For this reason, he systematically eliminated the sniffers before investigating a place. With luck, he could escape the other two as long as he remained silent and didn't draw attention to himself. At least that was the case in most situations, but it didn't apply to the sniffers.
Another relevant point about the dead in general was that, for some reason, they all seemed to shy away from sunlight, although it didn't affect them. They were always in the streets even in broad daylight. However, for some reason, they seemed to prefer to roam at night, at least that's how it seemed to him. Most of the dead were inside buildings during the day, under bridges. He even saw piles of dead grouped together in the shadows. The nights, on the other hand, were chaos where the infected population reigned, emerging from every possible place, running aimlessly, creating stampedes of dead chasing the sound of others.
He was getting ready to leave; it was seven in the morning. He dressed in thick jeans, a shirt, and a jacket that he had reinforced on the inside with an extra layer of soft cotton and some tape. It was indeed a hot day, but he preferred to dress that way. It wasn't foolproof protection, but he felt better with it on. A bite on his arms wouldn't be very effective; they would have to tear through his protections first.
He grabbed his goggles, his cell phone, and his logbook, where he had drawn various maps.
"Just another day, nothing different from yesterday," he sang to himself to calm his nerves. "Another day just like the previous one, and the one before. If only I weren't at the end of the damn world. Maybe I should find a volleyball and paint a face on it." He tried to joke with himself to ease his nerves.
He checked the path on the paper, even though he had done so yesterday; it was always good to learn shortcuts or alternate routes to use in case of an emergency. He also tried to find a high place from which he could get a different angle on the supermarket. The day before, he had managed to climb a fire escape of a building and eliminated at least fifteen sniffers from there—a very impressive feat, although not his personal record. He eventually retreated out of fear of running out of ammunition.
Finally, he checked his weapons, thinking about which ones to take. At this point, he had a small arsenal: the AR from ATL that he usually carried, a pair of Berettas in .40 caliber, and 9mm, respectively; an M75 Champion, a compact M75 in .40 caliber, which he had never used, and an XM2010 rifle, which was a newer version of the M24 Winchester. This one was installed in the main window of his house and served as the final line of defense. Its shots were powerful enough to eliminate targets at great distances.
His goals this time were to find food, medicine, and ammunition—plus a ball, to see if it would keep him company for conversation before bedtime; maybe he could even give it a wig.
He currently wished for an automatic pistol. There were two shotguns, but he didn't take either of them. Those weapons represented a significant tactical disadvantage in his opinion. They were large and needed to be used up close to achieve a significant impact. They made a lot of noise, which would attract unwanted attention. Not to mention that they required constant cartridge reloading, which, in a real situation, would mean certain death. He knew very well that a larger caliber didn't necessarily mean an improvement. As long as you aimed for the head or neck, a small caliber would be just as effective as a larger one. Besides, they were dead; he didn't need to eliminate them 100% of the time. Sometimes, just destabilizing them was enough to gain an advantage.
He took the pair of Berettas, the Champion slung on a leg strap, and the AR from ATL on his back. He checked the windows before leaving the house, as well as the traps. He grabbed a hand knife for precaution and, in a bag, a small bottle with the last of the bleach, alcohol, two of his logbooks, along with his preferred mechanical camera, recorder, and pocket player.
He set off on foot along the main avenue while humming softly. This allowed him to stay alert while observing in all directions. There were vehicles, but they didn't offer an advantage at the moment. Several times, he saw people fleeing in cars, chased by huffers who eventually caught up with the vehicle, climbed onto it, and battered it until they stopped it or flipped it over, then they took the occupants. He preferred to walk; silence was his friend.
The environment was full of buzzing flies, and the grass and weeds were gradually reclaiming the pavement, appearing in small cracks. The street was empty, but on the adjacent one, he saw about three figures walking slowly, most likely mutilated. They didn't pose any threat. The sky was clear that day, which was a relief. There were flocks of infected birds flying across the sky; he classified them as sniffers, probably infected from eating dead flesh. Interestingly, he had noticed a few days ago that there were no infected rats or cats; both species were extinct, and their corpses could be found scattered on the streets. He was unsure of the reasons behind this phenomenon.
He crossed a bridge and continued along the main road for about half an hour of walking. The weather was cool, with a gentle breeze almost imperceptible, which was good. He appreciated days like this when everything seemed ideal. The sun was strong, and he was sweating a bit under all his clothes, but he was comfortable. His only desire was to go unnoticed and finish all of this quickly.
Ahead of him was a street filled with abandoned vehicles in various sections. This marked the beginning of a dangerous territory. Beyond that, there were some very tall buildings, but before reaching them, he had to cross a small patch of overgrown weeds where a train used to pass. This was a place where sniffers were usually found.
He cautiously climbed a walkway, his AR ready to scan the area and shoot. He also had the option of taking the longer route, but it would take him more than an hour to walk around the area, not to mention the risk of being seen there. He lay quietly on the metal of the walkway, propped his rifle on his backpack, and carefully observed through the telescopic sight.
Approaching twelve o'clock, there was a sniffer, a fairly large dog with long fangs. He didn't know the breed, but he didn't want to face it. He attached the suppressor to the rifle, calculated the distance taking into account the wind, a trick he had learned from Raul, an eccentric gun enthusiast who was now dead. After finishing, the scope was slightly off to the right of the target, but he knew that was the correct way. He took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. He felt a slight push on his shoulder as the bullet passed through the dog's skull, bringing it down.
To the left, there was a huffer along with a sniffer. This represented a challenge, and he had tested it before. Shooting the huffer first meant being discovered by the sniffer due to the lingering gunpowder in the air. After that, there wouldn't be time to shoot again, just time to run. On the other hand, shooting the sniffer first meant that the huffer would be alerted and start running, but with no clear direction, it was only a matter of time before he eliminated it. This was the better option of the two, so he aimed at the canine and fired. As he had imagined, the huffer began to move, running through the underbrush. He left it that way; if there were any other creatures around, it would alert them and give away his position.
After about two minutes of movement, he found a second huffer, which joined the first one, following it. Two shots took care of them before he continued on his way.
He crossed a couple of houses, moving slowly. The sun was now rising strongly, and he tried not to attract attention as he walked, observing in all directions. The area he was in was semi-residential, with some tall buildings full of homes. Now, it was the hiding place for hundreds of the dead. It was the kind of place he had avoided at all costs in the past. The multiple windows of the houses and partially constructed walls were perfect hiding spots for zombies. Fortunately, none of them were peeking out unnecessarily at the moment.
"Just one foot in front of the other, and if something makes a sound, run. Simple. Just don't shoot when you see a dead one behind you. There are plenty of hiding places," he muttered to himself. His nerves were starting to get on edge. In the distance, he noticed a couple of huffers running and crashing into a window of some building, probably chasing after a surviving dog.