After two hours of drills that left my arms burning and my shirt soaked through with sweat, Zero decided it was time for the real test.
"There's a straggler three blocks east," she said, tilting her head as if she could hear something I couldn't. "F-Tier. Freshly turned, so maybe a week old. It's slower than the one from yesterday."
"You want me to fight it."
"I want you to kill it." She crossed her arms. "I'll be right there. If things go sideways, I'll step in. But I want to see what you do."
My grip tightened on the pipe.
The gene primer had been in my system for only a couple of hours and my body definitely felt different.
I wasn't stronger exactly, but definitely more alert. Like someone had turned up the contrast on my senses by a few notches. Colors were slightly sharper, sounds slightly crisper.
Or maybe that was the adrenaline. Hard to tell.
We moved through the streets quietly. Zero walked ahead, completely relaxed, while I clutched my pipe like it was Avalon, the Holy Sword. Maybe I should rename myself as Arthur. Am I even getting the mythology right?
She led me around a corner and held up a fist. I stopped.
There it was. The damned thing crouched over something on the ground about twenty meters away. It was smaller than the one from yesterday, thinner actually. Its movements were also jerky and uncoordinated, like a puppet with tangled strings.
Finally, a zombie who fit the definition of a freaking zombie.
'Freshly turned. Slower. Less muscle development.' I studied it from behind the rusted hull of a van. 'But still way stronger than me in a straight fight.'
So I wouldn't fight it straight. Only an idiot would—and I'm the epitome of smartness.
I looked around. The street was narrow here, flanked by collapsed storefronts. Debris was everywhere. Broken glass, metal scraps, a toppled vending machine lying on its side about five meters from the zombie.
My overthinking brain churned up an idea.
I picked up a chunk of concrete from the ground and hurled it hard to the zombie's right. It cracked against a wall and the zombie's head snapped toward the noise instantly, and it scrambled in that direction on all fours.
'At least they are idiots.'
The moment it turned, I moved toward the vending machine. Then, I wedged the pipe under its edge and used it as a lever, throwing all my weight down. The machine groaned, teetered, and held.
'Come on, come on you rusty son of a bish...'
The ugly zombie realized the noise was a decoy and spun back toward me with a shriek that made my blood curdle. It charged at me, fortunately not at an incredible speed.
I waited. Three seconds. Two. One.
I threw my entire body onto the pipe. The vending machine tipped with a metallic scream and came crashing down directly into the zombie's path. It tried to dodge, but its freshly turned reflexes weren't fast enough. The machine caught it across the legs and pinned it to the asphalt with a thunderous crunch.
It wasn't dead—well, technically it was, but you get it. It thrashed and clawed at the ground, dragging itself forward with its arms. But it was trapped.
I walked over, heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears, and raised the pipe above my head. The zombie snarled up at me with those milky white eyes.
"Nothing personal," I said, a grin forming on my face. "You're just too ugly for this world."
I brought the pipe down on its skull. Once. Twice. Three times, until the thrashing stopped and the street went quiet.
I stood there, breathing hard, covered in sweat and grime, holding a bent pipe over a dead zombie pinned under a vending machine.
'I actually did it.'
I actually killed a freaking zombie.
I turned around. Zero stood behind me, arms still crossed, but her expression had completely changed. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted slightly. She was looking at me like she'd just found a rare gem.
"You..." she walked toward me hurriedly. "You used the environment. The decoy, the lever, the timing. You didn't try to overpower it. You outthought it. Good job!"
"I told you, I'm a writer. Procrastination is what I do."
Her composure cracked on my words as a grin spread across her face, so wide and genuine that it was almost blinding. She grabbed my face with both hands and squished my cheeks together.
"My baby killed his first zombie!" she squealed. "Oh my god, you're a genius! A tiny, squishy, F-ranked genius!"
"Mph—my feesh—"
"Do you know how many people just charge in and die? Like idiots? That's how so many people died initially. But you, you beautiful, noodle-bringing, big-brained man!"
She let go of my face only to ruffle my hair so aggressively that I was sure she'd scalp me. "I'm going to spoil you so rotten. Whatever you want. Weapons? Gear? A base with running water? I'll get it. Consider it done."
"I'd settle for you not dislocating my jaw with your enthusiasm." I struggled out of her grasp.
"No promises!"
The cold, collected, dangerously strong woman from yesterday had evaporated, and in her place was someone who looked like a proud girlfriend whose boyfriend just won first place at a... science fair.
It was, without a doubt, the most terrifying and flattering reaction I had ever received.
She linked her arm through mine and started walking me back, chattering the entire way about combat theory and how environmental kills were a sign of S-tier survival instinct.
I understood maybe half the words. The other half was drowned out by the buzzing in my chest.
'Yeah,' I thought, glancing at the grinning woman attached to my arm. 'I could definitely get used to this.'
I was grateful to meet this woman so quickly in this world. She was powerful, a bit mysterious and even a bit insane, but she was also very sweet.
'I am going to spoil you rotten with my food, dear.'