The sheer number of zombies swarming the strip mall's main entrance made a direct approach suicidal. But the promise of untouched supplies from the overturned delivery truck at the rear was too tempting to ignore.
"Okay," Ethan whispered to Marcus, pulling him further back into the cover of a line of overgrown bushes. "We circle around. Stick to the alleys and behind the buildings. We hit the back of the grocery store, grab what we can from that truck, and get out. Fast."
Marcus nodded, his jaw set. The sight of the horde had clearly shaken him, but also focused him.
They moved with extreme caution, navigating the maze of back alleys, their senses on high alert. The air here was thick with the stench of decay and the low, collective groan of the undead. They passed dumpsters overflowing with garbage, discarded shopping carts, and the occasional lone zombie shambling in the shadows, which Ethan dispatched with silent, precise strikes from his hatchet. Each swift, clean kill brought a small, internal notification from the System.
*\[Low-level zombie eliminated! Experience Gained: 10 EXP.]**
**\[Low-level zombie eliminated! Experience Gained: 10 EXP.]**
**\[Current Experience: 190/200... 210/200.]**
**\[Congratulations, Host! You have gained enough Experience Points to Level Up!]**
**\[Level Up! You are now Level 3!]**
**\[All basic attributes +1!]**
**\[Points: +1!]**
**\[Status]**
**Name:** Ethan James
**Title:** None
**Level:** 3
**Experience:** 10/300 (NextLevel)
**Strength:** 8 (+1)
**Agility:** 8 (+1)
**Stamina:** 9 (+1)
**Intelligence:** 10 (+1)
**Skills:** Melee Proficiency (Tier 1)
**Points:** 1
A subtle surge of power flowed through Ethan, a feeling of increased readiness. He felt stronger, faster, his mind a fraction clearer. He had another point to spend, another step towards becoming the hunter the System envisioned. He filed that away for later.
They reached the rear of the grocery store. The overturned delivery truck was right there, its back doors torn open, revealing crates of canned goods, bags of rice, and stacks of bottled water. A small cluster of zombies was milling about, drawn by the spilled cargo, but they were fewer in number than the main horde at the front.
"We need to be quick," Ethan whispered, pointing to the zombies. "Distraction?"
Before Marcus could answer, a voice, crackling with static, cut through the air. It wasn't their walkie-talkie. It was coming from deeper inside the strip mall, near the main street.
"...anyone… this frequency? Is anyone out there? Over."
Ethan and Marcus froze. A living voice. Other survivors.
"Don't answer!" Ethan hissed, pulling Marcus deeper into cover. "Could be a trap. Or it could draw more attention."
"But… what if they need help?" Marcus whispered, his gaze fixed on the direction of the voice.
The voice crackled again. "This is **Sergeant Anya Sharma**, military surplus store at the old Northwood Mall. We're… we're low on ammo. Anyone out there? Please respond. Over."
A military surplus store? Low on ammo? That sounded desperate, but also like a potential source of real firepower. And a Sergeant… a trained soldier.
Ethan hesitated. The System had given him an objective to find other survivors. This was a chance, but it also meant risking everything they had by revealing their presence.
He looked at Marcus, then back at the overturned truck. The zombies were still relatively sparse around it. The supplies were there for the taking.
"Okay," Ethan decided, his voice low and firm. "New plan. We grab as much as we can from this truck first. Then, we try to make contact. Carefully."
They moved quickly, silently. Ethan led the way, dispatching the few zombies near the truck with swift, silent blows, his Melee Proficiency making each strike efficient. Marcus worked furiously, stuffing cans, bottles, and bags of rice into their backpacks.
Just as they were loading the last few items, another voice, clearer this time, came over the crackling radio.
"Anya, it's **Jax**. I see movement near the back of the grocery store. Looks like… two figures. They're pretty fast."
Ethan's blood ran cold. They'd been spotted. This wasn't just a voice anymore; it was a pair of eyes watching them. He looked up, scanning the rooftops, the shattered windows of the nearby stores.
"Freeze!" a voice boomed, amplified and distorted through a megaphone. It came from the rooftop of the hardware store across the parking lot. "Put your hands up and drop your weapons!"
Ethan slowly turned, hatchet still in hand. On the rooftop, two figures stood silhouetted against the sky. One was a woman, clearly the Sergeant, holding what looked like an assault rifle. The other, a burly man with a crossbow. They were aiming directly at Ethan and Marcus.
This wasn't a casual encounter. This was a tense, armed confrontation. Their first potential allies, or their first major threat from fellow survivors.