Escape the DEAD, Part II

I stepped under the showerhead, letting the hot water cascade over my body. It was a shock at first, the heat almost scalding. But as my muscles adjusted, I felt the tension begin to drain away, swirling down the plughole along with the grime and sweat.

I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. Waking up this morning, I never thought simple pleasures like a hot shower would become a rare luxury. As I soaped up, my hands gliding over my skin, I winced. There was a tenderness on my lower left side, a dull ache that sharpened under my probing fingers. I looked down, noticing the purplish bruise blooming across my stomach.

A souvenir from the convenience store, a reminder of how close I'd come to being just another corpse on the floor.

I shook my head, pushing the dark thoughts away. I was alive. Bruised and battered, but alive. That was what mattered.

Turning off the water, I stepped out and grabbed a towel. The cool air was a balm on my overheated skin as I dried off and slipped into a pair of black sweatpants. I decided to skip the shirt, relishing the feeling of freedom, of air on my bare chest.

As I toweled my hair, I started up the stairs. Takashi and Kohta were meant to be searching for supplies, seeing what useful gear this place might hold. I needed to check in, to see what they'd found.

But halfway up the stairs, I paused. There was a sound drifting out from the large bathroom, a sound that had no place in a world of the undead.

Giggles. Breathy, euphoric giggles, punctuated by a low, sensual moan.

It seemed the girls were taking advantage of this rare moment of safety, seizing a chance for some much-needed stress relief. For a moment, I was frozen, unsure how to proceed. The sounds were getting more intense, more passionate. A part of me wanted to turn around, to give them their privacy.

But another part, a part I wasn't particularly proud of, was curious. More than curious. It had been so long since I'd been close to anyone like that, since I'd felt the heat of another body against mine...

Resolutely, I continued up the stairs, doing my best to tune out the sounds. I found Takashi and Kohta in one of the upstairs bedrooms, kneeling in front of a large metal safe. Takashi was fiddling with the lock, his ear pressed against the cold steel as he worked the dial. Kohta was off to the side, rummaging through a pile of ammunition boxes, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Any luck?" I asked, announcing my presence.

Takashi looked up as I entered. "Do you hear that?" he asked, tilting his head towards the door. "The girls... they're being really loud."

Before I could respond, Kohta piped up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Maybe I should go check on them," he suggested, already starting to rise from his spot on the floor. "You know, just to make sure they're... protected."

Takashi snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea. Unless you're ready to die today."

Shaking my head, I walked over to join them by the safe, eager to focus on something other than the activities downstairs. "Find anything useful?" I asked, nodding towards the pile of supplies scattered around them.

Kohta, now focused on the supplies, was grinning ear to ear. "You should see this ammo, Kai! Hollow-points, armor-piercing rounds, even some incendiary shells! It's a goldmine!"

"Nice find, Kohta," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Those could come in real handy out there."

As I knelt down next to Takashi to take a look at the safe, I felt a twinge from my bruised stomach. I winced, my hand automatically going to the tender spot.

Takashi's eyes flicked to my torso, widening slightly as he took in the purple marks. "Shit, man. That looks nasty. What happened?"

I shrugged, trying to play it off. "Had a little tussle with a zombie at the convenience store. Nothing serious."

But Takashi wasn't buying it. He fixed me with a hard stare, his jaw set. "You need to be more careful, Kai. We can't afford to lose you. Not now."

"I know," I said softly. "Believe me, I know. I'm not trying to be a hero, Takashi. I'm just trying to keep us alive."

He held my gaze for a long moment, searching my face. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Just... watch yourself, okay? We need you in one piece."

"Roger that," I said, trying for a grin. "I'll do my best not to become zombie chow."

It was a weak joke, but it broke the tension. Takashi rolled his eyes, turning back to the safe with renewed determination.

As we examined the stubborn door, Kohta's eyes widened, fixated on my bare torso. "Whoa, Kai!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of admiration and envy. "You're seriously ripped, man! What's your secret?"

"Oh, uh... just trying to stay in shape, I guess."

Kohta grinned, rubbing the back of his head. "Maybe you could give me some tips sometime? I mean, I've got my sharpshooting skills, but it never hurts to be more fit."

Takashi cleared his throat, bringing our attention back to the task at hand. "Guys, the safe? We need to get this open."

