The concrete ribbon of the highway stretched endlessly before Ethan, now bathed in the gentle glow of the morning sun. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth, a welcome change from the putrid reek of the abandoned town. His backpack felt substantial, a comforting weight on his shoulders, filled with the fruits of his meticulous scavenging. His body, completely recovered and humming with amplified power, moved with an effortless stride that defied the miles he'd already covered.
Host Status: Ethan Miller Health: 10/10 (Fully restored – All physical damage repaired. Immune system boosted significantly). Stamina: 18/10 (Superhuman – Instantaneous regeneration of minor exertion, rapid recovery from extreme exertion). Strength: 19 Agility: 17 Perception: 16 Current BP: 45.
He was a different man now. The fear that had once been a constant companion had receded, replaced by a cold, calculating confidence. His Perception, now a staggering 16, painted the world in vivid detail. He could hear the faint rustle of a snake in the undergrowth a hundred yards away, discern the subtle changes in the wind that indicated approaching rain, and feel the almost imperceptible vibrations on the asphalt from a distant walker. Nothing escaped his notice.
His journey was a relentless, methodical progress. He kept to the highway, its open expanse allowing him to spot threats from a distance. Most walkers were easy to avoid, their shambling forms no match for his Agility. When he encountered a scattered few, he dispatched them with brutal efficiency, each swing of his bat or machete a swift, crushing blow that added a negligible but growing trickle of Battle Points to his reserves. He was no longer just surviving; he was training, pushing his already formidable stats to their absolute limits.
He navigated past abandoned vehicles, some burned out, others riddled with bullet holes. Each told a silent story of terror and desperation. He avoided the deeper ravines and dense forests, knowing they could hide unseen dangers, but also knowing that the main roads attracted the most concentrated threats.
By late afternoon, the highway began to show more signs of decay. The asphalt was more broken, trees encroaching further. He knew he was getting deeper into rural Georgia, further from any major cities. He needed to find another source of water soon, even with his superhuman stamina, as his purified water supply was dwindling. Food, thankfully, was less of an immediate concern thanks to his earlier haul.
Just as he was contemplating diverting to look for a small stream or an abandoned farmhouse, his enhanced Perception caught something. A faint, irregular shimmer in the distance, partially obscured by a dense clump of trees. It wasn't metal reflecting the sun. It was... fluid. Moving.
He slowed his pace, his senses on high alert. The shimmer resolved into a viscous, oozing trail on the asphalt, glistening wetly even under the afternoon sun. It looked like mucus, thick and dark, streaked with what appeared to be dried blood. It was unlike anything left by a standard walker, or even an Infected or Thug. This was something else. Something truly alien and horrifying.
His past life memories, vast and terrifyingly precise, flooded his mind. This was the signature of a Boomer. From Dead Island. Bile. Explosive bile. A creature that could turn a simple encounter into a chaotic, vision-obscuring nightmare, attracting everything nearby. But their explosions were also devastating.
Hostile detected: Proximity of Boomer (Class-IV). Warning: Highly volatile hostile. Avoid close-quarters engagement until specific tactics are employed. Ranged neutralization or precise environmental exploitation recommended. BP potential: 8.
Eight Battle Points. He wasn't going to let this one get away. He just had to be smart. He moved off the highway, keeping to the cover of the tree line, tracking the disgusting trail. The smell grew stronger, a foul, acidic stench that made his eyes water. He pushed through it, his stomach churning, but his resolve unwavering.
He found it near a small, overgrown rest stop, a dilapidated brick building half-swallowed by vines. The Boomer was a grotesque sight. Its body was massively distended, its skin stretched taut and green, pus-filled blisters bulging. It wheezed with every breath, a wet, rattling sound, its eyes cloudy and unfocused. It shuffled slowly, seemingly oblivious, its large belly swaying precariously.
There were also three standard walkers shambling nearby, attracted by the Boomer's smell, but keeping a cautious distance.
Ethan assessed the situation. The Boomer was the priority. A direct hit would make it explode, covering him in bile and drawing every dead thing for miles. He needed a different approach. Ranged neutralization. But he had no gun. His machete or bat were too close quarters.
He scanned the environment with his heightened Perception. The rest stop building. Broken windows. A shattered picnic table. And then he saw it. A discarded metal pipe, partially buried in the tall grass near the edge of the woods. It was long, slender, and seemed sturdy enough.
He retrieved the pipe silently. It was roughly six feet long, lighter than his bat, but with a sharp, blunt end. Not a melee weapon for close quarters, but a perfect makeshift spear.
He moved into position, keeping the building between himself and the Boomer. He had to be precise. One thrown weapon. One chance. He aimed for the head, specifically for one of the larger, more prominent blisters on its face. The weaker point.
He took a deep breath, focusing his Strength and Agility into the throw. He launched the pipe with all his might, a silent, deadly missile.
It whistled through the air, covering the distance in a fraction of a second.
SPLAT!
The pipe struck the Boomer's face with a sickening, wet impact, piercing one of the large blisters. The creature shuddered, a low, gurgling moan rising in its throat. Its body began to swell, distending even further, turning a deeper, sickly green.
Ethan didn't wait. He spun, diving behind the thick concrete barrier of the abandoned rest stop sign, shielding himself from the impending blast.
The explosion was deafening. A thunderous "KA-BOOM!" that ripped through the quiet afternoon. A wave of corrosive, green bile splattered against the sign, sizzling and smoking, its acrid smell burning his nostrils even from his shielded position. The sound reverberated through the very ground.
Hostile neutralized: Boomer (Class-IV). Battle Points acquired: 8. Current BP: 53.
Victory. But at a cost. The explosion, while deadly to the Boomer, was a beacon in the wilderness. He could already hear the distant, growing chorus of groans. More walkers. Maybe even an Infected. They would be drawn to the sound, to the stench of fresh bile. He had minutes, maybe seconds.
He scrambled from behind the sign, his bat now in hand, eyes scanning the highway. The three walkers that had been near the Boomer were gone, likely vaporized by the blast. But from the north and south, from the dense woods flanking the highway, the dead were coming.
He didn't wait. He began to run, not in a frantic flight, but a calculated retreat, his Agility allowing him to cover ground with astonishing speed. He moved back onto the highway, putting distance between himself and the rest stop, creating a buffer.
He ran for nearly a mile, his superhuman stamina allowing him to maintain a blistering pace. Then, he stopped, turning to face the direction he'd come from. He could hear them now, clearer, more numerous. A new horde.
But he was ready. He was stronger. He had more BP. He would use this encounter as another training ground. He had a machete for close work, a bat for crushing. He was a perfect killing machine.