Mᴜᴛᴀɴᴛ Aᴘᴏᴄᴀʟʏᴘsᴇ 4: Tʜᴇ Tʜʀᴇᴇ Tʀɪʙᴇs ❪✓❫

08 || 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒

𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝗼𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 3

Rep tosses empty cans on the floor inside a gas station he found minutes ago. He picked up chocolate bars, useless moldy Twinkies, flat sodas, water bottles, stale chips, and candies, then lighters behind the cashier counter. He stuffed the food into his pack with the other supplies and hopes most of the things he's got will make it back home in a few months. He did this quickly, looking over his shoulder every few seconds to assure he was not being followed or watched.

He did his job in getting food and now he wants to target more supplies or a kit. A public place that once gave smiles to people is now dead and grey. This is Froyo. It's where people would bring friends and kids to eat frozen ice cream with a variety of toppings and flavors.

Rep knows the machines are down and every flavor of yogurt is melted into nothing. He rushed behind the counter and started opening and closing drawers, getting nothing but papers and pens. "Come on." He pulls open a drawer and closes it. "There's got to be something." He did the same thing and got one golden drawer. A roll of tape, spoons, and scissors. "Oh, good." He exclaimed, taking the spoons, tape, and scissors into his hands and stuffing them in a side pocket on his pack.

He exits that store, too. The sun is in the middle of the sky, telling Rep it's about two in the afternoon. His walking stick clunked when it hit the asphalt ground, strolling in the middle of the suburbs and singing small tunes to himself. "You can beat the world, you can beat the war... Be believers, be leaders... Standing in the... Hall... of Fame..." He whispered.

Rep walked on a little longer until he chose a street to take a break in, one of the houses will have to do just fine for a small slumber party with the bugs and unalive people. He made his way along a freeway full of infected roaming the long road that leads to farmlands, away from the stores and more noisy areas. His survival has gotten him to a point where killing the Dead is a daily thing-- like washing dishes. The man pulled his hood and mask off his head to get a feel of the hot sun and its light.

When Rep made it to acres of land that belonged to farmers, he began looking on their properties for anything he could use. This property has the looks of being very expensive and a very well-built house with a barn right beside it. Rep walked up three steps on the house porch and goes to the closest window. He cups his hands around his eyes and peeks in at the interior. He knocked lightly.

He thought a dead person might come walking through the kitchen he scanned. There's nothing these except for dried-up bread, an open empty fridge, and busted-up cabinets. Rep knocked again and heard sharp screams coming from inside the house. He stepped back and reaches for the knife he had in his belt, ready for whatever might burst through the large glass window. His ears heard fragile objects shattering inside the home and then one thin Great Dane barking at Rep through the glass. There's no need to worry about this dog because he doesn't have a beating heart anymore. His left ear is torn off, he's got visible ribs and raw flesh, he's not a man's best friend anymore.

Rep rolled his eyes and kicks down the front door of the house to put the animal down for good. He jumped off the porch, heard the infected dog's nails patter against the floor, then jumped toward Rep from the wooden porch. The survivor grunted when the dog's body was caught in his arms and shoved a blade through the dead canine's neck. His predator landed with a thud in the ground, lying still in the dirt. Rep sighed, shaking his head, looking left and right.

Just when he was about to move on, soft snorts got him to look in the opposite direction of the house.

"Hello, there..."

****

𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 1
𝐂𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐚'𝐬