PART 1
Thursday, September 2nd.
Day 9 of the Apocalypse.
Ethan arrives at the school and is well-received, met with gazes full of respect, fear, and admiration.
Dina runs up to him; Ethan laughs and lifts her up.
“Did you sleep well?”
She nods happily; by her scent, Ethan knows there hasn’t been another incident.
He doesn’t stay with her long, sharing a brief moment of fun before letting her go back to playing with the other children.
“Sir, do you have any orders?” The school principal approaches him hesitantly.
Ethan raises an eyebrow.
“Since when is this a military regime?” he jokes to lighten the mood.
“For now, just look after the children and keep the place clean; we’ll handle the rest.”
The principal nods.
Ethan spots Bianca; she offers only a faint smile and walks away.
He sighs at the sight but decides not to press the issue.
…
Ethan heads to the kitchen; the pantry is well-stocked, but considering the current rate of consumption…
“Call Principal Winsley,” Ethan says, and she arrives in less than ten minutes.
“Do you need something?”
“It’s about the food,” Ethan says.
“It will still be a while before the harvest comes in or we can get some of the few factories in our county running again.
Restocking food will be difficult in the long run, especially with around 200 mouths to feed—and that number is growing.”
“What do you suggest?” Winsley swallows hard.
“First, we need to limit access to the food supply.
I don’t want people coming in, grabbing whatever they want, and leaving just because the food is there.
We aren’t a charity, and this food is for everyone.”
“Second, I want a list containing the name, age, and gender of every individual; make a note of any visible health issues.” “Finally, we’re going to standardize food portions for everyone—breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Pick someone who’s a good cook and a team player to prepare the same meal for everyone every day from now on, and to help with the daily food distribution.”
“That’s going to cause conflict,” Winsley says, looking worried.
“I know, but the dead are roaming, the farms could be overrun at any moment, and we have no military support or machinery.
Our stored food is just what we scavenged from houses and markets—not to mention the dried meat I had prepared in the early days so it wouldn’t rot.”
“Tell anyone who doesn’t want to follow the rules that the door is open.
And if anyone wants to complain, tell them to come to me—I gave the order.”
Winsley nods.
…
Ethan waited, making notes and calculations.
For children, an average of 600–800 grams of food per day, split across three meals.
Adults get around 1 kg, while those working or on patrol get 1.2–1.5 kg.
“What kind of bullshit is this?!” A furious roar erupts as a large, very fat man strides toward Ethan, who is standing in an open area.
A dozen people are with him, and more look ready to join in.
“You want us to starve?!” the man bellows.
Ethan stops writing and looks at the man.
“You?
Starve?” he scoffs.
Of all the people who could start complaining, it had to be the fattest man there.
“Watch your mouth, kid!” The man roars and slams his fist onto the table.
“It’s going to be one kilo of food per adult and 600–800 grams for children, prioritizing nutrition and calories.
We don’t have the luxury of wasting food,” Ethan says in a cold tone.
“Waste it?
You’re going to let our children go hungry and do without—and for what?!” a woman shouts.
“Because it’s been over a damn week since the damn dead started walking again and devouring anything alive or moving!” Ethan roars as he stands up, fists clenched against the table, muscles taut and veins bulging—a powerful, intimidating stance.
“Do you think our food supply is infinite?
Do you think I only have five or ten mouths to feed here?
We have nearly two hundred people, and by the time the city is cleared, that number will be around two hundred and fifty or three hundred.
Best-case scenario, we’re consuming two hundred kilos of food a day—and that *is* the best-case scenario, which certainly isn’t the reality, given how many of you lazy bastards are just waiting for some damn miracle to drop from the sky.” Ethan sneers and crosses his arms.
“Do you think a truckload of supplies is just going to drop out of the sky if we pray?
And even if it does, how long will it last given our reckless consumption?
The food in the warehouse should last four days, but with what we’re managing to scavenge from the city daily, we ought to stretch that to about two weeks.”
“In other words, less than three weeks’ worth of supplies—without even touching our emergency stash, which would guarantee, at most, one more damn week of food before we start starving or losing our minds and eating each other.”
“Don’t come whining to me if you’re too stupid to grasp that this hell isn’t just happening in one city or state—it’s happening worldwide!
You know what that means?
It means that while you’re sitting here safe and sound, tucked into beds with blankets, knowing there’s food to fill your bellies, people out there are shriveling up into mummies, dying of hunger and thirst.
