NOVEL NEXT Chapter 3: Chapter 3 Sorry, Rick, These Guns Are Mine
The road was eerily quiet, with only a few zombies in sight. Leon surmised that over the past month since the disaster, the monsters on the road were likely drawn away by passing vehicles.
Zombies are highly sensitive to sound. In the early days of the disaster, the noise of military artillery fire in large cities attracted zombies from surrounding areas. Only those unfortunate creatures trapped in buildings or small corners were still waiting for prey to come to them.
After driving for about ten minutes, Leon arrived at the King County Police Station. However, he realized with embarrassment that he didn't have the key to the police station. Unlike Rick, the protagonist who could come and go freely because he was the county police officer and the station was his home, Leon was stuck outside.
Leon wondered if he should look for the key to Rick's house, as the gun vault in the police station would be difficult to open without it. Suddenly, a scene from a TV series popped into his mind.
"Oh, right! That zombie-like county sheriff," he thought.
Armed, Leon walked along the road next to the police station. After walking over two hundred meters, he saw the back of the police station—a basketball court enclosed by metal fences. There, he spotted a figure in a police uniform wandering aimlessly on the court.
"That's him," Leon thought, recognizing the figure. "I think his name is also Leon. What a coincidence."
He whistled at the figure, and the sharp sound immediately caught its attention. The zombie turned, revealing its grotesque, decayed face. Seeing Leon, it was filled with renewed energy and started limping towards him.
The metal fence held firm, preventing the zombie from reaching Leon. Frustrated, the zombie sheriff pressed its head against the mesh, its face getting cut by the wire. Leon, feeling nauseous, drew a dagger and stabbed the zombie in the eye, killing it instantly.
Leon found that with the right method, dealing with zombies became manageable. It took him ten minutes to retrieve the key from the sheriff's corpse using an iron hook. After trying each key, he finally entered the police station through the side door.
Despite the TV series showing no zombies in the police station, Leon remained cautious. Thankfully, the station was secure. It took Leon about an hour to thoroughly search every room, and he was pleasantly surprised by his findings.
He discovered over a dozen guns of various models, thousands of rounds of ammunition, bulletproof vests, riot gear, and other defensive equipment. What amazed him most was the police station's stock of radio communication equipment, crucial in a world where communication had broken down.
"Why didn't Rick realize he was sitting on a treasure trove?" Leon mused. "In the original story, he just left with a few guns in a beat-up car."
Leon decided to make the most of this opportunity, planning to return and help once he established himself in Atlanta. The police station had an independent water and electricity supply, allowing Leon to take a much-needed hot shower, change into a spare police uniform, find some food, and rest.
As he ate and rested, Leon planned his next move. His Chevrolet sports car couldn't carry all the supplies, but he remembered seeing a reinforced prison van outside. Though not as stylish, it was more practical.
After resting, Leon searched for the van's keys, transferred supplies, and by eight in the evening, he had everything prepared. He drove the van into the basketball court, locked all the doors, and kept the keys close.
Finally, Leon found a blanket in the police station's common room, covered himself, and fell asleep. That night, he had many strange dreams—some were his own, some belonged to Leon Custer, and others were incomprehensible.
The next morning, Leon awoke around six o'clock, feeling rejuvenated. His strength and physique had improved slightly, boosting his confidence. The Atlanta Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) was about 80 kilometers away. If all went well, he could arrive by 2 p.m.
Holding a map he found in the office, Leon was determined to leave immediately. Reaching a consensus with the CDC's researchers could significantly aid his future.
June 10, 2010, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Atlanta.
"Jenna, is there any sample 18 left?" Dr. Melfa Pascal asked, frowning, exhausted by months of failed experiments.
Since the army's withdrawal, the CDC lost all logistical support, and official organizations stopped communicating. Researchers panicked, with some fleeing and others committing suicide. Now, only Dr. Melfa and her husband, Dr. Jenner, remained.
Dr. Jenner, licking his lips, replied hoarsely, "Sorry, Melfa, sample 18 has been used up. We need new samples to continue the experiment."
Dr. Melfa, the head of research at the CDC, knew their biggest problem wasn't the samples but the lack of energy and supplies. Even in energy-saving mode, the CDC's power would last only another month—far too little time to make any meaningful progress.
As she pondered their dire situation, a steady voice came from the headset connected to the front door.
"Hello! Anyone there? I'm Leon Custer. I want to talk to you."
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