Chapter 2:Descent into Desperation

Liam's chest tightened as the grotesque figures of the zombies drew closer. His stomach dropped when he saw three of them blocking his path, their skin a sickly green-gray, peeling in places to expose gnawed flesh and exposed bone. Their vacant eyes stared ahead, lifeless. One of them had half a jaw hanging by a thread, while another's arm twisted unnaturally, barely clinging to its socket by sinewy strands. The air thickened with the stench of decay, so powerful it burned his nostrils and made his stomach churn.

Liam gagged, clamping his hand over his mouth. "Oh god," he whispered, his body trembling as he stepped back. His feet stumbled beneath him, and panic surged, threatening to paralyze him. He fought the overwhelming urge to vomit but nearly lost his balance in his haste.

A low moan echoed from behind, and Liam's instincts screamed at him to run. He bolted, his heart hammering as he sprinted down the street, dodging shattered glass and abandoned vehicles. The growl of the zombies followed, growing louder with each desperate step.

"Think, Liam," he muttered to himself, eyes flicking back for a brief second. "You've seen this before. Just... don't trip."

His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as he tore through the deserted streets, the world narrowing to his pounding feet and the ever-approaching sound of the undead behind him. The sky hung heavy with dark clouds, casting everything in a grim, gray light. It felt like the world had shifted, the concrete beneath his feet suddenly alien, every step a painful reminder that this was no nightmare. It was real.

He whipped around a corner, his shoes skidding as he slammed into the side of an old storefront. The door hung ajar, its glass windows cracked and caked with dust. Without a second thought, he threw himself inside, the bell above the door tinkling ominously as it swayed.

Inside, the aisles stretched into darkness, shelves still stocked with cans, boxes, and crates that hadn't been fully looted. Signs of panic were everywhere—half-empty shelves, overturned carts, scattered belongings—as though the chaos of the past had spilled into every corner. But there was still enough here to survive, if he kept his head.

Liam's gaze landed on a rusted metal pipe, half-buried under a pile of debris near the corner.His fingers wrapped around the cold, gritty metal. The pipe was covered in grime, the sharp edges chipped and jagged, but it would have to do.

System Alert: You have equipped a Rusty Pipe! +1 Survival Points!

Liam exhaled sharply. "Better than nothing," he muttered, lifting the pipe and testing its weight. It felt solid in his hands, though the rust and uneven surface made it a bit awkward. But he didn't have time to second-guess.

Behind him, the sound of splintering wood tore through the air. The zombie had crashed through the back door, its body slamming into the frame with a sickening crack, shattering what was left of the thin barrier. The unmistakable shuffle of its feet echoed in the silent store, the sound grating against Liam's nerves. Panic surged in his chest as he backed into a shelf, the pressure of the cold metal digging into his back. "You've got to be kidding me!" he shouted, voice tinged with disbelief and fear. "Is there no sense of personal space in this world?"

The zombie lurched forward, its vacant, clouded eyes locking onto him with an eerie, unblinking focus. Its mouth, a twisted mess of rotting flesh, hung open, letting out a low, guttural moan. The stench of decay and death was overpowering, filling the air like a thick, suffocating fog. Liam's pulse hammered in his ears as the creature closed the distance, its shambling steps slow but relentless.

Okay, Liam. Time to earn that survival badge, he thought, the weight of his own words barely enough to steady his shaking hands. He gripped the pipe tighter, his knuckles whitening, and swung with every ounce of strength he had.

The pipe connected with a sickening crack, the metal striking the zombie's skull with brutal force. The creature staggered back, its head snapping to the side as it let out a gurgling noise. Its empty eyes blinked, the force of the blow not enough to stop it completely—but it was disoriented, its movements slowed for just a moment.

Liam stood frozen for an instant, staring at the creature as it tried to regain its footing, blood and foul matter dripping from the wound. Come on, stay down. He tightened his grip on the pipe, preparing for another strike. The silence of the store had been shattered by the sounds of violence, and he knew the fight was far from over.