Some have probably already started cannibalizing each other just to buy a few more days of life in this hell.”
“And here I am, figuring out how to get more food to feed a bunch of lazy, useless bastards who, instead of showing some gratitude, are complaining about getting the same rations as everyone else.”
“If you don’t like it, fine!
Grab a damn machete or an axe, go out there, scour every house, and take the supplies yourselves.
I won’t take a thing you find, so go ahead—put your lives on the line.
Nobody’s stopping you.”
Many of them hang their heads, and Ethan snorts.
“I’m going back to my calculations now, so go back to doing nothing—praying to God or whatever it was you were doing.
I’ve got to figure out how to keep you fed and satisfied.”
…
“You could have been kinder,” Bianca says while Ethan smokes.
“Kindness is a sign of weakness to people like that,” Ethan replies.
“Anyone with even a shred of intelligence—like you or most people—understands the situation we’re in: we don’t have the luxury of eating whatever we want.”
“Is the situation really that bad?” Bianca leans over Ethan, taking the cigarette from his hand.
“Our town has around 5,000 inhabitants, so there are tons of supplies out there—we’re finding them—but our numbers are growing.
If we don’t manage it, everything will run out in a month, because restocking will be much harder.”
“But there are other towns,” Bianca points out.
“We’re the only community left standing, thanks to you.” She places the cigarette in his mouth.
Ethan takes a drag and sighs, smoke curling from his nostrils.
“That doesn’t mean anything.
We’d have to fight our way through and put lives at risk just to transport the food—food that could easily be looted by other survivors.
Even if we’re the only community, there are still people out there—groups ranging from small to large—who will fight for every single grain.”
“Well… we still have the farms.
We’ve got some silos, right?” Bianca notes.
Ethan nods.
“Like back in August—I recall it’s corn harvest season now, right?
As for wheat and barley…
I remember that’s early summer—May or June?”
Bianca listens to Ethan, knowing he’s cooking up a plan in that brilliant, paranoid mind of his.
“Wheat and barley stocks should be about half-depleted.
I recall the soy harvest is between October and November, which means if there’s any left, it’s from last year’s crop.”
“Yeah.” Bianca nods.
“I grew up on a farm, so you’re right about that.
But there’s something you might not know: most farms that grow those crops use them mainly to feed livestock.
They might sell a little in town—but only if necessary—since markets tend to source from big corporations.” “That’s it!” Ethan shouts, standing up and laughing.
“We don’t need to take grain from our farmers right now; they can keep feeding their livestock.
But those big corporations—they must have thousands of tons of grain, more than enough for us.”
Bianca smiles, but then says, “But wouldn’t the military have seized those places?”
Ethan frowns.
“There is that…
but I think for now, we should start scouting and see what the situation is.
If we’re lucky—forgive me for saying this—but if we’re lucky, those places will be overrun by the dead; we can clear them out and use the trucks.”
“We were already needing trucks to haul the shipping containers,” Bianca points out.
Ethan smiles.
“I recall that some farms have, unfortunately, already lost their owners, right?”
Bianca nods.
“Do you think you can round up some people from town who know how to handle this?
I want to go clear out those farms and check the state of the silos.
If we can get our hands on that grain, we’ll be able to increase our daily food rations with porridge.”
“Okay.” Bianca smiles; she finally feels useful.
PART 2
Several pickup trucks and small trucks, carrying about twenty extra people, head toward one of the many farms on the itinerary.
Among the group are several young volunteers—Jacob included—which is what prompted Jerome to join the expedition.
They arrive first at the Miller farm.
There are no visible crops; they had been told the harvest took place before the Fall, meaning the silos should be full of corn.
However, the Miller farm sits very close to the neighboring town; consequently, there are many zombies on the road and even more within the farm itself.
Upon arrival, Ethan is the first to step out, axe in hand, immediately setting about dispatching the dead in their path.
Gunshots ring out from those who know how to shoot.
The dead take massive holes to their heads and torsos.
The gunfire draws in even more of them.
Ethan scans the area using [Radar Sense].
“There aren’t that many scattered across the farm; it looks like the nearby noise has drawn them all to this spot,” he says calmly.
“Here’s the plan: clear out anything that moves.
Check on the livestock—I doubt any are still alive, but if you find any uninjured ones, set them aside for slaughter later.”
“Slaughter?” a confused girl asks.
“Yes.
