Chapter 24: All out

The men who had been so loud just moments ago suddenly became a group of complete mutes.

"I’ll go."

Ace was the first to volunteer. His peach-blossom eyes curved into a smile, his expression as calm and gentle as ever.

Alex immediately raised his hand as well, flashing a bright grin. "I’m going too. I’m young, I’m fast, and I’m sure I’ll be able to find what we need."

Ray hadn’t even spoken yet, but Mitch’s irritated voice exploded from the back of the truck.

"You two? Hell no."

He stood up from the corner, his handsome face drawn into a severe frown. Only the tips of his ears were bright red.

"One of you couldn’t fight your way out of a paper bag, and the other looks like a simpleton. What the hell are you two supposed to find?"

He pointed at Jack. "You. You’re coming with me."

Jack’s massive body jolted. "Me?"

"Obviously you. Who else?" Mitch snapped. "Quit dragging your feet and just come."

Without sparing the others another glance, he grabbed his gun and jumped out of the truck.

Jack looked at Mitch’s murderous back. Then he turned toward the others. Every man in the truck was wearing the exact same expression––Good luck, dude.

Jack’s face fell. With a miserable sigh, he followed.

And so, two battle-hardened men standing well over six feet tall marched into an abandoned supermarket, guns in hand, looking as though they were heading straight into battle.

May watched them disappear inside. For some reason, she suddenly felt a little guilty.

Did I just... give them the most difficult mission of their lives?

Inside the supermarket, everything was a disaster. Shelves had collapsed everywhere. Dust coated every surface, and abandoned products were scattered across the floor. Mitch kicked a shopping cart out of his way and stalked through the aisles impatiently.

"Fuck. Where the hell is it?"

Jack followed behind him and quietly offered a reminder. "I think... the household supplies section."

Eventually, they found it... And then both men stopped dead.

They were standing in front of an enormous wall of shelves. Every inch was covered with colorful packages. Words were printed all over them. Words neither man understood.

"Day use..."

"Night use..."

"Heavy flow..."

"Extra-long night..."

"Cotton soft..."

"Dry mesh..."

"With wings..."

Mitch stared, stunned. For the first time in his life, he felt kind of illiterate.

He sounded out the words one by one. Then he stared at the packages again.

"What the fuck is the difference?"

He held up one package labeled "Day Use" and another labeled "Night Use."

Jack scratched his head, considering the question with complete seriousness.

"Maybe... one is for daytime, and one is for nighttime?"

"No shit, genius." Mitch felt his blood pressure climbing. "I’m asking why they need different ones! What, this stuff works according to the time of day?"

He pointed at another package. "And what’s this?" He squinted. "Wings?"

He looked at Jack. "What the hell are wings for? Does this thing let you fly?"

Jack studied the little wing illustration on the packaging. After a moment, he nodded thoughtfully.

"It... does kind of look like wings."

Mitch nearly cursed again. Talking to Jack was somehow more exhausting than communicating with zombies.

His eyes moved to another section.

"Cotton soft... Dry mesh..."

His expression twisted. "What kind of bullshit is this? Fishing net?"

He looked increasingly frustrated.

"Is she supposed to wipe her ass with this stuff, or use it to catch fish?"

Two men who could calculate trajectories, wind speed, and firing angles with terrifying precision were now standing in front of a wall of sanitary pads, feeling as though their intelligence had been dragged onto the floor and repeatedly stomped on.

Minutes ticked by. Mitch grew increasingly impatient. Then he remembered May’s pale little face, the way she’d curled up from the pain.

The irritation inside him flared.

Damn it.

Why did they need so many different kinds?

"Forget it."

Jack hadn’t even understood what he meant when Mitch suddenly raised his foot.

"BANG!"

He kicked the shelf with all his strength. The entire rack shook violently. Then the sanitary pads came pouring down like rain.

"Get the sacks."

Mitch ground the words out between his teeth. Then he raised his submachine gun toward the rows of colorful packages.

"Whoosh—"

Day use. Night use. Cotton. Mesh. Long. Short. Heavy flow.

Whatever. Fuck it. They were taking everything.

Jack stared at the brutally efficient solution. He froze for three seconds... Then his eyes lit up.

Several minutes later, the two men emerged from the supermarket, each carrying an enormous sack stuffed to bursting.

When they got back to the truck, Mitch didn’t say a word. He swung the sack from his shoulder and dumped the entire thing onto the wooden floor of the truck bed.

"Whoosh!"

Dozens upon dozens of brightly colored packages spilled everywhere.

Different sizes. Different types. Different brands. The entire truck bed was practically buried in them.

The scene was spectacular. Everyone stared. May looked at the mountain of sanitary pads with wide eyes.

Then at Mitch, who stood beside it wearing an expression that practically screamed, I went all out for this.

For a moment, she didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

Mitch tossed the empty sack aside. He didn’t dare look directly at her. Instead, he turned his face away and barked awkwardly, "They’re all here. You want one? Pick one."

He paused. His voice became even harsher, while the tips of his ears burned red.

"Just... don’t start crying again, alright?"

May held her abdomen, enduring the intermittent cramps. She bent down and reached for the nearest package.

Her fingertips had just touched the pink wrapper when the steel floor beneath her feet suddenly trembled violently.

This wasn’t the truck bouncing over rough terrain. The ground itself was shaking.

Several packages rolled from the top of the sanitary-pad mountain and thudded onto the floor. May’s hand froze in midair. She looked up at Mitch. The embarrassment had vanished from the man’s face; in its place was an expression she had become intimately familiar with over the past few days.

Killing intent.

"Get down." Mitch grabbed her shoulder and shoved her downward. His entire body curved protectively over hers while his other hand was already reaching for the gun at his waist.

Inside the cab, the radio suddenly erupted with a shrill burst of static.

"Bzzzzzt—!"

Every frequency was being jammed at once, reduced to a wall of white noise.

Ray slapped the radio and threw the handset aside, then kicked open the driver’s door, and leaned halfway out to look.

The sight before him made his blood run cold. At the entrance to the plaza, the asphalt had split apart like paper. Something enormous was forcing its way through the fissure.

It stood more than three meters tall. Its muscles bulged into grotesque knots beneath its deformed body, while rows of bony spines protruded from its back, tearing through the flesh and leaving the skin stretched and split.

A Heat-Spike Mutant Tyrant.

And behind it... A tide of corpses.

Dark and endless, the zombie horde poured into the plaza from both streets like filthy floodwater bursting through a broken dam.

Something else was crawling along the walls. It moved frighteningly fast, like an enormous gecko. All four limbs were pressed against the surface, its joints bending at angles no normal creature’s limbs should ever bend.

A Crawling Special Infected.

"Fuck."

The Tyrant lowered its grotesquely deformed head and let out a savage roar toward their heavy truck. Then it reached down with one enormous hand and grabbed an abandoned sedan from the side of the road... lifting the entire vehicle over its head.