PART 1
Wednesday, September 1st.
Day 8 of the Apocalypse.
Today marks the start of the second week since hell broke loose.
Ethan wakes up groggy and wet, catching the strong scent of urine; he frowns, then notices Dina lying on top of him.
He simply closes his eyes, not giving it much thought.
After what he did yesterday, he returned without speaking to anyone; he just spent time with the little girl and played with the other children, handing out gifts he had scavenged along the way.
His inventory now boasts a surreal capacity of 853.35 kilograms—nearly a full ton.
Clearly, he had been looting numerous locations on his way back.
He took advantage of the night to raid zombie-infested markets, finding plenty of untouched supplies.
Aside from Agility, his other attributes range from the level of a professional athlete to that of a national elite competitor.
This level of strength and endurance is more than enough to make him the perfect survivor; he doubts most people even reach 4 points—or perhaps 5, in the case of someone with exceptional genetics and abundant resources.
But reaching the level of top-tier athletes is a goal for the distant future; it simply isn’t worth the time and resources.
In short, driven by the demands of this new world, Ethan is on track to become the strongest and fastest man alive within a few weeks.
As for the urine?
Naturally, it was Dina.
She is still deeply affected by the trauma.
Ethan feels neither anger nor blame; it just happened.
He himself had once gotten drunk enough to wet the bed.
“I’m sorry…” Dina’s tearful voice drifts up.
Ethan knew she had been feigning sleep.
“It’s okay.” Ethan strokes her hair.
“Accidents happen.”
Even as he comforts her, she continues to cry.
Ethan smiles gently while continuing to soothe her.
…
With the bedding hung out to dry in the sun after a quick wash.
Ethan took Dina to a nearby farm; he had asked over the radio and was told he could come by.
He went to fetch water from the well while Dina stood there, shy and still teary-eyed.
“Wow, I have to admit, you look amazing.” – An astonished voice rang out as a young woman—perhaps fifteen or sixteen—stared at the shirtless Ethan.
Ethan possessed an incredible physique, with muscle definition in places where it is usually extremely difficult to build muscle.
He was simply flawless, drawing the heated gaze of an aroused teenage girl.
Ethan said nothing as he noticed her; he simply filled the basin.
“Want some help with that?
Or with something else?” – She said provocatively, stepping in front of Ethan and slowly revealing her cleavage.
“You’re a kid.” – Ethan said firmly, looking her in the eye.
– “Stop acting like that; I’m old enough to be your father.
Maybe some country bumpkin would go for it, but not me.
Show some respect.”
The young woman was startled, then embarrassed, as she stepped back.
“I apologize for that.” – An older man approached.
“You would have scolded her if I hadn’t.” – Ethan said, having noticed the man approaching earlier.
“Yes, but that doesn’t change what she tried to do.” – The old man sighed.
“Kids are like that.” – Ethan said.
– “But I understand that my current situation doesn’t help matters.”
“Klara is a difficult girl; her mother spoiled her rotten, and now…
she’s just a disappointment.
But honestly, if she were to officially marry you, it would bring great joy to me and my family.” – The man said with a confident smile.
“I’m flattered, but all I see is a child.
I believe that, like me, you’d prefer older women who know what they’re doing.” – Ethan said, and the man laughed heartily.
“I have to agree—you’ve got good taste.” – He patted Dina on the head.
“You can use the house’s bathroom to clean up; I’ll ask my wife to fix you something to eat.”
“I don’t want to impose on your hospitality any further.”
“Nonsense.
You’re saving so many people and keeping us safe, putting your own life on the line.
It’s only right that we host you—in fact, it would be a great honor.”
Ethan can’t refuse, and honestly, there’s no reason to.
He then takes Dina over to the basin and buckets of water, carrying them with incredible ease.
The old man sees this and says, “Holy shit, this guy must be strong enough to lift a bull.”
…
Ethan bathes Dina; the child is far too innocent.
“It seems your parents didn’t teach you properly about what strangers can and can’t do.”
He sighs, realizing he has taken on a responsibility he intends to see through to the end.
After bathing and drying her off, Ethan goes to clean himself up, making sure to lock the door from the inside while one of the women from the farm looks after Dina for him.
Of course, he remains alert, keeping an eye on the situation while he washes.
He can hear the conversation a woman named Klara is having with Dina, talking about him as if he were her father.
“Did you know your dad is very handsome?” Klara says with a smile.
“He’s not my dad!” Dina says vehemently; Klara is taken aback.
“If he’s not your dad, then what is he?” Klara asks curiously.
