Zombie Apocalypse: I Gain Access to In-Game System

Chapter 108: A Simple Day


For the first time in days, no one fired a shot.

The refinery still hissed in the distance, the sound of pressure bleeding from cracked pipes echoing like a tired sigh. Smoke coiled upward from somewhere deep within the facility, but the fires had died down. The sky was pale and washed-out, as if even the clouds were exhausted.

They hadn't opened the bunker yet. Riku had decided that could wait until morning. For now, the survivors needed rest.

The convoy was parked in a semicircle near one of the old loading bays. The ground was slick with oil stains and soot, but the air—stripped of rain for once—felt cleaner than it had in days. The faint hum of wind through twisted steel beams was almost… peaceful.

Riku stood on the catwalk above the main yard, rifle slung loosely, watching as the others set up camp. His people moved with muscle memory now—efficient, quiet, methodical. The way soldiers might after too many campaigns.

Below him, Miko and Kenji were boiling water in a salvaged drum cut in half. Hana sat cross-legged beside Yui, sorting through canned goods they'd found in a storage closet that hadn't been looted. Most of it was industrial rations—nutrient bars, packets of powdered soup—but the children treated them like treasure.

Ichika crouched near one of the trucks, tools scattered beside her. She was trying to re-tighten a loose wheel cap, grumbling every few seconds.

"Lefty-loosy, righty-tighty, right? Then why the hell is it neither?" she muttered.

Suzune walked past, the faintest smirk on her face. "Because you're using the wrong wrench."

"Then you do it."

"Already did. Yours." Suzune pointed to the truck next to it—its wheels already fixed and aligned.

Ichika threw her hands up. "Show-off."

Suzune didn't bother answering. She climbed onto a fuel drum and began field-cleaning her rifle, hands precise, expression calm. The sound of metal clicking, cloth sliding over steel—it was almost musical in the quiet.

Riku came down from the catwalk, boots echoing on the grated steps. He walked through the camp slowly, eyes scanning without thinking. Habit. Always counting heads, exits, supplies. The reflex to guard never left.

Sato stood near the bunker entrance, staring at the blinking red light on the control panel. He didn't touch it. Just watched.

Riku stopped beside him. "You planning to open it?"

"Not tonight." Sato's voice was low, rasped by fatigue. "I don't like walking into something when half the people I brought can barely stand."

Riku nodded. "Smart."

Sato looked at him sideways. "You sound surprised."

"I've seen worse leaders rush for less."

Sato chuckled dryly. "Then maybe the apocalypse teaches patience."

Riku glanced at the sealed metal door again. "Or paranoia."

"Same thing, some days."

By late afternoon, the refinery felt almost alive again. Fires burned low in metal barrels, smoke drifting harmlessly upward. The survivors hung sheets over rusted railings to dry them. The wind carried the faint hum of voices, laughter in bits and pieces—the kind that came only when people forgot, for a moment, where they were.

Hana and Yui had discovered an old vending machine inside one of the offices. The glass was cracked, but a few cans were still intact. They dragged it out triumphantly, faces bright with childish pride.

Miko knelt beside them, prying open the casing with a crowbar. When it finally gave, the three of them cheered like they'd found gold.

"Coffee! Energy drinks! And…" Hana's eyes widened. "Soda!"

Riku turned at the noise just as a red can rolled toward his boot. He bent down, picked it up, and turned it over. Dust caked the label, but the word Coke still glinted faintly beneath.

He stared at it for a second, then tossed it gently back. "Don't drink too much at once. You'll get sick."

Hana grinned. "Onii-chan, you sound like Mama used to."

"Good," he said. "She sounded smarter than you."

Hana stuck her tongue out at him. Yui giggled.

The sound made something in Riku's chest unclench.

Suzune passed by, watching the scene with a faint smile. "You're getting soft," she murmured.

He looked at her. "They're kids."

"They're survivors. Same as us."

Riku's eyes flicked back toward Hana. "They shouldn't have to be."

Evening settled slow.

The light turned gold through the smog, painting everything in faded warmth. For once, it didn't look like the end of the world—just an old factory at sunset, people working, living, trying.

Ichika had set up a small radio they'd scavenged from one of the trucks. She fiddled with the dial, static filling the air, until finally—just barely—a signal cut through.

"…—to any survivors in the Luzon Industrial Belt—repeat, Luzon Industrial Belt—this is Site Echo-Nine. We are alive. Transmission limited by—"

The rest vanished into static.

Everyone froze.

Riku crossed the yard in three strides. "Say that again."

Ichika smacked the radio. "It's fading in and out. I think the antenna's busted."

Suzune crouched beside her, adjusting the wires. "Boost it. Even ten seconds might give us coordinates."

The voice crackled again, faint but real.

"—Echo-Nine. If you hear this… survivors safe… medical support available… shelter—"

Then nothing.

Ichika slammed the side again. "Come on, you piece of—"

Riku rested a hand on her shoulder. "It's gone."

Sato stepped forward, brow furrowed. "Echo-Nine. That's a military designation. You think it's legit?"

