Chương 7: Like a Warrior

"See, I don't have much food either..." Vince tossed the box of tools in the living room and gave Claire a quick tour of his kitchen. Since she had chosen to come upstairs with him, he had to show an appropriate level of transparency. He casually opened the fridge, pulled out four pre-boiled eggs from the crisper, tossed them into a steamer pot, and fired up the stove. Then, he dug through the large box he had just hauled up, pulled out a bag of IV glucose solution, and tossed it to Claire.

"Drink this first. If you eat solid food immediately after starving for so long, your stomach will go into shock." Claire stared blankly at the IV bag that had just bounced off her chest, not quite grasping the situation. She pointed a finger toward the ceiling and asked, "Aren't we... going upstairs?" Vince busied himself sorting the scavenged medical supplies and tools into distinct piles, answering without looking up.

"We are, but not right now. If there are zombies up there, taking you up as you are is just a suicide run." Seeing the "10% Glucose Injection" label on the bag, Claire bit a small tear into the plastic corner and began to suck down the sweet liquid sip by sip.

"But earlier you said..." she mumbled around the plastic pouch. Vince ignored her, racing against the clock. It would be dark soon, and he wanted to clear apartment 402 before nightfall. He plugged his angle grinder into an extension cord, grabbed his makeshift spear, and headed into the bathroom. Working in there would muffle the noise reaching the outside street, minimizing the risk of drawing unwanted attention. As for any zombies inside the building...

if they had a problem with the noise, they could jump out the window. Seeing Vince ignore her, Claire tactfully stayed quiet. She simply leaned against the bathroom doorframe, watching him in silence. Zzzzt—! As Vince squeezed the trigger, the shrill shriek of cutting metal filled the room. Before long, the gore-caked screwdriver spearhead, duct tape and all, was cleanly sawed off. He measured the pipe, leaving a length of about 1. 7 meters, and sliced the remaining steel tube into one long and one short section.

"Why did you choose the second option?" Vince asked without turning his head. He was busy wrapping medical tape around the grip section of the steel pipe to increase friction.

"You've got a lot of nerve. I really didn't expect that." The glucose had brought a hint of color back to Claire's pale cheeks, and her dizziness had faded. Hearing his question, she took two steps closer and said earnestly, "I want to live..." It was a cliché, but looking into her eyes, Vince understood exactly what she meant. Not wanting to die and wanting to live are two very different concepts. Just like Option 1 versus Option 2. If she had chosen the first option, he would have kept his word.

Rationed carefully, that dog food could have kept her alive for half a month. But what about after that? If he was still around, and she begged him, maybe he would soften up and give her more food. And then what? He couldn't stay in this apartment forever. She clearly understood this, too. Surviving in this new world was no simple task. They had to face zombies, a brutal environment, mutated monsters, and countless unknown dangers. Truth be told, even Vince hadn't fully mentally prepared himself for all of it yet.

But time waited for no one. At their core, the problem they faced was identical: they had to become warriors. Vince had already taken a massive stride forward, and it seemed Claire had made up her mind to do the same. This was exactly why he was willing to take her in. Whether it was hauling supplies or executing tactical plans, having a reliable helper made things exponentially easier. Besides, the day would come when he had to leave the building to explore the outside world.

When that happened, he needed someone trustworthy to guard his base. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Since Claire had delivered herself to his door and made her choice, Vince was happy to give her a chance. Even if 402 turned out to be empty, her choice proved she had the potential to be a true partner in this hopeless world. In no time, Vince finished modifying his weapon. He discarded the old spearhead design entirely.

Instead, he simply sawed the tip of the steel pipe off at a sharp angle. This naturally created a vicious, 60-degree point. It wasn't razor-sharp, but based on his previous combat experience, it was more than enough to punch through a zombie's skull. He had also shortened the overall length slightly, turning the unwieldy 2. 3-meter pole into a highly maneuverable 1. 7-meter short spear, leaving him with a 60-centimeter pointed iron baton as a backup.

With his weapons polished and prepped, Vince returned to the kitchen and handed two hot, peeled eggs to Claire.

"Eat these to line your stomach. Then go across the hall to your apartment. Grab any thick paper, books, notebooks, or protective gear you have. Bring it all here." Though she didn't fully understand his plan, he had fed her, so she naturally obeyed his every command. A few minutes later, she returned carrying stacks of thick books and massive bundles of printed A4 paper. They were all legal briefs and lawsuit documents she had meticulously prepared for her divorce case—though none of that mattered anymore.

Noticing her slightly darkened expression, Vince glanced at the documents. Combined with the neighborhood gossip he had heard, he instantly understood what they were. He divided the papers into thick stacks and used heavy-duty duct tape to strap them tightly to Claire's calves, thighs, forearms, biceps, shoulders, and neck. He then taped a few thick hardcover books over her chest and back. A makeshift suit of paper armor was complete.

Topped with her electric scooter helmet and a pair of thick oven mitts, Claire looked practically invulnerable.

"Relax. I'm taking you with me, but I'm not sending you to your death. These papers used to be your weapons in court; now they're your armor to stay alive. Guess it's a kind of poetic justice." Thinking of his own past misfortunes, Vince sighed, "We have to survive. Let those bastards feed the zombies!" He looked up, only to see the exposed lower half of Claire's face flushed crimson. She was biting her lip, and the moment she caught his gaze, she shyly turned her head away.

Thinking back on the armoring process, Vince suddenly realized why. Feeling the lingering tactile sensation on his fingertips, he realized he had just essentially patted, pressed, and squeezed nearly every inch of her body... Through the visor of her helmet, Claire had watched him wrap the tape around her. Riiiiiiip—riiiiiiip— The sound of tearing tape was the only noise in the room. With every pull of the tape, Claire's heart skipped a beat.

The stiff A4 paper pressed against her curves, followed by Vince's large, strong hands pressing down hard to smooth the tape over the paper. This "one layer removed" tactile sensation gave her goosebumps all over. Vince's movements had been entirely professional, devoid of any frivolous touching. He handled her as if he were securing a delicate piece of cargo. But it was precisely this intense, unwavering focus that gave Claire a bizarre mix of embarrassment and... an overwhelming sense of security.

"Here, take this." Vince patted her shoulder, interrupting her daydream. He handed her a massive, 50-centimeter-wide iron wok.

"You don't have the strength for a weapon, so I'm not giving you one. I won this in a supermarket raffle a while back. Hold it out in front of you and use it as a shield."

"If we run into a zombie, your job is to absorb the first impact so I can secure the one-hit kill." After issuing his instructions, Vince geared himself up, subtly wiping his hands on his clothes to brush off any distracting thoughts. In a life-or-death situation, unnecessary lingering attachments or emotional distractions could cloud my judgment... Claire looked at herself in the mirror.

Wrapped head to toe in magazines and printed legal documents, her slender frame looked ridiculously like a taped-up utility pole outside a newsstand. It was comical. But thinking about what they were about to do, the heavy weight of reality settled over her. She knew this was the absolute best defense Vince could provide her right now. The rest was up to her own grit and luck.

"Are we going to die?" Claire asked, her voice muffled behind her surgical mask and helmet visor.

"I'm definitely not!" Vince replied instantly, without a second of hesitation. Claire was momentarily stunned by his blunt answer, but then a relieved smile broke across her face, followed by a light laugh that left Vince slightly confused. However, glancing above her head, he saw her HP bar had recovered to [55/100]. It seemed the food had actually restored a chunk of her health; it wasn't just a burst of terminal lucidity.

"Then I'm definitely not dying either!" Claire declared firmly through her goggles, looking straight into Vince's eyes.