Chapter Seven: Dodge T-Rex

Gavin is only 193 centimeters tall. Even with his sturdy build, finding clothes is relatively easy for him.

Madison, however, is a different story.

Standing at 207 centimeters with feet as large as those of NBA star Kevin Durant, there is no chance of finding shoes to fit him outside of a specialty store. With the apocalypse now upon them, did Gavin expect to find NBA-sized footwear in some random small-town thrift store?

What a joke.

Hearing Gavin’s assessment, Madison clearly realized the gravity of his predicament and nodded quickly.

"You're right. Damn it, my shoes won't be easy to find."

"Clothes being a few sizes small isn't the end of the world; at worst, I'll just wear them like compression gear, as long as I can jam my arms and legs into them. But shoes? One bag isn't enough, Gavin. The bag needs to hold food, too. Aren't we going to have to make a trip to the kitchen..."

Madison suddenly cut himself off mid-sentence.

Not far away, Gavin’s brow furrowed instantly.

The car alarm outside had finally stopped!

As the alarm died away, the two fell into a silence that made the room’s atmosphere grow increasingly oppressive. Listening to the sound of Madison’s heavy breathing, Gavin took a deep breath and whispered to him.

"Old Mac, we aren't going to the kitchen. I told you, I don't like taking risks."

Gavin recalled the zombie wedged in the corner of the food delivery slot on the first floor.

"Back in the corridor, we already saw a zombie at the food slot connected to the dining area. As for whether there are more zombies in the kitchen—and if so, how many—we have no idea."

"Wait, Gavin, what if there’s only that one zombie we saw near the kitchen? Are we really not going?"

Madison asked, unwilling to give up. The tension had left him feeling suddenly, intensely hungry.

Since his arrival in this world, Gavin had possessed an extraordinary physique; his strength and speed were near world-class levels, and even without high-intensity training, he remained in peak condition. His bench press and 100-meter sprint times approached world records even without professional training. This was his unique trait—the only benefit he had received from his transition.

Madison, however, had no such advantage. To maintain his athletic performance, his typical exercise regimen and dietary intake were massive. Last night at the party, he’d guzzled a bellyful of alcohol, and food? Did eating two models count?

So, even though it wasn't quite morning yet, Madison’s stomach was already starting to growl. And hunger was not something one could dwell on; the more he thought about it, the hungrier he got. Madison was already daydreaming about the steaks that might be in that kitchen.

Listening to Madison, Gavin remained silent for a moment before shaking his head again.

"No. Even if there’s only one zombie, I’m not going to the kitchen."

"The hall is too open, and that food cart the zombie is wedged in is far too prone to making noise. Since it’s unlikely we could avoid alerting him, I don't think we have any way to take him out silently."

"Do you know how to throw a knife? Even if you did, do you have experience in silently landing multiple precise headshots? As for food..."

Gavin patted Madison on the arm.

"As long as we make it out of this estate, we won't be short on food—at least not for the next six months to a year."

"Even if we avoid cities and small towns and stay away from high-traffic areas, there are plenty of convenience stores at gas stations along the road. There are only two of us; a single convenience store will keep us fed for a long time. Food and water are necessities, yes, but they shouldn't be our primary concern right now, man."

With that, Gavin left Madison to continue searching the boss’s room. Seeing Gavin pick up half a box of cigars, Madison thought for a moment and nodded.

"I get it. I’m with you. You’ve always got the right idea, just like back on the team."

"I'll leave the bedroom to you. I’m going to check the study. Your revolvers still need holsters."

"Since the old man collected revolvers, he must have holsters. I’ll find them. You need those."

Madison left the bedroom without asking about a second gun. Gavin continued searching, clutching the cigar box, and managed to dig two sets of car keys out from near the wardrobe.

A Rolls-Royce and a Corvette. Not bad.

Gavin tucked the keys away; they might come in handy.

