Azlan didn't know how long he had been walking. What he knew was that his body was beginning to feel tired, and the count in his head reached 34 zombies he had eliminated.
His strategy was simple yet effective: he only eliminated lone zombies separated from the horde. If dozens of living corpses blocked his path, he wouldn't hesitate to find an alternative route, prioritizing safety over pointless battles.
Finding food wasn't easy. Azlan wasn't familiar with the layout of this city, which he believed was part of Japan or another East Asian country. He could only check buildings manually.
"This situation can't continue. The sun will set soon. I don't know if zombies will be more active at night. I must find a safe location with food supplies before nightfall."
The twilight sky became a giant hourglass starting the countdown. Despite the pressing time, Azlan tried hard not to panic. He knew well that panic would only cloud his judgment, trapping him in fatal mistakes.
After ten minutes of walking, Azlan's eyes lit up seeing a building that stood out among the ruins.
"That looks like a convenience store."
His breath caught slightly. From behind the cracked glass, he could see shelves still filled with various snacks. However, his excitement was quickly replaced by sharp vigilance: about twenty zombies were wandering around the convenience store.
"Compared to life where military soldiers kill helpless civilians just for fun, there's no need to fear walking corpses like zombies that move slowly and only react to sound. So what if I'm outnumbered? Utilizing the environmental terrain is my specialty!"
His gaze fixed on dozens of wrecked cars on the highway, scattered like iron carcasses. Whether due to crashes when the outbreak suddenly erupted, or abandoned by evacuating residents due to traffic jams, Azlan didn't care.
Whatever the reason, he would use those wrecks to his advantage!
"Huuu... Let's begin."
Azlan placed his baseball bat on the ground, not wanting extra weight to hinder his movement. Deftly, he drew his katana, its silver blade reflecting the fading twilight.
He walked slowly, approaching the nearest zombie with soundless steps. He wasn't a stupid protagonist who shouts when attacking stealthily.
*SWOOSH-THUD!*
With full force, Azlan swung his katana. The blade cut through the zombie's neck with a disgusting sound.
He knew human neck bones weren't as fragile as depicted in movies—even execution by beheading required a large sharp blade to sever the head in one blow. He left no room for failure.
*THUD!*
The sound of the severed head falling onto the asphalt immediately attracted the attention of other zombies. The nearest ones began to turn and stagger toward Azlan, low groans beginning to be heard.
Azlan didn't let himself be surrounded. He jumped onto the hood of the nearest car, then slid to the other side.
The zombies, attracted by the sound, crashed into the vehicle, trapped by bumpers and open doors. They reached for him in vain, while Azlan, with agility honed by life in ruins, performed small-scale parkour.
He emerged from behind a van.
*SWOOSH!*
A head flew off.
He slid under a pickup truck.
*CHAK!*
The katana blade slashed a zombie's Achilles tendon, bringing it down before a final thrust pierced the base of its skull.
Not all slashes were perfect. A female zombie in a thick raincoat required three slashes before her head finally came off. The first slash only tore the skin and muscle of her neck, the second got stuck in bone, and the third, with a desperate prying motion, finally severed the connection.
*SWOOSH!* *SWOOSH!* *SWOOSH!*
*THUD!* *THUD!* *THUD!*
Azlan moved without stopping, using cars as traps, barriers, and footholds. Blood and brain fluid splattered car bodies and asphalt. He didn't scream, didn't waste energy. Every movement was calculated, every slash aimed to kill.
Fifteen minutes later, the convenience store area was quiet again, except for twenty headless corpses scattered around.
Azlan stood in the middle, his breathing slightly labored, the katana in his hand covered in black blood. His chest rose and fell, but his eyes were sharp and alert. He checked around once more, making sure nothing was missed.
The orange sky was now getting darker, and he knew time was running out. Carefully, he picked up the baseball bat he had left earlier, gripping it tightly as a backup weapon.
His steps were slow as he approached the convenience store door now wide open, its glass cracked but still intact. He pushed the door with the tip of the bat, making sure there were no surprises inside.
"This is indeed a convenience store!"
His voice was full of relief as his eyes swept the rows of colorful shelves. The packages of instant food, candies, and bright snacks almost made his mouth water, reminding him of normal days that now felt like a dream.
Without wasting time, Azlan immediately rushed to the back section, where rows of refrigerators sold various drinks. After hours of wandering and fighting without drinking, his throat felt very dry.
Pulling the refrigerator door that creaked softly, stale air immediately assaulted his nose. He grabbed a bottle of plain mineral water, twisted the cap with trembling hands, then gulped it down in large, greedy swallows. The water flowed heavily, wetting his cracked lips.
Of course, without electricity, the refrigerator no longer cooled anything—the bottle was warm like room temperature. But Azlan didn't mind at all. Compared to seawater filtered makeshift, or rainwater he sometimes drank at the refugee camp, he had almost forgotten the taste of drinkable mineral water.
"So refreshing. This is the best drinking water I've ever had since I was born."
He smiled thinly while wiping his mouth.
To others, that statement sounded exaggerated, but for Azlan, that's what he felt.
Humans cannot understand each other's feelings if they don't experience the same pain. How could a teenager raised in a peaceful country understand the feelings of civilians like Azlan who grew up in an occupied country, where clean water was a luxury risked with life?
"Unfortunately, all this food is wasted."
His heart ached seeing piles of bread now covered in grayish-green mold, some had turned into black lumps beyond saving.
Azlan continued examining the convenience store carefully. He found dozens of spoiled bentos, their plastic lids bulging from decomposition gases, emitting a pungent smell that made him nauseous. Fruits like apples and bananas had rotted into brown mush, vegetables wilted and slimy at the bottom of baskets.
Of course, not all food was spoiled. Azlan was very pleased to find several cans of sausages not yet expired, their packaging still intact. He also took snacks like potato chips still crispy in their wrappers, and several chocolate bars that had melted slightly but were still edible.
With his back against the shelf wall, he sat on the dusty floor, opened the packages, and began eating ravenously.
This food was the real reward from risking his life. Each bite felt like a victory, filling his growling stomach and giving him energy for the coming night.