Night fell like a heavy curtain, and silence blanketed the town. It was unsettling. The small town felt like it had been abandoned by the sun itself. No streetlights, no flickering lamps—only an eerie, choking darkness. The few lights that remained dared not shine too brightly, as if even illumination was being hunted.
Inside the house, Morgan carefully re-bandaged Rick's wound, confirming it was indeed a gunshot injury. Afterward, he called out to his son.
"Duane, bring out all the food we have."
"You two are lucky," Morgan said, placing plates on the table. "It's a long walk from the hospital to here. You must've run into a lot of those things. How'd you even make it?"
Jason, who was ravenously hungry, didn't wait. He grabbed the food and started eating in big mouthfuls. While chewing, he shot Rick a glance, silently urging him to eat faster too.
"It was pretty simple," Jason said between bites. "The zombies out there are scattered. If they were grouped together, we'd be dead meat by now. But since they weren't, I just… took them out."
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "You? Alone? No weapon?"
Duane, sitting across the table, looked doubtful. "Those zombies aren't human anymore. When they go feral, they're way stronger than us. You just got outta the hospital. How could you fight them?"
Jason finished his steak in just a few bites, licked his fingers, then smirked.
"Lions and tigers aren't human either—but we still manage to tame them, right? You just have to outsmart them. That's all."
"Tch..." Duane snorted and looked away, clearly thinking Jason was full of it.
But Rick remained silent. He knew Jason wasn't exaggerating. If not for Jason stepping in earlier, he'd have been zombie chow by now. Rick had seen firsthand how Jason fought—barehanded, fearless, efficient.
Dinner was quiet after that. Jason ate the most, nearly devouring as much food as the other three combined. He didn't know why—just that he was starving, like a deep, bottomless pit had opened inside him.
Around eleven that night, the sound of dragging feet echoed from outside. Groaning. Shuffling.
Zombies.
Morgan instantly moved to shut off all the lights. He crept toward the window, peeking through a small crack in the door.
Duane froze. Whatever he saw through the gap made him tremble uncontrollably. He stumbled back to the sofa, curled up, and silently cried.
Jason stood by the wall, arms folded, rubbing his chin as a thought struck him.
Right… this must be Morgan's wife. Duane's mother…
Wrapped in a blanket, Rick stared blankly at the floor. His mind still struggled to accept reality. He had seen the undead, witnessed people treating them like monsters—but deep down, part of him couldn't believe it. Couldn't understand it.
Corpses weren't supposed to move. They weren't supposed to crave human flesh.
"This isn't the time to overthink," Jason said, walking over and patting Rick on the shoulder. "You'll figure it out soon enough."
He shrugged. "We're called survivors now. But honestly? I don't think we'll survive long if we don't arm ourselves."
Zombies were a nightmare. Guns, tanks—even planes—were nearly useless. Make too much noise, and hordes would come swarming from miles around. Without high-grade weapons, you either starved… or became food.
The night passed quietly, though the tension never left.
And by morning, Jason had made up his mind.
It was time to put his plan into action.
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