"Quick, everyone grab your guns!" Vincent shouted, sprinting toward the center of the second floor. While everyone already carried handguns, except for Old Mike, who had a shotgun, the rifles were all stored in the middle of the supermarket.

  "Jason, grab a megaphone! And don’t forget the batteries—hurry!" Vincent suddenly remembered, yelling at Jason, who was still riding his bike. The megaphones, being electronic devices, were located on the third floor.

  "Got it, boss!" Jason replied, never missing a chance to be cheeky. He saluted Vincent with two fingers to his forehead, then pedaled hard, lifting his bike over a low shelf as he sped toward the escalator. Jason wasn’t just a street dancer—it was just his favorite skill.

  In an instant, everyone sprang into action. Old Mike was the first to reach the pile of guns, grabbing several AK-47s and handing one to Laura. He hesitated for a moment before calling out, "Hey, kid, catch this! Come help!" He tossed a rifle to Bovin, who caught it, looking stunned. Old Mike grabbed a few magazines and a bag of bullets, nodding at Bovin. "Come on, follow me!"

  Bovin hesitated but eventually stood up, rifle in hand, and followed.

  Soon, everyone gathered by the north-facing windows on the second floor, rifles at the ready.

  "Is it worth it? For him, we might waste ammo and still fail. This doesn’t seem like you," Mannila muttered to Vincent as she loaded her rifle.

  The situation outside was dire. Tens of thousands of zombies surrounded the Walmart, and their numbers would only grow if they started attacking. Robbie was driving a battered truck, weaving through the horde, clearly trying to reach the Walmart. It was a risky move, and rescuing him would be no small feat. As Mannila pointed out, it didn’t seem like Vincent’s usual calculated approach. They could easily lose more than they gained.

  Mannila was the only one who dared voice such concerns. The others, while silent, implicitly trusted Vincent’s leadership. His decisiveness and strategic thinking had gotten them this far—killing Andrew without hesitation, securing weapons, and leading them to the Walmart for supplies. While most survivors cowered in their homes, Vincent had orchestrated their survival. No one questioned him, not because they couldn’t, but because they trusted his judgment.

  "He’s going to get us killed," Vincent said grimly, taking the megaphone from Jason, who quickly handed him the batteries.

  "Get us killed?" Mannila looked at Vincent, surprised. She hadn’t seen how Robbie could be a threat, and neither had the others. But Vincent quickly explained.

  Vincent didn’t respond to Mannila directly. The situation was too sudden, and he hadn’t expected Robbie to return alive. He pushed open a second-floor window, aimed the megaphone outside, and shouted, "Robbie, this is Vincent! Don’t go to the underground parking lot! We’ll cover you at the main entrance. Do not go to the underground parking lot!"

  The underground parking lot was key.

  Vincent had been confident enough to practice shooting, even with a loud sniper rifle, because he had an escape route. The Walmart’s underground parking lot led to a public garage, providing a clear path out. If Robbie entered the parking lot, he’d bring the horde with him, ruining Vincent’s carefully laid plans.

  Vincent didn’t want to be trapped in the Walmart indefinitely. While it seemed safe with its ample supplies, Vincent knew better. The city was a death trap, and it was only a matter of time before disease spread. Plague was inevitable, and when it hit, no one in the city would survive. Vincent couldn’t let anyone disrupt his plans, so he had to save Robbie.

  "Jason, Christine, go to the liquor section and grab as much Golden Grain alcohol as you can. Hurry!" Vincent barked.

  Golden Grain, one of the strongest alcohols in the world, was banned in many states for its 95% alcohol content. It wasn’t for drinking—it was for burning.

  Jason and Christine took off, Jason on his bike and Christine on foot. Meanwhile, the others opened their windows, and Mannila quickly distributed walkie-talkies.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll fire first. Follow my lead, and don’t hit Robbie’s truck!" Vincent ordered, opening fire on the area between Robbie’s truck and the main entrance.

