Chapter 7

The faint echo of the gunshot still rang in Alex's ears as he crouched behind the crates, his pulse quickening. He watched the pair of soldiers disappear deeper into the depot, their figures swallowed by the dim interior of the warehouse. The silence that followed was heavy, and Alex could feel the tension in the air.

He knew he had to act quickly. His chance to gather supplies or extract valuable information was dwindling with each passing second. His knife and the map, which he had tucked back into his pocket, were his lifeline. The importance of the depot was clear—if it was worth risking lives for, it was worth investigating.

Alex had learned the hard way that charging in blindly could be fatal, whether from zombies or other survivors. He needed a plan, one that balanced risk with reward. Stealth and strategy would be his allies.

With quiet determination, Alex slipped through the storage room toward the main building. He moved like a shadow, using every stack of crates and abandoned vehicle as cover. The warehouse was a maze of dust-covered relics, its air a mix of mustiness and decay—an eerie contrast to the fresh pine of the forest outside.

As he neared the main area, he heard the soldiers' voices again—muffled but growing clearer. He kept to the shadows, placing walls of crates between him and the soldiers.

"Check that back room," the man instructed, his voice low but commanding. "We need everything we can get. We don't know how long this place will stay clear."

The woman nodded and disappeared into one of the smaller rooms, leaving the man alone for the moment. Alex's muscles tensed at the opportunity. A direct confrontation was too risky, so he decided to explore the areas the soldiers hadn't reached yet.

He moved quickly to the back of the warehouse, where rows of crates and shelves were lined up like forgotten relics. Most crates were dusty and empty, offering little more than frustration. But then he spotted a smaller crate, recently opened, containing a few cans of food, water purification tablets, and a first-aid kit—exactly what he needed.

He packed the supplies into his bag with haste, knowing every second was a gamble. Just as he finished, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed through the warehouse. Alex froze and ducked behind a stack of crates, holding his breath. The man from earlier appeared, his rifle slung casually, his eyes scanning the room.

"Anything?" the woman called from a distance.

"Not yet," the man replied, continuing his search. He moved closer to Alex's hiding spot, and for a moment, Alex feared he might be discovered. But the man turned away, heading back toward the center of the warehouse.

Alex exhaled slowly, relief washing over him. It was time to leave.

He made his way to a side exit he had noticed earlier, slipping out into the cool, open air of the depot's exterior. The setting sun cast long shadows over the abandoned vehicles and rusting fences. The depot, once quiet, now seemed alive with the potential for danger.

Once he was a safe distance away, concealed by the dense trees bordering the depot, Alex took a moment to catch his breath. The forest remained still, and the threat of pursuit seemed distant.

But the danger was far from over. The supplies were a small victory, but Alex was no closer to understanding the soldiers' mission or their significance. The word "hotspot" echoed in his mind. What made this location so dangerous? Was it the zombie activity or something else?

He had no answers, but he had a plan: to keep moving, stay ahead, and remain vigilant. Returning to the depot was too risky, and the soldiers were unlikely to tolerate interference.

As night fell, Alex continued through the forest until he found a small clearing sheltered by trees and a rocky overhang. It wasn't ideal, but it offered protection for the night.

Setting up a small fire, Alex's thoughts turned to the soldiers. They were organized and well-armed, and their presence suggested they knew more about the world's state than he did. For a moment, he considered tracking them, but quickly dismissed the idea. Trust was scarce, and survival depended on his own skills and judgment.

By the firelight, Alex unwrapped one of the cans of food he had salvaged and ate in silence, the crackling flames his only companion. Exhausted from the day's journey, he found a sense of satisfaction in the supplies he had secured. Yet, the real challenges lay ahead.

The world was changing, and Alex was learning to navigate its complexities. Each encounter—whether with zombies or survivors—taught him about survival, trust, and the darkness now defining humanity.

As the night deepened, Alex lay back on his blanket, staring up at the stars through the tree canopy. The depot had been a risk, but he had emerged unscathed. Tomorrow, he would continue his journey toward the border, facing whatever lay ahead.

A feeling of impending change lingered in his mind—something that would alter everything.