After slaying one male and four female zombies, Kael Voss felt a bead of sweat roll down his forehead. A wave of confidence and satisfaction surged through him. The desire to survive—and grow stronger—deepened.
Beyond the bookstore stood a music café. The adjoining shops were interconnected by interior doorways, so there was no need to detour through the mall's outer hallway.
Kael approached the door. The café wasn't particularly large, but its tabletops were spotless, the layout stylish. Inside a sleek glass display case sat an array of refined pastries and biscuits—though after over half a year of decay, they had long since molded and spoiled.
Staring at those dainty sweets, Kael instinctively licked his lips. He used to have a soft spot for desserts before the world fell apart. Now, such indulgences were mere memories, remnants of a life where one could eat whatever they craved without hesitation.
The thought stirred a reflex—Kael lightly patted the phone hidden inside his chest pocket. With that phone, when the next thunderstorm hit, Lyra Solis could transmit supplies she'd prepared in the real world. Perhaps, one day soon, he wouldn't have to worry about resources anymore.
The café was empty at a glance—no lurking undead. Next door was a Western-style restaurant, equally silent and desolate.
As Kael moved farther in, most of the shops ahead turned out to be restaurants. He fought his way through them, eliminating another seven or eight zombies in the process.
Although the number of zombies he encountered wasn't overwhelming, the tension of checking each store with constant vigilance was mentally exhausting.
By midday, Kael came upon a roasted duck restaurant. The place was sizable—its front half a dining hall filled with long communal tables, the back likely a row of private booths.
Sunlight filtered in weakly through the mall's skylight, barely reaching the back of the restaurant. The rear was dim and murky, shadows swimming faintly in the twilight, giving everything a slightly dreamlike distortion.
After combing through so many shops, Kael was feeling drained. He figured he'd finish searching this restaurant and then take a break to eat and rest.
Stepping inside, he didn't bother sneaking around to look for zombies. Instead, he tapped the back of his longsword—a Western falchion—against the tables, making deliberate noise to flush out any hidden threats. After all, zombies weren't intelligent. Usually, the moment they heard sound, they'd groan and come charging.
But after a few minutes of knocking, the restaurant remained eerily silent. No undead rushed out. Kael exhaled in relief—it seemed safe.
Lowering his sword, Kael strolled inside, curious if there might be any salvageable duck left. He hadn't had meat in days, and his body was starting to feel the deficit.
As he checked the private booths at the back, he casually pushed open one of the doors—only to be blindsided by a sudden blur of motion.
Assuming the place was empty, Kael had let his guard down. When the dark figure lunged, he instinctively stepped back, but his foot caught on a stray can of cola. With a sickening slip, he fell backward hard.
As the zombie bore down on him, Kael—no novice to survival—thrust his blade upward, driving it into the creature's chest.
But such a wound, lethal to a human, barely fazed the undead. Its gnarled hands—like iron claws—clamped down on Kael's shoulders. Its jaws, packed with jagged teeth, gaped wide as it tried to bite down.
Seeing those fangs so close sent a jolt of panic through him. He let go of the sword and grabbed the zombie's throat with both hands, trying to push it back. His palms were slick with something foul, and a putrid stench filled his nostrils.
Only then did Kael realize—this zombie was mute. It hadn't growled like the others. Being locked in a booth likely dulled its senses and concealed its presence—he'd been careless, and now he was paying for it.
With every ounce of strength he had, Kael strained to keep the black-blooded, rotting mouth away from his face. But the longer he held on, the more his arms began to go numb, his muscles trembling with fatigue.
This wasn't going to work—he'd be overwhelmed at this rate.
Frantically glancing around, Kael spotted his flashlight lying nearby. He managed to free one hand, grabbed it, and shined the beam directly into the zombie's eyes.
But to his dismay, the trick didn't work.
In that split second of distraction, the creature pressed in closer—its teeth just inches from his face. Kael's remaining arm creaked under the pressure, joints grinding in protest.
Driven by sheer survival instinct, Kael shoved the flashlight into the zombie's mouth, then summoned a desperate burst of strength and kicked the undead creature away, rolling clear to one side.
The zombie staggered upright again, unfazed. Kael couldn't help but curse. These things had terrifying strength—and unless you hit their heads, they were practically indestructible.
Now free, Kael found both his arms nearly limp, useless. He had no choice but to circle the long dining tables, dodging and weaving while the zombie pursued.
Thankfully, the undead weren't very agile. After ten or so dizzying laps, the numbness in Kael's arms began to fade.
As his strength returned, he planted his feet, snatched his falchion from the floor, and raised it in a defensive stance. When the snarling zombie lunged again, Kael met it head-on, swinging with all his might.
—
Thunk!
A single clean strike severed the creature's head. It hit the floor with a thud. Kael leaned against his sword, panting hard, until his breath steadied.
Once recovered, he headed into the restaurant's kitchen. Lighting a gas burner, he rinsed some rice and started cooking a pot.
He also found several vacuum-packed ducks in the pantry. Sniffing one, he was surprised to find they hadn't spoiled. Lighting a second burner, he began roasting them over an open flame.
Lunch was hearty and rich. With meat in his belly, Kael finally felt human again. Tired from the day's exertion, he grabbed two cans of Red Bull from behind the counter and half-reclined on a booth's sofa, sipping slowly and reviewing the day's progress.
He'd searched twelve shops—large and small—and slain nearly twenty zombies. The greatest gain, however, was how smoothly his swordplay had become. With this many practical encounters, even the slowest learner would have improved.
Somewhere during those thoughts, exhaustion overtook him. His tense nerves and depleted stamina caught up with him, and before he realized, he had drifted into a deep sleep.
When Kael awoke, it was late afternoon.
He sat up groggily, rubbed his eyes, and looked through the skylight. Thick fog had rolled in, obscuring the stars. He frowned—was a thunderstorm on the way?
As night fell, a chorus of zombie wails echoed faintly through the empty mall. The loneliness and helplessness weighed heavily on him, like a stone on his chest.
He made do with the leftovers from lunch, then returned to the booth and lay back on the sofa, phone in hand.
He began dialing Lyra Solis's number—again.
Ever since discovering the phone could connect to the real world during storms, he'd been calling whenever he had a free moment.
Sure, both prior connections had only worked during thunderstorms—but what if this time was different?
Idle hands were idle either way. If he got lucky and it connected, then it'd be a win.
Beep… beep…
Beep… beep…
"Hello? Kael?"
Just as Kael was drifting back to sleep, the phone lit up, and a familiar voice came through the speaker—it was Lyra.
The drowsiness vanished in an instant. Somehow, without his noticing, the call had connected.
He shot to his feet and opened the booth door, staring up through the skylight.
Sure enough—heavy clouds blanketed the sky, and rain was falling.