21

I really wished our gun guy would stop worrying so much, and just focus on hitting the targets, but he was just too jittery for my taste. How could he be such a great shot, and still be such a coward? Something needed to be done about him before we all got killed, but being blunt with him wasn't the right approach. 

"Where'd you learn how to shoot?" I was a naturally loud person so my voice carried. 

Thankfully it was obvious who I was talking to. 

"My dad taught me," he didn't need much more prompting since we were already in a dangerous situation, "He was in the military."

"Oh. Really?" I pushed gently for more information, "Why didn't you join the military as well?"

"I've always been kind of sickly," he glazed over the subject a bit, "So it was pretty obvious that I wouldn't make it through boot camp so we just decided to bond over our love of shooting. I'm actually pretty well known in the competitive shooting circuit." 

"Then shooting zombies should be pretty easy for you," I commented a little brashly, "I'm glad we have such a talented sharp shot around since my aim isn't the greatest with a bow."

I smiled reassuringly at him. It was the same smile I used to calm my siblings growing up, and it tended to work fairly well on just about anyone younger then me. The smile practically screamed I'm proud of you little guy. It was incredibly fake most of the time though. I never wanted those little kids to know how much pain I was in, mentally speaking, when I was younger. 

They were just kids. Taking it out on them just wasn't fair to them. I'd managed to keep most of it in, but sometimes I would flat out scream at them for the smallest offenses. Other times I would just be completely defeated. I wasn't proud to admit that I'd done a lot of damage to my knuckles whenever I was lashing out angrily. 

I'd never wanted to be in the pain my depression put me in as a child so I would often cover it with anger since crying wasn't allowed. Finding something I couldn't break, and hitting it until all my anger was gone. Usually thick shed walls or scrap vehicles. I couldn't let my siblings feel the pain I was feeling either which was why I would try anything to keep my anger from coming down on them. I snapped to attention. 

Now wasn't the time to think about the past. I'd left that family behind, and while I hadn't actually cut them off I hadn't heard from them unless they needed something from me. I drew my bow, and scanned the surrounding for movement. My senses all felt strained, and while I didn't hear any zombies sprinting through the underbrush I did hear distant gunshots. I was relieved that the dungeons would not break while we were in them. 

I preferred to protect people when I could, and I was much softer then my harsh expression suggested I was. I had suffered a lot throughout the years. Mainly under the weight of my own mind, but that didn't mean I couldn't change. I was determined to give this awakening all I could, and nothing was going to stop me. If there was one thing I understood, and knew how to do, it was work.

We kept on moving through the dungeon in a group. We were a bit rag tag, but we were working. The gun guy started getting more confident as he continued to succeed at shooting the zombies. His gun was surprisingly effective compared to what I saw in the videos of what happened with the police during the first break. The gun looked more like an old flint pistol. 

Maybe it was his awakening reward. He had to manually load it each time he fired it, but he was almost as fast as I was with my bow, and arrows. I was pretty impressed. He had to shove a little metal ball down the barrel with a small bag of gunpowder each time. The gun was able to fire without a spark. 

My guess was that was another benefit of it being his class weapon. I would only kill one of four of the zombies that came after us. The others went after the zombies that got close. I wondered how long it would take to level up my archery skill briefly before firing another arrow. These zombies didn't always die from a single arrow like the ones on the last level so I really needed to level up my archery skill because my disadvantage would only get bigger once we moved to the next level. 

The others were starting to notice how much weaker I was then them as well. I couldn't hide it. I was going to remain at a severe disadvantage until until we got to the upper levels. I just really hoped they didn't start questioning why I was so much weaker then they were, but they were probably brushing it off because I was useful, and I wasn't actually holding the group back. The group with all the guns had started shooting less, and I was starting to feel some concern for them. 

I kept glancing their direction without really trying to because my senses were heightened from the adrenaline, and every gunshot felt like it was closer then it was. I would flinch when the gunman of our group fired his pistol simply because it was so much louder, and closer. Maybe they were writing off my difference in speed, and strength because they thought I was saving stat points. I am saving stat points, but not nearly as many as they thought I was. The number of zombies started to thin after we'd been in here for what felt like days, and all of our bags were completely stuffed.