Adrian held his breath, feeling the cold barrel of the gun against his forehead. He didn't move, slowly raising his hands as he scanned the dimly lit room.
The man holding the gun was tall and rugged, his face covered in unshaven stubble. He wore a worn-out tactical vest, his eyes sharp and unreadable. His finger rested on the trigger, making it clear that he didn't trust intruders.
"I mean no harm," Adrian said carefully, keeping his tone calm. "I'm just looking for supplies."
The man didn't lower his weapon. Instead, he let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah? That's what everyone says."
Tension filled the room as they stared each other down. Adrian's mind raced, searching for a way out of this standoff.
Outside, the infected continued to claw at the metal door, their snarls growing more frenzied. The pounding on the barricade intensified, sending sharp screeches through the air.
The man frowned, clearly unhappy about the attention. He tilted his head slightly but kept his gun trained on Adrian. "Name?"
"Adrian."
"You alone?"
Adrian hesitated briefly before nodding. "Yeah."
The man studied him for a moment before finally lowering his gun—though he remained wary. He took a step back and gestured toward the corner of the room. "Stay over there. Don't touch my stuff."
Adrian let out a quiet breath of relief, lowering his hands. He stepped aside as instructed, taking a quick glance around the military surplus store.
Most of the shelves were stripped bare, likely looted in the early days of the outbreak. A few ammo crates sat in the corner, along with a couple of unopened ration packs. Behind the counter, Adrian spotted a shotgun—probably the store owner's.
The man stood behind the counter, arms crossed, still watching him.
"How long do you plan on staying?" he asked.
"Not long," Adrian replied. "Just need some supplies, then I'll be on my way."
The man scoffed. "You think this is a supermarket? You don't just walk in and take what you want."
Adrian didn't argue. He knew resources in the apocalypse were hard-earned, and expecting a free handout was unrealistic. After a moment of thought, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small multi-tool, setting it on the counter.
"I can trade."
The man glanced at the tool, picking it up and inspecting it. A flicker of approval crossed his face.
"Fine," he said, tossing Adrian a pack of compressed biscuits. "Fair trade."
Adrian caught the rations, about to respond—when a sudden, heavy bang echoed through the store.
The metal door caved inward slightly under the force of the impact. The infected outside shrieked louder, their rage intensifying.
Adrian and the man exchanged a quick look, instinct kicking in.
"Shit, they're breaking through," the man cursed, grabbing the shotgun from behind the counter.
Adrian tightened his grip on his knife, taking a deep breath as he braced himself for the fight ahead.