Get Some Fries (Bonus Chapter for Alliance Leader Andrology, Please Go Upstairs 2!)

"What next?"

Faced with Madison's question, Gavin turned off the music, rolled down the window, and pulled out a cigarette.

"First, we'll have a smoke, listen to the sounds around here, and see if any zombies were drawn over by the noise we made."

As he spoke, Gavin lit the cigarette and took a deep drag.

The first puff was always a little harsh, but Gavin thought it was just right. Being alive felt damn good!

A zombie apocalypse...

Bullshit. Hadn't he crossed into this world to enjoy the good life in wicked America?

On one hand, he could use his foreknowledge to amass a fortune. On the other, he could rely on his physique to become a sports superstar.

Once he got older and retired, he could join some comfortable political party, run for the fucking governor of Texas, and maybe even take a shot at the presidency.

As for zombies, they had never been part of Gavin's life plan over the past twenty-five years.

Did he like zombies?

He could just play a few zombie games. Wouldn't that be way more fun than a real apocalypse?

Gavin exhaled a cloud of smoke, letting it and his breath drift out of the car and gradually fade into the gloomy night sky.

In the passenger seat, Madison watched Gavin immerse himself in tobacco and grinned admiringly.

"Fuck, you're really a superhuman. You can smoke and still put up results like that in a game. Are your lungs made of iron?"

"If I dared hold a cigarette in my mouth like you, my conditioning coach would beat the earwax out of me."

"Smoke less, boss. There won't be as many cigarettes in the future for you to smoke to your heart's content."

"Unless you take me with you to grow some fucking tobacco. But I'd rather grow pasture and raise cattle. Then I could milk cows and fry up huge steaks!"

With that, Madison boredly flicked the safety on his shotgun up and down.

Gavin glanced at him and tapped the gearshift in warning.

"If you're bored, don't play with the gun safety. Play with your phone!"

"Aren't you worried it'll run out of battery, man?"

"It's fine. This is Texas. Every farm is bound to have its own small generator. Mine does too."

"All right. I've been wanting to see whether my family called back. You're sure your place has a steady power supply, right? Do generators use gasoline or diesel? I've never used one!"

Madison asked one last question, then pulled out his phone and started searching for videos online.

Nearly half an hour had passed since Gigi mutated. In that half hour, something new had finally appeared online.

Madison took one look, then widened his eyes and shoved the phone in front of Gavin.

"Fuck, hurry up and look at this!"

He spoke to Gavin in a flustered jumble.

Gavin let the cigarette hang outside the window and leaned over to glance at the screen.

The phone displayed a video of the New York Stock Exchange exploding.

But the footage was the only useful part, because the audio was filled with the terrified screams of the woman filming it.

"911! 911! Aaaaaah!"

The woman in the video kept screaming nine-one-one in an ear-piercing voice.

What did she mean by 911?

Was she calling the police?

Of course not. A plane had crashed into the New York Stock Exchange.

And it wasn't just the plane in the video. Gavin guessed that trains still running on their tracks would soon collide with one another and derail, one after another.

The zombie outbreak was too widespread. It wasn't just one zombie on a plane, spreading from person to person.

There were hundreds of zombies on a plane, hunting down the few normal people left!

And it was happening at three in the morning, when everyone was groggy with sleep...

Thinking of that, Gavin pushed the phone back to Madison and backed the car into a spot about two meters from the convenience store entrance.

He flicked the cigarette butt out the window, got out, and crushed it beneath his shoe.

Then he went to the back seat of the pickup and picked up the military knife that had killed zombies before.

From the passenger seat, Madison looked at Gavin and said, "Are we still using knives? Aren't guns better than knives?"

"Heh."

Hearing Madison's question, Gavin smiled and gave the military knife a couple of swings.

"Is that a gun? It's a zombie summoner. With how far gunshots carry, one shot would probably attract every zombie within at least a kilometer."

"As for a knife, the noise it makes probably wouldn't even draw in a zombie from a hundred meters away."

"Besides, if more than ten zombies charge us, what good would a few guns do?"

As he spoke, Gavin tossed the military knife into his left hand and smoothly drew the Colt Python from his waist with his right.

He swung out the cylinder to check it, snapped it back in and let it spin, then listened to the beautiful metallic sound of the revolver's cylinder as he continued.

"You've played shooting games, right, Madison?"

"Of course. I've played Call of Duty."

"I was actually asking about Counter-Strike, but that doesn't matter. Anyway, when you play Call of Duty, do you kill every enemy with a headshot?"

"Uh, no. Getting headshots takes some aiming."

Hearing Madison's answer, Gavin continued.

"Exactly. Headshots take some skill. So tell me, is aiming easier in a game or in real life?"

"Obviously in a game. I'm not some poor kid who's never handled a gun. A real gun is way harder to aim than a mouse."

"Shooting moving targets with a real gun takes more than your eyes. It takes experience and instinct—mysterious shooting instinct!"

"That's right."

Gavin delivered the verdict.

"Imagine trying to aim at more than a dozen enemies sprinting straight at you in a game. You still can't land a headshot with every shot."

"So what makes you think that, in real life, you can accurately blow the heads off at least ten or twenty zombies charging at you at a hundred-meter sprint?"

"Losing a game might cost you points or make you look bad, but losing in real life only costs you your life, man."

"And zombie numbers are usually more than just ten or twenty, like at that manor earlier."

"Unless we have a substantial amount of explosives and set them up in advance, or just fire a Hellfire at them."

"Otherwise, with only the two of us, even if we died ten times, we still wouldn't be able to wipe them out in one life."

With that, Gavin spun the pistol with a flourish and slipped the Colt Python back into its holster.

Patting the holster, he said, "All right, don't get scared shitless just because I talked big for a bit. You'll have plenty of chances to practice your shooting in the future."

"As for now, come into the store and haul some stuff. I hope this place has burgers. I like the ding sound microwaves make."

With that, Gavin strode toward the convenience store.

Under those gloomy lights, he and Madison had talked for a full six minutes without a single zombie approaching. That could only mean there weren't many zombies in this area.

Even if there were, they were probably trapped in houses they couldn't break out of, or too far away to hear sounds quieter than a normal conversation.

In that case, the time to be cautious was when opening each door during a search, not wasting time scaring themselves in a relatively safe environment.

Seeing how decisively Gavin walked off, Madison hurried after him.

"Then we definitely need to get some fries, Gavin."

"No problem. While you're at it, fill up all the portable fuel cans at the gas station. Separate the gasoline and diesel and put them on opposite sides of the pickup bed."

"Grab more water and canned food too, plus cigarettes, duct tape, and toiletries. Nails would be great if we find any."

"And don't pass up emergency medicine. Fuck, there are too many things worth taking."

With that, Gavin pushed open the convenience store's glass door and walked over to the crooked shelves.

The tilted shelves stood between the counter and the shattered glass wall. On the floor nearby were two black shoe marks left by a powerful push, and they were the only footprints in the entire store.

Clearly, this gas station convenience store had only one night employee.

After turning into a zombie, he had been drawn by a passing car. He jumped over the counter, landed, launched himself into a sprint, and chased after the sound until the glass wall stopped him.

Unable to open the door, he simply smashed through the glass curtain wall, leaving behind a large amount of blood that trailed off into the distance until it vanished from sight.

After confirming the zombie clerk's route, Gavin stepped up to the counter and looked at the fry containers, the burger display, and the soda fountain.

He had never done this kind of work before, but taking a burger from the cabinet, microwaving it, filling a cup with cold cola, and adding ice from the freezer was simple enough.

Before long, Gavin picked up a steaming burger and stuffed it into his mouth.