Dina lowers her head; she doesn’t know how to answer.
“Leave the girl alone.” His father’s voice rings out; Klara grunts and apologizes, albeit insincerely.
…
After bathing and putting on fresh clothes, Ethan comes downstairs and gently pats Dina’s head, noticing she looks downcast.
Whenever her parents are mentioned, she gets sad.
“How about…
some juice?” Ethan pulls a small juice box from behind her ear.
Dina’s eyes light up, and she accepts it.
“I think I won’t put these packs in with the rest of the supplies,” Ethan thinks, looking at the dozens of packs—each containing around twenty of these juice boxes.
Since Dina likes them, it’s good to have plenty on hand for the right moments.
…
Ethan waits in the living room, where one of the farmer’s sons comes over to speak with him.
“Officer…
I’m sorry about that time.”
“It’s alright, Lucas.” Ethan smiles.
“Accidents happen when people drink.
Just try to avoid getting drunk in the world as it is now.”
Lucas nods, looking embarrassed.
“But you didn’t come here to apologize; you want something, right?” Ethan smiles, realizing the man is after something.
“Yes… I want to help.
I’m good with guns, and I’m no coward, sir.
I want to help clean up the city and save people,” Lucas says firmly.
“If it weren’t for my past mistakes, I would’ve become a cop, sir, but I can’t because of my criminal record.”
Ethan studies him and nods.
“I’ve heard about that; you’re a good man, Lucas.
As for helping, we can always use an extra pair of hands… I need a smoke; want to join me?”
Lucas nods, and they both step out onto the porch, leaving Dina drawing with one of the farm owner’s grandchildren.
Ethan offers Lucas a cigarette, and he accepts.
“The problem isn’t having the skill to shoot—we’re in a rural area; what farmer doesn’t know how to shoot?” Ethan laughs.
“The problem is having the courage to do what needs to be done.”
“I’m ready, sir,” Lucas says confidently.
“I don’t just want to sit around here; I want to help.
By helping you guys, I’m protecting my family.”
Ethan can sense he’s telling the truth—from his heartbeat to his gestures…
“Do you know what I did yesterday?” Ethan asks, and Lucas shakes his head.
“I killed over twenty people.
Not infected ones—actual people,” Ethan says, and Lucas’s eyes widen.
“I went to Harrison Hospital yesterday.
Rick Grimes, a King County cop, had been shot the day before hell broke loose and had fallen into a coma.
I went there to check on him.
I regret it… there were so many people—patients, doctors, the walking dead, and soldiers.
So many soldiers.”
“When the power went out yesterday, they started killing everyone—the elderly, adults, children, doctors, nurses.
They were killing without stopping.” Ethan shudders, and Lucas notices.
“I killed a lot of soldiers yesterday, but I also took the lives of innocent people—people who had been bitten or were being torn apart by those things.”
Ethan looks Lucas in the eye.
“That’s what it takes to survive.
Making the choice to save yourself, to take lives because it’s necessary—not out of a sense of duty or for the sake of justification.
There is no noble justification for taking a life, and no excuse you offer will ever be enough.”
“You have to live with the act of taking a life for the rest of your days, regardless of whether the person was some damn pedophile, a psychotic soldier, or anyone else.
A life is a life.”
Looking him straight in the eye, he asks, “Even so, do you want to help?
Even knowing you might have to kill people to keep this place safe?”
Lucas clenches his fists; despite his hesitation, he nods.
“The world isn’t the same anymore, sir.
It’s kill or be killed now… This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
and I don’t want to die.”
Ethan studies him and nods.
“Alright.
When I get back, I’ll see if I can get you a spot in the militia.
I won’t take you today, though; you’re one of the few young, capable men on the farm, and you might still need to protect your family if something happens.”
Lucas nods.
“Thank you, sir.
I swear I won’t let you down.”
Ethan smiles, then immediately frowns.
He spots a wood-splitting axe nearby and picks it up.
“Don’t let anyone leave; I’ll be right back.”
Lucas watches in surprise as Ethan heads into the cornfield, disappearing from sight.
Using [Radar Sense], he had detected a staggering figure entering the range of his passive senses.
A single axe blow to the head would mean instant death.
But now, by actively expanding his senses, he detected more of them; he intercepted and killed them before they could react to his presence.
About twenty minutes pass.
Ethan returns from the cornfield dragging four bodies.
He drops them and motions for Lucas, who is standing on the porch, to come over.
“Grab some gloves and move the bodies to a wheelbarrow, then take them to the farm entrance.”
Lucas nods and breaks into a run.
