"What's that, Souta?" Amy asked eagerly.

"The military, right?" Steff replied.

Amy's excitement rose, "The military?! Then we're safe?"

I shook my head. "No, do you still believe that the safe base the military builds is actually safe?"

Amy's face fell in disappointment. "Oh yeah... you're right."

"Stop thinking about rescue, Amy. We can only rely on ourselves, and that's why we're doing this training," I reassured her.

"But aren't they the military? The government! It's still active, isn't it? Why isn't it safe?" Amy asked, seeking an explanation.

"It's easy. For those thousands of survivors that have survived, do you think that the military can handle that? Also, it is given that one person will hide his bite mark, causing destruction to the military safe base," Steff explained.

"But if we already know this, shouldn't we just go there and tell them about what we know?" Amy suggested.

"That isn't possible. We are some unknown students. Do you think they would listen to what we say? Besides, they are conducting experiments to find the cure, so it's given that they are also using zombies for experiments," I explained.

"I'm sure... that we're safe if we side with the military..." Amy insisted.

"They will only prioritize the rich and people who are useful anyways, so what's the point?" Steff remarked.

"But..."

"Amy, we get your point, and while it might be safe to the military base, they can't provide us what we need. In an emergency situation like this, there is no equality. If you aren't important, you'll get left behind, so it's better for us to stay here," I concluded.

"Okay..." Amy reluctantly agreed. After lunch, she shifted her focus, adopting a mindset of "kill or be killed," becoming more dedicated during our training sessions.

I change my routine, I jog for 3 hours, eat breakfast, practice melee weapon, duel with thek etc, however, I don't participate in shooting as my shooting are already accurate, also, I don't join them in afternoon sessions as well.

I gave them the guides I printed yesterday night and told them what to so, I explained to them that I will focus myself on creating weapons, fortifying the base and exploring the outside.

"What!? That's dangerous!" Amy exclaimed, worriedly.

"She's right, Souta, I can understand the other two but exploring the outside? Zombies are roaming out there!" Steff also said her concern.

However I brush their concerns, "I know that you two are concerned about what I'm about to do, however I need to do this, the main road the entrance of the town is filled with broken cars that tries ti escape the town, those cars will for sure have useful items with them I can scavenge" I told them my reason, I hope they can understand.

"But…" Amy who is really worried and don't want me to be in danger doesn't agree, however, Steff said, "Just be careful okay? Promise us.." she said, worried about me

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"Steff.." Amy look at her, just by her face, it's all written on it; asking why would she agree. Steff answers, "it's not like we can stop him, he's strong, and know what his doing, we have no choice but to trust him.." Steff said, looking worried.

"Okay…" Amy said worriedly.

I hold their hands, with a reassuring smile, I said, "I promise you two that I'll come back. The town may be dangerous, but I've been cautious and learned to navigate these situations. Besides, I have my trusty katana and some guns with me, I also have the skills to defend myself."

Amy sighed, her worry evident in her eyes, but Steff squeezed my hand and nodded, "Just make sure you're back in one piece, okay? We'll be holding you to that promise."

"I wouldn't want it any other way," I replied, feeling a mix of determination and gratitude for their concern.

As I prepared to venture outside, I could sense the tension in the air, the weight of responsibility, but also the strength of our shared commitment to survival. With a final glance back at Amy and Steff, I set out, leaving the base and entering the unknown territories of the apocalyptic road.

Clad in a black jogger, sturdy boots, and a fitting black suit allowing for freedom of movement, I approached the desolate road with a set of empty backpacks slung over the passenger seat. My trusty AK-47, katana, pistols, and an assortment of weapons were carefully next to me.

As I climbed into the driver's seat of the pickup, I couldn't shake the feeling of solitude that accompanied this mission. The weight of responsibility pressed on me as I navigated through the obstacle course of abandoned vehicles, each one potentially hiding valuable resources.

The atmosphere was tense, heightened by the realization that danger could lurk behind every turned-over car or shattered windshield. Gripping the steering wheel, I advanced cautiously, my eyes scanning for any signs of movement, my ears attuned to the slightest sound.

