He's a Sharp One
The hallway was quiet. That didn't mean there were no zombies.
Exactly five steps from the front door, a man sat slumped against the wall. Nail fragments and blood littered the floor. Red paint—or what looked like it—was smeared thick across the wall and the door itself. Worst of all, the man's nape had been chewed open, his face twisted in agony.
Looks like he got bitten no matter how you slice it. So why isn't he moving?
Even stranger: the place was covered in signs of a desperate struggle, yet I hadn't heard a single scream.
The soundproofing around here isn't that good.
Back when I'd slept over at my girlfriend's place, the woman next door had left a sticky note the next morning asking us to keep it down a little. Finding out those two were cheating on each other had been entirely thanks to the paper-thin walls. So how the hell had I missed this guy's screams?
Better just get out of here.
Plenty of things still felt off, but in the end I had to go outside. Heading home would buy me a temporary break from the danger. But what about after that? Would tomorrow magically free me from having to take these risks? Someone else might step up, sure—but by then every scrap of food in the convenience store would already be gone.
It all comes down to opportunity cost.
I stepped into the hallway, eyes locked on the man, hammer clenched tight so I could bolt the second anything moved. Behind me the front door finally swung shut with a cheerful electronic chime that echoed down the corridor.
Krrrraaah—
With a wet crack of bone, the zombie's head snapped around. The moment those pain-blown pupils met mine, I drove off the floor.
Crunch!
I brought the hammer down on the skull of the thing trying to rise. A clean, solid sound, and the body crumpled. Just in case it wasn't finished, I kicked the head hard.
Crack!
The neck twisted in a direction no neck should ever go. When the body went completely limp I finally let out a breath.
Takes more out of you than I expected.
Unlike the first time, this one could have hit me back. The mental drain was real. The one silver lining: I felt zero hesitation or guilt about killing zombies.
Keep moving.
I wiped the blood off the hammer on the zombie's clothes and started down the hall. The second I hit the stairwell, the stench of blood punched me in the nose.
What a goddamn mess.
Blood coated the steps and the railing. Both the way up and the way down were painted with it—something ugly had gone down here. Careful not to slip, I gripped the rail and descended slowly.
I reached the first floor. The scene I'd glimpsed from above now spread out in pieces, though the zombie count looked a little thinner.
The ones inside the building just stood there. Why the hell are these bastards wandering around?
I clicked my tongue at the shambling figures. Ideally I'd avoid a fight entirely, but dodging every last one of them on the way to the store looked impossible.
I'll run into them on the way back anyway. Better to clear them all out now.
I started mapping the most efficient route in my head.
Take that one first, then that bastard will come over, so…
Plan locked in, I stepped outside. First target: the one with its head planted against a streetlight.
Crunch!
I smashed the back of its skull and drove its face deeper into the pole. It made a stupid gurgling noise, so I hit it a few more times until it went quiet.
Kraaaah—
Three steps away, another one's eyes locked onto mine. The second it lunged I cracked it hard across the forehead. It toppled backward. When it tried to scramble up I flipped the hammer around.
Thud!
I drove the claw end into its face again and again until it stopped moving.
"Hoo!"
Worried the noise might draw the others, I shot to my feet and scanned every direction. Nothing was coming.
I'd figured zombies were hypersensitive to sound, but their hearing seemed worse than expected. Or maybe it just varied by individual.
All the ones near the building are handled.
Now the real problem was the zombies between me and the convenience store.
Three of them, right?
I steadied my slightly elevated breathing and moved again. One zombie was draped over a car hood like it still had unfinished business with the vehicle.
"Hey."
I tapped it with the hammer. The body twitched. I wanted to cave its skull in right there, but one wrong hit and the car alarm would scream, so I stayed careful.
The zombie rose slowly—very slowly. When it turned, its belly came into view, massively swollen.
That thing's not about to explode, is it?
You know the type—every zombie game has those suicide-bomber variants. In a world already ending, mutant strains weren't out of the question.
Crunch!
I had no interest in getting caught in a blast, so I struck from maximum range and immediately backed three steps away.
Kraaaaaah…
It clutched its forehead and staggered. When it stretched its arms toward me again I hit it a few more times until it collapsed for good.
