- Distractions, explosions, commotions…

  - As long as it’s not happening in your immediate surroundings, they’re your shadow.

  - Like hiding a fart with a cough.

  ---

  There are few things more beautiful than waking up not to a zombie trying to eat your face.

  Unfortunately, we got the next worst thing—gunfire. A lot of it.

  I bolted upright from my sleeping bag behind the counter of the bookstore, heart pounding. Alex peeked through the blackout sheet we’d nailed to the window.

  “Big truck,” she whispered. “Big, loud truck. Bandits?”

  I got up, rubbing the gunk from my eyes and squinting through the gap.

  Sixteen-wheeler. Engine coughing like it smoked a pack a day. Five guys hanging off the back like some twisted parade float. Laughing. Shouting. One of them had what looked like a homemade flamethrower. Another was just wildly swinging a bat from the roof. Zombies stumbled after them like slow-motion paparazzi.

  “Oh yeah,” I muttered. “Definitely bandits.”

  It should’ve been terrifying. It was terrifying. But it was also the perfect opportunity.

  The city’s usual groans and moans were drowned out by the roaring truck and gunfire. For once, every nearby undead wasn’t interested in us. It was like someone turned on a magnet and dragged the whole crowd in the opposite direction.

  We packed up in under a minute. Backpacks, crowbars, flashlights. Alex stuffed her notebook map into her vest and looked at me with that spark in her eyes. That spark of we might actually get away with this.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “We scavenge,” I said. “We stick to cover, stay quiet, and move fast. We don’t know how long they’ll be playing zombie bumper cars out there.”

  Alex grinned. “Got it. Fart with a cough.”

  “Exactly,” I muttered, already jogging toward the back door.

  We hit the first store down the street—a hardware supply joint with bars on the front and an employee entrance that looked half-kicked in. No moans. No groans. I tapped the door with my crowbar. Nothing.

  Inside, it was dim and smelled like moldy fertilizer. We didn’t waste time. Batteries, duct tape, two cans of WD-40, a half-busted solar panel the size of a dinner plate—into the packs they went.

  Then the real prize: tools. Hammers, pliers, a roll of copper wire. Alex nearly squealed. “I can fix so much with this!”

  “Don’t get emotional with the wrench,” I said. “Still have more stops.”

  Store after store, jackpot after jackpot. Every street we hit was freshly drained of the undead like someone flushed the pipes. We ran through a pharmacy, a small market, even a gas station. And then—

  Guns.

  An old hunting store, barred up and mostly untouched. Probably because zombies had filled it like sardines before. Now it was empty, courtesy of the world's loudest distraction crew.

  I found a rusty shotgun behind the counter. Pump-action. A little loose around the grip, but serviceable. Three shells in the chamber.

  Alex found a pistol taped under a broken display case, like someone hid it in a panic. Only had two bullets, but she cradled it like it was gold.

  “First one I’ve ever held,” she said softly.

  “Don’t point it at me,” I replied.

  “I said held, not fired,” she snarked, but then her expression softened. “Still... this is real, huh?”

  “It was always real,” I said. “Now it’s just louder.”

  We regrouped in a dusty alley behind the store, checking our haul. Our bags were heavier than they’d ever been—and that was saying something. But we were still light on ammo, and lighter on trust.

  “Think those bandits are staying in the city?” Alex asked.

  “Doubt it,” I said. “They’re probably raiders. Smash-and-grab, then out. But if they are sticking around…”

  I didn’t finish that thought. We both knew what it meant. We weren’t the only clever scavengers in town.

  Still, I caught her smiling as she pocketed the pistol.

  “You’re enjoying this,” I said.

  “I mean, yeah?” she said. “Adrenaline. Loot. It’s like a really messed up video game.”

  “Minus the respawns,” I muttered.

  She stuck her tongue out at me, then checked her notebook again, already mapping out where we hadn’t scavenged yet.

  I glanced down the road. In the distance, the big rig was still rampaging, its engine howling, its passengers whooping and hollering like they were at a rock concert. And the horde just kept chasing, hypnotized by noise, speed, and the delicious promise of something to bite.

  “Idiots,” I said.

  “Useful idiots,” Alex added.

  We turned down a new block, slipping into the shadows again, hearts pounding in rhythm with distant gunfire and half-suppressed grins on our faces.

  The city was hell. But today?

  Today it was our heaven.