Chương 12: Mooching a Meal

Sweep the building! Sweep this entire building clean! And starting from the top! As dawn broke, Vince rolled out of bed, sporting a messy bird's nest of hair after a completely sleepless night. His hatred for zombies had reached an absolute boiling point! As his Max HP increased, it wasn't just his physical attributes that enhanced; his five senses had grown increasingly acute. The occasional, phlegm-choked groans of the zombies downstairs filtered continuously into his ears, leaving him tossing and turning.

Worse still, every time he hovered on the edge of sleep, the heavy thud-drag of footsteps from the floor above would jerk him awake. He didn't dare sleep with earplugs. If a sudden emergency occurred, being deaf to the world could cost him his life. If it hadn't been pitch black out, Vince would have gladly marched upstairs in the dead of night and slaughtered every last zombie on the floor!

"I'm starting today! I'm going to clear out this building, floor by floor!" Outside, the sky was finally clearing up. The rain had stopped last night, and over the course of the evening, the flooded streets had receded significantly. Most of the zombies had been lured away by Vince's distraction yesterday; only a few stragglers who had likely wandered off-course were shambling about. Vince cracked a window to let in some fresh air. Fortunately, the outside breeze didn't carry any putrid stenches yet.

Down below, the bisected zombie was still lying exactly where it had fallen. Soaking in the puddle all night made the severed torso look even more nauseating than before. Likely frustrated by its inability to move, it just lay there, reaching out with one arm and letting out continuous, guttural groans. Its HP hadn't changed at all; it was still sitting at [96/300].

"Groan, groan, groan! It's you who's been making all that damn noise!"

"Just wait till I get down there. You'll be the first one I send to the afterlife!" Since this zombie was on the street-facing side, not far from the entrance of his clinic, going out to kill it would inevitably aggro the other wandering stragglers. Vince's only viable option was to clear the interior of the apartment building first. Once he boosted his strength a bit more, he'd figure out a way to slowly expand his safe zone outward.

After a quick wash-up, he poured the soaked soybeans into the soy milk maker and set the timer and mode. He checked his phone again. Same as yesterday: full cell bars, but no internet connection, and calls wouldn't go through. As the soy milk maker whirred to life, Vince tossed his phone aside. He grabbed a pen and a notepad, tucked his short iron baton into his waistband, stepped out of his apartment, and headed upstairs. Whirrrrr—!

The soy milk maker kicked into high gear, emitting a loud hum that vibrated through the floorboards. Hearing the sudden, piercing noise, the zombies trapped in various apartments throughout the building grew agitated and restless. Vince, armed with his pen and paper, started from the top floor, logging each unit one by one.

"601... uh... no movement." Vince's apartment complex was an old residential block with an average building age of over forty years. There were no elevators, and it maxed out at six floors. The tenants were mostly food delivery riders, elderly folks left behind by their children, and working-class people renting here to save a buck. From what Claire had told him, on the first day of the outbreak, aside from crazy rumors spreading online, there had been no official government warnings.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Because of this, most people—even if they were a bit worried—still left their homes and dutifully went to work. That was exactly why there weren't actually that many zombies milling around the base of Vince's building, and the ones that were there were mostly middle-aged or elderly. As for the bustling office buildings and shopping malls...

Vince couldn't help but feel a chill crawl up the back of his neck just picturing it: the morning rush-hour subway, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with blood-drenched, gray-eyed zombies in various business attires. Top-floor units in these old buildings were notoriously hard to rent out. They were freezing in the winter, boiling in the summer, and occasionally leaked during heavy rain. Naturally, the rent was dirt cheap.

The two units on the top floor reflected this; clearly trying to save money, the landlords hadn't even updated the doors. Like apartment 302, they still featured the old-school setup: an outer iron security grate with a wooden door on the inside. As for unit 601 right in front of him, Vince recalled it was rented by a food delivery rider. He was a solitary, dark-skinned, skinny middle-aged man who would sometimes nod in greeting when they passed each other on the stairs.

