The city stretched before them, a ruined monument to the past. Skyscrapers stood tall but lifeless, their shattered windows gaping like wounds. The streets were cluttered with rusted cars, long since abandoned, their owners either dead or turned. Smoke still rose in the distance, the remains of fires that had burned uncontrolled for weeks.
Max and Lena moved carefully, staying close to the walls of buildings, their footsteps light against the cracked pavement. The gas station raid had been a success, but they had only secured **water**—one necessity in a long list of things they still lacked.
Food. Weapons. A safe place to sleep.
**One goal at a time.**
Max was running on fumes. The exhaustion from the past few days clung to him like a second skin. His body ached, his mind fogged from lack of proper rest. He had barely slept the night before, and even the short rest he got earlier wasn't enough to erase the fatigue weighing him down.
Lena wasn't much better. The tension in her posture, the way her eyes flicked to every shadow—they were both running on nothing but adrenaline and fear.
Something had to change.
### **Scouting for Food**
Max knew they couldn't keep scavenging blindly. Wandering aimlessly through the city was a death sentence. They needed a plan.
As they moved, he spotted something up ahead—a **small diner**, its neon sign long since broken, its windows dusty but intact.
"Let's check there," Max whispered.
Lena hesitated, her grip tightening on the pistol. "You think there's anything left?"
"There's only one way to find out."
They approached cautiously. The front door was locked, but the glass was already cracked. It wouldn't take much to break.
Max tested it, giving it a small push. The glass wobbled but held.
"Back door," he muttered.
They slipped into the alleyway, where Max found the diner's **service entrance**. The handle was rusted, but when he pushed, it gave way with a quiet groan.
Darkness greeted them inside.
The air was thick with the scent of old grease and rot. Tables were overturned, chairs scattered. A few dried bloodstains smeared the walls.
But no bodies.
Max pulled his knife free, motioning for Lena to stay close.
They moved slowly through the diner, checking the counters, the storage area.
Most of the shelves were **empty**, but in the kitchen, Max found something—a **cabinet that had been overlooked**.
Inside, he pulled out:
- **Two cans of beans**
- **A half-crushed bag of rice**
- **A single protein bar**
It wasn't much, but it was something.
Lena peered over his shoulder. "That's all?"
"Better than nothing." Max stuffed the food into his bag.
That's when he heard it.
A **faint sound**, barely audible over the silence.
A shuffle.
A wet, raspy breath.
Max froze, signaling Lena to stay still.
The noise came from **the hallway leading to the bathrooms**.
A walker. **Just one**, judging by the sound.
Max moved first. He stepped lightly, knife ready, approaching the source of the noise. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, the shadows within shifting as something moved inside.
**A trap? Or just bad luck?**
Max didn't wait to find out.
He pushed the door open in one swift motion.
A walker—**once a man, now just rotting flesh**—lurched forward, drawn to the sudden movement. Its jaw snapped open, releasing a guttural moan.
Max acted instantly.
**One strike.**
His knife plunged into the walker's temple, the force pushing it back against the sink. It twitched, gurgled, then went still.
Max exhaled slowly, pulling his blade free.
**Clear.**
Lena stepped up beside him, eyes locked on the corpse. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."
"You will," Max said. "Or you won't survive."
She swallowed hard but said nothing.
### **A New Target: A Gun Store**
With food secured, Max knew what they needed next—**more weapons**.
The 9mm was good, but it wasn't enough. **A gun with six bullets wasn't a reliable defense.**
Max thought back to the city's layout, recalling the places he had passed before.
"There should be a gun store a few blocks from here," he said.
Lena raised an eyebrow. "And you think there's still anything left in it?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. But we need to check."
Lena hesitated before nodding. "Alright. Lead the way."
### **The Streets Aren't Safe**
They left the diner, slipping back into the morning light. The city was beginning to wake up—not with people, but with **walkers**.
They were **everywhere** now.
What had been a quiet street an hour ago was now teeming with the dead. Dozens of them wandered aimlessly, their vacant eyes scanning for movement.
Max cursed under his breath.
"There's too many," Lena whispered.
Max knew it too. Walking through that was **suicide**.
"We go around," he said, leading her toward the alleys.
The backstreets were narrower, less exposed. It was riskier in some ways—if they got cornered, there wouldn't be many escape options. But it was better than walking into the horde head-on.
They moved carefully, staying in the shadows, ducking behind dumpsters and abandoned crates when necessary.
At one point, they heard **gunfire in the distance**.
A single shot. Then another.
Someone else was still alive out there.
Max didn't linger on the thought. The dead were already reacting, turning in the direction of the noise.
**Good. Let them go that way.**
After twenty minutes of careful navigation, they reached their target.
### **The Gun Store**
The building was small—**a local hunting shop**, not a full-scale firearm store. The metal gate out front was already busted open, but the door itself remained intact.
Max tried the handle. **Locked.**
"Think you can break it?" Lena asked.
"Maybe. But it'll make noise."
Max checked the windows. **One was cracked.**
He tested it, pushing lightly. The glass wobbled, weak.
"This'll work," he muttered. He pulled his knife and carefully began chipping away at the weakest part of the window.
Crack.
A small piece of glass fell, shattering on the ground.
Max flinched.
A **moan** echoed from nearby.
Lena tensed. "Shit. Hurry."
Max worked faster, widening the hole just enough to reach through and unlock the window from the inside. He pushed it open and **climbed through**, landing softly on the wooden floor.
Lena followed, her movements less graceful but quick.
Inside, the store was a mess. Shelves were overturned, empty casings and broken glass covering the ground.
Max's heart sank.
**It had already been looted.**
But that didn't mean everything was gone.
He moved toward the counter, checking behind it.
And that's when he saw it—**a locked display case**.
Inside:
- **A hunting rifle**
- **A box of .22 caliber bullets**
- **A combat knife**
It wasn't much, but it was something.
Max tested the case. **Still locked.**
Lena pulled the 9mm. "You want me to shoot it open?"
Max shook his head. "Too much noise."
Instead, he grabbed the butt of a nearby broken shotgun and **smashed** the case open. The glass shattered, the sound sharp in the quiet.
They froze, listening.
Nothing.
Max wasted no time, grabbing the rifle and knife. The **box of bullets was half-full**, better than nothing.
Lena exhaled. "We actually got something."
Max nodded. "Now we get the hell out of here."
### **But the City Had Other Plans**
As they climbed back out the window, a low **growl** greeted them.
Max turned—**a walker stood at the alley's entrance.**
Then another.
And another.
A **dozen** now.
Their moans grew louder, echoing down the narrow alleyway.
They were trapped.
And Max knew—**this fight was unavoidable.**
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