The zombie reeled from the blow, but instead of crumpling, it let out a horrifying roar that seemed to vibrate the very walls of the store. The sound was guttural, almost inhuman, a scream of rage and hunger that rattled Liam's bones. His blood turned to ice, and for a moment, he felt his spirit leave him. The sheer ferocity of the sound, the knowledge that this thing wouldn't stop, was enough to make him freeze in place.

Liam's breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide with terror. He could feel his legs trembling, like they were going to give out beneath him. No, no, no... this is not how it ends. His mind screamed for him to move, but the roar still echoed in his ears, clouding his thoughts.

The zombie pushed itself back to its feet with unnatural speed, its movements jerky but relentless. It let out another roar, louder this time, and took a step toward him, its rotting mouth open wide as it lunged forward. The sound of its stumbling feet grew faster, the creature gaining on him with terrifying speed.

Fear surged through Liam like a tidal wave, flooding his chest and choking his thoughts. He staggered backward, his heart pounding against his ribcage, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to put more distance between himself and the snarling, ravenous monster. But it didn't slow down. The undead thing was closing in.

Liam swung the rusty pipe with all the strength he could muster, the metal slicing through the air with a sharp whoosh. His hands shook, the pipe trembling as his fear took hold of his body. The blow missed its target, the pipe slamming into the ground beside the creature with a dull thud, sending a shock through his arm.

The zombie snarled, its gurgling breath hot against his face. The stench of rot was overpowering now, its foul odor clouding his senses as it reached for him with its gnarled, broken fingers.

"Get away!" Liam shouted, his voice breaking as he swung again,but this time with his fist, desperation lacing his every movement. His connected with the creature's shoulder, but the force wasn't enough to knock it back. It didn't even stumble. Instead, it howled in anger, its empty eyes wide with hunger, the twisted remnants of its humanity screaming for flesh.

Liam's breath was ragged as he backed away further, his back now pressed against the cold, hard metal of a shelving unit. Panic clawed at his chest. There was no escape. No room to maneuver. He had now entered this world but it seemed like he would be leaving the same day.

His mind screamed for him to fight, but every swing felt weaker than the last. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on, or if there would even be a way out of this. His body trembled, his heart racing in fear, the world narrowing to just the sight of that undead face coming closer.

Think. Think! The thought screamed in his mind as the zombie closed in, its teeth gnashing, ready to tear him apart.

The zombie lurched toward him, its outstretched hand reaching for Liam's throat. His legs buckled under him, the terror in his chest choking him. He was too weak to keep fighting and a small part of him thought even if he died again he could just start over again as the system had said. He couldn't run anymore.' This is it. This is the end.'

Just as the decaying fingers reached out for him, a gunshot shattered the stillness of the store. The blast was deafening, the sound slamming into Liam's ears like a shockwave. The zombie's head snapped back with a sickening crack, and its skull exploded in a spray of rotten flesh, shards of bone, and thick, clotted blood.

Chunks of decayed brain matter and globs of congealed blood splattered across Liam's face and clothes, a sticky, foul-smelling rain that clung to him like warm mud. He barely had time to blink before a sliver of bone hit his cheek, leaving a stinging scrape. The creature crumpled in a heap at his feet, but the grisly mess of its demise stayed with him—literally, plastered across his skin and dripping down his chin.

Liam let out a disgusted groan, wiping his face only to smear the gore around even more. "Well, that's just great," he muttered, flicking a chunk of something unidentifiable off his shoulder, his stomach churning at the sticky warmth still clinging to him.

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Liam's heart was still hammering in his chest, but the immediate threat was gone. The shock and relief hit him all at once, leaving him breathless and trembling.

The dizziness was overwhelming, but he managed to glance up. The figure standing over him was a soldier—tall, with a rifle slung over his shoulder. His face was grim, worn by the harsh reality of the world they lived in, but his eyes softened just slightly when they met Liam's.

"You good?" The soldier's voice was deep and commanding, but there was a trace of concern beneath it, like he'd seen this kind of fear before.

