Even though he failed to find his girlfriend, Eric didn't lose hope. After returning home and resting for the rest of the night, he was determined to prepare for his journey to Atlanta. While finding more food and water, as well as medical supplies, was still a priority in the long run, Eric knew he needed to equip himself properly before venturing out into the chaos.
He made his way to the garage, thinking about what he could do to help his old reliable bat live just a little longer, and of course, hit harder. As he approached his toolbox, something caught his eye, a partially hidden piece of paper. Pulling it out, Eric quickly recognized Shane's handwriting immediately.
"Eric,
I'm not a godly man, but I pray to Him you're alright. This is going to sound harsh, but leaving the house was stupid as hell. You should have listened to me. But I know you, and I know you won't sit still when your girl out there.
Well, when you'll see this, I won't be near King's County. I'm sorry for having to leave so abruptly but with Rick out of commission, I couldn't risk his family ending up like those things. Believe me kid, it was hard choosing to get them to safety when I knew you were out there, but at least, I know you can throw a punch when needed. I'm not sure how or if you'll ever want to come after me, but we've headed towards the refugee center in Atlanta. It's our best shot at surviving this mess.
Be careful, kid. Those things aren't like anything we've ever seen before. Aim for the head if you ever happen to be face to face with one. Trust your instincts, stay alert, and for God's sake, don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Eric stared at Shane's note for what felt like hours, his vision turned blurry as tears threatened to spill. The paper trembled in his hands, and he had to take several deep breaths to keep his composure. Shane had been more than just a cop who looked out for him—he'd been the closest thing to a father Eric had known since his mother's death, or better said, ever since he remembered. The man had shown up at his door countless times with food, checked on him after late shifts, and even taught him how to throw a proper punch not that Eric really needed a teacher for that, but it helped.
And now he was gone too, possibly for good.
Eric understood why Shane had left with Rick's family. He really did. But understanding didn't make the hollow feeling in his chest any easier to bear. First his mom, then his father's abandonment, and now Shane... It seemed like everyone who cared about him eventually had to leave.
"Get it together," Eric muttered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "You can't waste daylight feeling sorry for yourself."
He carefully folded Shane's note and tucked it into his pocket alongside Sarah's.
Looking around his garage with fresh eyes, Eric began to really think about his situation. Yes, finding Sarah was still his priority, but rushing headlong into Atlanta would be suicide. The highways were already clogged with abandoned vehicles and who knew how many of those things wandering around. Plus, with everyone trying to reach the refuge center, the city would be absolute chaos.
"Maybe..." Eric ran his hand along his workbench. "Maybe the smart play isn't charging in like some action hero."
His garage had always been his sanctuary, a place where he could tinker and build and forget about his problems for a while. Now, looking at his tools and supplies, he saw something else: potential. The thick walls, the sturdy door, the various materials he'd collected over years of fixing things—it wasn't just a workspace anymore. It could be a fortress.
"First things first," Eric said, grabbing his toolbox. "I need to fortify this place. Make it secure. Then I can figure out how to reach Sarah without getting myself killed. Yep, that sounds good."
He began pulling out supplies: sheets of plywood he'd been saving for projects, metal brackets, his welding equipment. The windows would need to be reinforced. The doors too. He'd need to figure out some way to secure the perimeter, maybe set up some kind of early warning system.
"Sorry, Shane," Eric muttered as he started measuring the first window of his garage. "I know you'd want me to stay safe, but sooner or later, I'll have to get out and find you guys. And when that happens, I need a safe place to fall back to. Somewhere I can defend myself."
Once he would get the house protected, the tools could be fashioned into weapons. He even had some old security cameras from that time he tried to set up a surveillance system—they'd never worked right, but maybe now was the time to figure them out if by some miracle, he would be able to stockpile enough fuel to keep the generator running.
Eric paused in his planning, looking at the bloody bat he'd used earlier. It was still effective, but it could be better. Maybe some nails driven through the barrel for extra damage? Or wrap it in barbed wire? Not really, maybe add some metal in the middle and then seal the thing with molten plastic? The possibilities were endless.
"One step at a time," he reminded himself. "Secure the house first. Then I can worry about upgrading my arsenal."
For the next two days, Eric worked tirelessly to transform his house into a fortress. He started with the windows, methodically covering each one with plywood before adding metal sheets he'd salvaged from his projects. The welding was tricky - he had to work quickly to avoid drawing attention with the bright flashes, but couldn't rush and risk compromising the integrity of his work.
While the windows were not an easy task, they were by far easier than the doors. Eric spent hours reinforcing them with additional metal plates, carefully welding support brackets across the frames. The garage door, which was his weakest point, received special attention. He welded additional supports along its tracks and rigged up a manual override system in case the power failed. The work was exhausting, but necessary. But at the same time, each swing of the hammer, each spark from the welding torch, brought him one step closer to having a secure base.