"Right, sorry." I grabbed a crowbar from the pile of tools, positioning it in the gap between the door and the frame. "Okay, on three. One, two..."

On three, Takashi and I put all our strength into it, heaving against the stubborn metal. For a moment, it seemed like it wouldn't budge, but then, with a groan of protest, the door flew open, sending us tumbling backwards.

I let out a surprised "oof" as I hit the ground, the crowbar clattering beside me. Takashi landed nearby, looking equally winded.

"You okay?" I asked, sitting up and rubbing my shoulder.

Takashi nodded, climbing to his feet. "Yeah, I'm good. Nice work."

We gathered around the now-open safe, peering inside. Kohta let out a whoop of joy as he took in the cache of weapons and ammunition.

"Holy shit," he breathed, his voice hushed with reverence. "Is that a Springfield M1A1 Super Match?"

He ran his fingers along the gun's contours, tracing every line and angle like a lover's caress. "Look at this," he murmured, lost in his own world. "The National Match front sight, the glass bedded action... this is a thing of beauty."

Takashi and I exchanged a bemused glance, eyebrows raised. Kohta's gun obsession was nothing new, but it never failed to entertain.

"Hey, gun nut," Takashi called, waving a hand in front of Kohta's face. "You're drooling."

But Kohta was already moving on, his attention caught by another find. "No way," he gasped, lifting out a black tactical rifle. "An Armalite AR-10(T)? With a customized muzzle brake? I think I'm in love."

I shook my head, chuckling under my breath. Only Kohta could find romance in the middle of an armory.

As he set the AR-10 aside and reached for a shotgun, something else caught my eye. A pair of sleek, matte black pistols, nestled in the corner of the safe.

I picked them up, feeling the weight of them in my hands. They were heavier than they looked, but balanced. The cool metal seemed to mold to my grip, like they were made for me.

Kohta glanced over, his eyes widening appreciatively. "Ruger MK 4s," he said, nodding in approval. "22 caliber, bull barrel, target grips... those are some serious precision tools."

I turned the pistols over in my hands, admiring the craftsmanship. I'd never been a gun enthusiast like Kohta, but even I could appreciate the elegance of these weapons.

There was something about them, a sense of rightness that I couldn't quite explain. As if, in this crazy, upside-down world, these guns were a piece of solid ground. Something I could rely on.

Takashi, perhaps sensing my thoughts, clapped me on the shoulder. "They suit you," he said simply.

I met his gaze, seeing the understanding there. In this new reality, we all needed something to hold onto. Something to give us strength.

We settled on the floor, the weapons laid out before us like a feast. Kohta took charge, showing us how to load the magazines, how to check the chambers and safeties.

The repetitive motions were soothing, almost meditative. There was a rhythm to it, a sense of order amidst the chaos.

As we worked, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease, the tightness in my chest loosen. For a moment, the horrors outside these walls seemed distant. Less immediate.

It was a fleeting peace, I knew. But I clung to it nonetheless. In this world, you took your comfort where you could find it.

"Hey, Kohta," I said, "where'd you learn all this stuff about guns anyway? You're like a walking encyclopedia of firearm knowledge."

Kohta looked up, a nostalgic smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "A few years back, I had the chance to spend a month at an army training camp in America. There was this instructor there, an ex-Blackwater guy, who sort of took a shine to me. Taught me everything he knew."

He shrugged, his eyes taking on a distant cast as he lost himself in the memory. "I don't know, it just... stuck with me, you know? All the little details, the specs and mechanisms... it's like they're burned into my brain. I couldn't forget them if I tried."

Takashi set down the magazine he'd been loading, stretching out his legs with a sigh. "So, what do you make of this place?" he asked, his gaze sweeping the well-stocked shelves of the armory. "Shizuka's friend... they're not exactly your average citizen, are they?"

I frowned, turning the question over in my mind. It was something I'd been wondering myself, ever since we'd stepped foot in this house. The security, the supplies, the sheer level of preparation... it spoke of someone who'd been ready for a catastrophe long before it arrived.

"Hard to say," I admitted, my fingers absently tracing the grip of my new pistol. "Ex-military, maybe. Or one of those hardcore doomsday preppers. Whoever they are, they saw something like this coming from a mile away."

