Wearing one shoe felt worse than wearing no shoes at all. It threw off one’s balance and accentuated the discomfort their unprotected foot was feeling. His feet had already felt raw after stomping on asphalt and concrete so much, but he'd been running for his life then. Now that he was prowling between buildings and taking his time, Clay was forced to reckon with how intolerant being an inside cat had made him.
The one boot that protected his lucky right foot was a morbid trophy from the amputated foot his rooftop zombie had left behind. A bite mark on the ankle told the story of a man who'd gotten infected and locked himself away.
Either he had been too late, or cutting off body parts wasn't a viable means of escaping infection.
Brutal.
A sock protected the inside of the shoe from the bulk of any rotting skin, but it still didn't feel great to wear. Clay didn't consider himself a germaphobe, it was just that…who'd feel comfortable wearing a dead guy's shoe? Right off the corpse, no less. Also, he was pretty sure it was just slightly too big for him.
Despite that, Clay wished he'd gotten a chance to loot the other one. Maybe he should have thought twice before booting that thing off the edge of the roof…
The only thing that stumped him was the location of whatever instrument he'd used to cut his foot off. Clay searched pretty thoroughly and couldn't find any sign of it. His best guess was that it'd been belligerently thrown in a random direction once the deed was done.
He tried to focus on more important things.
His first goal, after yoinking the rooftop zombie's hammer and toolbelt, was to find a business district of some kind. The progression of this place's decay gave him the impression that most of the useful items would be long gone, but Clay could still possibly get his hands on some proper clothes.
Maybe some food, too? Please?
Before he climbed down from the opposite end of the roof and into a quiet alleyway, Clay used his elevated view to try and find some landmarks. There hadn't been much, unfortunately. The only thing he saw that showed any promise was a distinct awning with black and white vertical stripes. It had branding on it, but it had gotten too dark for him to read it out from the roof. It was a few blocks away, a distance that made his feet ache just to think about.
Better than wandering aimlessly in a city he'd never seen before, he thought.
The number of zombies that were out had increased, but not as much as Clay had thought it would, and not enough that he didn't think he could sneak his way through. Not that he did so very gracefully. If he even thought there might be a zombie nearby, he would tuck himself away behind whatever he could until he was absolutely sure they were gone. Sometimes that meant hiding behind sticky dumpsters for 20 to 40 minutes at a time.
Some good fortune came when he realized that the zombies had a hard time with the dark, maybe even more than a normal guy like him. There were a few instances where he thought he'd been caught for sure, too slow to duck behind something, or because he had to stuff himself into a dim corner that he felt confident wasn't dark enough, only for the zombie to shamble by like he wasn't there.
When it crossed his path, there was a moment when its decaying hand hung only a few feet away from his face. Only for a moment, and only in the light swinging its arms did as it left him without realizing how close it had been to dinner.
That didn't embolden him enough to do anything rash, though. Clay was perfectly fine spending most of the night sitting around doing nothing until there were no zombies within sight of the street he was on.
It probably took him two hours longer than it should have to cross the distance, but eventually the target was in sight. From across the street, Clay could finally read that this place was called 'Bunker Beans: Restaurant Café'. Was that meant to be a coffee bean wearing an army helmet? Who were they marketing to?
He was halfway across the road when he felt a disturbing tension run up his back, like someone rubbed their head with a fuzzy blanket and poked him. Despite the physical comparison, it'd been a purely mental sensation. Nothing had touched him, but he knew exactly where it came from. Something was looking at him.
Clay turned his head. At the opposite end of the road was a figure cast in the same dark that he'd thought was protecting him. All he could make out about it was that it was deathly thin, and that it had bright red eyes. They were distinct, vivid enough that Clay could see a lot more detail in them than he should’ve been possible from this distance.
No, at this distance that zombie shouldn't even be able to see him. He took a slow step towards the café. Its eyes followed him.
