Jason turned to Rick, one brow raised. "Then you and I will draw the zombies away," he said calmly. "Morgan, take Duane and get to the ladder. Climb over while they're focused on us. And stay sharp—don't alert the ones inside."
This wasn't just about distracting the dead—it was about making Rick feel the weight of this world firsthand.
Morgan nodded, gripping a machete tightly. "You be careful too."
They weren't unarmed anymore. Along the way, they'd scavenged some basic weapons—rusty crowbars, broken knives, old machetes. Crude, but better than fists.
Jason glanced at Rick. "You ready?"
Rick swallowed, nodding. "Let's do it."
"Go!"
The two rushed out from behind the wall.
A chorus of groans erupted—dozens of rotten figures turned in their direction. They shambled toward them, limbs dragging, jaws snapping. None were whole. Most were mangled, limping on half-torn legs, with bones sticking out of grey, rotting flesh.
Jason didn't hesitate. He gritted his teeth and swung the crowbar at the nearest zombie's skull.
Crunch.
But it didn't give way. The metal bar got stuck deep in the skull.
"Damn it!" Jason cursed, yanking hard.
The corpse staggered, snarling inches from his face.
"I got you!"
Rick rushed in, machete slicing through the zombie's neck in one clean motion. The head dropped, lifeless.
"Thanks," Jason said quickly, already turning to the next one. This time, he reversed the crowbar, avoiding the same mistake.
While Jason and Rick drew the swarm's attention, Morgan and Duane crept to the ladder. One look inside the station revealed it was clear.
Morgan didn't waste time. "Stay here," he whispered to Duane, and descended into the station alone to scout.
Back outside, Jason and Rick fought side by side, dispatching the last of the zombies. Rick stood over a fallen corpse, breathing hard.
He recognized them.
These were his people—officers, friends. But strangely, he felt… peace. Killing them wasn't murder. It was release.
A sharp whistle came from the station.
Morgan.
Jason and Rick rushed over and climbed inside.
The police station was mostly intact. Rick led them straight to the equipment room.
Chaos had already swept through. Most of the best gear was gone. But what remained was enough to give them an edge:
Two sniper rifles. Five shotguns. Six handguns. Three MP5s. Ten grenades. Boxes of ammunition. Vests, helmets, first aid kits.
They loaded everything they could into two police SUVs.
Rick found a fresh uniform, complete with hat and holster. He looked in the mirror—a cowboy cop in a dying world. He smirked. The image felt surreal.
Duane touched the weapons in awe, eyes wide. For a kid his age, this was like stepping into a video game—only the danger was real.
As they drove back through the quiet streets, Jason glanced in the rearview.
Morgan sat silently, gripping a sniper rifle, staring blankly out the window.
Jason already knew what was coming.
A system voice echoed in his head:
"Random skill updated: Firearms Proficiency."
A chill ran down his spine.
Something inside him was changing.