The morning after their first night in Marcus's fortified house felt different. The air was thick with the weight of conscious decisions, not just panicked reactions. After a meager breakfast of canned beans, the group gathered around a folded map of their suburban area, salvaged from Marcus's dad's desk.
"Okay," Ethan began, pointing at their current location on the map. "We're here, in the Northwood Lakes neighborhood. We managed to clear the Miller house yesterday, found some good supplies, but that Brute showed us this isn't a long-term solution."
"So, where do we go?" Lily asked, tracing a finger across the map.
"We need a place with more defensibility," Mr. Henderson suggested. "Something with fewer access points, sturdier construction. Maybe a local police station? Or a small, fortified bank?"
Ethan nodded. "Good ideas, but probably already picked clean or overrun. I'm thinking smaller, less obvious targets first. And we need to scout for more immediate resources. What about the local grocery store? Or a pharmacy?"
[New Objective: Scout for critical resources. Sub-objectives: Locate a pharmacy, identify a reliable water source, assess nearby grocery stores. Reward: Experience Points based on information gathered and threats neutralized.]
Marcus cleared his throat. "There's a small strip mall about two miles west. Has a grocery store, a pharmacy, and a hardware store. It's usually pretty busy, though."
"Busy means more potential zombies," Chloe murmured.
"And more potential supplies," Ethan countered. "It's a risk, but it's high reward. We need medicine, especially." He looked at Sam, who had a nasty cut on his arm from the school chaos, now thankfully disinfected, but still a concern.
"I'll go," Ethan said. "Marcus, your knowledge of the area is crucial. You're with me."
Marcus nodded, a steely resolve in his eyes. "My house, my town. I'm in."
Mr. Henderson, though hesitant, understood. "Be careful. And if you run into anything like that… Brute… you fall back immediately. No heroics."
They geared up again. Ethan wore his hatchet and crowbar, Marcus took his wrench and a newly acquired baseball bat from the garage. They packed two empty backpacks for supplies and a couple of walkie-talkies Marcus found in his dad's workshop – old, but hopefully still functional over short distances. They'd test them from the house first.
Before they left, Ethan decided to test his new *Melee Proficiency* skill. He went into the backyard and practiced swings with the hatchet against an old wooden fence post. The difference was immediate. His movements felt smoother, more efficient. The hatchet cut deeper, with less effort. It wasn't just a physical boost; it was an innate understanding of the weapon.
"You're getting good at that," Marcus observed, watching him.
"I have to be," Ethan replied, his face grim.
They established a communication plan with Mr. Henderson via walkie-talkie – short, coded messages. Then, with a final, nervous glance back at the house, they slipped out the back gate and began their silent trek through the suburban streets.
The walk was tense. The air was still, heavy with a pervasive sense of abandonment. Empty cars lined the streets, some with doors ajar, others crashed into lamp posts. A child's swing set swayed idly in a deserted park. It was a ghost town, haunted by the memory of ordinary lives.
They encountered a few lone zombies, shambling aimlessly. Thanks to Ethan's Agility and Melee Proficiency, they dispatched them quickly and quietly, avoiding drawing unnecessary attention. Each kill added a small amount to Ethan's experience bar, pushing him closer to that next level.
[Low-level zombie eliminated! Experience Gained: 10 EXP.]
[Low-level zombie eliminated! Experience Gained: 10 EXP.]
[Current Experience: 190/200.]
As they neared the strip mall, the ominous silence began to break. Distant groans, a faint smashing sound, and the unsettling *thump-shuffle-thump-shuffle* of many feet. The sheer volume of noise indicated a larger gathering of the infected.
Peeking from behind a deserted gas station sign, Ethan and Marcus saw it. The parking lot of the strip mall was swarming. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of zombies shuffled aimlessly, drawn by the sounds of breaking glass or simply congregating. They were a dense, moving carpet of death. The grocery store's automatic doors were smashed, and the pharmacy windows were shattered.
"Too many," Marcus whispered, his face pale. "Way too many to fight."
Ethan grimaced. The System's advice was clear: evasion over direct combat when outnumbered. This was a reconnaissance mission, not a suicide run. But he also saw something else: a delivery truck, overturned near the back of the grocery store, its cargo spilled across the asphalt. Cans, boxes, crates. Unlooted.
"We can't go in through the front," Ethan said, pulling Marcus back into cover. "But look. The delivery truck. If we can get to the back, maybe grab some of that before they notice us…" He knew it was risky, but the sight of so much unlooted food was a powerful draw.