One mont, Luck was slouched over, dreaming about his first ti.
The next thing he knew, he was jolted awake by the system alarm. The barrier was gone.
He stepped out of the motel and found himself in a city that looked like soone built it in Sim City but never bothered to update past "Catastrophic Event."
The buildings around him were modern, but every window was either shattered or gumd over with layers of ash.
Skyscrapers canted at ugly angles, spines cracked, a few still stubbornly upright like the last teeth in a boxer’s jaw.
Looking around, he saw no sign of a welcoming committee—the brain eating zombies.
Luck figured they would play by Night Rules, which ant he had until dusk to prep.
’God, let it be slow ones,’ he muttered. He’d seen enough Korean horror to know that all bets were off if these ones did parkour.
Not that Western zombie movies were any better—especially that one where the monsters looked more like aliens than corpses.
All he needed now was a dog and he could start yelling "I am Legend!" before dying dramatically.
No way these walls could hold back a horde that climbed over each other like ants and dragged down helicopters.
thud!
His boots scraped over concrete as he left the safety of the motel overhang.
Nothing moved except the wind, so he headed up to the watchtower for a better view.
Good thing he bought binoculars for this occasion.
The streets were covered in wrecked cars—so still upright, most flipped or crumpled like broken origami.
Inside them were bones of people who crashed and never got out. They probably turned into zombies at so point, but the sun finished the job.
’A vending machine?’
Before, he would’ve looted it for snacks, but the plastic front was warped and half-lted, and all that remained inside were glass shards and sothing that looked like a wasp nest.
The silence was thick as soup, and every seconds made him feel uneasy.
There were no crows, no feral dogs, no imdiate sign of the dead—just the distant, arrhythmic clatter of a stoplight banging in the wind.
’What’s that?’
Sothing moved on the horizon. Five specks shimred against the heat lines.
He crouched behind the watchtower railings, peeking through the gaps.
Two were short, hunched, because of the backpack they were carrying.
One was in a school uniform, the skirt blackened and torn at the knee, the blouse stained dark with sothing that looked like dried blood.
The other two looked older—one was broad-shouldered with a thick beard, the second wore camo pants that were two sizes too big.
They stopped at the barbwire fence. The bearded one rattled it.
Luck watched them talk with their hands, fast and quiet. He picked up enough to know they were planning to raid the place.
Real classy—nothing says survival like looting soone else property.
"Yo," Luck called, because what else could he say. "This is a no soliciting property. Unless you’re selling a cure or Girl Scout Cookies."
The leader cracked a smile that had more exhaustion than humor in it.
"My na is Fernando. We’re just looking for sowhere safe to stay before night ti co."
Luck leaned over the wall, feigning nonchalance, hands stuffed in his pockets.
"Oh, is that so? Wow, thanks for choosing the Final-Stop Motel. If you have points on your card, you get a free continental breakfast."
The leader forced a smile. "We’re just looking for a place to rest. We got dicine and food—we’re willing to trade."
"And you expect to believe that?" Luck sneered. He was being an ass on purpose—testing them, sizing up what kind of people they were.
If history taught him anything, it was this: never trust strangers bearing gifts.
Just ask the folks in Troy. Oh wait—you can’t. They’re all dead. Because soone thought letting a giant wooden horse inside without checking was a brilliant idea.
"Friend, looks like you’ve got a solid setup here. How about you let us join you? We can help out—bring in supplies, pitch in where needed."
"And why exactly would I need five strangers?" Luck shot back. "I built this wall by myself in the middle of nowhere. Look at it—sturdy enough to pass for a contractor’s work. "
"Besides, look around—this city’s full of empty apartnts. Pick one, grab a hamr, and start renovating."
The leader’s eyes lit up at the word "alone," just for a second.
’Got you.’ Luck grinned. He said it on purpose—just to see how they would react.
But instead of scaling the wall or pulling a gun, the leader of the pack raised both hands, slow and peaceful.
"Not here to cause trouble, friend. It’s just, anywhere else in this place is crawling with monsters. Most of these buildings, you squat for more than a few hours and the floors start creaking with them."
"We’re not infected. You can check. We just need a safe place to rest until sunrise, then we’re gone." the girl pleaded.
Luck considered it. He played enough gas to know this scenario .
Either he took the risk and let them in, or he played hard ass and missed out on the only survivors he would get today.
"Fine. But you camp outside, where I can see you. No funny business. Restroom’s broken. Handle your business on the far side of the lot. And if anyone started acting epileptic , I won’t hesitate to turn their head into corned beef."
"Deal." The leader nodded and motioned the group forward.
The gate snapped open just wide enough for five bodies to passed through.
Luck kept his hand on his sword, making a show of how much he didn’t trust them.
Fernando, the leader, went first.
At close range, Luck could see the man’s face was scraped raw under the beard. He wore a bomber jacket patched with duct tape and a battered ssenger bag slung at his hip.
"You weren’t lying," Fernando chuckled, motioning to the walls and the fortifications "Hell of a place. You do all this yourself?"
"Of course not. What do you think I am, a magician?" Luck scoffed.
"I’ve got a team—twenty people, all Special forces- Alpha Helix. They’re out right now, checking a lab east of here. Picked up a distress signal. So doctor claims he found a cure for this whole ss."
"S--Special Force... Alpha Helix.." Fernando repeated.
Luck couldn’t help but chuckle at how gullible they were. He could almost see the gears turning in their heads.
In a world like this, just saying "special forces" was like tossing catnip to a bunch of desperate strays.
It ant guns, supplies, safe routes, even hope. So he leaned in, gave them another hit.
"We were the best of the best—top 0.1%, basically," he said, as if bored by the mory. "Fourth-generation warfare, urban containnt, suppression. You get the idea.
Fernando nodded. He didn’t really know what that term ant, but it sounded important—and military enough.
The damp-eyed girl in the school uniform looked skeptical.
"I thought the army was gone. My dad’s in the army, and... his last ssage said they couldn’t help anymore."
Her voice was higher than he expected—more curious than scared.
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