“Fuck!
What the hell is this?!” A shout comes from the porch as the farm owner comes running over.
“I’m going to investigate; there are a few more of them out there, and I’m going to clear the farm.
Do me a favor: don’t let anyone leave and stay ready.
I think a section of the fence might have come down,” Ethan says.
“Shit.
Okay, be careful.
And where’s that kid?
Where’d he go?”
“I told him to get gloves and a wheelbarrow to move the bodies away from here.
Call for backup on the radio—say the farm’s been compromised, maybe by one or two dozen infected.”
The farmer grunts and nods.
PART 2
Two hours later!
Ethan had killed 26 zombies in the cornfield.
Backup arrived, and he hitched a ride around the farm, where he found a pack of them—about 30—near a knocked-down fence.
“I’ll handle this,” Ethan said before Jerome could step out.
Jerome blinked as Ethan charged forward with an axe; a single kick sent a female zombie flying, and four others toppled like bowling pins.
Ethan drew his pistol and fired in rapid succession—heads exploded one after another, and within seconds, 16 zombies lay dead from gunfire.
His axe, driven by his immense strength, cleaved through flesh and bone with relative ease.
If it got stuck, a quick tug was all it took to free it.
Since yesterday, Ethan had become a veritable killing machine.
His Level 3 [Axe] skill meshed perfectly with his stats: Strength 8, Constitution 7, Dexterity 7, Agility 5, and Fitness Level 7.
Jerome stood open-mouthed as Ethan plowed through the zombies like a steamroller.
It was the momentum of a freak of nature possessing the physical capabilities of a national-elite athlete—but with those attributes perfectly balanced across the board, rather than specialized in any one area.
…
Covered in blood, Ethan lit a cigarette.
“Man… what the hell was that?
Are you Rambo?!” Jerome asked, shocked.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Ethan asked.
“What?
Sure!” Jerome nodded.
“I’m a huge fan of medieval culture,” Ethan said with a smile.
“I used to secretly take part in those medieval fairs—fighting in armor with swords.
It’s fun.
I trained my body hard just to be able to move in that heavy armor.”
Jerome blinked.
“Seriously?” He couldn’t believe it.
Ethan laughed.
“But it’s the truth.
Or do you think I built such a strong body just to deal with a bunch of backwoods hicks?
A man either needs to be a fanatic about guns or football, or want to be a medieval warrior.”
Jerome opens and closes his mouth.
Ethan smiles and says, “Let’s go.
I want to check out the road; those things came from further up, so there must be more of them there.”
…
Ethan was right.
As they followed the road, more zombies appeared—scattered, yet moving in the same direction, likely drawn by the shots fired moments ago.
Naturally, Ethan stepped out to begin his slaughter.
Jerome followed slowly in the vehicle.
They reached a fork in the road and came across an accident: a blood-stained bus had crashed into a truck.
It must have been packed—or close to it.
Ethan noticed a small community there.
“I don’t remember this place.” He scratched his chin; it must be some sort of isolated settlement.
He searched his memories, but they weren’t perfect.
They provided information on Atlanta, Linden County, nearby locations, geography, and people, but not every single detail of his life from his birth in 1979 to the present day.
Regardless, Ethan killed more zombies along the way and told Jerome to drive toward the community ahead.
It was a cluster of nine relatively old houses; there were no utility poles, just a few crops and a fence surrounding the area—that was it.
The place was a ghost town.
Nothing but the dead—even when Ethan expanded his senses.
“I think they’re Amish, aren’t they?” Jerome said, examining their clothing.
Ethan nodded; the word had been on the tip of his tongue.
He recalled seeing plenty of people dressed like that coming into town in horse-drawn wagons to sell their goods.
“It’s a shame,” Ethan said.
“Those people would be incredibly useful in a world slipping back into the Dark Ages.”
Jerome nodded.
“I’m going to take a look and see if there are any survivors in the barns or the structures further out.” Ethan points his axe toward a few points of interest.
“In the meantime, drive to that far end and keep honking your horn as you head back this way.
Draw out the scattered infected so we can clear them out.”
“You mean you, right?” Jerome teases.
“No, us.” – Ethan says.
“I’m starting to get tired.” He gives a teasing smile.
Jerome snorts.
– “I’m going to ask for some training later; I want that kind of strength and stamina.”
…
Ethan clears the area; the homes contain only the dead.
But as he ventures deeper into the property, he finds a house situated on a rise—a sort of hill.
Four zombies are nearby; he dispatches them in less than a minute.
Upon arriving, Ethan calmly knocks on the door with his axe.
