The hardware store was called Grace Building Materials, and its storefront was much smaller than Walmart’s.
But in the apocalypse, the things sold here would be even rarer than food.
Tools.
Food could keep you from starving in the apocalypse, but tools could keep you alive for far longer.
Human ancestors had dominated the ancient world for millions of years precisely because they freed up two weapon slots to use tools.
At least, that was how the early ape god evolution theory went.
Luke Li pushed open the door and was hit by the strong smell of motor oil mixed with fresh lumber.
The shelves were neatly lined with all kinds of tools, everything from screwdrivers to chainsaws.
Luke Li’s first choice was the legendary tool of the apocalypse: the fire axe.
A red handle, a steel axe head, and with the Bladed Weapons bonus from his firefighter profession, it was currently the melee weapon that suited him best.
He picked it up and weighed it in his hand.
About three and a half pounds, with the center of gravity leaning forward, giving each swing plenty of momentum.
It would not take much effort to chop off half a walker’s head.
[Bladed Weapons Equipped.
Current Bladed Weapons Skill: Lv.1]
A system prompt popped up.
Luke Li automatically translated it in his head: the firefighter had obtained his class weapon.
Beside it was a short handled camp axe that could be used one handed, so he bought that too.
One long, one short.
That covered different combat distances.
Next came crowbars.
He bought one long and one short as well.
They worked wonders for prying locks and forcing doors open, far better than jabbing around with a screwdriver.
In a pinch, they could also be used to bash walkers.
Then came…
A folding saw, a multi tool, a screwdriver set, and a wrench set.
Basic tools for vehicle maintenance and everyday repairs.
…
The building materials section.
Two rolls of barbed wire, a bundle of wooden planks, ten boxes of nails in various sizes, five boxes of wood screws, and several hinges and door locks.
These were bulky items.
He could not stuff them all into the system backpack like smaller goods.
Besides, there were not enough slots left.
Luke Li stored the fire axe and crowbar in the backpack, taking up the last two slots, then loaded everything else into the bed of the pickup.
[System Backpack: 20/20.
Full]
It was full.
Completely full.
Not a single thing more would fit.
The slot crisis really was the biggest limitation.
In other apocalypse survival stories, people had infinite warehouse storage and started by hoarding tens of billions in supplies.
Why did his situation look so pathetic by comparison?
That hurt.
Still, he vaguely remembered the system mentioning that backpack space could be expanded through mission rewards.
He would have to wait until he completed the Apocalypse Preparation mission and claimed the reward.
The hardware store total came to $416.
The cashier was a young girl with freckles, probably still in high school.
Even after seeing him buy so much, she did not react much.
No one cared what you planned to do with an axe.
They only cared whether you were buying enough.
As he left, Luke Li glanced at her.
Buffs above her head: [Bored].
Gray.
[Sleepy].
Light blue.
He looked away.
It seemed not everyone had information worth paying attention to above their heads, but there was no harm in checking.
Every glance might reveal something new.
After all, being able to see through other people’s minds was the biggest cheat of all.
On the way back, Luke Li stopped at a gas station.
He filled the pickup’s tank, then bought two five gallon portable fuel cans, filled them with gasoline, and tied them down in the truck bed.
Fuel would be even rarer than ammunition in the middle and late stages of the apocalypse.
Generators, vehicles, and every kind of machinery depended on it.
He swept through the gas station convenience store as well: lighters, cigarettes, which he did not smoke but which counted as hard currency in the apocalypse, chocolate bars, and a few bottles of whiskey.
Altogether, the odds and ends cost less than a hundred dollars.
By the time he returned to the motel in Kingsland, the sun had already begun to sink.
Luke Li backed the pickup into the parking space closest to his room and started unloading.
Physical supplies soon filled more than half the room: water, wooden planks, barbed wire, fuel cans, and toolboxes.
The most essential supplies stayed in the system backpack: all the ammunition, most of the food and medicine, the fire axe, and the crowbar.
He shut the door, drew the curtains, and began reinforcing the room.
He nailed wooden planks to the inside of the windows, but did not seal them completely, leaving narrow gaps for observation.
The door lock itself was flimsy, so he took the crowbar from the backpack and wedged it against the bottom of the doorframe, then shoved the nightstand behind the door.
It was to guard against walkers, and also against rioters once the apocalypse began.
During the first few hours of the outbreak, the most dangerous thing would not be the walkers.
It would be panicked people.
By then, looting, riots, shootings…
social order would collapse within hours, and the thin bottom line of human nature would not survive the test.
