"Don't sleep, don't sleep..." With a low voice, Alto encouraged himself. He knew that if he collapsed now, the sun would dehydrate him even if the zombies didn't get him first. The videos he had seen of people lost in the wild being roasted into charred husks by the sun were no joke. Fortunately, luck was on his side as a small supermarket appeared at the next intersection. Although the storefront was only about six or seven meters wide, the glass doors were intact, and goods were visible on the shelves. With his throat bobbing violently, Alto spotted a cooler full of drinks and mineral water right by the entrance. He wanted nothing more than to rush inside and guzzle down every bottle.
However, his remaining logic stopped him because he noticed several zombies inside the shop. He couldn't ignore them this time. He had to find a way to kill them and get inside. Alto checked the surroundings. On one side was a hotpot restaurant where the glass door had been shattered into shards. The interior was pitch black, but it didn't have that rotting stench, suggesting there weren't many zombies inside. On the other side was a liquor and tobacco shop about two meters wide. The alcohol and cigarettes had been mostly looted, and a half-rotted corpse lay behind the counter. This shop marked the end of the street, leading into a crossroad.
Alto didn't linger on the liquor and tobacco shop. With a tight feeling in his throat, he assessed the situation. The area around this unassuming supermarket seemed relatively safe, allowing him to focus on the zombies inside. Charging in blindly would be foolish; if they swarmed him, he wouldn't survive. He thought for a moment and formed a plan. He pulled down the towel covering his nose and mouth, then tore a piece of fabric and dabbed it against his lips. With a small bloodstain appearing on the cloth, Alto tucked it away and pulled the towel back up. He hoped this bit of blood would work, otherwise, he would have to use sound to lure them, which was far more dangerous.
With the pointed iron rod gripped in his right hand, he prepared for any attack. He skewered the bloody cloth onto the tip of the iron rod and pulled open the supermarket glass door with his left hand. The door slid open smoothly without a sound. He extended the rod into the store and gave it a light shake, then waited in silence. After ten seconds, a zombie caught the faint scent of blood and stumbled toward the door. With a low groan, the zombie opened its mouth to bite, but as soon as it reached the entrance, the iron rod pierced its skull.
Psh!
Alto was becoming familiar with the sensation of the iron rod puncturing flesh. The tension and fear he felt when he killed his first zombie this morning had vanished. He was adapting quickly because he knew his life depended on it. He was too weak to be sentimental. If he weren't so exhausted, he was certain he could have just rushed in and taken them all down.
The first zombie fell at the door with a dull thud. The sound was just loud enough to alert the other two inside, and they came lunging toward the door with guttural roars. Alto stabbed another one, but the third zombie was already on him. There was no time to pull the iron rod back, so with a powerful thrust of his leg, he kicked the zombie in the chest. He had underestimated his own weakness. It felt like kicking a block of concrete, and he lost his balance and fell backward. The zombie crashed down on top of him.
Bang!
A sharp pain flared in the back of his head. Alto wanted to curse. With the zombie pressing down on his chest and snapping its jaws at his face, he realized he had dropped the iron rod. He had no weapons left. The shadow of death loomed over him. In a moment of desperation, he ripped the towel from his face and shoved it into the zombie's mouth. While the towel didn't hurt the creature, it muffled the stench and prevented it from biting him.
The zombie's mouth was blocked, but its hands clawed at him wildly. Alto remembered his rule: a single scratch or bite meant infection. With his body twisting to avoid the claws, his hand groped blindly at his side. Finally, he felt a glass bottle of soda. He grabbed it by the neck, smashed the bottom against the floor, and drove the jagged glass into the zombie's head. Once, twice, three times, four... His hand moved like a motor. He didn't know how many times he stabbed until the zombie finally went still. He pushed the mangled corpse aside and stood up to straighten his clothes. His hospital gown was filthy, but he had nothing else to wear. He added finding fresh clothes to his future checklist.
The fight hadn't been as quiet as he hoped, but since the bottle-smashing happened inside, the sound hadn't traveled far. He didn't have to worry about attracting more zombies from the neighborhood, especially since the liquor and tobacco shop was empty and the hotpot restaurant seemed clear. With a calm expression, Alto walked to the drink section. He grabbed a one-liter bottle of mineral water, used some to wash his hands and face, and then began to chug. After several gulps, he remembered that drinking too much water too fast while dehydrated could cause water intoxication. He slowed down, taking small sips and swallowing slowly. Then, he found some chocolate on the shelves and devoured two bars in quick succession. Usually, he couldn't afford this expensive chocolate, but now he didn't care. The feeling of shopping for free was incredible. He couldn't help but eat another piece.