“Hello?
Is anyone there?”
Moments later, the door opens; a young man—gaunt, frightened, yet hopeful—stares back at him.
But he is quickly startled by the sight of the blood and the axe.
“Aaaah!”
He screams, and others appear—worried and cowering.
“I’m not an enemy,” Ethan says, holding up the axe.
“I’m helping deal with the dead and rescuing people.”
Ethan knows the Amish aren’t aggressive; it’s part of their way of life.
They shun technology entirely, living simple lives devoted to their faith.
“I’m Ethan Walker, a deputy sheriff from Linden County,” he says, showing his badge.
Hearing that he is a law enforcement officer, they feel relieved and relax a bit.
“Forgive my nephew…
it’s just that…
you are…
you know,” an older woman says, swallowing hard.
“I understand.
But because of the bus accident and…
well, your people, there are a lot of them out there, and it was hard to get here.”
“Did you kill them?
My mother is among the sick.” A younger woman begins to raise her voice but is quickly hushed.
This isn’t just regional—it’s global.
This disease kills people and brings them back as monsters.
Those people aren’t sick; they’re dead.”
His words terrify them.
“There are a lot of them scattered around here,” Ethan says.
“It is recommended that anyone who has been bitten—or any corpse you might have—be isolated.
The bite causes a potent infection; none of the medicines we have can stop it, and it leads to death.
Anyone who dies without having their brain destroyed will return as one of those things and try their best to kill the living.”
“I know your people are against violence of any kind, so if you have anyone in that state, let me handle it for you,” Ethan says, but no one answers.
“Very well, I’ll be back in a few hours.
I need to clear the area; don’t leave, or you might attract more of those things here.”
…
Ethan goes out to help Jerome with the cleanup.
They start using their rifles and shotguns.
The zombies fall in droves, though there aren’t that many left; Ethan had already wiped out the largest horde on his own.
The scattered ones number around twenty—still a significant amount.
Since this is a remote area surrounded by trees, not many people had come this way.
As for the bus—likely a long-distance coach—Ethan steps inside to take a look.
It’s reasonably clean but heavily damaged.
He runs a system diagnostic and realizes that, with his current skills, he can’t fix it, let alone get it ready to transport the Amish.
Then there’s the truck.
Its trailer is empty, and the driver is still in the cab—turned and thrashing about, with a visible bite mark on his shoulder.
That was the source of the chaos.
The driver died while at the wheel and crashed into the bus.
People on the bus likely died, or perhaps an unlucky Amish person got caught in the chaos, rose from the dead, and started attacking, sparking widespread panic; many were bitten while trying to figure out what was happening.
In the end, it seems no one survived.
Anyone who might have made it through the initial crash was likely bitten, went into hiding, and turned into one of those things.
Ethan sighs and slowly returns to the hill, bringing with him two more people who were rescued from the barn.
PART 3
A bus soon arrived, bringing food to the survivors who had been suffering from hunger and thirst over the past few days.
Ethan tried to convince the Amish to move to the town—it would be safer—but they refused.
This was their land; they needed to bury their own people.
Ethan tried to reason with them, but they were a stubborn, steadfast people.
He wouldn’t force them; he left food and promised to send patrols to check on them daily.
His team helped move the bodies of those who were clearly Amish.
Afterward, he went to the farm to help put the fence back up.
When he went to pick up Dina once the work was done, his stomach growled, and he was invited to stay for a meal.
…
He returned to the armory, leaving Dina with the other mothers.
He sighed at the mess they had left behind, sending Arthur back to his family while he took care of things there.
Ethan organized the ammunition, gathered the empty magazines, and began loading them; it would make future operations easier.
Just then, he heard a loud knock; in a flash, he went down to answer it.
“Yeah?” He looked at Elijah.
“Hey, Boss, I came to help,” Elijah said with a smile.
“I know we made a mess when we came in for more ammo.”
Ethan studied him; sensing no ill intent, he nodded and let him in.
“I’m going to make some coffee.
I don’t know who the idiot was, but someone spilled two boxes of ammo—sort and separate them.”
Elijah nodded, looking away slightly in embarrassment.
Ethan knew exactly who the idiot was.
…
Ethan smoked as he inspected the parts of the heavily used weapons.
There was some minor damage, dirt, and grime.
He used the maintenance tools; with his Dexterity score of 7, his handling was swift and precise.
“Did you ever serve in the army?” Elijah asked.
“No.
But I almost did,” Ethan replied as he finished loading another drum magazine.
