The zombie leapt at Simon, its yellowish teeth gleaming in the dim light of the abandoned shop.
The fetid stench of its decaying flesh filled the air, making his stomach churn.
He didn't flinch. Simon was quick to react, sidestepping just as the creature crashed into the counter, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions.
The table shattered under the weight of its grotesque body.
From the wreckage, several rolls of cash tumbled out, their edges curling, their bright green and black faces almost mocking the scene.
In the rise of the apocalypse, money held no value. Simon knew that better than anyone.
It was only a reminder of the world they had lost — everything that once mattered, now worthless except Survival.
The zombie, unfazed, clawed its way out of the debris. Its eyes, dull and glazed over with that all-too-familiar deathly glaze, flickered toward Simon.
A guttural growl rumbled from its throat, and it lunged forward, more animal than human now, driven by nothing but hunger.
Simon's heart hammered in his chest, but his hands stayed steady. He had no time for fear, not now.
Not with the girl unconscious in the back of his car, and certainly not with the creatures closing in. He scanned the room quickly. There had to be something.
His eyes landed on a metal pole wedged against one of the shelves, its sharp edge glinting in the low light.
Simon moved faster than he thought possible. His muscles, now honed by months of survival, rippled as he yanked the pole free, a primal growl escaping his throat as he gripped it tightly.
The zombie took another lunge at him, its arms outstretched, its mouth wide open, ready to sink into his flesh.
Simon planted his feet, bracing himself. The zombie closed the distance in an instant, but Simon was faster.
With a swift, practiced motion, he thrust the pole forward, impaling it into the creature's face. It screeched as it was driven into the wall behind it, its skull cracking as the pole lodged deep.
For a moment, it hung there, suspended by the pole that had pierced its eye socket.
But it was still alive.
Simon sucked in a sharp breath, his palms trembling around the cold metal of the pole.
His heart raced, and for a brief second, doubt flickered in his mind.
Could he really do this? Could he keep on doing this?... Killing to survive the Apocalypse. He had done it before, but this time, the weight of it felt different. The girl, the gas station, the world that was slipping away — everything felt too big, too fragile, and all too close.
The zombie struggled, its decayed body thrashing against the pole, but Simon didn't let go.
He waited. And after what felt like an eternity, the thrashing slowed. The growling stopped.
The zombie's movements grew weaker and weaker, until, finally, it went limp.
Simon let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He was still alive. He had to keep moving.
He pulled the pole from the wall and wiped his palms on his jeans, then took one last glance at the thing that had once been human.
It was dead now. Or, as dead as a zombie could be.
[Congratulations, you just killed a Low-rank Zombie]
[Your world ranking has increased... You are now in Rank 1,700,244,500]
He dismissed the screen however, he wasn't interested in the rankings right now.
"I need to be quick," Simon muttered under his breath, the words rough from his throat.
He turned, scanning the shop for anything useful. His eyes landed on the shelves stocked with canned goods and a few bags of dried food. He grabbed as much as he could carry, shoving cans and packages into a backpack that he had found amidst the wreckage.
He moved fast, his mind already on the next step, the next stop. The girl was still unconscious in the car.
Simon hadn't had time to check her body, hadn't had time to see if she would make it. But he couldn't leave her behind. Not when she was the closest thing to comfort he had left.
Simon took a deep breath, his chest tight, and moved to the back of the shop. He grabbed a few changes of clothes, some fresh food from the fridge, and anything else he thought might help.
As he loaded it all into the back seat of his car, a harsh growl echoed through the street. The sound sent a shiver down his spine.
It was getting worse. The zombies were closing in, and he knew that if he didn't get out of there soon, he might never get out.
Simon turned toward the door, moving quickly. The girl was still out cold, her pale face a stark reminder of how fragile life had become.
He hesitated for a moment, standing there with his hand on the door. The gas station was his next stop. It was the best chance he had to fuel up and maybe get some help, though the odds of finding any other survivors which would be compliant were slim.
The world wasn't the way it used to be anymore. There was no safety, no promise of tomorrow.
Simon took another deep breath, steeling himself for what was coming. He couldn't afford to think about what might happen. Not now.
The growls grew louder, closer. The zombies were almost here.
He slid into the driver's seat and gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. He didn't hesitate.
The engine roared to life, and the car lurched forward, its tires screeching against the cracked asphalt as he slammed his foot on the gas.
His eyes darted to the rearview mirror. He saw nothing but a blur of shadows and movement. Zombies, crawling, stumbling — relentless.
Simon didn't look back.
The road ahead was long and uncertain. He didn't know what lay at the gas station, or if he would make it there alive. But for now, that didn't matter. He had to keep moving.
It was the only thing he could do.