Thud!
Just a fat one, apparently. Not a bomber.
Still no room for carelessness.
I kept clearing the street zombies one by one, sometimes slipping past them, gradually closing the distance. By this point I should have been exhausted, yet I felt strangely full of energy.
And I swear I've gotten stronger.
Zombies that used to take six solid hammer blows now went down after five.
"Hmm."
Something had changed in my body, but I couldn't pin down exactly what.
"Status… window?"
Feeling ridiculous, I glanced around and muttered it under my breath. Nothing appeared. My face burned.
Yeah, of course not.
This wasn't a web novel. No status screens were going to pop up. I dropped the nonsense and started walking again.
After putting down exactly three more zombies, I reached the convenience store. It sat on a small neighborhood intersection and had always been popular with the local studio-apartment crowd.
Already looted, maybe?
Not that much time had passed, but it was still possible. Honestly I hoped there were zombies inside—at least they'd be guarding the supplies.
"What do I do about this?"
My wish lasted less than five seconds. Voices were coming from inside the store.
Might as well go in.
I slipped the hammer into my pocket and pushed the door open. The little bell jingled, and every pair of eyes at the counter snapped toward me.
"Uh…"
"Ah—hello?"
Two men holding shopping baskets stared at me. I didn't know them, but I'd probably passed them on the street a few times.
"Yeah. Hello."
We just looked at each other in silence. The air turned thick and awkward. Even a zombie would have turned around and left—it was that stifling.
How do I play this?
While I was still weighing options, one of them spoke first.
"So, uh… how did you get all the way here?"
"I walked?"
He asked something obvious, so I gave an obvious answer.
"N-no, I mean, that is…"
The guy was so flustered he couldn't form a sentence. His friend—or whatever he was—jumped in.
"What he means is there must have been infected people out there. How did you make it this far?"
So they called them "infected" instead of zombies. No point correcting the terminology.
"I cleared every single one on the way, obviously. What about you two?"
"We just avoided them. Got lucky—there weren't any near the store."
"Really lucky."
The conversation died right there.
I had no idea what was going through their heads, but I knew exactly what was going through mine.
Do I kill them, or do I let them walk?
It might sound like something a psychopath would think, but this was a serious calculation.
First reason: the stuff in their baskets looked incredibly good. Canned goods, various lunch boxes—they'd cherry-picked the best of it. With that haul I could eat well for days, maybe two full weeks.
Second reason: resources were finite. Related to the first point, but different in kind.
This is literal.
No one knew how things would unfold from here. What was certain was that for the foreseeable future, no new resources would be produced. We would have to live off whatever already existed in the world.
That meant the world had become a zero-sum game.
If I let these two walk away, not only would my share of resources shrink—it could keep shrinking. That was unacceptable. The total amount of food was fixed.
If I deal with them before that happens…
Only two people. Ambush one cleanly and the second would be easy.
"Hey, we already filled this—here, take one."
Just as the scales were tipping, the first man set his basket on the floor.
"Dude, why are you giving that away?"
"H-he needs to take something too."
"Even so—there's two of us. We should take more!"
"You sure I can take this?"
I cut in while they were still arguing.
"Y-yeah, of course! We'll just take this much!"
"Hey—no!"
"Shut up and get out with that, you idiot. I'll take what I already grabbed."
He shoved the protesting man toward me. Forced outside, the guy finally trudged off grumbling.
"We really packed that one carefully."
He said it just before leaving.
"Yeah. I'll put it to good use. Thanks."
At that the second man gave up too and headed out. A moment later the one who'd gone deeper into the store emerged carrying a box.
"Uh… we'll be going now. There's more food in the back storage, not just on the shelves. You can grab extra from there."
"Got it."
"Well then…"
Ding-a-ling—
Once he was gone I walked deeper into the store.
He's a sharp one.
No matter how I looked at it, he'd figured out exactly what I was thinking. Nothing else explained that reaction.
Where had I slipped? My eyes? My face? The atmosphere?
I'll think about it later.
They'd said the store still had plenty of stock. Better to grab what I needed first and worry about the rest afterward.
I looked over the goods spread out in front of me and thought:
Lucky break.