The stale air inside the rickety shed hung heavy, thick with the scent of decaying wood, dust, and the metallic tang of dried blood from Ethan's fresh wounds. Through the narrow, splintered cracks in the warped wooden door, he watched them. The horde. A slow, relentless tide of undead, their guttural moans a growing crescendo that vibrated through the very ground beneath his trembling feet. He could see their numbers clearly now: ten Walkers, a hulking, terrifying Thug lumbering near the center, and a twitchy, frantic Infected circling the periphery.
Hostile composition: 10x Walker (Class-I), 1x Thug (Class-III), 1x Infected (Class-II).
BP potential upon neutralization: Significant (Thug: 5 BP, Infected: 3 BP).
Eight Battle Points, just from the specialized ones. A fortune. But the cost for that fortune felt like his very life. His breath hitched in his throat. This wasn't a game. There were no respawns. One mistake, one wrong move, and he was just another corpse.
He pulled back from the door, his mind racing. The shed wouldn't hold. The wood was rotten, the hinges rusted. A sustained push from even a few Walkers, let alone the Thug, would breach it. He needed a plan, and he needed it now.
His eyes darted around the confined space. Rusty tools. A stack of old, water-damaged burlap sacks. A few empty tin cans. Nothing for a proper weapon. Nothing for a barricade. He had his bat and his knife. That was it.
Think, you idiot, think! His past life memories surged, a chaotic torrent of game mechanics, zombie weaknesses, and cinematic strategies. He remembered how these things worked in Dead Island. Thugs were slow, their weakness often in their limbs, susceptible to being tripped or having their arms broken. Infecteds were fast, but surprisingly fragile if you could land a solid hit, especially to the head or legs. Walkers were just… walkers. Headshots.
The shed had a single, tiny, grimy window on the opposite wall, high up near the ceiling, barely big enough to squeeze through, but far too high to reach. Maybe a ventilation shaft? No, just a small, useless pane of glass.
He looked at the rotting sacks. Burlap. Flammable? Probably, if dry enough. He rummaged through his pockets. He had a battered lighter he'd found in the Atlanta camp. A desperate, fleeting idea sparked. Fire. Distraction.
The thumping against the door grew louder, more insistent. The Walkers were pressing in. He could hear their wet groans just outside, smell their putrid decay. The old beam he'd used to brace the door was groaning, splinters falling. He had seconds.
"Alright, you bastards," Ethan muttered, his voice hoarse, a grim smile twisting his bloodied lips. "Let's see how much that BP is really worth."
His plan was insane. But it was the only one he had.
He grabbed one of the burlap sacks, ignoring the dust and the spiders. He tore it open, then quickly shredded the material, stuffing pieces into his pockets. He found a broken, rusted shovel head. Not ideal, but could be a wedge.
The door bowed inwards, a hinge tearing away with a screech of tortured metal. He lunged for the small, high window. It was just above his head, maybe two feet by one foot. Too small, too high. He pushed on it. Rotten wood.
He picked up a rusty, three-pronged garden fork. Not a weapon, but the prongs were long. He jammed them into the top of the door frame, trying to create a rudimentary leverage point. It creaked.
The Thug slammed against the door. CRACK! The remaining hinge gave way, and the door splintered inwards, revealing the hungry, dead faces of the horde.
Ethan didn't hesitate. He swung his bat, not at the Walkers directly, but at the remaining portion of the door, forcing it inwards, sending splinters flying. This wasn't to stop them. It was to narrow the opening. As the first two Walkers stumbled through the broken doorway, he swung his bat in a blur, aiming for their heads.
CRACK! THWACK!
The first Walker went down, skull caved in. The second stumbled, its head half-caved, but still thrashing. Ethan didn't have time for a second hit. He had to keep them funneling in. He used his bat to knock the second Walker to the side, buying himself another moment.
He quickly pulled out a piece of the burlap and his lighter. His hands trembled, but his focus was absolute. He flicked the lighter open, the tiny flame flickering to life. He touched it to the dry burlap. It caught immediately, a small, smoky flame.
He then hurled the burning burlap, not at the Walkers, but into the back corner of the shed, near a pile of old, dry leaves and discarded wood. The flame caught, slowly at first, then growing into a small, licking inferno.
The Walkers ignored it, their single-minded hunger fixed on him. But the smoke. It would obscure their vision, if they even had much left. More importantly, it would create a distraction.
Ethan grabbed the old shovel head. With a desperate heave, he managed to pry a loose floorboard near the door. The shed had a shallow, dirt crawl space underneath. Not ideal, but a last resort.
The Thug was at the door now, its massive bulk filling the opening, dwarfing the normal Walkers. Its eyes, milky white, fixed on him. It lumbered inside, its powerful arms swinging.
This is it. Ethan knew he couldn't fight the Thug head-on in this confined space. Not with his current Strength of 3.
He waited, letting the Thug take another slow, ponderous step. As it did, its foot landed squarely on the now-burning section of the floor. Smoke began to fill the shed, thick and acrid.
Using his slightly improved Agility, Ethan darted to the side, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow from the Thug's meaty fist. He didn't waste time attacking its head. He dropped low, swinging his bat with all his might at its knee.
CRACK!
The sound was sickening. The Thug roared, a deep, resonant sound of pain, its leg buckling inwards. It stumbled, massive weight shifting, off balance. This was the opening.
He knew what came next. The Infected. It would have heard the commotion, the shriek of its larger cousin. He had to be quick.
As the Thug struggled, another Walker shambled through the door, eyes fixed on him. Ethan didn't hesitate. He swung his bat at its head, a swift, brutal strike that pulped its skull. One less.
