Alan left the rooftop and returned to his apartment. At that moment, he felt terrible—slightly anxious, not for himself, but for humanity.
Austin, Texas had over eight hundred thousand residents, and so far, Alan only knew of himself and those people escaping in that vehicle.
Perhaps there were many survivors like him in the city. But with all those infected and the bombings, the number of survivors decreased each day.
Just as Alan was lying in bed, preparing to fall asleep, he heard a series of faint sounds coming from below.
Alan was able to hear it because he had cleared the top of the building, and the sounds from outside were minimal.
Knowing he was alone, Alan's senses sharpened.
There was only one possibility: the infected downstairs were moving. Alan got up and went to the blocked hallway. Indeed, the sounds of infected could be heard below, and it seemed like they intended to climb the stairs.
Alan was surprised. He had blocked the hallway firmly. He had checked it regularly for some time, but the infected never climbed, so he hadn't paid much attention to improving the defenses.
Soon enough, Alan would have to leave. Staying in this residential building any longer would bring nothing but problems.
He needed resources from outside and didn't want them to be damaged by people desperately searching for food.
Alan didn't look back at the hallway; he had his priorities.
He glanced at his belongings: the suitcase with weapons, the one with food, and his military bag with everything needed to survive outdoors.
It would be a huge problem if he left any bag behind, but taking them all was difficult. However, down below, near the parking lot, he had a Honda Goldwing, a massive motorcycle with an extremely quiet engine.
For these times, there was nothing better than a Honda Goldwing to travel the streets. Alan packed all the essentials—water and resources.
He wanted to sleep for a while, just three hours, to hope to proceed with the next step: escape from the house, a plan he had thought about countless times but had never put into practice.
Three hours later, around 3:30 a.m., when it was darkest, Alan opened his eyes. His biological clock reminded him it was time to wake up.
How did he learn this? Well, courtesy of his special forces training.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Alan heard the sounds of the infected below again. Fortunately, there were only a few of them downstairs. If there had been more, he would have been a bit more worried.
"It's time." Alan began to check his gear to leave the apartment.
His clothes were the same as before, chosen for taking out the infected, but this time, he wore his rifle with several magazines in his vest.
In his vest, he had medicines, bandages, and tourniquets for first aid.
If something went wrong, Alan believed he was in good condition to face it. Additionally, the knives, which were crucial for taking out enemies silently, were the items he had been collecting since he started clearing the apartments.
For a soldier like him, carrying a heavy load in his backpack wouldn't be a problem for a short period of time.
If Alan wanted to leave and stay safe, he needed to take everything he could with him and leave nothing behind.