In the world we'd known, people who stockpiled weapons and planned for the end of days had been objects of ridicule, dismissed as paranoid crackpots. But now, in the harsh light of this new reality, that paranoia seemed more like precognition.

A sudden burst of laughter from down the hall shattered the somber atmosphere, a bright and jarring reminder of the life that still pulsed within these walls.

I was just about to comment on it when a movement outside the window caught my eye. Takashi grabbed a pair of binoculars from the shelf and peered through them, his brow furrowing.

"Kai, turn on the news," he said, his voice tight with tension. "I think you need to see this."

Confused but curious, I reached for the remote and flicked on the TV. The screen flickered to life, revealing a scene of utter chaos.

It was the bridge, the one leading out of the city. But where before there had been a tidy police blockade, now there was only madness. The barricades were straining under the weight of a surging crowd, a mass of desperate humanity trying to force their way through.

And on the other side, pressing in with relentless hunger... the undead. They clawed at the barriers, their rotting hands reaching through the gaps, grasping at the terrified civilians.

In the middle of it all, a reporter stood with a microphone, her face pale but determined. "...the situation at the Onbetsu Bridge has deteriorated rapidly," she was saying, her voice barely audible over the screams and moans. "The police blockade is coming under pressure from both the infected and the uninfected alike."

Suddenly the air was filled with the crack of gunfire, the panicked screams of the crowd. On the screen, I watched as the infected jerked and danced under the hail of bullets, their bodies shredded but still moving, still advancing.

"Lethal force is being employed!" the reporter shouted into her microphone, her voice high and thin with fear. "The police are shooting infected civilians! This is... this is unprecedented!"

The camera swung wildly, catching snatches of the unfolding nightmare - an infected woman, her dress soaked with blood, reaching for a terrified child; a young man clutching his gut, his face contorted in agony; a police officer, his hands shaking as he reloaded his rifle, his eyes wide and haunted.

And then, rising above the din, a chant began to build. At first it was just a few voices, raw and ragged with emotion. But it quickly spread, picked up by more and more of the crowd until it echoed off the buildings, a roar of fury and anguish.

"Stop the killing! Stop the killing!"

A group near the front of the barricade surged forward, their hands raised, their faces twisted with righteous anger. They held hastily scrawled signs aloft, their messages stark and accusing.

"These are our people!" one man screamed, his voice cracking. "They're sick, not criminals! We can't just execute them in the streets!"

The police line wavered, some officers lowering their weapons, uncertainty plain on their faces. But others held firm, their jaws set, their eyes cold and resolute.

"Stay back!" a grizzled sergeant bellowed through a megaphone. "Disperse immediately, or you will be fired upon!"

But the protesters didn't back down. They pressed forward, their chant rising to a fever pitch, their signs bobbing above their heads like battle standards.

For a moment, it seemed like the whole world held its breath. The police, the protesters, the infected... all frozen in a tableau of tension and fear, teetering on the knife edge of violence.

And then, like a rubber band snapping, it all fell apart. A shot rang out, then another. Screams erupted, bodies fell. The camera whipped around wildly, catching glimpses of blood, of struggling forms, of utter pandemonium.

"Jesus Christ," the reporter breathed, her voice shaking. "This is... I've never seen anything like this. It's a goddamn war zone out here."

She ducked instinctively as a bullet whizzed overhead, the camera jolting with the movement. When she straightened, her face was ashen, her eyes haunted.

"The situation is deteriorating rapidly," she said into the lens, her words tumbling out in a rush. "The police are using lethal force, the protesters are refusing to back down... and the infected just keep coming. It's a developing story, a nightmare unfolding in real time. We'll keep you updated as-"

But her words cut off abruptly as a hand reached into frame, grabbing at her hair, her face. She screamed, the camera swinging wildly.

For a split second, an infected face filled the screen - slack-jawed, milky-eyed, with strips of flesh dangling from its teeth. 

And then, with a burst of static and a strangled scream, the feed cut out. The screen went black, a single word blinking in the emptiness: "OFFLINE".

For a long moment, the three of us just stared at the TV, our faces slack with shock. My mind reeled, trying to process the sheer scale of the disaster we had just witnessed.

The city was lost. The last bastion of order and control had fallen, and now... now there was nothing standing between us and the ravenous horde.