The once bustling road now lay strewn with the remnants of broken-down cars, a testament to the chaos that had consumed the town. I took a moment to survey the scene, the eerie silence only interrupted by the occasional creaking of a metal frame or the distant moans of unseen threats. It was a stark reminder of the world we now inhabited.

I manage to arrived the road, the road, once a lifeline, had become a graveyard of escape attempts. The broken and deserted cars served as silent witnesses to the pandemonium that had unfolded. It was in this somber setting that I began the task of scavenging for supplies, determined to bring back whatever could aid our survival.

With the pickup's engine humming and the echo of my footsteps on the asphalt, I get out the pickup truck, I turned off the pickup truck, parking it nearby and is ready to take off towards the mountain if ever some emergency happened.

The road, once a bustling artery of civilization, now lay in a state of disarray. Broken cars, battered and abandoned, formed a macabre obstacle course that stretched as far as the eye could see. Each vehicle told a silent tale of desperation, their shattered windows and dented frames bearing witness to the chaotic events that had transpired.

The asphalt was marred with oil stains, a somber reminder of the last moments of those who had sought escape in their automobiles. Some cars were skewed at odd angles, as if frozen mid-escape, while others had collided in a chaotic dance of metal and glass.

Car doors swung open, inviting inspection, revealing the remnants of hurried departures. Forgotten belongings, a child's toy, or a family photo lay strewn across the pavement, serving as poignant reminders of lives disrupted. Tattered shreds of clothing fluttered in the breeze, caught on twisted metal or broken windows.

As I navigated through this graveyard of vehicles, the air was thick with an unsettling silence, punctuated only by the occasional groan of a rusted chassis or the soft whisper of the wind passing through shattered windows. It was a scene frozen in time, a haunting tableau of a world unraveling.

Occasionally, the stillness would be interrupted by the faint echoes of distant moans, a reminder that, despite the desolation, I was not alone. The broken cars, once symbols of freedom and mobility, now stood as silent witnesses to the unraveling of society, their shattered forms mirroring the shattered illusions of safety that had once defined the road.

I went a head and scan the area, looks like most of the zombies get in the city because of the military gun shots, it's my luck then.

Amidst the eerie silence, I cautiously scanned my surroundings, making sure no lingering threats were nearby. The distant groans of zombies served as a constant reminder of the peril that surrounded me. With my AK-47 at the ready, I dispatched the remaining undead with practiced efficiency, ensuring a secure perimeter before delving into the abandoned vehicles.

The twisted metal carcasses held a treasure trove of supplies. Shamelessly, yet driven by necessity, I methodically explored each car, scouring for anything that could aid in our survival. Inside the vehicles, personal belongings told the stories of those who had desperately tried to escape the encroaching chaos.

I rifled through bags and glove compartments, retrieving food supplies, water bottles, and any useful tools or makeshift weapons. The once-cherished possessions of others now became crucial resources for our group's survival. It was a somber task, but one born out of the harsh reality that the world had become.

As I moved from one vehicle to another, the pickup truck served as a makeshift depot for the salvaged goods. Backpacks filled with canned goods, first aid kits, and any valuable items I could find were loaded into the bed of the truck. The air carried a sense of urgency, a reminder that every moment spent scavenging was a moment safeguarding our existence.

The wind whispered through the shattered windows of the abandoned cars, carrying with it the weight of desperation and the fleeting nature of the world before the outbreak. Yet, in this desolate landscape, I pressed on, driven by the responsibility to ensure the survival of our makeshift family back at the mansion.

Each item collected felt like a small victory against the relentless tide of the apocalypse. In the face of adversity, the actions that once might have been considered unthinkable became the threads that wove the fabric of our continued existence. Survival demanded difficult choices, and in this unforgiving world, I navigated the wreckage, unburdened by moral quandaries, focused solely on securing the means to endure.

resources gathered from the forsaken vehicles. The once-empty backpacks now bulged with essential supplies, creating a mosaic of survival that lay in the bed of the pickup truck. Canned goods, bottled water, medical supplies, and various tools formed a tangible representation of our resilience against the encroaching chaos.