When he finally stepped back to survey his work on the evening of the second day, Eric felt satisfied with the end result of his mad scientist project. The house looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. It wasn't pretty, but it would hold - at least against the infected. As for other survivors... Eric tried not to think about that possibility too much. The world had changed, and with it, people were changing too. He'd seen enough movies to know how desperate people could become.
"Well, that should do it," Eric muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead as he double-checked each reinforcement one final time. His hands were covered in cuts and burns from the work, but he barely noticed the pain anymore. There were more important things to worry about now.
With the house secure, his thoughts turned to supplies. He needed to stock up before making any attempt to reach Atlanta, and he needed to be smart about where to look. While others would likely raid the obvious places - grocery stores, pharmacies, gun shops - Eric had a different idea. His time working various jobs around town had given him insight into places others might overlook.
The Wild Horse Bar, where he'd worked as a dishwasher last summer, seemed like a perfect first target. The owner, Old Joe, always kept the storage room well-stocked with non-perishable snacks and drinks. More importantly, Eric knew exactly where Joe kept his keys and which door had the weakest lock. While others might fight over the last cans of food at the supermarket, the bar's storeroom might still be untouched.
Looking out his newly reinforced window at the setting sun, Eric began planning his supply run for later tonight. The bar was only a few blocks away, but in this new world, even that short distance could prove deadly, and the last thing he needed was to act like a suicidal idiot. He'd need to be careful, quiet, and above all, quick. Get in, grab what he could, and get out before either the infected or other survivors noticed him.
"Just hold on, Sarah," he whispered, touching the note in his pocket. "I'm coming. I just need to be smart about this."
As night fell over King County, Eric checked his weapons one last time. The bat, which at this point was his faithful companion through this nightmare so far, sat ready by the door. While the pistol he "earned" two days ago was on the table, and even thought Eric wasn't a fan of using it, it was better to have it with him and not need it, than to need it and not have it.
Eric had been driving for close to an hour if he were to believe the old watch on his left arm. The streets of the suburbs had given way to more open roads, and while the feeling of wind against his face as he rode his motorcycle was refreshing, he couldn't shake the tension in his shoulders. Every intersection, every abandoned car, hell every place nowdays could hide danger.
Just as he passed by a somewhat "busy" street with more than a dozen shamblers roaming around, something caught him hard across the midsection. The impact knocked him clean off his bike, sending the vehicle skidding across the asphalt with a horrific screech of metal on pavement. At the same time, Eric hit the ground hard on his back, the air rushing from his lungs in a painful whoosh.
"What the hell?" he managed to groan, rolling onto his side. His ribs screamed in protest as he pushed himself to his feet, quickly looking around for the bastard who knocked him off. That's when he saw it – a rope stretched taut across the street at waist level, nearly invisible unless you knew to look for it.
Eric's brow furrowed as he studied the setup. "Who the hell rigs a trap like this?" he muttered, puzzled. "Wouldn't do jack against a car..." The thought trailed off as realization hit him – it wasn't meant for cars. It was meant for people on bikes or on foot, people trying to move quickly and quietly. Now, while it was far from being the best trap, it did work… at least on him.
But before he could ponder longer on this, a groan snapped his attention back to reality. The crash had drawn attention. Several shamblers from the group he'd passed were already turning, their dead eyes fixing on him promising him an early death if he were to remain in the middle of the street. More were emerging from between the abandoned vehicles and even broken houses, drawn by the noise.
"Shit, shit, shit," Eric hissed, glancing at his fallen bike. The front wheel was still spinning lazily, but even from here he could see the bent frame. Getting it running again would take time – time he definitely didn't have right now.
Just then he heard another groan, closer this time. The nearest shambler was picking up speed, its broken gait becoming something closer to a stumbling run. Behind it, more were following.
"Sorry, girl," Eric muttered to his bike, already running away. "Gonna have to come back for you."
He turned and sprinted toward the nearest house, a modest two-story with boarded windows. Whether that meant someone was inside or had been inside, he'd have to find out the hard way. Right now, any shelter was better than being caught in the open – especially with the growing chorus of moans behind him.
And somewhere out there, he knew, was whoever had set that trap. They'd be watching, waiting to see what their catch might bring them. But that was a problem for later. Right now, he had to survive the horde that was hot on his trails.
Pushing aside thoughts of the trap's architect, Eric slammed his shoulder into the door, making the wood groan and forcing him to throw his full weight against it a second time. With a splintering crack, the door burst inward, nearly sending Eric face first into the floor. By some miracle, he caught himself against the wall, spun around, and slammed the door shut behind him, before any of the shamblers could even notice where he went.
