Aron was busy piling things into a bag inside his landlord’s apartment, the zombie who had tried to ambush him.
The room was a mess, scattered with things both from the latter zombie and from Aron’s own rummaging.
He gathered whatever edibles he could find: a quarter bag of rice, sliced bread, three packs of noodles, some eggs, cooking seasonings, and even three pairs of knives.
The refrigerator still had more inside, but aside from ingredients he could use immediately, he ignored the rest.
As much as he wanted to take everything, he didn’t own a refrigerator, and he wasn’t planning to stay here for long anyway. The building was too unstable and unsafe.
Sure, he could probably haul the fridge up to his floor, it wasn’t like it weighed that much compared to his current strength.
But why bother? If he needed something from it, he could always come back and grab it later. Follow current novels on NovєlFіre.net
After packing everything that wouldn’t spoil too quickly, Aron slung the bag over his back.
A faint smile touched his lips as he stepped out of what had once been his landlord’s apartment.
At first, he’d worried about food. But when the idea of killing zombies to strengthen himself came to mind, it had naturally led to scavenging for supplies as well. Now, those worries seemed unnecessary.
The more time passed, the more it felt apocalypse wasn’t so bad. In fact, things seemed to be falling into place for him.
In high spirits, he searched through all the other apartments on the first floor. To his disappointment, apart from the landlord’s well-furnished unit, the others were practically empty, just bare rooms with a simple portable bed and either a blue or red bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Occasionally, he found a few "tools for protection", condoms, some used, some discarded on the floor.
In one room, he finally encountered a zombie. Naked, with a condom still hanging obscenely in place, the creature gnawed on a severed leg.
The moment Aron pushed the door open, the zombie snapped its head toward him. Dropping the leg, it lunged forward, blood dripping from its mouth.
To Aron, the charge was sluggish, almost snail-like. He stood his ground, watching until it came close, then casually lifted his knife and drove it straight into the zombie’s eye. The blade pierced the brain, dropping it instantly.
[Zombie Lv.1 killed. 50 EXP!]
Expressionless, Aron stepped over the corpse and scanned the room. As expected, no food, just scattered clothes and the same cheap furniture.
His gaze fell back on the zombie, still naked, still wearing protection even in death. Aron couldn’t help the strange look on his face.
(Too bad it couldn’t protect you from turning into a zombie.)
The thought made him chuckle.
Sifting through the clothes, he found a pack of condoms, some useless paper money, and half a pack of cigarettes. That, at least, made his eyes light up. He pocketed everything.
He had never smoked before, but in the apocalypse, having something to take the edge off wasn’t a bad idea. And if not for himself, others would certainly trade for it.
With that thought, Aron began checking every zombie corpse he came across. As expected, most only had condoms or crushed cigarette packs. Still, it was worth the effort.
By the time he was done, his body was still brimming in strength, but his mind was worn out. His stomach growled loudly in protest, demanding food.
Aron had done plenty of illegal things back when the orphanage threw him onto the streets, but he had never even killed a chicken before.
To keep his conscience steady, he convinced himself that killing zombies was a form of mercy, putting the dead to rest.
Yet deep down, it wasn’t guilt over killing them that unsettled him. It was the opposite. He realized that he was actually enjoying the feeling of it
With the heavy bag slung over his back, Aron finally returned to his own apartment. After double-checking that the gate downstairs was secured, he planned his next steps.
Tonight, he’d eat and rest. Tomorrow morning, he’d finish clearing out the remaining zombies in the building.
By afternoon, once visibility was better, he’d set out to find a more stable base. But first, he needed his strength at its peak.
He closed the door behind him. The stairways were safe now. From what he’d observed, the reason zombies had swarmed the first floor in the first place was because the locks there were weak. A bit of force was enough to push them open.
Back when the landlord was alive, Aron who worked in a club often heard rumors. She rented out the first-floor rooms on a time-based system, perfect for quick rendezvous.
The second floor and above were for longer stays. The cheap locks downstairs weren’t an oversight; they were deliberate.
That way, if someone overstayed their paid time, she could kick them out easily without damaging the doors.
"Tch. A sly woman indeed," Aron muttered. "No wonder, even as a zombie, she still tried to ambush me."
Peeling off his sweat-soaked clothes layer by layer, Aron headed into the bathroom. As he scrubbed himself clean, the water suddenly cut off.
Thankfully, he had anticipated this and stored buckets of water in advance. Using those, he finished his bath and stepped out refreshed.
He slipped into light clothes. His wardrobe was down to just three sets, but it didn’t bother him. Tomorrow, he’d pick up more from the other apartments.
Soon, the smell of food filled the air. His stomach practically screamed at him to hurry. Tossing in all the ingredients he’d gathered, Aron left the pot to simmer.
Cooking wasn’t new to him. Life on the streets had forced him to learn, though his food was the kind only he could stomach. Still, it was better than nothing.
After several minutes, he served himself. With his phone in one hand, he intended to check if there was still any news or official updates.
But deep down, he already knew the truth.
Whatever the government was, or wasn’t, doing, one thing was certain: this apocalypse wasn’t ending anytime soon.