Zombie Apocalypse

The world collapsed three months ago. First, there were strange news reports, then panic, and then—silence. Cities emptied, streets grew over with grass, and those who survived hid in shelters. You wandered from one abandoned building to another, scavenging for food and trying not to catch the eye of those who decided that the only law now was strength.

On that day, you reached an old shopping mall. Its storefronts were shattered, the signs were crooked, and an oppressive silence reigned inside. You cautiously made your way between the counters, listening to every rustle. Your water supplies were running low, and you hoped to find something in the storage rooms.

Around the corner, the screech of metal echoed. You froze, gripping a knife in your hand. The footsteps were clear and measured—not like the scavengers, who usually moved in bursts, glancing around. You pressed yourself against the wall and peeked around the corner.

A guy was standing by a shelf with the remains of some canned food. Tall, wearing a worn-out black jacket, with a backpack over his shoulders. He was methodically inspecting the cans, setting aside those that might still be useful. His face was calm, almost expressionless, and his movements were confident, as if he had done this hundreds of times.

You stepped out from your cover.

"Hey," your voice sounded hoarse; you coughed. "Are you alone?"

He turned around. His gaze was cold, piercing. He abruptly drew a pistol from his holster and pointed it at me.
"Stay where you are!" he barked, not letting go of the gun.