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  Jason and Christine returned, pushing a shopping cart filled with over thirty large bottles of Golden Grain.

  "Jason, start throwing the bottles as far as you can. Christine, reload the magazines—fast!" Vincent commanded, glancing at the two, who were panting heavily.

  *Bang! Bang! Bang!*

  The second floor erupted with gunfire. Five semi-automatic rifles unleashed a barrage of bullets, mowing down zombies. Limbs flew, but many zombies got back up, their heads still intact. Robbie, driving the truck, heard Vincent’s instructions and trusted him. Vincent had saved his life before, and that trust was enough.

  The diesel truck wasn’t as fast as a sports car, but it had more power than a regular sedan. Robbie floored the gas, shifting gears intermittently to maximize speed. The truck plowed through the horde, but the sheer number of zombies slowed it down. The windows were under constant assault, though the truck’s height kept most zombies from reaching them.

  Suddenly, the zombies went berserk. No amount of bullets could quell their hunger. Their guttural roars filled the air, sending chills down everyone’s spines. Robbie gripped the wheel tightly, sweat dripping down his face. He was deep in the horde now, and the truck’s speed had dropped significantly.

  Then, *smash!*

  Bottles of Golden Grain rained down from the second floor, shattering on impact. Jason, throwing the bottles with all his might, created multiple points of ignition. The high-proof alcohol ignited instantly, flames erupting in scattered patches across the horde.

  *Whoosh!*

  Fire engulfed the zombies, their roars turning to screams as the flames spread. The stench of burning flesh mixed with the already overwhelming odor of decay, making the air almost unbearable.

  Robbie’s truck surged forward, the flames drawing the zombies’ attention and giving him a much-needed break. The windshield cracked, but he managed to pick up speed, shaking off some of the horde.

  *Crash!*

  A massive zombie smashed through the passenger-side window, lunging at Robbie. The zombie’s strength, a remnant of its former self, was terrifying. Robbie swerved, slamming the zombie into the windshield. It didn’t grab him, but the close call left him drenched in sweat. He grabbed his pistol and fired, blowing the zombie’s head off. The splatter covered his face, but he didn’t have time to clean it. He focused on the road, the Walmart entrance now in sight.

  Up on the second floor, Vincent called out, "Jason, stop throwing! Grab the fire extinguisher and get ready to put out any flames. Everyone else, keep firing to draw them away. Mike, come with me to the first floor—we’re meeting Robbie!"

  Vincent and Old Mike rushed downstairs, Vincent pulling out his keys as they reached the main entrance. He unlocked the doors, his hands steady despite the chaos outside. They burst out, guns blazing, covering Robbie’s approach.

  Robbie’s truck barreled toward the entrance, crashing through the barriers. The front of the truck was mangled, but it kept moving. Vincent realized what Robbie was planning and shouted, "Open the doors!"

  Old Mike hesitated, but Vincent didn’t. He yanked one door open and pulled Old Mike inside, diving to the side just as Robbie’s truck screeched to a halt.

  *Screech!*

  Robbie slammed the brakes, the truck skidding to a stop just inches from the glass doors. The momentum sent Robbie flying through the shattered windshield, crashing into the supermarket and rolling across the floor.

  Vincent didn’t waste time. He slammed the doors shut and locked them, then grabbed Robbie, who was dazed and disoriented. Old Mike helped, and they dragged him deeper into the store.

  Once they were safe, Vincent shoved Robbie against a wall, his anger boiling over. "You almost got us killed, you know that?" he growled, his voice low but furious.

  "I... I’m sorry," Robbie stammered, still reeling from the impact.

  "Let’s move, Vincent," Old Mike said, placing a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. "We can’t stay here. The zombies will hear us."

  Vincent took a deep breath, releasing Robbie. "Let’s go," he said, his voice calmer but still edged with frustration. They couldn’t afford to linger—not with the horde just outside.