After searching the wardrobe further, Gavin felt a tinge of regret that he hadn't found any secret passages. A boss without secrets was hardly a good boss.

Madison, however, kept his word. He really did find the two revolver holsters, tucked under a low cabinet next to a bookshelf in the study. The cabinet had a bushy potted plant on top, which Madison hadn't noticed while untying the ropes.

Beyond that, while Gavin was busy strapping on the holsters, Madison also unearthed half a carton of Winston cigarettes and seven or eight luxury watches. The boss had interesting taste.

Once the search was complete, the two reunited at the door. Madison’s bag was now packed with quite a few items, most of the cotton padding having been cleared out to make room. Gavin showed the car keys to Madison and said, "The boss’s room doesn't face the parking lot. Let’s head back to your room to pack the clothes and shoes before we figure out our next move."

As for the other rooms, Gavin stuck to his guns; he refused to take risks in this estate, where the zombie count was nearing three hundred.

Madison nodded, and the two opened the door and left.

Without the cover of the car alarm this time, their footsteps were even more cautious, and they finally reached their target room.

Back inside Madison’s room, Gavin took a rope and spread a quilt out on the bed, piling all the extra-large clothes and shoes from the closet into the center. After wrapping it into a large, makeshift backpack, he took the military knife off his back, handed it to Madison, and hoisted the bundle onto his own back.

Madison strapped the military knife to the backpack, and the two gathered by the window, crouching to observe the parking lot.

The vantage point was still poor; they could only see a few scattered vehicles, and the road leading from the parking lot to the main gate was completely obscured. This was to be expected—what kind of estate would clutter the view from their master suite’s floor-to-ceiling windows with random cars and helicopters?

Seeing this, Gavin stepped away from the window, grabbed a wine bottle from the coffee table, and said to Madison, "Grab a bottle, too, Mac. If we want a clear look at the parking lot, we’ll have to try our luck at the side of the villa."

"No problem."

And so, upon leaving Madison’s room, the two were armed with military knives in one hand and wine bottles in the other.

They headed toward the right side of the corridor, eventually reaching the door at the far end that led to the external staircase.

Through the window at the end of the hall, the entire parking lot—including the full extent of the helicopter crash site—was finally revealed to them.

The boss’s room faced the front of the estate, while Gavin and Madison’s rooms faced the backyard. The parking lot and helipad were laid out in a T-shape on the side of the estate, connecting the garden area to the villa’s side stairs.

Standing at the end of the hall, Gavin could clearly see that the crashed helicopter had gone down in the left corner of the T-shaped parking lot. The impact had caused eight or nine other vehicles to catch fire and explode.

The burning wreckage and the charred cars were surrounded by a massive horde of zombies.

Though the car alarm was no longer drawing them in, the zombies gathered at the epicenter of the explosion hadn't dispersed. Instead, they paced around the wreckage as if on patrol.

Whenever a wandering zombie bumped into a blocked vehicle, it would inexplicably become agitated for a moment, either breaking into a run or continuing to slam into the car. The noise they made would cause the entire group to stir restlessly for a while.

In the three minutes Gavin and Madison spent watching from the corridor, the horde had flared up five times. The speed at which they ran during these bursts of agitation made both men gasp.

"They run fast..."

After adding his own contribution to global warming, Madison muttered with a sense of irritation.

Gavin quickly pressed a hand on Madison’s shoulder and whispered, "It seems that when these zombies are blocked by obstacles, they easily become agitated and trigger a group-wide disturbance."

"So, when we lead them away, we have to try our best to guide them into an open area. We need to avoid letting them stop and trigger unnecessary chaos, which would cause more trouble."

"You make the call. I can’t think about all that—I just want my Tyrannosaurus back!"

Madison nodded, pointing toward a blue Dodge Ram TRX near the center of the parking lot.

The truck wasn't incredibly expensive, but Madison had upgraded the engine, giving the already powerful Ram TRX a horsepower limit that approached or even exceeded that of a Dodge Mammoth.