Hoo… ha… hoo…
Dominik's heavy, panicked breathing could be heard from two meters away. His grip on the Type-56 was so tight his knuckles were white.
Simon looked at the extremely nervous Dominik, his own hand resting casually on the manual fuel pump handle. He chuckled softly, "Hey, kid, no need to be so tense."
"!"
Hearing Simon speak suddenly startled Dominik so much he almost dropped his gun. Annoyed, he whispered, "Hey! Can't you see I'm keeping watch for you? Don't scare me!"
"Heh heh." Simon chuckled and said, "Relax. Though there are many of them, they're just mindless eaters. Much easier to deal with than The Syndicate. People with guns shoot back. These things just shuffle."
"Tch." Dominik rolled his eyes at Simon, grumbling, "Easy for you to say. You came from the 141. You've done this a thousand times. What about me? One second I was a university student worried about my thesis, the next I'm holding a rusted antique gun, guarding a gas pump in a jungle hellhole. And I just killed people. Actual people. Do you think I'm doing well?"
As he spoke more, Dominik became a bit agitated. The adrenaline crash was hitting him. He had died in his previous life, woken up in a warzone, fought drug runners, and now faced a zombie apocalypse. All while trying to process memories of a sister he barely knew but desperately needed to save. He was on the verge of breaking down.
"Alright, keep your voice down." Simon said helplessly, seeing the younger man's distress. "You did good back there. When we get to Thailand, I'll teach you proper CQB and marksmanship. Turn you into a real operator. Alright?"
[Simon Riley (Ghost)'s "Instruction" skill has been activated, targeting the Host.]
[Time will be calculated from when Simon Riley (Ghost) officially begins to train the Host. After ten full days of training, the Host will gain 15 overall attribute points and has a chance to inherit the "Gun Master" and "Skull Intimidation" special abilities.]
[Once the "Instruction" skill has been fully utilized, it will be permanently voided (can only be taught to one person).]
"Mm!" Dominik immediately quieted down upon hearing the notification in his mind. He nodded with satisfaction.
Dominik had been waiting for this. Since the "Instruction" skill had successfully activated, his survivability would skyrocket. He wouldn't just be a burden; he could become a legitimate asset.
"This…" Simon looked at Dominik, whose expression changed from panic to determination in a second. He felt a bit like he had been tricked into promising free lessons. But he didn't dwell on it and focused on finishing the fueling.
In less than two minutes, Simon had topped off the Hilux's tank and the jerry cans in the bed.
He then glanced at the service station's convenience store—a grimy building with shattered windows. He whispered to Dominik, "We need calories. Combat burns energy fast. I'll go search the store for food. You stay here and guard the truck."
"Wait, I'll go with you."
Upon hearing this, Dominik quickly stood up and moved to intercept Simon.
In horror films, especially zombie flicks, the number one rule was: Don't Split The Party.
It was a classic blunder. Sending the elite soldier off alone while the rookie waits by the car usually ended with the rookie getting ambushed or the soldier getting overwhelmed in a tight space.
Although Simon was an elite operator who could handle an army, in the close quarters of a cluttered store, one surprise bite from a lurking zombie meant game over. Even the System couldn't cure the virus.
Dominik didn't want the legendary Ghost card he summoned to die in a dusty convenience store because of a rookie mistake. Coupled with the influence of the implanted memories, he truly regarded Simon as his brother. He couldn't lose him.
"Hm?" Simon looked at Dominik, who was practically clinging to him. "By my recon, the store looks clear. Even if there are a few inside, I can handle them with my knife. Why risk both of us?"
Dominik held his Type-56 in his right hand and tapped his chest with his left. "Your luck stat is lower than mine. My luck is insanely high. I'm your good luck charm, remember? I survived the crash, the kidnapping, and the firefight without a scratch."
"Luck stat? What are you talking about?" Simon was a bit confused by Dominik's gamer terminology.
"Never mind. Just trust me." Dominik patted Simon's shoulder, signaling him to lead the way.
Simon wasn't one to argue over semantics. If the kid wanted to watch his back, fine.
He just hoped this helper wouldn't trip over his own feet.
Creak… squeak… The noise of the aluminum door frame, rusted from the humidity, sounded like a scream in the quiet service area.
Simon gently pushed open the convenience store's glass door with his left hand, SCAR raised, then quickly flowed inside, sweeping his muzzle to the right.
Dominik followed in Simon's footsteps, moving awkwardly but attempting to mimic the tactical entry. He scanned the left side of the store.
"Clear."
"Clear."
Both said in unison.
After confirming that there was no immediate danger inside the main aisle, Simon slung his weapon and said, "Grab high-calorie dense foods. Chocolate, nuts, canned meat. Anything that doesn't spoil."
"Take as much water as you can carry. Once we get Laura, the drive to Bangkok is long, and we might have to go off-road to avoid checkpoints. We need to be self-sufficient for at least 3 days."
Dominik slung his Type-56, nodded, and responded, "Understood."
Then the two began to loot. This is where the advantage of the Hilux showed; they could essentially strip the shelves bare.
They moved back and forth between the store and the truck multiple times. During this time, the zombies lingering in the shadows of the mechanic's garage began to stir.
Zombies are sensitive to sound and movement. The activity at the pumps was acting like a dinner bell for every infected in the service area.
Fortunately, these were the slow, shambling type—likely due to the heat and decomposition. If they were the sprinters from 28 Days Later, Dominik would have been dead ten times over.
As Dominik carried out the last case of bottled water, he saw Simon kneeling by the front bumper of the Hilux.
Simon was taking calm, measured shots with his suppressed SCAR.
Pfft! Pfft!
The muffled sounds were barely audible over the jungle insects. Since there was no muzzle flash, Simon didn't have to worry about igniting the fuel vapors.
Almost every shot resulted in a zombie dropping like a sack of potatoes. Simon was a machine.
However…
"Simon! Watch your back!"
Dominik screamed, his voice cracking with terror.
A zombie—a mechanic in greasy overalls—had crawled out from under the truck chassis and was lunging at Simon's exposed back with unnatural speed. It wasn't a slow shambler; it was a fresh turn.
"Fuck!" Simon cursed, spinning on his heel, bringing his rifle around.
But the distance was zero. The mechanic was already inside his guard, tackling him into the grill of the truck.
Dominik dropped the water case. It hit the ground with a plastic crunch. He frantically fumbled to bring his rifle up.
When Dominik looked up, he saw a nightmare. Simon was pinned against the bullbar. His right forearm was jammed under the zombie's jaw, holding back snapping yellow teeth inches from his throat. His left hand was pinned, unable to reach the knife on his belt.
"Hiss… Graaah…"
The zombie thrashed, its strength amplified by the virus.
At this critical moment, Dominik didn't think. He didn't panic. He just reacted.
He shouldered the Type-56. He took a breath, holding it. The heavy oil filter blocked his iron sights, forcing him to point-shoot.
He aimed for the greasy head thrashing against Simon's tactical vest.
His index finger squeezed the trigger.
Thump!
The suppressed shot sounded like a heavy book hitting a table.
The zombie that was seconds away from infecting Simon went limp instantly.
The bullet had entered the left temple, shattering the skull and exiting in a spray of dark blood and grey matter that coated the Hilux's headlight. The body slid down Simon's chest, lifeless.