"Please hold, please hold, please hold," he muttered, pressing his back against the door as shuffling footsteps grew closer outside. The wood vibrated against his spine as the first shambler collided with it, followed by another, and another. Eric squeezed his eyes shut, praying to God, the door to withstand the assault long enough for the dead to lose interest.
That's when he felt it – that prickle on the back of his neck, and very familiar sensation of being watched. Eric's eyes snapped open, and for a second, he almost forgot how to breath.
What he saw was a man stood at the far end of the dim entryway, maybe fifteen feet away. He was tall, probably in his early thirties, with several days' worth of stubble and clothes that had seen better days. But it wasn't his appearance that made Eric's blood run cold – it was the way he was staring, head cocked slightly to one side, lips pulled back in something that might have been trying to be a smile but looked more like a horror villain looking at his next target.
Eric's hand moved to his pistol before he even registered the decision to do so. In one fluid motion – thank you, Shane, for all those hours at the range – he drew and aimed the weapon at the stranger's chest.
"Hey! Hey, sir!" The man looked at Eric and starting walking towards him. Something wasn't right. He opened his mouth, and instead of saying hi, he let out this hideous groan, like he was in serious pain, but the man didn't look like a shambler at all. Hell, closest thing might an addict, but even that wasn't quite close…
Nevertheless, Eric stepped back as the man raised his hands towards him, as if he wanted to grab the boy who entered his house. Fearing that the man could actually reach him, he backed up and placed his hand on the pistol. "Whoa, you better back off. I know, I'm in the wrong here, but what's wrong with you?"
The man didn't answer, he just let out another groan, and lunged for Eric. Once again, Eric took a step back, hitting the door with his back and drew his pistol, hoping the sight of the weapon would scare or stop the guy. Seeing no reaction, Eric circled to the left away from the door and the guy acted like the pistol wasn't even aimed at him. Weirdly enough, this guy acted like he was trying to smell him, by the way he moved his head foward? Then it hit Eric, the man might be blind, but even then, his behavior was weird, even for a blind shambler.
Though before he went for his bat, Eric raised the gun and tried one more time. "I know I barged into your house, but if you do not stop coming towards me like that, I swear to God, I will shoot you." If it weren't for the shamblers behind him, Eric would have been shouting at the man.
If those shamblers weren't pounding at his back, Eric might have pulled the trigger right then. A shot to the leg would've dropped the man, given him time to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. But the dead were already testing the door's strength, and a gunshot would only draw more. The whole neighborhood would be crawling with them in minutes.
Eric's fingers tightened around the grip of the pistol before slowly lowering it. Going for his other trustworthy weapon and grabbed his bat with his free hand, keeping the gun ready just in case. "Last chance, man," he whispered, hoping somewhere in that vacant stare was still someone who could understand. "Don't make me do this."
But his only response was the man lunging at him again, faster this time, like a starving animal that had caught the scent of food. In that split second, Eric realized this wasn't a person anymore. Whatever had turned the dead into monsters had somehow gotten to the man too, even though he didn't looked exactly like one.
Regardless, the second the man lunged at him, Eric raised his bat and hit the man's skull before he could second-guess himself. The crack echoed through the hallway, drowning out even the moans from outside. Another second later, the man went down hard, face-first onto the wooden floor. Blood pooled beneath his head, spreading across the floorboards in a dark stain that made Eric's stomach turn.
"I'm sorry," Eric muttered, even though he knew the man couldn't hear him anymore. The words felt hollow, but he needed to say them. Maybe it was for his own sake more than the dead man's. "I didn't have a choice."
The door tremble behind him, reminding him that he didn't have time for guilt. The dead were still out there, and now he was trapped in a stranger's house with a corpse at his feet. Shane's voice echoed in his head, telling him to focus on surviving first and dealing with the emotional fallout later. And he was right, Eric needed to find another way out, and fast. His eyes darted around the dim entryway, looking for options. A staircase led up to the second floor, and two doorways branched off to what looked like a living room and a kitchen. Somewhere in this house had to be another exit – a back door, an unboarded window, anything that would get him away from the growing horde outside.
As he stepped over the body, his boot left a bloody print on the floor. He tried not to look at it, tried not to think about how this was the first living person he'd killed. Even if he wasn't really living anymore, even if he'd given Eric no choice... it still felt different than putting down a shambler. This one would haunt him, he knew that much.
"Baby steps. First get out of here, then get the bike, then leave this bloody street for good."
< Just change "3" with "e" Patr3on Link : https://patr3on.com/meatbunkun>