We can’t mix them with the stock from other farms; we don’t know if they’ve been properly cared for, and our supply of fresh meat is running low.
It’s not worth the effort of transporting live animals from here to raise elsewhere,” he says nonchalantly.
“I certainly won’t say no to more meat,” a young man says with a laugh.
“I want a nice steak.
Please, Mr.
Dead Guys, don’t have devoured every animal on the farm,” another, heavier-set young man says, laughing as he prays.
A few chuckles ripple through the group.
“And no wandering off alone!” Ethan roars.
“We stick together; no one goes off exploring.
I brought you here to work, to witness the horrors, and to adapt—not to play the hero.”
“And what about you?” the same girl from before asks, looking confused.
“I’m going to check the road.
There are a lot of them, and I’m going to kill them.
I don’t want any surprises—and I certainly don’t want them massing up and blocking our exit.”
“You?
Alone?” The girl blinks in surprise.
“And what was that about not wanting anyone to play the hero?” Bianca scoffs.
“Sorry,” Ethan smiles.
“I’m already a hero.” He teases, walking away with a backpack slung over his shoulder—purely for show, to provide a cover for the gunfire.
*Today’s the day Axe hits Level 4.*
…
Ethan advances down the road wielding only an axe.
His eyes are shut tight, but that doesn’t hinder him—quite the opposite.
[Radar Sense] is a power that functions best with one’s eyes closed; his mind receives and maps the surroundings in three dimensions.
His senses—already heightened and further enhanced by the ability—map out an area spanning over a kilometer.
Of course, precision drops significantly beyond the 300-meter mark.
Regardless, Ethan senses the environment; he sees everything.
Ignoring useless details like color, he perceives exactly what he needs to and acts accordingly.
His axe splits a zombie’s skull—the weapon vanishing and reappearing in his grip—before he hurls it fearlessly at another, striking its chest and sending it flying into two others.
A second axe appears in his hand, felling a zombie approaching from the right.
His left hand draws a pistol, and shots ring out.
His aim is steady and firm; he can see and predict every trajectory.
Successive shots land dead-on in the heads of his targets, earning him double to triple the usual XP for [Aiming].
He would likely have reached Level 6 by now had he been more actively involved in exterminating the city’s zombies.
The gunshots draw in more zombies; his axe dances like a paintbrush painting death.
He can see the movement of every zombie—how they stagger, every flaw in their gait or trot, where they are looking, and how they move.
With his Intelligence stat at 10, Ethan can predict their movements, as if [Radar Sense] allowed him to see the future.
And when the zombies act exactly as he anticipated, he smiles with satisfaction.
As he fights and fires, he studies their reactions further—noting inconsistencies in his analysis and gathering new data that refines his results.
A shift occurs, and [Radar Sense] abruptly reaches Level 5.
The sensation changes; his range expands, along with the level of detail and information—and he feels something merge, though it is hard to pinpoint exactly what.
Arms lunge toward him; he moves with precision—almost perfection.
[Nimble] reaches Level 2, improving his agility as he navigates the horde.
Their stench is horrendous, yet he manages to keep it under control and ignore it.
Wielding two axes—despite his lack of skill—he still manages to kill, killing ceaselessly.
Ethan acquires a new skill: [Dual Wielding].
His motor coordination when using two melee weapons has improved drastically.
When Ethan opens his eyes, he sees a road littered with corpses; he is drenched in putrid blood and breathing heavily, yet reaching Level 4 in [Axe] brings him great joy.
PART 3
Ethan returns to the farm.
“Is everyone okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” Bianca nods.
“Just waiting for the hero…
did you turn into a damsel in distress?”
Ethan smiles faintly.
“Let’s start checking the grain.
Any animals still alive?”
Soon the group begins to move; the most heavily armed members head toward the grain to investigate.
Ethan goes over, takes a look, and—knowing there is no hidden danger—leaves Bianca and Jerome in charge.
He then drives a truck to the pasture fence.
Picking up a pair of binoculars, he observes the mutilated cattle and a few scattered zombies.
“Three cows further east,” he says, frowning.
“I’m heading over there; make some noise here to draw as many of them away as possible.”
Following his orders, Ethan jumps out of the truck, vaults the fence, and advances toward the surviving cows.
They are fleeing from the relentless zombies.
When Ethan arrives, he takes the zombies down one by one while loud gunshots echo from behind him.
With the zombies dead, he assesses the cows—exhausted and clearly stressed.
