Thiago then turned to the rest of the group, who were gathered near the trucks, watching the conversation curiously. "Okay, everyone," he said, his voice resonating with calm authority. "It's time to go. The trucks are loaded. The drivers are ready. But before we head to the bunker, we'll make a short stop. We'll go to some weapons stores to pick up more supplies. And at the same time, we'll rescue some survivors trapped there. They're on our route, and they have skills that could be useful to our group."
The adults' faces were tense, but there was a grim acceptance in their eyes. They knew the task would be dangerous, but their trust in Thiago was unshakable. The women, though apprehensive, nodded, the determination in their eyes reflecting the urgency of the situation. The children, oblivious to the gravity of the conversation, played in a corner of the bus, their innocent laughter a cruel contrast to the approaching darkness.
"Frank, you lead the convoy," Thiago instructed, his voice firm. "I'll be in the van, bringing up the rear, making sure everything is safe. The truckers we rescued—you'll follow us. Keep your distance, but don't get lost. And keep an eye out for any movement. Zombies are everywhere. And humans... they can be just as dangerous."
The fleet of trucks and the tour bus began to move slowly, their engines roaring in unison, a sound of power and purpose echoing through the hotel courtyard. The dim light of dawn, now brightening, revealed the dust rising from the ground, creating a golden haze that enveloped the vehicles. It was a scene of hope amidst the chaos, a glimpse of a possible future.
Thiago entered the van at the end of the train, his eyes fixed on the vehicles ahead. He started the engine, and the van joined the procession. The departure from the hotel was slow and cautious, the drivers maneuvering the heavy vehicles expertly, avoiding the debris and zombies that still roamed the loading yard.
The journey through the ruined city was an ordeal. New York, once a vibrant metropolis teeming with life, was now a graveyard of metal and concrete, a monument to the fall of civilization. Burning buildings, overturned cars, streets strewn with debris—the landscape was desolate, a testament to the brutality of the apocalypse. The smell of smoke and decay was constant, and the distant growl of the city was a constant reminder of the threat surrounding them.
The convoy moved slowly, a mobile fortress in a collapsing world. The presence of the heavy vehicles, with their roaring engines and flashing lights, created a barrier of sound and light that kept the weaker zombies at bay. The White Level 0s and Pale Green Level 1s backed away, their growls lost in the roar of the engines. The more aggressive Moss Green Level 2s tried to approach, but the speed and size of the vehicles kept them at bay.
Thiago, in the van, watched the scene with a mixture of pride and apprehension. The fleet was impressive, but the city was still a living hell. He saw burning buildings, overturned cars, streets covered in debris. The smell of smoke and decay was constant, and the distant growl of the city was a constant reminder of the threat surrounding them.
They passed through residential neighborhoods, where houses lay in ruins, their gardens overrun with mutant plants. Thiago saw deformed animals, dogs and cats with red eyes and sharp fangs, running through the streets. The landscape was desolate, a testament to the brutality of the apocalypse.
The first gun shop was located on a busy street, a redbrick building with an inconspicuous facade. The "Classic Guns" sign hung crookedly, and the window was cracked in places. The smell of gunpowder and metal was strong in here, mingling with the putrid aroma wafting from outside. The train stopped a few blocks away, discretion being paramount.
Thiago, Frank, Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia climbed out of their vehicles, their weapons drawn, their movements swift and efficient. The truckers remained in their trucks, ready for any emergency. Thiago led the way, his two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols raised, their laser sights projecting red dots into the darkness ahead. Frank, with his hunting rifle, followed closely, his eyes scanning the surroundings. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia, with their SIG Sauer P320 pistols, remained alert, their faces tense but determined.
As they approached the shop, the silence was broken only by their own footsteps and the distant growl of the city. The shop door was ajar, revealing a crack of darkness. The smell of gunpowder was stronger here, and Thiago felt a chill. He knew the owner was inside. And he knew he was in trouble.
