Chapter 210 Lucky Fools
The group <b>stood </b>frozen, watching as the rotting, fetid stench of the zombies wafted <b>through </b><b>the </b><b>cracks </b>in the <b>ss </b>doors. Those pale, corpse–like bodies squeezed forward through the <b>gap</b><b>–</b><b>lifeless skin</b><b>, </b><b>ckened </b>fingertips<b>, </b>and grotesquely long nails that scraped the ss hard enough to leave white <b>shavings </b><b>behind</b>. Even the sound of it sent a shiver down their spines.
They were, without a doubt, some of the apocalypse’s luckiest survivors. Although they hadn’t <b>made </b><b>it </b><b>to </b>the major evacuation camps, they’d been trapped in this oversized pharmacy supermarket from the <b>very </b>
start.
The zombie virus had first broken out early one morning, just after they’d spent the night partying <b>at </b><b>a </b><b>bar </b>in the old town. Drunk and groggy, they had stumbled into the only 24–hour pharmacy still open<b>, </b>intending to grab some medicine before heading back.
When they stepped inside, the ce was eerily empty–no staff, no customers, just a dark stain of <b>blood </b>by the checkout counter.
They barely had time to register the scene when screams erupted from the street. A pharmacy worker <b>in </b><b>a </b>bloodied white coat was chasing down a middle–aged man. He caught the man at the corner, tackled him to the ground, and began ripping into him with his teeth.
At first, they thought it was the alcohol messing with their minds. Staring out the ss windows, they watched in mute horror as the employee devoured the man alive, right there on the pavement.
Just as they fumbled for their phones to call the police, the man who’d been bitten began twitching. His limbs convulsed, then he slowly got back to his feet. When he looked up, his face had gone pale and bloated, and his eyes had turned cloudy white–just like something out of a zombie movie.
They might not have known exactly what was happening, but they weren’t stupid. They’d seen enough films to understand what came next. The two zombies outside spotted them and began running straight for the window.
The young adults mmed the door shut, pulled down the rolling shutter, and never opened it again.
From inside, they had watched the world fall apart–zombie numbers exploding, society copsing. They saw government broadcasts on their phones for a while, but eventually, all messages stopped. The inte died, followed by the power. They were cut offpletely.
Still,pared to what others had gone through, their experience had been rtively easy. No raiders, no chaos. They’d been lucky. In some regions, people descended into a hell worse than death–misery piled on misery. A few hundred yards away, inside the old town, a cannibalistic cult had formed. People over there didn’t just suffer–they suffered in ways too bitter to speak of.
But these kids? They hadn’t even seen a real zombie
up
close–up
until now.
“Aaaah!”
One of the thinner boys slipped as he pushed a metal rack,nding hard right in front of the zombie immediately reached through the crack and grabbed his thigh.
“Michael!”
doors<b>. </b><b>A </b>
Chapter <b>210 </b>Lucky Fools
<b>Several </b>of his ssmates rushed to yank him back. Ifis girlfriend ran over <b>as </b>well, eyes <b>wide </b><b>with </b>pranie. “Are you okay?!”
“I–I’m fine,” Michael Lane, the boy who had been grabbed, replied, sweating bullets,
A cold, firm voice rang out from the second floor. “Check for injuries.”
Everyone turned to look up.
“Now. Anyone who’s been touched by a zombie could turn. Don’t you know that?”
All eyes shifted back to Michael. His face went a few shades paler. “I–I’m not hurt!”
He rolled up his pant leg to the knee, pointing with a trembling finger. “See? Nothing! It just grabbed me here–no scratches!<b>” </b>
Theresa’s voice cut through from the stairs. Her eyes were sharp as knives. “Take it all off.”
Grumbling rose at once.
“Isn’t that <i>a </i>bit much?”
“Seriously?”
“Who do you think you are?”
“Why the hell should we listen to you?”
“Michael’s a guy! Why does <i>he </i>have <i>to </i>strip down?!”
“Who do you think you are, giving orders like that?”
Theresa looked at the group of soft, sheltered kids–even more naive than the crew she’d crushed back at the tech park. She snorted. “Quentin, don’t tell me this is your type. You really like going after clueless airheads?<b>” </b>
Quentin, now tightly bound and slumped against the wall, let out a low chuckle without looking up.
“Check him or don’t. If he turns into a zombieter, you all will die,” Theresa muttered. She was done arguing. She finished tying Quentin securely and walked away to resume collecting medicine from the shelves upstairs.
Once she gathered what she needed, she’d leave. Whether they lived or died wasn’t her concern.
Theresa didn’t care whether someone was male, female, young, or old. In the apocalypse, she judged by one thing only–survivability.