“With skills like yours, you would’ve been a high-ranking officer—I’m sure of it.” – Elijah smiles.
“Maybe.” – Ethan knows the answer is no; perhaps a minor official, but nothing significant.
What Elijah and the others see isn’t him, but the system.
The preparation—it was all thanks to the more than one million points he’d gained by cheating with supernatural gifts.
His intellect was certainly vastly superior to what it had been in the past.
The current Ethan was dozens of times superior to the Ethan of the past.
An entirely different person.
Not that it was a bad thing, but it was hard to accept a compliment knowing these efforts weren’t…
natural.
“Have you ever killed before?
Before the apocalypse?” – Elijah hesitates.
“No.” – Ethan nods.
– “I served as a police officer for five years…
two years in Atlanta and three in the county.
I’d shot people—some nearly died—and I always had to file a mountain of paperwork for every bullet I fired.” – He laughs bitterly.
– “In five years of service, I never took a life…
yet in one week of the apocalypse, I killed eighty-one people—practically more than ten a day.”
Elijah froze, staring at Ethan in shock.
“I remember everyone I killed, except for eighteen soldiers; they were wearing masks, so I couldn’t see their faces.” – Ethan says in a cold tone.
“Eighty-one…
I’ve taken a life before, and it still affects me, whether I was on a mission or not, but…
are you okay?” – Elijah hesitates; he feels fear—and doubt—regarding the man standing before him.
“No.” – Ethan nods.
– “I don’t like what I’m becoming, but I understand it’s necessary.
If you think what the soldiers are doing is madness, just imagine what it’ll be like a month into the apocalypse—then three months, six months, a year…”
“I overthink things; you could even call me paranoid.
I have to accept that fact.” – Ethan laughs, mocking himself.
“But when I worked as a police officer—patrolling drug-infested or high-crime areas every day—I saw the worst of humanity.”
“There was this one time… I found a child, eight years old… dead in an alley.
He was covered in bruises, scars, and cigarette burns.
An eight-year-old boy who couldn’t take living with his addicted mother and her junkie boyfriend—or enduring all that pain and abuse—anymore; he ran away from home and slept in the alley… he couldn’t handle the cold night and simply fell asleep, never to wake up again.” — At Ethan’s words, Elijah stopped everything he was doing.
“When I confronted the mother, she was so high on whatever shit she’d shot up that when I told her about her dead son, she just waved her hand dismissively at me.
Once she sobered up and learned of her son’s death, she just shrugged and said that if she wanted another one, she could make one whenever she pleased.”
Ethan looks at Elijah and speaks.
“Before the dead rose, I saw what a lack of faith—combined with profane degradation and hopelessness—does to people.
I saw how low someone could sink even within a functioning society.
That’s just one of many cases I’ve witnessed…”
“Now I ask you: with the dead walking among us, there are few people like me—capable of doing what’s necessary, of rallying others to do something even remotely right.
Someone who accepts reality as it is and fights to restore some semblance of normalcy.”
Ethan stares at his hands.
“When I look at my hands, all I see is the blood of the lives I’ve taken—those eighty-one people, or the hundred-plus shambling corpses out there.”
“You…” Elijah hesitates.
“I believe you’re on the right path.”
Ethan looks him in the eye.
“From the little I’ve seen and heard about you—the stories from before all this… honestly, the man you are now is different from the one you were back then.
That’s what people say.
Before, you were just a sad cop doing his duty, and afterward… you’d cozy up to any woman or a bottle of booze.”
Ethan laughs; he was like that in both lives.
It’s just that in the memories of this life, he was even more of a womanizer and an alcoholic—after all, this is a small town; there isn’t much going on here.
Working overtime doesn’t really achieve much.
“There is no ‘right path’.” Ethan takes a drag on his cigarette and leans back in his chair.
“There is only survival.
In a few months, finding other people will become increasingly difficult—a time when there will be more walking dead than people fighting for another day of life.
And in that world, the ones who rule will be those who know how to survive—those willing to trample on others to get what they want.”
Elijah falls silent.
“I’m not speaking out of paranoia, but logic.
We all have our demons; in a twisted world of walking corpses, those inner demons break free.
Like-minded people band together and bring out the worst in the few who are still decent.”
“And you… you’ve decided to take out as many of them as possible before they destroy the few good things left?”
Ethan smiles.
“Yeah.
I’m not a good person—maybe I’m the worst kind: an idealist who thinks he’s right.
But… I’m that necessary evil.
The world is burning, and I just got burned and jumped out.”
Elijah laughs; the conversation has given him plenty to think about.