Using the [Check-Up] function on the animals, he sees they are wounded and bitten, obviously infected.
“Damn…” he grunts, expecting the same result for the last one, but no—this one is intact.
His eyes light up.
He immediately tries to move them.
Since they are exhausted, Ethan shows them water, and they hurry toward him, following his lead.
The gunfire ceases, and the cows are moved beyond the enclosure.
Ethan orders the others to tend to the animals while he grabs a rifle and begins firing with uncanny precision, finishing off the approaching zombies.
Ethan grunts and says, “Out of the three, only one is intact; the other two have multiple bites.” He sighs as the group watches.
“Are we still going to kill it?” a young man asked hesitantly.
“Yes,” Ethan nodded.
“We don’t have the means or the time to take it alive.
So, help me prepare the ground for when it’s taken down.”
Everyone nodded; minutes later, the cow was brought down and—with everyone’s combined effort—moved onto the truck, covered, and tied down.
The other cows had fled in fear, but as soon as they stopped running, Ethan put them down painlessly.
“Go back to the others; I want to take a look at the well and seal it off,” Ethan said, and no one argued.
Taking advantage of the fact that no one was watching, he approached one of the carcasses.
Checking the [Loot] function in his inventory, he noticed he could select an option called [Dismantle].
Ethan realized he needed a sufficiently large and sharp knife—which wasn’t a problem.
He selected the function.
He moved almost instinctively; a knife appeared, and he set to work, slicing through hide and meat with incredible ease.
Every piece that was separated was instantly stored away.
Within minutes, the entire cow had been stored—except for the bones.
Ethan narrowed his eyes and opened his inventory to assess the more than 300kg of added weight.
He examined the cuts of meat and hide, finding no signs of infection or anything of the sort.
“System, is this meat safe for consumption?” He didn’t usually talk—since it never answered—but it didn’t hurt to try.
As expected, there was no response.
Ethan opened the [Menu] and went to [Information].
He found the entry for the [Dismantle] function and discovered something incredible: if used, only meat safe for consumption was stored; any diseases or parasites were automatically purged.
In other words, if he used [Dismantle], the meat stored in his inventory was safe to eat.
He quickly moved to the other cow, repeated the process, and stored as much meat as possible.
He left quite a bit behind, but it didn’t bother him.
He went over to the well and… there were three zombies inside.
Sighing, he walked away.
…
“How’s the grain situation?” Ethan asks.
“The silo is full of corn; it should cover quite a few meals.
The cow we just slaughtered will provide a delicious barbecue dinner for everyone; whatever’s left will be turned into jerky, and the bones can be used for stews,” Bianca says, and Ethan nods.
“Okay, come take a look at this,” Ethan says.
He leads them to the house and opens the outside cellar door.
When they see what’s inside, the older men start laughing.
“Miller, you old son of a beloved whore,” one old man guffaws as he picks up a large jug filled with a clear, potent liquid.
Bianca takes a sniff and says, “Whoa… good heavens, that’s strong.
I think if we used this instead of gasoline, our vehicles might run even better.”
Ethan laughs.
“An illicit still.
We can leave it here for now; when we come back with the right vehicles to haul the grain, we can take this along and set it up.”
Many of them stare at him.
“What is it?
It’s alcohol—did you forget I was the biggest alcoholic cop in Linden County?” Ethan snorts.
“And no, I don’t have any Irish blood.”
Laughter echoes as Ethan grabs one to take a sip; he starts coughing, his voice cracking.
“Damn, that hit my liver like a punch.”
Jacob steps forward, curious.
Jerome moves to stop his son, but Ethan holds him back and nods.
Jerome frowns, then notices Ethan’s playful smile.
Jacob takes some and drinks it, immediately falling into a coughing fit and nearly retching.
Roars of laughter erupt, and Jerome laughs too.
Jacob blushes with embarrassment and grunts.
“How can you guys drink this?
It’s awful!”
He stomps his foot.
Everyone starts to leave; an old farmer takes two bottles with him, Ethan takes one, and Bianca takes two.
…
They soon return to town, where they unload the cow for butchering and offload the collected grain.
There is still plenty left in the silo—which had been properly sealed against moisture and spoilage—so it will last them a good while.
Then they head out to check other farms, where a farmer meets them with several large livestock transport vehicles.
“If you find any healthy ones, please bring them in; I’ll take care of them.”
No one argues, and they continue their workday.
It isn’t going to end anytime soon.