After finishing the basic defenses, Luke Li sat on the edge of the bed, disassembled his Glock 17, and cleaned and lubricated it according to the steps Jim had taught him.
His movements were still clumsy, but much better than they had been a few hours ago.
No experience notification appeared on the system panel.
Maintenance was a basic operation and did not grant skill experience.
But hands on practice still mattered.
The system could only speed up his learning curve.
Practice was still necessary.
He reassembled the gun, chambered a round, flicked off the safety, and placed it beside his pillow.
Then he turned on the TV.
The old television flickered a few times before the picture steadied.
He switched to a news channel.
The anchor was reporting on the situation in the Middle East in a calm, professional tone, while the ticker at the bottom of the screen scrolled through stock market data and sports news.
Luke Li switched to the local news channel and watched for another ten minutes.
Weather forecast, traffic accidents, community events.
The news in Georgia was almost too bland.
Luke Li nearly wondered if he had judged wrong.
Had the local unrest caused by walkers not started yet?
Just as the thought settled, a new line of text appeared on the ticker at the bottom of the screen.
“Unidentified violent incident at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta.
Multiple patients attacked medical staff.
Three injured.
Police have launched an investigation.”
Luke Li froze, then leaned closer and turned up the volume.
Grady Memorial Hospital.
He knew that name far too well.
It was the place where Beth was shot.
The news was only a single line on the ticker.
They did not even cut to footage.
To the anchor, it was just an ordinary hospital violence incident.
Similar stories happened every day in America.
Assaults were common enough that they were not worth a special report.
But Luke Li knew this was not that simple.
“Patients attacking medical staff” was not unusual.
The unusual part was that those patients were not alive.
The zombie outbreak had already begun.
It was just still in its incubation stage, not drawing widespread attention from ordinary people yet.
Once it fully erupted, it would already be too late.
He glanced at the system countdown.
[Apocalypse Countdown: 51:22:38]
Fifty one hours left.
Once the timer hit zero, Atlanta would become a dead city.
The military would seal off the highways and launch a full response, but it would be useless.
Survivors would scatter like ants.
The panic in the crowds would ignite the entire city, and even the military would not be able to suppress it.
Luke Li turned off the TV.
The room fell silent.
He quickly ran through his next plan in his mind.
Tomorrow would be the last day of his shopping window.
He needed to restock the remaining supplies, focusing on medicine and a wider variety of food.
If possible, he also needed to buy a hunting bow or crossbow.
Silent ranged weapons would be extremely useful in the apocalypse.
The day after tomorrow, the apocalypse would break out.
He could not go to Atlanta first.
That place would become a meat grinder.
His best option was to move southeast toward the outskirts, find a secluded farmhouse as a temporary base, reinforce it with building materials, and ride out the first wave of chaos.
Once the situation stabilized a little, he would move northwest toward the quarry outside Atlanta.
He needed to find one of the most important camps from the original series.
Rick Grimes’ camp.
The people he had watched on screen for ten years, Shane, Lori, Carl, Daryl, Glenn, Carol, and Dale, had all gathered there through twists of fate.
He had to join them.
Not because of nostalgia, although that was part of it.
More importantly, that group was one of the few teams that could survive to the very end.
As a Transmigrator, his foresight only worked on events surrounding the main characters.
And in the apocalypse, Rick’s group was one of the few lights of humanity still worth trusting.
A lone wolf would not last long.
He needed a team, and Rick’s group was the best choice.
The premise was that he had to be strong and valuable enough for them to accept him, or even let him lead them in return.
Luke Li stood, walked to the window, and looked out through the gaps between the wooden planks.
Night had fallen over Kingsland.
Streetlights came on one after another.
Across from the motel, several truck drivers were sitting by the diner window, eating dinner.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Luke Li returned to the bed, picked up the fire axe, and gave it a turn in his hand.
The red handle gave off a dull sheen under the light, and the axe blade was smooth and clean.
He set the axe beside the bed, next to the Glock 17.
Then he lay down and closed his eyes.
He needed proper rest.
A hard fight was coming.
This was also something “Project Zomboid” had taught him: the fatigue debuff reduced all attributes, and extreme fatigue led to mistakes.
In the game, a mistake meant loading a save and trying again.
In reality, a mistake meant defeat.
Before his consciousness sank into darkness, he took one last look at the system panel.
The mission progress bar had already passed the halfway point and was closing in on the A-Rank threshold.
Tomorrow, he would push it to S-Rank.
That “???” reward was something he was determined to get.
[Apocalypse Countdown: 50:58:11]