Liam couldn't find his voice at first. His throat was dry, his mind hazy from the adrenaline. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a raspy breath. He nodded, unable to speak.

The soldier gave a quick glance behind him, and another voice cut through the tension. "We don't have time. Move him!"

Liam barely registered the urgency. The soldier bent down and grabbed his arm, pulling him upright with ease. His body felt like a dead weight, his legs unsteady as he tried to stand. The soldier held him firmly, not giving him a chance to collapse again..

Liam's gaze drifted past the soldier to the group of armed survivors entering the store. There were eight others, but only two moved with any sense of control. They held their weapons confidently, their eyes sharp and sweeping across the room with trained precision, every step deliberate. The other four clung to their guns with white-knuckled grips, their expressions tense, wide-eyed, and darting with panic at every slight noise. Their fear was palpable, filling the air with a jittery, barely contained energy, as if one wrong move could send them bolting.

The soldier who had pulled him up cast a quick glance at the group, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. He seemed almost burdened by their inexperience but squared his shoulders with practiced patience, knowing he didn't have the luxury to leave anyone behind. He turned back to Liam, his tone brisk and direct. "Name?"

Liam blinked, the fog slowly lifting from his mind, though his legs still felt shaky and weak. "Liam. " he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

The soldier gave a slight nod, assessing him as he had with the others. Another survivor, a woman clutching a pistol awkwardly, shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting nervously around the store. She looked like she was one small scare away from breaking down. The two more experienced survivors exchanged a quick, knowing look, one muttering, "This crew's barely holding it together."

The soldier ignored the remark and focused on Liam, his voice low but steady. "We're collecting whoever's left. If you can keep it together, stick close. Otherwise…" He let the words trail off, leaving the unspoken warning hanging in the air.

Liam swallowed, nodding. He wasn't sure if he could "keep it together," but he knew one thing: these people, shaky as they were, were his best hope.

Liam scanned the group again, his gaze lingering on one survivor in particular—a wiry old man, hunched but alert, his eyes narrow and darting, flicking from person to person with a strange intensity. Something about him made Liam uneasy, a feeling that grew stronger as he looked on.

Then, as if triggered by his focus, a faint, mechanical chime sounded in Liam's mind.

[SYSTEM ALERT: WARNING—UNKNOWN ENTITY DETECTED]

Liam blinked, his breath catching, heart beating a little faster as the words pulsed behind his eyes. Unknown Entity? He swallowed, trying to make sense of the message, but no other details appeared—just the warning, flashing for a moment before fading into silence. Liam felt a knot of tension settle into his stomach. He glanced back at the old man, who was now staring straight at him, a thin, humorless smile spreading across his face.

Every instinct told him to back away.

Without a second thought, Liam edged closer to the soldier, keeping his movements subtle but purposeful. He could feel his pulse in his throat, each beat thumping harder as he positioned himself directly behind the man's broad shoulders. Stick to the strong, he thought, breathing a little easier now that the soldier was blocking his line of sight to the old man.

The soldier glanced back, noticing Liam's shift, and raised an eyebrow. "Sticking close, huh?" he said, a faint hint of amusement breaking through his otherwise serious expression.

Liam shrugged, forcing a casual look. "Safety in numbers, right? Just... not taking any chances." His tone was light, but his eyes betrayed his unease, darting briefly toward the old man, who hadn't moved but was watching them both with a knowing glint.

The soldier seemed to pick up on his discomfort, his own gaze hardening slightly as he glanced back at the man. "Good instinct," he muttered to Liam, his voice low. "But keep it together. Panic makes easy targets."

Liam nodded, keeping his face carefully neutral while his mind whirred with questions. Who—or what—was this old man? And why would the system, his only real guide through this twisted new world, bother to flag him with a warning? He could feel the cryptic message echoing at the back of his mind like an itch he couldn't scratch, each unanswered question digging deeper.

Whatever the reason, he had no intention of stepping out of the soldier's shadow. In a world full of threats, sticking close to someone capable felt like the only smart move he had left.