"Could be," Suzune said. "Could be a trap."

Riku looked back at the horizon. "Doesn't matter. Either way, it means someone's transmitting. That's the first sign of organization we've heard in months."

The group fell silent. Hope was dangerous. But even the word shelter hit them like oxygen.

Miko whispered, "If it's real…"

"Then we find it," Riku said simply.

Dinner came late.

They sat around the oil-drum fires, eating soup heated from powdered packets and scraps of vegetables found near the warehouse. It tasted like nothing—but it was hot, and that was enough.

Sato sat beside Riku again, stretching his injured arm. "You think that broadcast came from inside the bunker?"

"Could be. The power's still running. Someone's maintaining it."

"Could also be bait."

"Yeah." Riku stirred the soup with his spoon. "Everything is."

Hana sat beside them, yawning. "I like this place," she murmured. "It's warm. We should stay."

Riku looked down at her. "We can't."

"Why?"

"Because things that stay still die faster."

She frowned, clearly not understanding—but too tired to argue. She leaned against his shoulder instead. Within minutes, she was asleep.

Sato smiled faintly. "You ever think maybe she's what keeps you human?"

Riku didn't answer.

Suzune spoke from across the fire. "He knows. He just won't say it."

Riku looked up, meeting her eyes across the flames. She didn't look away.

Miko broke the tension by standing, stretching her arms. "We should rotate watch soon. If that bunker's active, I don't want to wake up surrounded."

"Agreed," Riku said. "Three-hour rotations. I'll take the first."

Ichika groaned. "Of course you will. You never sleep."

"Someone has to stay alive long enough to complain about it," he said dryly.

That earned a small laugh from her—a rare sound.

The night deepened.

The refinery glowed faintly in the distance, small orange dots of fire against the dark. The air was cold, but the wind had stilled. Every creak of metal, every shift of gravel under boots felt louder than it should.

Riku walked the perimeter, flashlight off, letting his eyes adjust to the dim. He could see the silhouettes of his people—Suzune on the catwalk, rifle resting on the railing; Miko and Kenji tending to Yui, whispering quietly; Sato writing something in a small, torn notebook by the fire.

He stopped when he reached the edge of the compound, where the ground dropped off toward the road they'd come from. Beyond that, nothing but fog.

For a moment, it was easy to pretend the world hadn't ended. The silence almost felt natural, like peace.

He closed his eyes and let the stillness sink in.

Then footsteps approached behind him.

Suzune's voice came low. "You're supposed to be resting."

"Could say the same to you."

She stopped beside him, following his gaze toward the darkness. "You think that signal's real?"

"I don't know," he said. "But if there's even a chance someone built something that still works out here…"

She finished for him. "It's worth the risk."

He nodded.

They stood in silence, side by side, the sound of wind threading through the broken refinery around them.

Suzune shifted slightly. "You know," she said, "you could tell people that sometimes. That it's worth it."

Riku glanced at her. "They don't need comfort. They need truth."

"Maybe they need both."

He didn't answer.

After a while, she turned away. "Get some sleep, Riku."

When she was gone, he looked up at the dim stars above—barely visible through the haze—and whispered to no one, "Tomorrow."

Morning came slow, gray light spilling over steel and smoke.

Hana was the first awake this time. She padded quietly across the cold concrete, the stuffed bear dangling from one hand. Yui followed her, smiling sleepily.

They found Riku already awake—of course he was—sitting on the Rezvani's hood, wiping condensation from his rifle. His hair was damp from mist.

Hana held up two dented cups. "Miko said to give you coffee."

He blinked at her. "Coffee?"

"Instant," Yui added. "But it's warm."

Riku took the cup and nodded. "Thanks."

Hana grinned. "You're welcome, Commander."

He gave her a look. "Who taught you that?"

"Miss Ichika. She said it makes you sound cooler."

"I'll have a word with her later."

They giggled and ran off.

Suzune joined him a moment later, steaming cup in hand. "They like you."

"They're kids. They like anything that doesn't shoot at them."

"Still means something."

Riku sipped the bitter drink, wincing faintly. "This is awful."

"Best you'll get in the end of the world," she said, sitting beside him.

He smirked. "You always this optimistic in the morning?"

"Only when I'm not dead yet."

By the time the sun cleared the haze, the camp was alive again.

Sato's men fueled the trucks with diesel from the drums. Miko packed medical gear, humming faintly to herself. Ichika tuned the radio again, hoping to catch that same broadcast, but all she found was static.

Still, no one seemed ready to give up on it.

The air smelled of oil and salt. Somewhere in the distance, metal groaned under the wind.

Riku watched it all quietly. For the first time in weeks, he let himself think—not about survival, or plans, or threats. Just the fact that they were still here. Breathing. Moving. Living.

Suzune walked up beside him again. "We're heading into the bunker after this?"

"Yeah."

"You think there's anyone left down there?"

He looked toward the sealed metal door. The red light still blinked. Steady. Waiting.

"I think," he said, "we're about to find out."

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