Suddenly, a blur of motion from his left. The Infected. It had slipped in through the broken door, incredibly fast, a snarling blur of decaying flesh and frantic movement. It launched itself at him, teeth bared.
His Perception of 3 was just enough. He saw it coming, a split-second earlier than he would have before. He used that fraction of time to react, bringing his bat up defensively, not to hit, but to block its lunge.
The Infected slammed into the bat, a jarring impact that vibrated through his arms. It was stronger than it looked, relentless. Its claws scrabbled for purchase on his arm, but the bat kept it at bay.
"You want it?" Ethan snarled, a raw, primal ferocity rising within him. "Come get it!"
He shoved the Infected back, throwing all his remaining strength into the push. It stumbled. As it recovered, Ethan swung the bat in a tight, short arc, aiming for its head. But the Infected was already reacting, too quick. It dodged, its head snapping back, but the bat grazed its shoulder, sending it spinning into the wall.
It shrieked, a sound of frustrated rage, and immediately launched itself again. This time, Ethan was ready. As it lunged, he remembered his past life knowledge: their legs were fragile, easy to break, disabling their speed. He dropped low again, not swinging his bat, but thrusting it forward like a spear, aiming for its knees.
THWACK!
A sickening snap. The Infected shrieked, its leg bending at an unnatural angle. It collapsed to the ground, thrashing, trying to crawl towards him with its remaining limbs.
Ethan didn't give it a chance. He brought the bat down, once, twice, three times, on its head, pulverizing it into a mangled mess. The Infected went still, its twitching limbs finally ceasing.
Hostile neutralized: Infected (Class-II).
Battle Points acquired: 3.
Current BP: 3.
He was breathing heavily, ragged gasps tearing at his lungs. His side burned. His whole body screamed in protest. But he had taken down one of the faster ones. He was still in the fight.
The shed was filling with smoke. The burning pile in the corner was growing, casting flickering, demonic shadows on the walls. The remaining Walkers were still trying to get in, attracted by the noise and the scent of death. The Thug, though crippled, was slowly turning, trying to pinpoint him.
He had to deal with the Thug next. And then the remaining Walkers. He had 3 BP now.
BP Allocation Interface:
Available BP: 3.
Allocate to:
Strength (Current: 3) -> Cost: 1 BP
Agility (Current: 2) -> Cost: 1 BP
Endurance (Current: 5) -> Cost: 1 BP
Perception (Current: 3) -> Cost: 1 BP
He needed to hit harder to finish the Thug. And he needed to be able to move faster against the remaining Walkers and any unforeseen threats outside.
He allocated one point to Strength.
BP Allocated: 1.
Strength increased to 4.
A fresh wave of power coursed through his arm, a noticeable surge. His grip on the bat felt surer.
He allocated another point to Agility.
BP Allocated: 1.
Agility increased to 3.
He could feel it instantly. A slight lightness in his step, a better sense of balance. Not yet perfect, but vastly better than his crippled state.
One point left. Endurance. He couldn't skip healing.
BP Allocated: 1.
Endurance increased to 6.
Host Health Status Improvement: Health now 5/10 (Stabilized – Minor healing detected, infection resistance significantly improved).
Stamina: 6/10 (Moderate – regeneration).
His body responded, a tangible relief spreading through his wounds. The fever felt almost gone. His stamina, though still far from full, was recovering at a noticeable rate. He was at 50% health. A massive improvement from 1/10.
The Thug was still turning slowly, its broken leg dragging, snarling. The smoke was getting thicker, stinging Ethan's eyes, but its sheer size made it hard to miss. The remaining Walkers were still outside, confused by the smoke, pressing against the broken doorway.
He had to finish the Thug.
Ethan moved. His steps were more confident now, less painful. He circled the struggling Thug, keeping his distance, looking for an opening. The Thug swung wildly, its large fists flailing, but Ethan's improved Agility allowed him to sidestep the slow, powerful blows with more ease.
He aimed for the other knee. One broken leg could be a fluke. Two broken legs meant it wasn't going anywhere. He swung, putting his newly increased Strength into the blow.
CRACK!
The sound was deafening. The Thug roared, a sound of pure agony, as its second leg buckled. It fell, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud, a massive heap of rotting flesh. It writhed, trying to push itself up with its massive arms, its head lolling.
Now. The head.
Ethan swung the bat again and again, with a brutal efficiency born of desperation and cold calculation. Each blow landed with crushing force on the Thug's skull, pulverizing it. The creature thrashed, then went still.
Hostile neutralized: Thug (Class-III).
Battle Points acquired: 5.
Current BP: 5.
Five more points. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, but it was accompanied by a surge of grim satisfaction. He had done it. He had taken down the two specialized threats.
The shed was a smoke-filled inferno now, the small fire having spread to the dry wood. The remaining Walkers outside were starting to turn, confused by the smoke and the lack of human scent, but still drawn to the general area. He had to get out.
He remembered the old floorboard. The crawl space. He pulled it up, revealing the dark, cramped space beneath the shed. It was a tight squeeze, but he could make it.
He took one last look at the burning shed, at the mangled corpses of the Infected and the Thug. He had earned his points. He was stronger now. Not healed, not safe, but stronger.
He dropped into the crawl space, pulling the floorboard back into place above him. The smoke was less intense here, but the heat was rising. He began to crawl, moving blindly through the dark, damp earth beneath the burning structure, driven by the primal urge to survive and the burning image of Lily's face.
He had taken his first steps back from the abyss. The road to the Greene Farm was long, but he now had a fighting chance. And he would take it. He would find his way.