- This sixth... - said Sergey, pushing away another zombie that he met during his march through the city, the sun went down, a little more and it will be dark, it is worth finding a house to spend the night. Wiping his bloody hands on a rag, he looked at a private two-story house.
- I think it will do - he said opening the door, standing at the entrance listening to the sounds and hearing nothing, he locked the door with a bolt, going up to all the windows on the first floor he closed all the curtains, going up to the second floor and making sure that no one was there. He began to rummage around in the kitchen, looking for something edible, opening the refrigerator he stared at what was left of vegetables or fruits, a rotten black or brown small mass. - Hmm... A mouse hanged itself in the fridge, - he drawled, closing the fridge and continuing to rummage through the drawers, opening the doors, and found nothing special, only dishes and spices, which by the way he took, might come in handy, although he doesn't quite remember if they spoil over time.
- Wow... Honey, the last time I ate it was about three years ago. - he muttered, putting a small jar in his backpack. So. Apart from honey and spices, he didn't find anything interesting to eat. And he didn't need anything from his things, unless it was ammunition or a weapon, which, unfortunately, he didn't find in the house. Ugh. And where is this stereotype that almost every American has a weapon in the house? I don't see it. Entering the garage, his gaze lingered on the blue pickup, is there a chance that it can still work? Really? It looks fine, unless you count the thick layer of dust, of course. Having spent a little time to open the hood, he looked inside.
—FWEET! Hmm... Even worse than my seven, which I bought out of stupidity, although what was to be expected. How many years have passed since it was last used? — Sergey whistled and said, remembering his first car, which broke down and stalled every time, how many nerves it burned out... How many times he tried to fix it himself. The repairs cost much more, almost than the car itself. Having burned out, he decided to sell it, which did not work out. After all, people were much smarter than him, and they realized what kind of junk he was foisting off, as a result, not finding a buyer, he sold it for scrap. Of course, they didn't make much money, but the plus was that he began to understand cars well. That's how it is...
— I don't want to do this, it's too much trouble and will take a lot of time to fix, maybe in the future I'll be able to find a better one. — he said, closing the hood. Having climbed up to the second floor, entered the bedroom, closed the door and threw the backpack on the floor, he happily plopped down on the soft double bed, stretched out contentedly, he stared at the moldy ceiling. He had not communicated with anyone for several months, he began to miss it... He wanted to meet people sooner. Thinking about it a little sadly, he soon fell asleep.
---
In the morning
Sleepily opening his eyes, yawning from the squat, the sun's rays through the window said that day had come, it was time to move out, but first breakfast. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he began to rummage through the backpack until he found a gas burner for heating food. Having installed it, he went to the kitchen for a kettle, having washed it a little, he poured water into it and began to wait for it to boil. Having glanced at the empty bottle, he thought. The water supply was running out, the pipeline did not work anywhere, what was left was what was in the flask, he needed to quickly find people or look for a new way to get more. Five minutes later, the kettle began to whistle, turning off the burner, he poured boiling water into an aluminum mug, making coffee with sugar, putting it aside so that it cooled a little, he reached into the backpack to get what little was left of the ration, these were ordinary biscuits and a small package from under jam. After a quick breakfast, checking the condition of the weapon, he went to the exit.
Lighting a cigarette, blowing out clouds of smoke, he calmly walked along the road, not having met anyone yet. Inspecting the houses and buildings along the way, he noticed a drawing of a mature woman on a brick wall as if praying with her eyes closed with the words written just below "feel her love." Wait Ka. These drawings usually drew the cult of "Sirafites" or "scars" as they were called in the "VOF". As far as he remembers, they settled in Seattle, or rather on the island next to it. Now it became clear to him where he is now. He is not burning with desire to join the VOF and the local Scars fanatics, he has had enough of the past. All these factions are too painful, they are all problematic to join somewhere. Maybe he should go and find a water park? If this is the right time period, they can meet Owen, Mell, and Abby there. Quite a good company, rather than wandering alone. After all, a person is a social creature, reaching out to people. The goal is set, now you need to find a map or a person who could show you the way. He does not know the city and most likely will wander for a long time to find the place. Having bought a cigarette and put it out with his foot, he fixed his gaze on the zombie in front of him, who was standing with his back to him. Taking out a knife and bending down, he quietly crept up to him. Sharply grabbing him with a strangling grip, he directed the blade of the knife to his throat, the zombie felt how he was grabbed, began to twitch and wriggle trying to bite, squeezing the zombie even tighter so that he would not break free, Sergei smoothly walked the blade along the throat, from where a stream of blood immediately began to flow, dripping onto the road, going deeper and deeper with the knife into the throat, the zombie gradually began to lose strength, cutting his throat, a moment later the zombie stopped twitching and undermined the signs of life.
