The tires of the Giant Bull screeched as James swung the heavy armored truck into the parking lot of a massive suburban supermarket. The scene was a tableau of absolute chaos. Shopping carts were overturned like skeletal remains, glass windows had been shattered into glittering diamonds, and the distant, rhythmic moaning of the undead echoed off the concrete walls.
Near the main entrance, three figures were huddled together, trapped behind a row of vending machines as a small cluster of snarling zombies closed in.
"Richard, Gwen—on me!" Sugar barked, sliding the side door open.
The rescue was swift and clinical. With the precision of a veteran, Sugar dropped the lead zombie with a single shot to the cranium. Richard and Gwen moved in with their makeshift blades, clearing a path for the two frightened women and a man to sprint toward the safety of the truck.
"Go to the second floor, the food court," Richard instructed the survivors once they were inside the ZDT's perimeter. "Lock the doors and stay quiet. We'll be back for you."
The Fourth Floor
Leaving the rescues in the reinforced "safe zone" of the truck's lower bay, the core team ascended to the fourth floor. The air here was thick with dust and the metallic scent of dried blood.
"We need supplies," Sugar said, his eyes scanning the shadowed aisles. "Medical kits, non-perishables, and anything that can be turned into a weapon. James, stay close to Richard. Lucy, you're with Gwen. Keep your walkie-talkies on Channel 4."
As the group split, the silence of the empty store felt heavier than the noise outside.
Lucy and Gwen moved through the sporting goods section. Lucy looked at the rows of equipment, feeling out of place. "What are we even looking for? I'm an English teacher, not a soldier."
"Think like a surgeon, Lucy," Gwen whispered, her eyes sharp. "Something with reach. Something that doesn't require a battery or a bullet."
Gwen suddenly stopped in front of a display of polished wood and aluminum. A slow smile spread across her face. "Baseball bats. And hockey sticks. Light, durable, and perfect for keeping those things at arm's length."
Sugar, meanwhile, moved through the hardware section alone. "Talking to myself," he muttered, tossing a box of heavy-duty nails into a cart. "A sure sign the world is ending." He paused at a small snack kiosk, his stomach rumbling. He found a pre-packaged club sandwich, miraculously untouched. "Mmm... cheese and mayo. A final feast before the fire."
James and Richard reached the clothing and outdoor gear department. James looked at the racks of designer suits and summer dresses with a smirk. "What, are we going to dress the zombies up for a gala?"
Richard didn't laugh. He was staring at a specialized corner of the store: The Rider's Edge.
"Look, James," Richard pointed. "Thick leather riding suits. Carbon-fiber helmets. Kevlar-reinforced gloves."
James's eyes widened as the engineering part of his brain took over. "Heavily padded, bite-proof, and tear-resistant. It's not fashion, Richard. It's armor."
The Regroup
Thirty minutes later, the team met back at the central escalator, their carts overflowing with the spoils of war.
"Report," Sugar commanded.
"Two aluminum baseball bats, three professional cricket bats, and two reinforced hockey sticks," Lucy said, holding a bat like a scepter.
"Five sets of high-grade riding gear," Richard added. "Suits, helmets, and boots. We won't be easy to chew through anymore."
Sugar nodded, patting a heavy bag of ammunition and firearms he'd liberated from the store's security office. "And I've got enough lead to start a small war. Gear up, hunters. The honeymoon in Sydney is officially over."
As they pulled on the heavy leather suits and snapped their visors shut, the transformation was complete. They no longer looked like civilians caught in a nightmare. They looked like a unit.
"One problem," James noted, his voice muffled by his helmet. "I think the 'customers' on the third floor heard us."
From the stairwell below, a low, collective growl began to rise, followed by the sound of hundreds of dead feet shuffling upward.
"Perfect," Richard said, gripping the Tokugawa Katana he had found tucked in a display case. "It's time to test the gear."