After his feast, Alto's hunger and thirst subsided. He stopped eating to avoid making himself sick. With the high energy from the chocolate, he felt his strength returning after just a few minutes. He dragged the three corpses out to the street to clear the smell from the supermarket. After sitting on a small plastic stool for a while, he ate and drank some more until he was full. He had planned to search for portable supplies, but the injuries from his fall began to throb. New pain layered over the old, and he was forced to sit back down.
Now that his basic needs were met, the adrenaline faded, and the aches from the fight rushed in. His back was sore from the fall. Though the pain was manageable, it was irritating. He also felt a slight numbness in his waist. He didn't remember being hurt there, so he lifted his hospital gown to check. With a visible red finger mark on his skin, he sighed in relief that there was no broken skin. The thick hospital gown had protected him from the zombie's claws. Otherwise, he would have been part of the undead horde by now.
As he rested, he suddenly heard the sound of nails scratching against the floor behind him. With a sudden shiver, he grabbed the iron rod and spun around. In the aisle between the shelves, a zombie was crawling toward him. Its throat had been torn open, leaving it unable to make the signature zombie sounds. Its lower body was missing, and its intestines trailed behind it. With the sight of it nearly making his meal resurface, Alto steeled himself and pierced the creature's skull.
The zombie was wearing a bulging black backpack.
"This is a good bag for carrying supplies,"
Alto muttered as he removed it from the corpse. He had been using a makeshift bag made from a pillowcase and was worried about how to carry everything. This was exactly what he needed. Inside the black backpack, he found a lot of loose change, likely the money the supermarket owner had collected. There were also keys, a few bottles of mineral water, some food, a pack of tissues, two packs of cigarettes, and a windproof lighter. It was a decent survival kit, but the supermarket owner hadn't made it out.
Following the trail of blood and grime, Alto walked to the back of the store. In a small bathroom, he found the lower half of a body; two rotting legs. He could imagine what happened. A customer turned into a zombie and attacked. The supermarket owner grabbed his bag and tried to hide in the bathroom, but his throat was ripped open before he could lock the door. The zombies had eaten him from the waist down, tearing him in half while he was still alive. Because his brain remained intact, he had turned into a crawler. The three zombies he killed earlier were likely the culprits.
Alto used the keys from the black backpack to lock the supermarket door from the inside. He planned to rest here. With the golden sunlight blazing outside, it was too dangerous to keep moving and risk heatstroke. He needed to recover and plan his next move. This was the only place he'd found with plenty of food and water. He found some cardboard boxes, tore them open, and made a makeshift bed in the corner. After untying the cloth strips from his sleeves and removing his foul-smelling top, he lay down. The hospital gown smelled so bad it made his eyes water, so he got up again, rinsed it with a bucket of mineral water, and hung it on a shelf to dry.
He dragged the upper half of the zombie into the bathroom to rejoin its legs. Finally, he lay back down. His head throbbed, and with exhaustion hitting him like a tide, he drifted off to sleep. His dreams were filled with battles, zombies biting his head, and endless chases. He didn't know how long he slept before he jolted awake. His subconscious knew the supermarket wasn't perfectly safe. Outside the window, the sun was still strong, reflecting off the street. There was still plenty of daylight left.
Despite the rest, he felt incredibly weary, as if he could sleep forever. With a long stretch, his stomach growled loudly. He was hungry again. He walked toward the shelves to find food, but a sudden realization struck him. He froze in place as cold sweat broke out on his forehead. The sky was still bright, so he couldn't have slept long, yet why was he so hungry? His throat was dry and it hurt to swallow. He had drunk half a bottle of water before bed; he shouldn't be this thirsty. That kind of dry throat usually only happened after four or more hours of sleep. But if he had slept that long, the sky should be showing the colors of dusk.
He touched his chin and felt the stubble that had grown. The red finger mark on his waist had almost vanished. With a chill running down his spine, he realized he must have been asleep for at least an entire day. Maybe even longer.