Locked, Loaded, and Questioning Undead Driving Laws

Chapter 10: Locked, Loaded, and Questioning Undead Driving Laws

Two days.

It's been two whole days since the gas station incident, and honestly? I'm kinda proud of myself. I survived. I didn't get eaten, didn't run out of gas (yet), and most importantly—I still have my truck. If that doesn't make me the King of the Apocalypse, I don't know what does.

Now, where am I going? South. A military base in Atlanta—the so-called "safe haven." Because if there's one thing I've learned from movies, it's that military bases are totally not doomed to collapse under their own incompetence.

But hey, I figured I'd give it a shot. Worst case scenario? It's already a smoking crater, and I get to loot some cool gear. Best case scenario? They have a functioning toilet.

So here I am, cruising down an empty highway, blasting music through my totally not stolen truck speakers. I glance at the gas gauge. Still good. No explosions, no zombies doing the cha-cha in the middle of the road. Life is almost—almost—peaceful.

And then, in the distance, I see it.

An armory.

Oh, sweet, beautiful, gun-filled armory.

I slam the brakes. Hard. If there was an award for "Fastest Decision to Detour in an Apocalypse," I'd be first place. Because let's be real—if I'm going to survive this hellhole, I need better weapons. My trusty bat and frying pan have served me well, but at some point, I'll need something that doesn't require me to get close enough to smell zombie breath.

I squint at the building. It's surprisingly intact. No scorch marks. No collapsed walls. No handwritten "DOOMED" messages smeared in blood. Just a nice, quiet armory waiting for a handsome apocalypse survivor (me) to claim its treasures.

Of course, there's one tiny problem.

Zombies.

A lot of them.

They're scattered around the parking lot, shambling aimlessly like they're waiting for Black Friday deals. Some are bumping into cars, others just standing there like NPCs waiting for a quest. But the good news? They haven't noticed me yet.

I take a deep breath. Time to gear up.

I reach into my truck and grab:

Nail gun. Because nothing says "DIY home improvement meets zombie apocalypse" like rapid-fire nails to the face.

Small hammer. A backup, in case I need to get medieval.

Backpack. Because looting responsibly is important.

Car keys. Because who knows if zombies can drive?

I pause for a second, staring at my keys.

"…No, but seriously. What if?"

I shake my head. Not taking any chances.

Locking my truck (because obviously, that's the real danger here), I crouch low and start creeping toward the armory. Time for some good old-fashioned looting.