"I'd say, we take the safety of the night. If these zombies, from what you've said, are capable of using their five senses, just like us, human beings, then sneaking in the dark, like ninjas, is our only golden ticket for getting us out of here"
Clinton stood up and gave his response. Having come this far, we need a decisive plan for all of us to survive. The concern from his proposal is the inability for us to see well in the dark (much similar from the infected) and, if we're unfortunate enough, their capabilities such as an 'evolution' would occur, then such techniques will prove to be difficult for achieving our goal.
"So, Pura. What is it for you?" I turn my gaze towards the girl who was constantly eating her cookies without a hint of care.
" *nom nom nom* Does it matter?
*nom nom nom*
Maybe right now will be a good idea? Wouldn't be best if we can manage to march our way under the cover of the bright light? Using flashlights and such will prove to be difficult, especially moving as a group; the three of us"
The girl has a point.
Will it be wiser for us to travel during the day?
Or rest for the remaining time and formulate a better plan, stealthily, throughout the night?
As a leader, my decision will uphold the betterment of the group. It is my responsibility to take care of my comrades. Worst case scenario, we need to sprint our god damn arses away from the scene.
Jokes aside, I think it'll best for us to restore our stamina, gather all of the necessary supplies, and get the hell out of here in the safety of the night.
Now, I know all of you will suggest that I and my group should rely on our visual senses enhanced during the day. But hear me out. We just need to quickly locate the car that Clinton had left on the car park, turn them on, kick the gas, and we'll be able to manage our smooth escape. Traveling right now, when we're severely exhausted, might pose a threat to our physical capacity.
"So, where is your car exactly? You do have your license, right?" I ask Clinton who was looking away from my gaze, sweating for who knows what.
"The car's in the basement. The door at the right side of the entrance hallway will lead us down into the car park. If you dislike this proposition then we can head towards the long run, outside the building. There's a curve like a road-going underground. It'll point us directly inside."
He pounds his chest from his prideful remark. Being rich inside a grand hotel allows you to memorise each of its terrains and occupied floors.
"Then how about your license"
"The what?"
"License"
"The what?"
We're going nowhere from our conversation. But, then again, I had to change the stupid topic. As for who's going to drive the forsaken car, we'll just battle it out by flipping a coin and pass the wheels.
"Say. What happened to your parents, Clint?" for that, I'll call you whatever I'll like, and from now on you'll be known as Clint. That's what you get for being rich, you spoiled brat.
"Clint? That's what you're gonna call me? Anyway, I have no idea where they are and I hope they too are safe. Probably, I'm kind of nearly accepting their fate and all that. They…"
"I'm sorry."
Clinton's eyes began sulking, similarly from the picture that I had seen long before. His eyes agreed, resigning from its joyful emotions. Still, I had to ask. There might be a glimmer of hope, wishing for the survival of their parents, or even more, saving them as their primary goal.
"How about you, Pura?" She too lives in a dormitory filled with women (Students) from the length of her academic semester.
"They… uh"
Same reaction. I supposed the results were inevitable. After all, sooner or later they need to accept the inexorable death from the people they truly love.
To pass the time, I and Pura had been offered by Clinton himself to sleep on the soft luxurious bed of his. The pillows were all made from feather geese and the mattress, which supports our body weight, enables us to sink deeply on the slushy foam. It was truly one of a kind befitting from the hotel's ranking stars.
On the other hand, Clinton had been left lying on the couch, farther away from our splendid domain. Poor kiddo. He had to mention that he will never leave two girls sleeping alone in this scornful night, thus advised him to offer his bed. So, here we are.
We had been sleeping for roughly 18 hours straight during our recuperation, a skill re-mastered through generations. It was a shame that we hadn't landed a complete day bed rest. Despite these humourous comments, we finally had been juvenile from our long slumber.
Each individual are ought to bring 3 knapsacks preferred from the weight they can carry. If the load is too dense, it will hinder one's movement. If the bag is too light, fewer materials will be used during the trip. We need to find each of our medium weight from the varieties of our bag.
Clinton will be in charge of the technical instruments: the miniature stove, matches, flashlights, ropes, etc.,
Pura will be handling our main resource of food. Can goods, crops, shrooms, and such will be her expertise.
As for myself, I'll be carrying distinct categories of medications/drugs, bandages, tissues, and other hygienic tools needed, especially for us women. I too will be wearing 7 sets of shirts and 4 shorts in case of emergencies. All further materials must be brought by me, a multipurpose transporter that holds varieties of materials.
For safety precautions, I had suggested everyone wrap themselves with firm papers ripped from the scattered magazines. These papers will serve as minor protection, shielding our most vital spots during random engagements from these zombies. A silver armour suit befitting for a knight may be suitable for these weird occurrences that'll be able to block the penetrating jaws of these rabid infected. Unfortunately, these metallic armories are designed to weigh a ton due to the materials used. Moreover, the physical capabilities of the horde are still no match for the noble knight in shining armour. But I won't lie. Wearing these kinds of clothing emphasises the coolness of any said characters.
"Do we have guns?"
"Do we look like we have any?"
I soon rejected his query, asking things such as guns will be a strike to our drained luck given from our situation. And who the hell will bring a gun daily? You need to bring a permit or licensed enough to be able to bring any sorts of firearms with you. Even the alarming valuables left from the kitchen floor were unimportant items that I deem to be useless.
"So, how are we supposed to be armed against the horde of zombies?" Clinton asks once again, as he tilts his head and flashes me a confusing look on his face.
"We'll use this" I brought out my two babies, panny and pannie, the two pans that I had wielded awhile back. I offered my pannie to Clint (pan… THEY'RE JUST THE FRYING PANS USED BY FLEUR WHEN SHE WAS SAVING CLINTON'S CRYING STATE") and was doubtedly accepted by Clinton.
He then swings his pan from left to right, and even striking an…awkward pose just so to re-enact a famous first-person zombie shooter game (left four dead).
"Sorry"
"You gotta be"
After the quick exchanged, I headed towards Pura who was still munching over, not from cookies, but carrots, freshly cut from what I could see
"Uh, where did you get that?" I asked
"I can explain" as if a murder had been caught red-handed, she hides the carrot behind her back, and wipes her mouth, which was filled with orange crumbs, using her free hand.
"They were lying at the back. And there was a free knife just patiently waiting for me! How could I, PAULA, restrain myself from the goods offered by some random deity to me, ms. Fleur?!"
Judging from her tone, I was now the one being treated as a villain. I just stood there, watching her crunching the carrot into her body, from which she had claimed to be waiting for her watery mouth.
In spite of this frolicsomeness, we had finally managed to prep our necessary things inside our bags and we're currently standing at the entrance door, which has a flickering green sign from above with the word "Exit" written to its template.
"Just below the stairs is the basement or the car park," Clinton states as he readies his pan, armed but still frightened. Pura does the same as she grips the baseball bat, which was lying on the second floor. I too was armed with the same weapon as Clint's, panny, a hard-hitting silver machine ready to slam those zombies head back to their graves
"To arms," I said and thus bickered a smile