Thiago gently pushed the door open a crack. The smell of gunpowder and metal intensified. The light from the tactical flashlight on his pistol cut through the darkness of the store, revealing a scene of chaos. Overturned shelves, shattered display cases, and in the center of the store, the burly figure of the owner, the same man Thiago had spoken to on the phone, was huddled behind an overturned counter, his face pale and covered in sweat. He held a Hatsan Escort DF12 TS shotgun, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
Two Moss Green Level 2 zombies, their movements swift and aggressive, their crystals pulsing with an ominous glow, were trying to break down an armored door at the back of the store, the sound of their blows echoing in the silence. A third zombie, a Greenish Yellow Level 3, with an even more intense glow in its crystal, was staggering toward the counter, its growls guttural, its eyes fixed on the man.
Thiago acted with lightning speed. His two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols fired in sync, the laser dots fixed on the zombies' foreheads. Three shots, three falls. The sound of the gunshots, muffled by the silencers, was barely audible, but Thiago's efficiency was frightening. The zombies fell to the ground, their heads crushed, their crystals shattering.
The shop owner, still trembling, looked at Thiago, his eyes wide with shock and relief. "Thiago! You... you came! I... I thought I was alone!" His voice was a squeak, full of panic and gratitude.
"I told you I was coming," Thiago said, his voice calm but firm. He holstered his pistols and approached the man. "You're safe now. For now. But we need to be quick. What do you have here?"
The man, still in shock, pointed to the toppled shelves and shattered display cases. "I... I have everything. Guns. Ammo. But... but it's so much. I couldn't move any of it by myself."
"Don't worry," Thiago said, a slight smile crossing his lips. "We'll help. Lucas, Gabriel, Sofia, Frank, let's start loading. Grab everything you can. Ammo first. Then the weapons. And whatever else is useful."
The team set to work with impressive efficiency. Lucas and Gabriel, pistols drawn, searched the shelves, grabbing boxes of ammunition and clips. Sofia, with her agility, collected smaller weapons, such as pistols and submachine guns. Frank, with his strength, moved heavier boxes, such as those containing rifles and shotguns. The store owner, still in shock but with new energy, helped identify the most valuable items, pointing out secret hiding places and hidden stashes.
Thiago, meanwhile, was everywhere at once. He supervised the loading, gave instructions, and occasionally eliminated a zombie that strayed too close to the store, his shots silent and precise. He felt the adrenaline of combat, the satisfaction of being one step ahead of the enemy.
In less than an hour, the store was nearly empty. Hundreds of boxes of ammunition, dozens of firearms of all calibers, and a variety of tactical and survival gear were loaded onto Frank's trailer and the trucks. The store owner, now calmer but still visibly shaken, looked at Thiago with profound gratitude.
"You... you saved me, Thiago," he said, his voice hoarse. "I don't know how to thank you."
"You're welcome," Thiago replied, his voice calm. "Just come with us. You'll be useful. And your weapons experience will be invaluable."
The man nodded, a fragile smile on his face. He grabbed a makeshift backpack with a few personal belongings and joined the group. The first stop had been a success. And the fleet was better armed than ever.
The journey continued through the streets of New York, the convoy moving slowly, a mobile fortress in a collapsing world. The city's roar was a constant chorus of terror, punctuated by screams and distant explosions. The sky, still an oppressive red, cast a dim light over the devastation.
The second gun shop was located in a quieter neighborhood, a brown brick building with a discreet facade. The "Sure Shot" sign hung crookedly, and the window was shattered in places. The smell of gunpowder and metal was strong here, mingling with the putrid aroma wafting from outside. The train stopped a few blocks away, discretion being paramount.
Thiago, Frank, Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia climbed out of their vehicles, their weapons drawn, their movements swift and efficient. The truckers remained in their trucks, ready for any emergency. Thiago led the way, his two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols raised, their laser sights projecting red dots into the darkness ahead. Frank, with his hunting rifle, followed closely, his eyes scanning the surroundings. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia, with their SIG Sauer P320 pistols, remained alert, their faces tense but determined.
As they approached the shop, the silence was broken only by their own footsteps and the distant growl of the city. The shop door was ajar, revealing a crack of darkness. The smell of gunpowder was stronger here, and Thiago felt a chill. He knew the owner was inside. And he knew he was in trouble.
