Stepping out of the apartment building, Jake took in the chaos of the neighborhood.
At the entrance of the complex, a pileup of cars blocked the way—hoods crumpled, metal twisted. Desperate people had tried to flee, only to crash into each other in their panic. The exit was now a graveyard of vehicles, sealing everyone inside.
Jake moved past wandering zombies like they were nothing, heading straight for the convenience store at the center of the complex.
Fortune Mart.
The moment he stepped inside, he saw the store owner's corpse. Her head was smashed in, likely by a blunt object. Jake didn't care who did it. He grabbed a Snickers off the shelf and shoved it into his mouth. The rush of chocolate and peanuts brought a flicker of energy back to his exhausted body.
Outside, more zombies shambled past. They glanced at him but kept moving.
They really think I'm one of them.
Relieved, Jake raided the store. Snickers, chips, chocolate, jerky—stuff he could never afford before. Now? Free for the taking. He cracked open a bottle of red wine from behind the counter and lit up a pack of premium cigarettes—$100 a pack. Back in the old world, he'd been stuck with the cheap stuff.
Leaning back in the dead owner's chair, he smoked, drank, and watched the undead wander outside.
After a while, he stuffed his haul into a backpack—snacks, booze, smokes—then hit the pharmacy next door. Bandages, antiseptic, painkillers, antibiotics. He even found a hiking backpack, a walking stick, and a coil of nylon rope.
Perfect.
The hiking pack bulged with supplies. Between that and the two heavy duffel bags of food, he was carrying nearly 80 pounds. Not ideal for a guy who'd spent the last few years as a shut-in, but he needed to minimize trips. The less people saw him walking unscathed among the dead, the better.
Before leaving, he spotted the condoms and… other adult items behind the counter.
Might as well.
He grabbed a handful and stuffed them into his bag.