In the heart of Brooklyn, within the sprawling confines of the Walmart superstore, the group had found temporary refuge. Unlike typical supermarkets where groceries dominate the first floor, this Walmart had flipped the script—branded clothing, watches, and jewelry occupied the ground level, while the food section was strategically placed on the second floor. Eight escalators bridged the two levels, a testament to the store's customer-centric design.

  From the entrance, only a portion of the first floor was visible, allowing Vincent's group to move discreetly, avoiding the gaze of any lurking zombies.

  On the second floor, amidst a vast array of food items ranging from basic eggs to high-end nutritional supplements, the group had carved out a small clearing by rearranging some shelves. Old Mike sat on a chair, meticulously cleaning his barely-used shotgun, while Laura, his wife, toyed with an M9 pistol. Despite their age, they had no choice but to adapt, their survival hinging on their ability to handle weapons.

  Nearby, a pile of firearms and ammunition weighed over a hundred kilograms—far too much for anyone to carry alone. Leaning against a shelf, a despondent young black man in a bloodstained Walmart uniform sat in silence. Before Vincent's group arrived, he had been the sole survivor in the store, the others either turned into zombies or killed by the infected security guard whose revolver he had taken—now in Jason's possession.

  "Everyone's here, perfect," Vincent announced as he led the group over. "Let me introduce Robbie," he said, gesturing to the newcomer. He then proceeded to introduce the others: "This is Mike, his wife Laura, Mannila here, Christine—don't let her mature look fool you, she's only sixteen—and Jason, whom I'm sure you've already met."

  "Hi, Robbie!"

  "Hey!"

  After the introductions, Vincent turned to the young man. "And this guy... we just met him. He let us in. I don't know his name."

  "Bovin," the man muttered, lifting his head briefly before slumping back into his despair. Vincent had noticed his hopelessness from the start—his refusal to change out of his bloodied clothes spoke volumes. Bovin's initial reluctance to let them in wasn't out of malice but sheer terror. His fear had paralyzed him, a stark contrast to Jason's unshakable optimism.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Vincent, ever the observer, believed Bovin wasn't a bad person—just overwhelmed by fear.

  "Jason," Vincent called, pulling the young man aside for a quick conversation. Jason initially resisted but eventually nodded, clearing his throat as if preparing for a performance.

  Vincent then led Robbie away for a private talk, leaving the others behind. "What's your plan?" Vincent asked bluntly, biting into an apple.

  "First, tell me what happened," Robbie replied, pointing to his bandaged wounds. "How did I end up here?"

  Vincent recounted the events succinctly, finishing with, "We're planning to gather supplies, find a car in the parking lot, and head to the countryside. I'd like you to come with us. You know why I saved you. If you join us, we can stay here a few more days until your wounds heal."

  Robbie fell silent, then suddenly asked, "How long has it been since you rescued me?"

  "Just past noon, so about five hours," Vincent replied, checking his watch.

  "I need to leave," Robbie declared, pulling out his gun and heading for the exit. He stopped abruptly, turning back. "Can I have more ammo?"

  Vincent frowned. "What are you planning?"

  "My brother... he was bitten. I need to check on him. He can't die," Robbie said urgently.

  Vincent hesitated, then gestured toward the pile of weapons. "Take what you need."

  Robbie rushed to the ammo stash, grabbing several magazines for his M9 pistol. He opted against a rifle, preferring the flexibility of a handgun for close-quarters combat.

  As Robbie dashed toward the exit, Vincent called after him, "Take the underground parking lot—fewer zombies, and there are cars there!"

  The others watched in confusion as Robbie disappeared. Vincent explained, "He's going back for his brother."

  Vincent chose not to involve the entire group. The risk outweighed the potential reward—Robbie's brother was likely already dead or turned. Sending everyone into a zombie-infested area for a slim chance of saving one person wasn't worth it. Vincent felt a pang of disappointment; Robbie, a skilled marksman, had acted impulsively, jeopardizing his survival.

  Five minutes later, Vincent stood by a second-floor window, watching a car speed out of the underground parking lot. He felt a twinge of regret, wondering if he should have stopped Robbie.

  "Aren't you going to help him?" Mannila asked, joining him by the window.

  Vincent stroked the stubble on his chin, silent.