As they walked down the streets, Riku’s eyes were sharply scanning the surroundings, making sure there were no zombies that would jump out on them.
Miko followed closely behind, her eyes were also wandering side to side.
"That’s the shop we’re aiming for," Riku said, pointing toward a five-storey building at the corner of the avenue. The faded logo of the supermarket chain was still visible, though the letters were chipped and darkened by smoke. Most of the windows on the upper floors were shattered.
Miko squinted at it. "Looks... dangerous."
"Everything’s dangerous," Riku replied flatly. "But that place has food, or at least what’s left of it. We’re not passing it up."
"Isn’t there a lot of zombies in that place? People would go to that place to get food so..."
Miko was right. Places like that were always hotspots. Portrayed in the movies, series, and other mediums, in the early days of the outbreak, supermarkets had been the first target for desperate crowds. People raided shelves, fought each other for canned food, and when the dead broke through the doors, the whole thing had turned into a massacre.
Which meant two things: the shelves might already be stripped bare... and the aisles might still be crawling with whatever was left of those people.
"Yeah. Odds are there’s a nest inside. But it’s still the closest chance we’ve got. Starving’s not an option."
Miko hugged her Glock closer to her chest, her voice dropping. "So how do we do it?"
"We don’t rush in," Riku replied. He crouched behind the shell of a burned-out sedan parked along the curb, scanning the storefront from cover. "First, we sweep the perimeter. See if there’s another way besides the front. Emergency exits, loading bay, anything that puts us in without drawing a crowd."
She nodded, following his lead as they circled wide.
Trash bins were overturned in the alley, reeking of rot, and faded posters clung stubbornly to the walls, fluttering in the breeze.
When they reached the back, Riku spotted it—a rusted steel door with a faded "Staff Only" sign above it. The lock had been broken long ago.
He raised a hand, signaling Miko to halt. He pressed his ear against the door, straining to listen. Fortunately, there were none, it was quiet.
"We are going to enter this way," Riku whispered, nodding at the rusted staff door.
Miko gave a small, tense nod, her Glock gripped tightly in both hands.
Riku pushed the door open just enough for them to slip inside. The hinges groaned faintly, but nothing stirred. The air inside was thick, stale with dust and rot. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩⁂𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾⁂𝔫𝔢𝔱
Riku exhaled quietly and reached into his vest. From one of the side pouches, he pulled out the flashlight they’d scavenged back at the bookstore. He clicked it on, the beam cutting through the darkness in a narrow cone of light. Dust motes swirled in its path like falling ash.
He held it the way he’d seen special forces do in training videos—his left hand gripped the flashlight, tucked tight against the foregrip of his M4 Carbine. The beam aligned with his barrel, illuminating wherever his sights pointed.
"Stay close," he muttered.
Miko hovered just a step behind him, eyes darting to every corner the light swept across.
The corridor stretched forward, walls lined with old posters of employee schedules and safety warnings. Abandoned mop buckets and crates were scattered across the floor, dried streaks of something dark staining the tiles.
At the end of the hallway was another door, its paint peeling, the placard above it reading STORAGE / MAIN FLOOR ACCESS. Riku moved first. He tested the handle—unlocked.
He glanced back at Miko, giving a silent nod before pushing it open.
The supermarket floor stretched before them. Rows of shelves stood like shadowy sentinels, most of them half-collapsed, goods scattered across the ground. The flashlight beam carved through the gloom, bouncing off dented cans, broken bottles, and discarded wrappers. Some shelves were stripped bare, others still had dust-coated products clinging to the edges.
Miko’s breath caught. "It’s so... empty."
"Yeah," Riku muttered, sweeping the beam left and right.
They advanced slowly, boots crunching on shards of glass and plastic. The air smelled foul—rotted produce, sour milk long dried into the tiles, and something else underneath.
Not the guttural moan of the undead, but sharp, human. It tore through the silence, echoing down the aisles.
Miko froze, her eyes wide. "That’s not—"
"Not zombies," Riku confirmed grimly, cutting her off. He swept the flashlight toward the sound, but the aisles blocked his view. Another noise followed. the crash of metal, the clatter of something heavy falling over, then more shouts.
"Survivors?" Miko whispered.
"Maybe." Riku tightened his grip on the M4. "Or bait. Either way, we don’t assume they are friendly. Not in this world."
Riku flicked the safety on his rifle off. He angled his head toward Miko. "Stay on me. We move quiet until we know what we’re dealing with. If it’s survivors, they might be worth helping.
The screams grew louder as Riku and Miko closed in. The flashlight beam cut through the shadows—and the scene unfolded before them.
At the far end of the aisle, zombies swarmed in a mass, their bodies cramming between shelves, clawing and thrashing. And above them—five figures clung desperately to the tops of the shelving units. Three men and two women, faces pale with terror, hands white-knuckled as they tried to stay out of reach.
"Shit..." Riku hissed.
The closest zombie turned at the sound of his voice, its milky eyes catching the light. More heads snapped in their direction, groans rising into a chorus.
Riku raised his M4 Carbine and squeezed the trigger. The rifle roared, muzzle flash lighting up the gloom. Bullets shredded through the first rank of infected, bodies jerking as they collapsed in heaps. The muzzle brake spat fire as he adjusted aim, sweeping across the horde with precise bursts.
Miko fell in beside him, her Glock 17 barking.
Above, the survivors jerked their heads toward the gunfire, eyes wide. Relief and disbelief mingled across their faces. For a moment, their panic eased as they realized someone was fighting back.
But the dead didn’t stop.
The horde kept pressing, climbing over fallen bodies to reach the living. Riku kept firing, brass casings raining down. His sixty-round mag emptied fast.
Without hesitation, Riku slung the rifle and drew the tomahawk from his belt. He surged forward, swinging the blade in vicious arcs. The first zombie lunged. Its skull split down the middle with a wet crack. Another grabbed at him from the side, he buried the spike through its temple and kicked it away.
Miko’s shots cracked from behind him, covering his flank.
The survivors on the shelves watched in shock. Panic gave way to awe as Riku fought like a man possessed, cutting down the infected one after another in close quarters.
Finally, the last corpse fell, twitching before it stilled on the blood-slick floor. Silence returned, broken only by Riku’s heavy breathing.
He wiped the tomahawk on a corpse’s shirt before sliding it back into his belt. Then he turned, his flashlight beam sweeping up toward the five survivors still perched on the shelves.
They looked back at him with wide, fearful eyes.
"Are you not going to fight?"