yasin's heart surged with excitement, as if he'd stumbled upon a priceless treasure.
Melisa Kalba—the woman he'd fantasized about countless times in his past life. From the moment he saw Super Four, he'd been captivated by her breathtaking curves and stunning face.
He'd watched nearly all her movies—Good Boys, Sin Village, The robot...
He wasn't a rabid fan, but he'd certainly… relieved himself to her image more than once.
And now, the real Melisa Kalba stood before him—utterly vulnerable.
The only downside? She looked about twelve or thirteen—still a precocious, innocent girl.
If Yasin remembered correctly, in 1993, Melisa Kalba had already entered Hollywood. By now, she should've filmed Camp herrewhere. Had the apocalypse not happened, this movie would've launched her career, propelling her to stardom, making her the fantasy of millions.
"I'm Yasin." He gave the grateful mother and daughter a long look before climbing back over the wall.
Watching him leave, the two women clung to each other, sobbing uncontrollably.
With their sole protector gone and their food supplies exhausted, they'd been surviving on roots and tree bark. Soon, even those would run out.
Before, they'd held onto hope—that their man would return with supplies. But now, knowing he was dead, despair consumed them.
Noon. 12 PM.
The sun blazed at its peak, the streets nearly empty of zombies. Most had retreated into the shadows.
Yasin returned to the house where he'd found the man's corpse, wrapped it in a curtain, and tied it to his back.
Then he carried it to the Kalbas' villa, laying the body gently in the front yard before peeling back the fabric to reveal the gruesome remains. The stench made him grimace.
"KEN!"
"DADDY!"
Two anguished wails pierced the air. The villa's door finally swung open.
Melisa and Gabrielle rushed out, collapsing beside the corpse in heartbroken sobs. Gabrielle clutched her husband's stiff, purple hand, pressing her forehead against his lifeless chest.
Grief and despair hung thick in the air. Yasin could feel their pain—raw and suffocating. It reminded him of his own parents. Would he ever see them again?
He sighed quietly, his eyes flicking to the shotgun in Gabrielle's grip—the same one he'd left behind. Even in this moment, she hadn't let her guard down.
At this range, a single blast would turn him into Swiss cheese.
Her wariness surprised him. He'd thought bringing back the body would earn their trust.
But no.
Gabrielle remained vigilant, even wary of him.
"Thank you… for bringing him back. We can never repay you."
She forced herself to stop crying, gazing at her husband's body with a hollow look—until she noticed Melisa, trembling like a leaf. Then her expression hardened.
A part of her wanted to die here, to follow her husband into the grave. This damned world held nothing for her.
But her daughter needed her.
As a mother, she had to survive—no matter the cost.
Even if it meant sacrificing everything.