Somehow, the fact that it wasn't trying to approach him made his sweaty body feel cold. Clay didn't know whether or not to continue walking. He was frozen, only able to shake under this thing's crimson gaze. Was it using some sort of unique zombie ability to keep him locked in place?
Shit. He knew he had to keep moving. He knew that, no matter what, there'd be no safety in staying where he was. He also just couldn't bring himself to turn his back on it. What would it do? What could it do?
Ah, Clay realized, this was just a typical fear of the unknown. The only thing keeping him there was him.
Then he heard movement. Footsteps. A stampede.
Zombies were coming out of nearby buildings and sprinting towards him, a few of them even allowing themselves to fall out of windows to partake in the hunt.
That was all Clay needed to bolt for the café.
His body shouldn't have been capable of it after all the running and exertion he'd already put it through, but…
---------------------------------------------------------
You are Clay
HEALTH: 0/0 | STAMINA: 3/4
---
LEVEL: 1/10 | EXP: 20/1000
|
SKILLS: 1/1
---
STAT POINTS: 0/5
|
SKILL POINTS: 4/5
---
BODY -
Strength: 2 | Speed: 0 | Resilience: 0 | Endurance: 2
MIND -
🔒 | 🔒 | 🔒 | 🔒
HEART -
🔒 | 🔒 | 🔒 | CIDURAC
---
-SKILLS-
[IMMUNITY - LV 1]
---
CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying
OBJECTIVE: Survive
TIME REMAINING: ???
---------------------------------------------------------
He'd gone all-in on maximizing his Stamina! How else would he have gotten down from the roof?
As far as tiredness went, Clay didn't even feel winded right now.
His feet still hurt, though.
Clay snapped out of his dazed state the moment he realized those zombies were coming, so they hadn't had enough time to totally close in on him. There was some breathing room, but not enough to keep him from panicking.
A little bell rang as he slammed the double doors open, then again with the force he put into shoving them back into place. Clay had just enough time to look around, locate a discarded broom, and slide it through the door handles to keep the zombies from easily bursting in behind him.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The door had glass panels in it, which meant that enough force would probably let them circumvent the broom, if the crowd of them didn't just allow them to simply power through it. Either way, he didn't waste a second hopping over the counter and sprinting into a kitchen area in the back.
Would it be better to flee from the back entrance, or make some kind of stand?
Cornering himself was a bad choice, but leaving without taking advantage of what he could in this new location would just lead to another prolonged chase. Dumb luck kept him from death before, even if it had also endangered him in equal measure. Clay had to do something besides run around.
He ripped open stainless steel drawers and caused their contents to scatter across the ground. This place wasn't just a coffee joint, it also had equipment and utensils that befit a proper restaurant as well. The most appealing of these were the knives, the pots and pans, and the discovery Clay made when he pulled open a small door underneath the oven.
This place used propane tanks for its gas.
That didn't make any sense. Wouldn't a stationary, commercial place in the city just get its gas…from the city? Wouldn't electric be better than this setup, even? Clay's expertise in this area was pretty much nonexistent, but even he thought this was strange.
Agh! Who cares!?
This was a good thing. It meant that this oven still worked and that more gas tanks might be lying around.
Clay could hear them slamming against the doors from here. It kept getting louder and louder as more zombies followed the leads of their brethren and started throwing their bodies against the entrance. They were going to brute force it very soon. If there was any coordination in them, they'd have been on him already.
He turned all of the burners on, already regretting having to leave behind a number of knives in his haste. Then he set to work. This would either be the smartest thing he'd ever done and save his life, or end in him dying instantly. Clay would call it a win in either case.
Sure enough, looking around a bit more did end up finding him two more propane tanks. Not as good as he was hoping, but the fact that he even had this was a stroke of uncharacteristically good luck.
With a firm twist on each valve, the room would start slowly filling with gas. Clay made sure to open them up as far as they would go.
He heard glass shatter outside the kitchen. One of the glass panels had given out first. There was no more time to waste.