- It's easy, this world doesn't seem too dangerous. - He said boredly, pushing the zombie away from him, who fell belly-down on the road with a dull thud. He wanted to continue on his way, but was interrupted by a guttural scream from the side...
Khya!!!
Turning in the direction of the scream, he saw a zombie staring at him with bloodshot eyes behind the shop window, he was furiously pounding the window with his hands, a split second passed and the glass cracked, a web of cracks spread across the window, and already with a crash it broke, making the sound of broken glass, there was a lot of noise... The zombie, like glass, broke, ran madly towards him. Damn it. Reacting quickly to this, he instantly pulled out a PM with a silencer from his holster and, taking aim, fired several shots into the head as he ran straight towards him.
Shot, shot.
The bullets accurately smashed the zombie's head, and before he could run, he lay sprawled on the road a few meters away from him with holes in his skull.
Suddenly he heard a loud crash nearby, the sounds of many footsteps and screams. The sounds of breaking glass, a shot and a guttural scream attracted his attention. He began to retreat backwards, The first thing he saw was a pair of creakers coming out of a nearby building, twitching and slowly limping towards him, suddenly a horde of runners rushed at him from the buildings around and the dark alleys, screaming madly,
and there were more and more of them... Sergei cursed under his breath, turned around and briskly ran forward
BITCH! What an Idiot He Is! Who pulled his tongue?! Huh?! Fuck... And this wasn't the first time this had happened to him, there were several such moments in the exclusion zone, when he started to relax and say that it was easy as pie, but after these words everything started to go downhill. Either a bloodsucker would appear out of nowhere, or some evil spirit, or a sudden raid of bandits. Okay... In the worst case, I'll use a machine gun and a grenade...
A guttural roar ahead interrupted his inner thoughts and he noticed a runner running towards him, stopping for a moment, he put his head under the sight and fired a couple of shots, the bullets broke his skull, the zombie, not reaching him, fell tumbling onto the road completely immobilized. When he fell to the ground, he continued moving, passing over the corpse. Without stopping running, turning around, he noticed how there were even more zombies, and one grenade and a machine gun would clearly not be enough. This was already a reason to worry. We urgently need to find a way to break away from them. Sergei deftly maneuvered along the road, avoiding bushes and trees growing into the road, parked cars and trucks.
- Hey! Over here! - he heard someone shout from the side, turning his head in that direction he noticed a bearded man in shabby clothes waving at him near the alley, beckoning him. Quickly changing course, he headed straight for the bearded man. It was not time to find out who this man was yet, he needed to avoid the horde. A little later he would deal with this man. Seeing that Sergey was starting to run towards him, he dove into the alley, Sergey followed him. When he passed through the mesh fence, the man slammed the door and closed it, and then, pushing, propped it up with a garbage container.
- Questions a little later, first we need to break away from them - the man said and for a moment glanced at Sergey, especially looking at his equipment and weapon, frowning a little, he turned his back to him and began to lead.
It seemed that nothing good would come from the man, coldly looking at the man's back, he followed him.
(I want to say that the chapter will still be edited. Did you like the chapter? Write comments, they motivate me to write.
The work will be slow, because of work and mood. Are there too many specific details of the description of his actions? Should I shorten them? And at the moment I am deciding in which person to write. From the first or third. I am not yet experienced in terms of writing, can you say something to improve the quality of the work.)