The Shotgun Acquisition

Lucas Kane gently opened the door of the police cruiser. Inside the glove compartment, he found two more pairs of handcuffs and a walkie-talkie. On the passenger seat sat a takeout container, now covered with colorful, fuzzy mold, making his stomach churn. Useless.

He searched a little more around the car. Nothing.

"Let's check the trunk."

He moved to the back and slowly lifted the trunk lid. A pump-action shotgun lay there, beside two boxes of 12-gauge shells.

"Jackpot. Heavy firepower."

Though his current enemies were only standard zombies, who knew what kind of mutated abominations this world would spawn in the future? A shotgun at close range could turn any infected into paste.

Lucas quickly removed one of the police batons from his inventory and placed it in the shotgun bag. Then he transferred the shotgun and shells into his storage ring. High-value gear went into the ring—low-value stuff like batons could stay out.

"Too much stuff. I should drop off the extras at home before heading to the supermarket."

Now armed with both a revolver and a shotgun, Lucas felt much more confident.

Back home, he unloaded everything except the firearms and ammunition. Then, turning on the gas stove, he grabbed some frozen meat from the fridge, defrosted it in the microwave, and sliced off two thick slabs.

He added soy sauce and pepper, then tossed them into a pan to sear.

Cooking raw meat required electricity, fire, oil, cookware, and spices—a luxury in an apocalypse. As long as power was available, Lucas preferred using up frozen perishables first. Canned food like spam could wait.

The sizzle of meat hitting the hot pan filled the air, and the rich aroma of beef and spices wafted through the vent, drifting out the window… straight into Building 5.

On the third-floor landing, two men sat slumped—both tattooed, one tall and lanky, the other short and stout.

The tall one sniffed and licked his lips.

"Bro… you smell that? I swear someone's cooking beef. Real beef!"

His stomach growled loudly.

The stocky man scoffed. "You're hallucinating. All I smell is dust and canned spam."

He dug into a can of meat, scooping up a huge mouthful before handing the one-third left to the lanky man.

"Maybe… maybe I'm just dreaming," the lanky man muttered as he polished off the remains.

In the corner crouched a woman—the same one Lucas had seen on the awning in a low-cut dress. Her hair was tangled, her clothes disheveled, her eyes hollow.

Watching the two men devour her food and drink, she dared not speak.

Until now.

"Um… I haven't eaten yet," she croaked. "You said you'd save me some…"

The stocky man sneered. "That was the cost of saving your life. You wouldn't have survived the night up there. You should be thanking us."

She whispered, "But I already… repaid you… last night…"

"What, you think we got a good deal? You agreed—anything if we saved you," the man growled. "This morning's spam was for letting you stay the night. You'd be zombie chow without this building's door."

The two men had known each other pre-apocalypse and had the luck to escape their infected apartments early. They'd trapped zombies in their units, locking the doors behind them. That left them camping out in the stairwell all night, freezing and exposed.

They saved the woman out of lust, not kindness. Now, with food and water running low, she was a burden.

"Boss," the lanky man said, "we've got nothing left. If we don't find more supplies soon…"

"I've got a plan," the stocky man interrupted.

He pointed out the window toward the complex gate. "See that plaza? There's a convenience store and a dumpling shop. We hit those, and we'll be eating good."

"But there are zombies everywhere," the lanky man said. "Just one bite and we're finished. There's no way we can—"

"We'll use her," the boss said, smiling coldly.

His eyes locked on the woman trembling in the corner.