Jack sighed. He really was filthy. Ironically, the mask had gotten the least of it. He blamed the zombie who had gotten too close before getting blown up like a watermelon in an internet video. Thinking back, he was pretty sure that was the corpse of an old man he had seen walking his dog in the neighborhood a few days ago. Jack had been working to not see them like people, particularly during the fight. Just like he was trying not the think of what might have happened to that dog.
...Anyway. His first order of business was the hose in the backyard. It was warm out, so, after confirming that the coast was still clear, he stripped down to his underwear, doing so in a specific order as to limit his contact with any contaminated surface. He did this in the far right corner of his yard, as it had the most sun. He then laid each item on the ground with as much of the contaminated surface area facing up as possible.
Then, he went inside and showered. Once bathed, he found plastic gloves, another face mask, pair of sunglasses, and plastic bags to tape around his feet. He didn't know if the virus could aerosolize under the pressure of the hose, or infect him though microscopic cuts on his feet.
Just as he was about to step outside and clean his gear a second time, he remembered the poncho. He walked upstairs and dug around the top-most shelf until he found a clear poncho. Made of thick plastic and bought on a trip. Throwing it on, he had the hazmat suit he had always dreamed of... but his pair of jeans would be quickly contaminated.
This bothered him, and he made a note to find plastic pants when moving around town. Which he would have to do very soon. His "Tropology" told him that people would die quickly and that a lot were probably trapped in different places. He'd need them to survive. And... some part of him needed to find as many as possible. He was truly alone now, and didn't want to be.
Jack absentmindedly thought about potential locations to find living people while exiting to the backyard. He picked up the hose, but shortly put it back down, remembering the lost shotgun shells. They should be near that corner of the yard and might be ruined by the water. After searching for a few minutes, he found all three, put them inside, and began to hose off the equipment while standing a significant distance away.
Clustered homes had a good mix of safety and number of residents. There was also a hospital and a few hotel complexes a few miles away. The former would be necessary to check for supplies and both should definitely have a few survivors (assuming they were still alive) but would be obscenely dangerous.
Jack took a moment to flip a few of the items he was cleaning to show new, bloody surfaces. The 'turning' had happened early in the day, so individual businesses likely had a few people inside at most. However, he should still check places like the mall, as at the very least he could get better gear. He'd die if he didn't get better gear.
His biggest limitation in all of this was his lack of transportation. It stood to reason that the number of drivers had still been substantial, so the roads were likely too clogged for his car. He'd need something smaller, as he would be chased down on foot the moment enough of those things saw him.
When his equipment was relatively clear of clots of blood and human debris, Jack took the itema inside and threw them into the washing machine. Somehow, he still had power in the house (maybe this neighborhood had underground lines? He assumed at least one car would hit a pole) he'd use it for as long as it lasted.
He used double the normal detergent, before taking the mask and boots to the kitchen sink. Removing the taped lenses and filter from the mask, he hand-washed these items, sprayed them with kitchen cleaner, washed them again, and placed them outside to dry/sterilize in the sun.
Once he was done with direct contact, he removed the plastic bags from his feet, threw them out, and washed the plastic poncho and gloves. Finally, he mopped any floor he had walked on within the house, wiped down any similar surface, removed his (now possibly contaminated) clothes, and took another shower.
Exhausted, naked, and rubbed raw from the hour and half long decontamination process, he sat on his bed and let out a sigh. Everything was settled as best it could be. If after all that he still got infected, there was nothing he could have done better. His tasks completed, he stopped moving, letting his mind wander as his body powered down.
It took an undefined amout of time before Jack remembered the words of 'God'. Shouldn't he have leveled up from killing so many zombies? Once the thought entered his mind, he saw two familiar boxes floating in his peripheral vision, one light green and the other naval orange. He recognized the former as the color of his status, and the latter as the color of his previous achievements. He guessed that the one related to his status would be what he was looking for.
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*Level Up! (x4): +0.012 stat points!*.
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It was real. This was it. His road to becoming more, his salvation..! The being had used the example of superpowers and despite how much the fight sucked he couldn't wait to-
Jack's growing excitement froze. He started re-reading the text to ensure that he was seeing it clearly. There had to be a mistake. There was a zero to the right of the decimal which was clearly out of place. After all, what the hell could anyone do with 1/100th of a stat point? It made no sense. He stared at the notification so fervently that it opened its description from the intensity of his focus.
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*Level Up! (x4): Description:
Killed 20 normal zombies, so leveled up 4 times. +0.012 stat points!*
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Maybe it was the increase that occurred with each level? Not a total? 0.048 points made at least some sense... Jack opened his status to check. He had a total of... 0.162 points
Subtracting the 0.15 points he had received from his achievements, he earned- SHIT! FUCK. SON OF A BITCH!!!
He got .003 stat points PER LEVEL. If he wanted 3 stat points he had to do that a THOUSAND (MORE) TIMES. And he, as a normal human being had AN AVERAGE of 10 POINTS PER STAT. So for a 30% increase to ANYTHING he had to kill A MINIMUM of FIVE THOUSAND GODDAMNED ZOMBIES!!!...?! Killing 20 had taken EVERYTHING HE HAD! He was so FUCKED. Fucked. Fucked. Fucked. FUCK!
Jack had unconsciously started punching his bed. He stopped himself. Then punched again. A few more later, he covered his face and threw himself down on his abused mattress. For the first time today he was forced to grieve; naked, lost, and broken. It felt like his only source of hope had been yanked away without remorse. Like a child pulling the wings off a fly. He cursed 'God', God, the whole world, and anyone else who could have a role in this. His mind kept cycling through the huge list of tasks it would take to survive even for a few weeks. Each one overwhelmed him, until he felt like he was drowning. Jack was so very scared, and was weeping. For a while he lost himself in that feeling, and broke down like a small child. It was ugly, and he hated himself for it, driving himself deeper into emotionality.
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He didn't know how long it took, but he had calmed down enough to think clearly. He felt... dirty, but had to focus on the positives. He was still ahead. It was better than nothing. Things would work out. They had to work out. And if they didn't, so what? Without this nightmare he'd already be a dark outline on irradiated pavement. He was alive and couldn't afford to keep wasting time on tantrums.
Besides, he already had another achievement! He assumed that based on it's color, but still had to see what it was. Achievements were good. Point-wise, they actually meant something! Jack refocused on the concept, and the new notification appeared again.