Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 58: Good, A Survivor

Thomas quickly followed the woman as she gestured for him to move. She led him toward an office room down the hallway, her grip on the bloodied bat firm, her eyes scanning their surroundings for any more threats.

She was fast and moved with precision—someone who had been surviving here for a long time.

Thomas didn't ask questions. His instincts told him to trust her—at least for now.

They reached a door marked "Manager's Office."

The woman pulled out a keycard from her pocket, swiped it against the electronic lock, and pushed the door open. Thomas slipped inside first, and she followed quickly, slamming the door shut behind them.

A heavy click echoed as she engaged the manual locks.

Then, silence.

The only light in the office came from a dim red emergency light on the wall, casting eerie shadows across the room. Thomas could make out a large wooden desk, filing cabinets, and a couch pushed against the far wall. Papers and office supplies were scattered across the floor, but it was surprisingly clean—no blood, no rotting corpses.

Someone had been using this place as a hideout.

Thomas exhaled, rolling his shoulders. His body ached from all the fighting, and his ribs still throbbed from his earlier fall.

The woman turned to face him, arms crossed, her sharp eyes studying him.

"Alright," she said finally, her voice steady but filled with suspicion. "Who the hell are you?"

Thomas met her gaze.

"Thomas," he answered simply.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

She raised an eyebrow. "Thomas who?"

"Just Thomas."

The woman frowned, tightening her grip on the bat. "And how exactly did you get here? You don't look like you work in this building."

Thomas ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. He couldn't tell her the full truth.

No one would believe he had a private military force stationed at MOA, or that he had been dragged away by a flying monstrosity.

So, he gave her a half-truth.

"I was outside," he said. "One of those flying things grabbed me. We fought mid-air, crashed into this building. The rest you saw yourself."

The woman narrowed her eyes, skeptical. "You're telling me you got snatched by a goddamn monster and survived?"

Thomas simply nodded. "Yeah."

She studied him for a moment before her eyes flicked down to his clothes.

The military vest, the tactical gloves, the combat boots.

"You wearing all that for fun?" she asked, pointing at his gear.

Thomas smirked slightly. "Protection."

She scoffed. "Right. So, you're not actually military?"

Thomas didn't answer.

The woman sighed, shaking her head. She clearly didn't buy everything he said, but she wasn't pushing for details—yet.

Then, suddenly, she raised her bat, aiming it at his chest.

"Alright, take it off," she ordered.

Thomas blinked. "What?"

"Your clothes. Take them off."

His mind stalled for a second. "Look, I appreciate the save, but this isn't the time—"

She jabbed the bat forward, nearly touching his sternum.

"Don't get cocky," she said flatly. "I need to check if you're bitten."

Thomas exhaled sharply. "If I was bitten, I'd have turned already."

"Not always," she countered. "I've seen people take hours before they changed. Some even lasted a day before they lost it."

Wait—so the infection is different from everyone else?

She wasn't taking any chances.

Thomas sighed. He was too exhausted to argue.

"Fine."

He unbuckled his tactical vest, tossing it onto the desk.

Then his combat belt, followed by his shirt, revealing his scarred, muscular torso.

The woman examined him carefully, her eyes scanning every inch of his skin for any sign of a bite.

She circled around him, her bat still at the ready.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "See? No bites."

"Keep going," she ordered.

He frowned. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," she said. "Pants too."

Thomas hesitated. "I don't think this is necessary."

The woman's grip on the bat tightened. "Pants."

Thomas muttered a curse under his breath before unbuckling his cargo pants and letting them drop.

Now, he stood there in just his briefs, arms crossed, exasperated.

The woman glanced down, then back up, her face unreadable.

After a few seconds, she nodded, lowering the bat.

"Alright," she said. "You're clear."

Thomas sighed and grabbed his pants, pulling them back up.

"Glad we settled that."

The woman smirked slightly. "Could've been easier if you just listened from the start."

Thomas shook his head, buttoning his pants. "And what's your name?"

The woman leaned against the desk, arms still crossed.

"Erica," she said. "Welcome to my office, Thomas."

"Office…so you work here," Thomas said, glancing around the room.

"Yes…and I have been here since the apocalypse," Erica replied.

"Alone?" Thomas asked.

"I wasn't alone the whole time." Erica's voice trailed off, her expression darkening as if recalling something painful. She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her short hair.

"We were twenty people at the start," she continued. "Co-workers, security personnel, a few unlucky folks who got trapped here when everything fell apart. We barricaded the stairwells, scavenged supplies from the upper floors, and tried to wait it out."

Thomas adjusted his tactical vest, listening intently. "What happened?"

Erica's grip on the bat tightened. "It was going well… at first. We had food, water, even power from the emergency generators. But then the first infection hit. One of us got bit during a supply run to the lower floors—he didn't tell anyone. Thought he could fight it."

She shook her head, her jaw tightening. "He turned in the middle of the night. Killed three people before we even knew what was happening. After that, it was like a chain reaction. Some got bit. Others panicked and tried to run. The infected kept multiplying, and before long, the barricades didn't mean shit."

Thomas could picture it. A secure office turned into a death trap.

"How many made it?" he asked.

Erica scoffed, gesturing around the empty office. "You're looking at her."

Thomas exhaled through his nose. Alone for this long? That took a different level of resilience.

"You got a plan?" he asked.

Erica leaned against the desk. "I was planning to make a break for the rooftop. Thought maybe I could find a way down or signal for help. But…" she hesitated, glancing toward the locked door. "That stairwell is crawling, and I don't exactly have an arsenal like you."

Thomas nodded. "You were waiting for a better chance."

"Something like that," she muttered. "But even if I were to get myself on the rooftop, survival wasn't guaranteed. It's not like someone would come up there and rescue them."

Thomas just simply listened to her story.

"Still–I'm glad that I am not alone now," Erica said, turning her gaze towards him. "But if you were to do something funny, I wouldn't hesitate to harm you."

She held his gaze for another few seconds before exhaling, her shoulders easing ever so slightly. She leaned back against the desk, gripping the edge. "Alright, then. If you're really not here to screw me over, then we better figure out what the hell we're going to do next."

Thomas nodded. "You still set on making it to the rooftop?"

Erica scoffed. "You got a better plan? Because the only other way out of here is down, and I don't think I have to tell you how bad of an idea that is."

He considered her words. She wasn't wrong. Trying to clear a path back to ground level would be suicide, especially with the zombies still circling outside. The rooftop was their best bet. He hoped that his men had managed to pinpoint his location and send a rescue helicopter.

And that is a big if—after all, his radio was broken and there was no way for him to access the features of the system. His best hope was that his men were to finish the wave on their own, and judging from the kill counts, it is steadily increasing.

"First—we have to rest, and then we make it to the rooftop tomorrow morning," Thomas said.

"And what are we going to do once we are on a rooftop?"

"We hope that someone will rescue us," Thomas answered.