Zero Cell ✓

Chapter 3

Alex needed to get back to his bike. However, with those things roaming outside, it might be difficult with only his bare hands. Despite being wounded, or rather undead, it seemed like they had impressive strength still; it'd probably be impossible to break free. Alex rubbed his sore shoulders. If I didn't sacrifice my backpack, I would've been...

He shuddered, thinking about it. He'd need some sort of protection; those people were clearly trying to harm him. A wooden broom rested against the wall, but he retracted his hand from picking it up.

"I doubt that would work. If they latch on, I'm done for."

Alex cupped his elbows as he walked to the right-side door. The adjacent room was thinner and longer. On the left wall, by the opening, had metal shelves packed with various assortments. Alex then moved past that, where a small desk of tan wood struck his attention. His gaze fell on a small, folded note and a holstered handgun that rested gently on top of the desk. He raised both his brows and took a deep breath. The gun looked real; it looked deadly. He took a step back, body swaying. He wasn't terrified of firearms. After all, Eric owned plenty of them. But that didn't stop his heart from racing at the sight of them. He cursed under his breath at Eric; the man should've taught him how to use one.

"He's the best marksman in the state; how ironic." Alex sighed. "You're on your own in a town full of crazy people. And you have no choice but to use that to survive. What a night."

But before he did anything, Alex first took hold of the note. The sand-colored paper was rough in texture and worn down, but Alex paid no mind as he unfolded it and began to read.

November first, morning.

I'm all alone. Caitlin ran an' left me stranded. I'm not infected an' I know I can still take the freeway to escape. But it's a long shot. Those things're out there. Dammit! If anyone reads this, get outta town! This place is infested with zombies!

The rest was blank.

Are those people really zombies? Alex wondered. If they are, then I have no choice. I have to use this.

He placed the paper back down and finally grabbed the holstered gun. The holster was soft, with a belt clip-on and straps to attach to the thigh. He took a quick breath, clipped the two support straps to his thigh, and finally secured the main line to his belt.

So this is it—the real deal. Alex pulled the gun from its attached holster. It was a two-toned handgun; the silver barrel had a black frame underneath. It was sleek in design but had sturdy-looking grips. It wasn't as heavy as he thought it would be, and he wondered if Eric's was the same.

I don't know how many bullets this thing carries, but a gun's a gun, he thought confidently. Etched into the side of the barrel was the phrase Glock 48. His index finger naturally found its way toward the trigger. His thumb rubbed against the trim line that separated the slide and the frame as he inspected it further.

Eric's gun had a safety button somewhere, but I don't see anything similar. And where's that flicky thing in the back? Alex raised his brow, confused. How do I even use this gun...? Do I pull the trigger? Eric, you ass. He sighed and lowered his head. "Guess I'll learn as I go. Hopefully, I'll have time to figure this out."

Alex slowly entered the next room and exited a long hallway toward the right. But Alex couldn't venture further. He quickly pinched his nose and gasped. A putrid smell had permeated his nose and mouth. Mixed with the dry scent of mold and probably rotten meat, Alex couldn't help but gag.

Ugh, what is that?

His head pulsated a bit from the intense, wavy mixture of aroma. Down on the floor, leaning up against the wall, was the corpse of an older, heavier man nestled against the corner. A large, fatal-looking bite was seared into his neck. His shirt was ragged and bloodied; it was impossible to tell its original color. His dark hair covered his lowered face; even so, Alex could see bits of his sunken-in grayish skin. He gulped at the gruesome sight.