Barbecue

The search continued.

Miles leaned against the window, watching the residents move back and forth across the neighborhood.

So far, there were fewer zombies than he'd feared. Perhaps it was because the mutation had only just begun; despite hours of searching, the four hundred residents hadn't encountered a single one—not even the transformed Andrew.

Feeling somewhat relieved, Miles allowed himself to relax. Things weren't as dire as he'd imagined.

He casually retrieved a glass of Remy Martin from his private stash, savoring a sip as he gazed outside.

Days had begun to blend into a steady rhythm of solitude. He'd quickly adapted to a reclusive routine: eating, drinking, playing games, binging shows, and reading novels. But even such luxurious solitude began to wear thin. He couldn't shake the sense that, if he didn't step outside soon, he might develop a severe case of social phobia.

Just as he became engrossed in another game, his security system suddenly sounded an alarm.

When he'd had this house constructed, the builders had not only used the highest-grade materials but had equipped the property with an elite security system.

Miles turned on the monitor, where he saw infrared sensors blinking. There, sneaking around the back of his villa, were several residents.

A smile curled on Miles' lips. "Still got that thief's itch, do you?"

The surveillance footage showed a middle-aged man leading a group of residents to his back door. It was none other than Sarah, the captain of the third team.

While others searched for zombies, they'd decided to make Miles himself their target.

One of them pulled out a small toolkit.

"Hurry up. Don't alert Miles," Sarah whispered, barely containing his sneer.

The man with the toolkit grinned. "Don't worry, Sarah. This door's child's play. Give me two minutes, tops."

Sarah chuckled. "Once we're inside, everything in there is ours! Miles thought he'd turn us against each other—well, I'll teach him a thing or two about intelligence."

The others nodded, showering him with praise. "If not for your brains, Sarah, we'd still be out there in the snow like those fools, looking for zombies."

Pleased with the admiration, Sarah scoffed, "Andrew and Tyler were idiots, always trying to brute-force their way to success. I still don't understand how they managed to make any money."

As Sarah and his cohorts set to work, Miles watched them on the monitor, a mix of scorn and amusement in his eyes.

"Trying to pick my lock?" he muttered with a smirk. "This house isn't just sturdy—it's practically a fortress. They spent billions building it; did you really think you'd just stroll in?"

Every entrance was outfitted with the highest-grade security doors, far more advanced than even most vaults, and each door featured a multi-layered lock system with built-in automated defenses. As soon as someone attempted to tamper with it, the system would lock down instantly, sending an alert.

True to his expectations, a few minutes later, frustration etched itself onto their faces.

"What's going on? It's a thirteen-pin super-code lock!" gasped the man with the toolkit, slumping onto the ground in despair. "Bank vaults usually have twelve pins at most. This guy's insane!"

"What do you mean?" Sarah demanded, his brow furrowing.

"They've made this thing virtually unbreakable," the lockpick muttered. "Even the best in the business would need days to crack it."

And it was clear Miles wouldn't give them days.

With a snarl, Sarah punched the door. "Damn it! I underestimated him!"

Watching from his monitor, Miles couldn't contain his laughter. "Giving up already? If you're done, allow me to finish this."

He tapped a button on his phone.

"Argh!"

Outside the door, Sarah's body jolted as a high-voltage shock coursed through him. Within seconds, the air reeked of burnt flesh.

"Help! Get me loose!" Sarah screamed, panic flooding his voice. His companions quickly grabbed wooden sticks and struck his arm, finally freeing him.

Their quick thinking spared him a worse fate; Sarah's left arm was ruined, but at least he was alive.

"Sarah, we should leave. This Miles guy is a maniac!" one of them stammered, glancing around in fear.

"Insane? Who rigs their doors to deliver an electric shock? He could've killed you!" another murmured, still shaken.

"My arm—it's burnt to a crisp! I need medical help, fast," Sarah groaned, the pain evident in his voice.

"Help! Miles, please!" he cried out. "Have mercy—save me!"

Hearing the commotion, Miles made his way to the back door, glancing out the window with a mocking smile. "Sarah, what brings you to my door? Here for a barbecue?"

"Please, Miles," Sarah gasped, clutching his arm in agony. "I made a mistake. Have mercy, we're neighbors…"

"I'm no doctor. How exactly do you expect me to help you?"

Sarah's voice trembled. "You must have supplies—something for emergencies. I just need some to tide me over until I can find a doctor…"

"A doctor?" Miles paused, feigning surprise. "You know a doctor?"

"Yes," Sarah nodded frantically. "Mr. Cole in Section C—he's one of the most skilled physicians in the region. He'll know how to treat this!"

"Then why aren't you asking him for help instead?"

"Well…" Sarah's face fell. "Even the best doctors can't work without supplies. In these times, he might not have what he needs."

Miles laughed coldly. "So he's out of luck, and you think I'm not?"

"I'm sorry, Miles!" Sarah pleaded. "We only came to check on your property, to make sure no one else was bothering you."

Miles nearly laughed aloud at the absurdity of it. "I can manage on my own, thanks."

He turned away, leaving Sarah to wallow in his own despair, as he realized that Miles would never lift a finger to help him. In defeat, Sarah slumped away with his companions, their once-bold plan in ruins.