Clay rushed for the backdoor and stepped out into an alley. There was nothing around to barricade or seal up the door behind him, unfortunately. If only he was strong enough to push that dumpster in front of it. Actually, that would slow him down too much. The door itself seemed solid and weighty enough on its own to act as a buffer, even if he couldn't lock it.
His brain was alight with ideas, possibilities.
How much time did he have until the explosion sparked? Should he just try and get as far away as possible? No, the sound of the explosion was sure to bring more zombies on him. He should try and find someplace secure to hide instead.
He heard wood snapping. The doors would be completely open now, allowing the whole lot of them to flood the café. Clay could also hear more of them coming from other directions, even if he couldn't see them yet. His escape routes would be shut down soon, likely before they could even be of any use.
Only one option.
A leap.
The first few zombies stepped out into the alley around the time the explosion actually hit, a thunderous sound that was sure to shake the bones of anything close by, undead or not. That solid, weighty door that Clay had thought so much of was completely blown off its hinges and slammed into the opposite building. The charred corpses of some zombies, then a plume of fire following behind them as if it was kicking the creatures and door both from its property.
The building itself was also more sturdy than Clay had thought. The shockwave caused a few loose bricks to fall on top of the dumpster he was hiding in, but that was about it. It was actually the incredibly loud sound that caused him the most distress, even though he'd curled up and covered his ears the moment he’d fallen into the pile of trash below.
An assault on half his senses took place, leaving Clay gritting his teeth the whole way through.
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>…
How do you like that? Even if he ended up dying, it's not like he didn't get his licks in! Victory would taste a lot sweeter if he wasn't currently snuggling up with piles of trash that had been sitting in a dumpster for years(?), but the amount of XP the encounter fed him did a good job of keeping his spirits up.
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>+10 XP!
>+25 XP!
>ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! [HORDE SLAYER]
>ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! [BOO!]
That's new…
Clay wanted to open his window and have a look at what might have changed, even if he knew better. The excitement of the situation didn't make him forget that there were still zombies out there that hadn't been caught in the explosion. With a sound that loud, they were gonna swarm this place and probably leave him trapped here for a while. A whisper probably wouldn't doom him, but he wasn't the type to take those kinds of risks. His ears were still ringing so badly that he wasn't sure if he could properly gauge his volume. It'd honestly be a lot better if he could open the window just by--
The window suddenly appeared above him, almost flush with the bottom of the dumpster's lid. Clay adjusted his position in agonizingly slow fashion until he was lying on his back.
Just thinking it would work as a substitute. Got it.
---------------------------------------------------------
You are Clay
HEALTH: 0/0 | STAMINA: 1/4
---
LEVEL: 1/11 | EXP: 445/1000
|
SKILLS: 1/2
---
STAT POINTS: 0/5
|
SKILL POINTS: 4/5
---
BODY -
Strength: 2 | Speed: 0 | Resilience: 0 | Endurance: 2
MIND -
🔒 | 🔒 | 🔒 | 🔒
HEART -
🔒 | 🔒 | 🔒 | CIDURAC
---
-SKILLS-
[IMMUNITY - LV 1]
---
-ACHIEVEMENTS-
(+1 Max Level | +1 Skill Slot)
---
CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying
OBJECTIVE: Survive
TIME REMAINING: ???
---------------------------------------------------------
He tapped the Achievements section, careful not to let his finger go through the window and jab the dumpster's lid.
---------------------------------------------------------
[ACHIEVEMENTS]
[HORDE SLAYER] (+1 Max Level)
Kill 20 zombies or more at once!
[BOO!] (+1 Skill Slot)
Kill a Spooker!
---------------------------------------------------------
His hard, perpetually displeased expression from sitting inside a dumpster had the beginnings of a bitter smile. So this was how he was meant to get more Skill Slots. Even his max level had gone up.
Judging from the amount of XP they’d funneled to him, the number of zombies he’d killed just then was probably a little closer to 40. Must be that there wasn’t an achievement for that.
