The decision to venture out, even just to scavenge the immediate neighborhood, hung heavy in the air. After their initial inventory of Marcus's house and the shed, it was clear they had enough food and water for maybe two weeks, stretched thin. The generator was a blessing, but fuel was a finite resource. They couldn't stay holed up indefinitely.
"We need more," Ethan stated, looking around at the tired faces in the living room. "More food, more water, more medicine. Batteries. Fuel. Anything useful. And we need to find out what's really happening out there."
Mr. Henderson nodded grimly. "Agreed. But it's too dangerous for all of us. And someone needs to stay here, keep watch, maintain the barricades."
"I'll go," Marcus said, his voice flat but firm. "This is my neighborhood. I know the houses, where people kept things." His grief was still palpable, but beneath it, a desperate need for purpose seemed to ignite.
Ethan looked at him, then at the hatchet in his lap. Marcus, despite his earlier fear, had shown resilience, and his knowledge of the area was invaluable. "Okay, Marcus. But just us two. It's too risky to take more."
Chloe, Lily, Sam, and Jasmine looked nervous but didn't argue. Mr. Henderson, though clearly worried, conceded the point. "Be careful," he urged, his gaze lingering on Ethan. "Don't take unnecessary risks."
**\[New Objective: Conduct a scavenging expedition. Sub-objectives: Locate food, water, medical supplies, and other useful resources. Reward: Experience Points based on resources secured and threats neutralized.]**
Ethan checked his **Status** one last time.
**Name:** Ethan James
**Title:** None
**Level:** 2
**Experience:** 140/200 (Next Level)
**Strength:** 7
**Agility:** 7
**Stamina:** 8
**Intelligence:** 9
**Skills:** Melee Proficiency (Tier 1)
**Points:** 0
He felt a nervous flutter in his stomach, but the thought of his new skill and the subtle stat boosts gave him a flicker of confidence.
They prepared carefully. Ethan put on a sturdy pair of work boots and a long-sleeved shirt from Marcus's dad's closet. He carried the hatchet securely in his belt, his crowbar tucked into his backpack. Marcus armed himself with a heavy-duty wrench and a smaller backpack. They went over a quick plan: stick to residential streets, avoid main roads, move fast, and if they encountered more than one or two zombies, or anything bigger, they'd evade rather than engage.
"Comms?" Marcus asked, pulling out his phone. No signal. Ethan's was the same. The networks were down, just as they'd been since the chaos started.
"Just stay within sight of each other," Ethan said, tapping his temple. "Use hand signals. Two taps on the shoulder means 'stop,' three means 'danger, fall back.'"
With a final, hushed goodbye, they unlatched the heavy backyard gate they had fortified. The suburban street stretched out, bathed in the harsh midday sun. It was unsettlingly quiet. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and a lone bird chirped, sounds that felt utterly out of place in this new, twisted reality.
They moved cautiously, hugging the shadows of the houses, their eyes scanning every window, every car, every garden shed. The stillness was more unnerving than any outright threat. They saw no immediate zombies, but the signs of recent, horrific events were everywhere: discarded bags, shattered glass, a child's bicycle overturned on a lawn. Each silent house felt like a tomb.
"The Millers' house," Marcus whispered, pointing to a neat two-story home. "They always had a well-stocked pantry. And Mrs. Miller was a nurse."
They approached the house, Ethan leading, crowbar ready. The front door was ajar, a chilling invitation. Ethan pushed it open further with the crowbar, peering inside. The air was stale, the silence oppressive. No movement, no sounds.
"Clear," he whispered.
They entered, moving silently from room to room. The living room was untouched, but in the kitchen, a few cans of food were scattered, as if someone had grabbed what they could in a hurry. In the pantry, however, they hit a small jackpot: several more cans of soup, vegetables, and a few bags of rice.
[Resource: Food (Canned Goods, Dry Goods) acquired! +15 EXP.]
Marcus found a small, fully stocked first-aid kit in a bathroom, along with a bottle of pain relievers.
*[Resource: Medical Supplies acquired! +10 EXP.]
As they moved through the quiet house, a sudden, guttural moan echoed from upstairs. Both boys froze, listening intently. It was faint, but unmistakable.
[Threat detected: Low-level zombie (1) on second floor. Threat level: Minimal.]
"Upstairs," Ethan mouthed to Marcus, gripping his hatchet. He knew they could probably bypass it, but leaving a threat behind felt wrong, especially if they intended to return. And every zombie killed meant experience.
Marcus hesitated, then nodded grimly. He followed Ethan, wrench held tight. They crept up the stairs, each creak of the wood magnified in the oppressive silence. The moaning grew louder, leading them to a bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar.
Ethan pushed it open slowly. The room was dark, curtains drawn. A single, shambling figure stood by the window, its back to them, seemingly mesmerized by the faint light filtering through the blinds. It was Mr. Miller, the kindly old neighbor who always waved when Ethan walked by.
Ethan felt a pang of sadness. He raised his hatchet. This was the grim reality of his new life. He took a deep breath, and with a silent nod to Marcus, stepped into the room. The hunt was never truly over.
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