Thiago gently pushed the door open a crack. The smell of gunpowder and metal intensified. The light from the tactical flashlight on his pistol cut through the darkness of the store, revealing a scene of chaos. Overturned shelves, shattered display cases, and in the center of the store, the thin, tense figure of the owner—the same man Thiago had spoken to on the phone—huddled behind an overturned counter, his face pale and covered in sweat. He held a Hatsan Escort DF12 TS pistol, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
Three Level 3 Greenish-Yellow zombies, their movements swift and aggressive, their crystals pulsing with an ominous glow, were trying to break down an armored door at the back of the store, the sound of their blows echoing in the silence. A fourth zombie, a Level 4 Burnt Yellow, its crystal glowing even more intensely, was staggering toward the counter, its growls guttural, its eyes fixed on the man.
Thiago acted with lightning speed. His two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols fired in sync, the laser dots fixed on the zombies' foreheads. Four shots, four falls. The sound of the gunshots, muffled by the silencers, was barely audible, but Thiago's efficiency was frightening. The zombies fell to the ground, their heads crushed, their crystals shattering.
The shop owner, still trembling, looked at Thiago, his eyes wide with shock and relief. "Thiago! You... you came! I... I thought I was alone!" His voice was a squeak, full of panic and gratitude.
"I told you I was coming," Thiago said, his voice calm but firm. He holstered his pistols and approached the man. "You're safe now. For now. But we need to be quick. What do you have here?"
The man, still in shock, pointed to the toppled shelves and shattered display cases. "I... I have everything. Guns. Ammo. But... but it's so much. I couldn't move any of it by myself."
"Don't worry," Thiago said, a slight smile crossing his lips. "We'll help. Lucas, Gabriel, Sofia, Frank, let's start loading. Grab everything you can. Ammo first. Then the weapons. And whatever else is useful."
The team set to work with impressive efficiency. Lucas and Gabriel, pistols drawn, searched the shelves, grabbing boxes of ammunition and clips. Sofia, with her agility, collected smaller weapons, such as pistols and submachine guns. Frank, with his strength, moved heavier boxes, such as those containing rifles and shotguns. The store owner, still in shock but with new energy, helped identify the most valuable items, pointing out secret hiding places and hidden stashes.
Thiago, meanwhile, was everywhere at once. He supervised the loading, gave instructions, and occasionally eliminated a zombie that strayed too close to the store, his shots silent and precise. He felt the adrenaline of combat, the satisfaction of being one step ahead of the enemy.
In less than an hour, the store was nearly empty. Hundreds of boxes of ammunition, dozens of firearms of all calibers, and a variety of tactical and survival gear were loaded onto Frank's trailer and the trucks. The store owner, now calmer but still visibly shaken, looked at Thiago with profound gratitude.
"You... you saved me, Thiago," he said, his voice hoarse. "I don't know how to thank you."
"You're welcome," Thiago replied, his voice calm. "Just come with us. You'll be useful. And your experience in mechanical and electronic repairs will be invaluable."
The man nodded, a fragile smile on his face. He grabbed a makeshift backpack with a few personal belongings and joined the group. The second stop had been a success. And the fleet was even more armed than ever.
The journey continued through the streets of New York, the convoy moving slowly, a mobile fortress in a collapsing world. The city's roar was a constant chorus of terror, punctuated by screams and distant explosions. The sky, still an oppressive red, cast a dim light over the devastation.
The third and final gun shop was located in a more secluded neighborhood, a gray brick building with a discreet facade. The "Secret Armory" sign hung crookedly, and the window was shattered in places. The smell of gunpowder and metal was strong here, mingling with the putrid aroma wafting from outside. The convoy stopped a few blocks away, discretion paramount.
Thiago, Frank, Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia climbed out of their vehicles, their weapons drawn, their movements swift and efficient. The truckers remained in their trucks, ready for any emergency. Thiago led the way, his two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols raised, their laser sights projecting red dots into the darkness ahead. Frank, with his hunting rifle, followed closely, his eyes scanning the surroundings. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia, with their SIG Sauer P320 pistols, remained alert, their faces tense but determined.