More importantly, what was a Spooker? Was it the red-eyed zombie from earlier?
If so, it must have been caught in the explosion. That also explained the comparatively greater amount of XP he’d gotten near the end there.
Clay contemplated what this meant. The Spooker was a distinctly different kind of zombie, likely with a unique ability. What that ability might be was a little beyond his power to guess, but he figured it might have something to do with how quickly an entire horde of zombies had suddenly known his location.
It was also possible that the variety of zombie subtypes was more numerous than he’d think, as would be their abilities. Big, strong ones? Almost a certainty. Smaller, jumpy ones? Maybe a little less likely, but anything was possible in this world where café restaurants in the city used propane tanks instead of hooking into the gas system.
All of this also meant that he'd need to invest in a Skill and find a way to level up.
The dumpster was pushed back by something and jerked suddenly, but not as much as the body of its occupant. He nearly flailed with an intensity that would have definitely revealed his location.
There hadn't been any intent in it. It was an incidental shoving that came with a necessity to make as much room as possible, though the myriad footsteps did a fine job of their own in bringing him out of his focus and reminding him that there were zombies running around only a few feet away. Hundreds of them, he guessed, and that was just the ones filing through the alley. There had to be more that came through, more on the way.
Clay remembered.
Don't forget after just one victory that you're nothing to these things. Even the blow you landed against them with this explosion doesn’t mean much in the big picture.
Well, it wasn't like he was planning on defeating this zombie world. Just surviving would be enough for him.
With that in mind, the Skill he should choose was obvious.
>You have acquired the Skill [Sound of Silence - LV 1]!
Once the coast was clear and he could get a move on, this Skill would let him make better ground. So many opportunities were open now that he wouldn't have to worry about noise.
With that, there was nothing left to do except lay low and wait until the storm passed. Clay curled his body up as tightly as he could and wrapped a hand around his one exposed foot to both keep it warm and assess if he'd seriously hurt it. Having an open wound while lying around in garbage could lead to an infection, a mundane sort of infection that would just be embarrassing to die to after all that.
Changing his position caused something to fall from his hair and onto his cheek. Ugh, what was that?
Clay lifted it up with his thumb and had a look. His eyes had long since adjusted to the dark and he could clearly see a small, light-colored worm. A really short wor--
He whipped it away from his hand! It was a maggot! There were maggots in the dumpster with him!
Clay curled up even more tightly and tried to contain as much of himself in his bathrobe as possible. Every part of his skin felt like something was crawling on it now, no doubt ghost sensations fueled by his anxiety. The best he could do was flick away anything that crawled onto his face. Gross! So damn gross!
Eventually, it became hard to tell when there was genuinely a maggot there and when it was just him being paranoid, though his tired body didn’t have enough fight left to care. He could only lay there and accept the situation.
…
Everything had gone by so fast only a few moments ago. Not anymore.
Time was passing by slowly. He had nothing to do but think now.
Clay wanted to go home.
It was the first time that thought had been so blatant in his mind. He'd thought about how horrible it was that he didn't have his computer or his internet, but now his chest hurt more for the simple comfort of his bed.
"Gkhh-!"
Clay choked up. One of his hands came up to wrap around his face and stifle the sound, but he couldn't stop himself from crying. The tears weren't a problem, but it would all be over if he openly wept.
Shit! Shit! Stop fucking crying! You can't even be a man when it's to save your own life!?
Why was he such a fucking pussy?
His thinking took a bitter turn.
Clay couldn't even make it in his world, a place where someone in his position should have been just fine. Even with these new abilities, there was no way he could do anything except fill some lucky zombie's belly. It didn't matter how many advantages someone like him had or who lent him a hand, nothing would ever work.
He's going to die. He's going to die horribly. He's never going to see anybody from his world ever again. He's going to die. If he doesn’t stop crying, he’s going to die…
These thoughts cradled him darkly, lulling him deeper and deeper into a restless sleep.