Vince tapped his iron baton against the inner wooden door, then wedged his ear through the iron grate, pressing it flat against the wood to listen. The apartment remained completely silent.

"601... probably empty." Jotting it down for now, Vince turned and walked over to 602. He knocked heavily on the wood. Thump, thump, thump. Immediately, the low growl of a zombie echoed from within. A heavy body slammed against the door, rattling the wood with violent bangs. Vince pressed his ear against the door to listen closely. Based on the chaotic shuffling, there was only one active zombie moving around inside.

"602... at least 1."... He proceeded like this, methodically sweeping the 5th, 4th, and 2nd floors. By the time he looped back down to the third-floor landing, he found Claire standing there. Her hair was a frizzy, messy bedhead, and her eyes were bleary with sleep. Seeing him walk up, she rolled her eyes at him with a mix of exhaustion and mild resentment.

"Vince... you're really something... Do you never sleep...?" She was still wearing her yellow silk nightgown. However, compared to the tense wariness she displayed the other day, Claire was noticeably much more relaxed and intimate around him now. Vince glanced at her Health Bar. After a full night's rest, it had recovered to [60/100]. More importantly, the color had changed to the exact same green as his own, though it lacked the gold border. What does this mean?

Vince wasn't sure if the color shift simply meant her HP had recovered to a "safe" threshold, changing from yellow to green, or if it signified something deeper. Still, since it matched his own color, it couldn't be a bad thing. Judging by the numbers, she'd be back to full health in another two days.

"How is it? Does your leg still hurt? Does it affect your walking?" Ignoring her complaints, Vince casually asked while staring at the purplish bruise on her bare calf. Seeing Vince unabashedly looking her up and down, Claire's slightly pale cheeks instantly flushed warm, and the tips of her ears turned red.

"It doesn't hurt anymore. I... I'm going back in to wash up." With that, she spun around and darted back into her apartment.

"Good. Come over for soy milk in a bit. I have some things I want to ask you," Vince called out to her retreating back. Internally, however, he was quietly thinking: Excellent. Time to put her to work.... Back in his apartment, the piping hot soy milk was ready. Vince poured himself a massive bowl and began slurping it down loudly.

"Pity there aren't any deep-fried dough sticks or savory tofu pudding to go with this..." Still, having a bowl of hot soy milk in the middle of the apocalypse was a luxury most people couldn't even fathom right now. The vast majority of survivors were still paralyzed by fear, cowering in their homes. Let alone running a loud soy milk maker, they probably didn't even dare flush their toilets for fear of making noise.

Vince heated up a few boiled eggs, poured in some clear hotpot broth base, and boiled a pot of noodles. He tossed in all the leftover meat and vegetables from yesterday's dinner, preparing to enjoy a hearty meal before getting down to business. Just as the noodles finished cooking, a gentle knock-knock-knock came from the door.

"Vince... I think I left my jacket at your place yesterday." Claire had changed into long pants and a fresh T-shirt. She had even applied a very light, 'no-makeup' makeup look—subtle, but incredibly pleasing to the eye. The moment Vince opened the door, she asked somewhat timidly.

"Jacket...? Oh... yeah." Vince walked behind the sofa and picked up a canvas jacket from the floor. It was still heavily plastered with duct tape and stacks of A4 printer paper. It was the very same jacket Vince had heavily modified into "paper armor" yesterday.

"When I hauled you back yesterday, this was a pain to take off, so I just cut it open. It's fine, though. If you need to wear it again, we can just tape it back up." The sudden reminder that Vince had carried her back and stripped her of her outer clothes made Claire's face burn hotly. However, remembering how meticulously he had cared for her when she woke up, that strange, wonderful sense of security bubbled up in her chest again.

In a slight daze, she walked inside, completely forgetting to close the door behind her. Vince didn't notice Claire's internal fluster at all. He just folded the stiff jacket a couple of times, placed it on the armrest of the sofa, and waved her over.

"Close the door behind you. Let's eat first."