Apocalypse: King of Zombies Chapter 3 Food

Ethan chose to shut down the supermarket, dismiss every employee, and remove the shop's sign.

During the subsequent days, his main task involved accepting shipments. He reached out to primary vendors, meat processing facilities, and agricultural landowners, and shortly after, trucks began pulling up in sequence, unloading their cargo.

The majority of these shipments consisted of fresh meat, though some included routine cleaning supplies and domestic goods.

For Ethan, such materials held greater value than mere sustenance.

"Mr. Cole, your shipment has arrived." Several UPS drivers commenced unloading crates into the supermarket. In no time, a pile of cardboard boxes had piled up like a modest hill.

These crates weighed a ton since they held the armaments Ethan had procured via the dark web—600 compound bows, 700 crossbows, plus thousands of knives, machetes, and various edged tools.

In the initial stages of the apocalypse, such armaments would prove extraordinarily potent.

Admittedly, Ethan was on the verge of transforming into a zombie, yet as an ambitious undead, wielding weapons didn't strike him as overly outlandish, did it?

Time passed swiftly, and unexpectedly, the eve of the apocalypse event dawned.

Ethan had almost exhausted his full $100 million funds, though by merely covering initial payments, his buying capacity stretched well beyond that figure.

He had essentially monopolized the market, wiping out the stocks from multiple key providers.

As dusk fell, the final beams of the declining sun filtered into the vacant supermarket.

Every shelf stood bare, with Ethan having tucked away all the provisions in his spatial storage ring.

Come morning, the apocalypse game would launch officially, and Ethan prepared to abandon his humanity.

Nevertheless, he grabbed a mop and scrubbed the supermarket until it gleamed immaculately.

Maintaining cleanliness had ingrained itself as a routine for him.

Ethan positioned himself at the window, gazing onto the avenue.

The thoroughfare buzzed with vehicles, their beams flashing amid the twilight commute.

Individuals rushed by, anxious to return home.

Grade school children, escorted by a traffic warden, queued to traverse the road, their knapsacks jiggling with every stride. They giggled and conversed while proceeding, their tones brimming with delight. Mothers and fathers lingered close, beaming affectionately and gesturing to their awaiting offspring. The scene appeared utterly routine, a typical twilight hour.

Yet Ethan realized that by the morrow, this normalcy would vanish entirely. In that instant, an uncommon serenity washed over him, relishing the final traces of tranquility.

Abruptly, the steel shutter emitted a grating noise as an outsider yanked it upward forcefully. The fading sunlight poured inside, exposing three silhouettes.

"Hey boss, I'm famished. Mind hooking me up with some chow?" The head figure, a youth sporting blazing red locks, uttered in an arrogant manner. He was a neighborhood nuisance, frequently lurking to snag free meals and beverages.

Store proprietors despised handling types like him. They'd appear periodically, stirring chaos and repelling patrons, prompting most merchants to offer handouts to dodge disturbances.

Ethan scarcely lifted his gaze. He answered tonelessly, "The place is shut. Nothing to give."

"What?" The delinquents scanned the vacant racks, evidently stunned. Only days prior, the supermarket had been overflowing with stock. How could it abruptly cease operations? "The joint's truly closed? So… does that mean no more glimpses of that adorable stockroom lady?" one of the followers inquired, rubbing his scalp in dismay.

"Yo, Red, what's our move?" another follower murmured, obviously at a loss for the next step.

The crimson-haired chief appraised Ethan, a cunning smirk spreading across his features. "Boss, store or no store, you can't let us go hungry, eh? How 'bout spotting us some dough for a meal?"

Ethan sought to prevent these ruffians from shattering his final moments of calm, so he nonchalantly extracted a bundle of hundred-dollar notes from his pocket and flung it toward them.

The bunch totaled well over a thousand bucks.

To an individual poised to become a zombie, currency equated to worthless litter.

"Holy crap!" The red-locked fellow's eyes gleamed. He hadn't anticipated such largesse from Ethan. He assumed fear drove the generosity, explaining the hefty sum. "You ain't half bad, dude. You get the drill."

The duo of followers buzzed with equal thrill, sensing they'd struck gold tagging along with the red-haired leader. Along this block, they could enter any establishment and extract funds from the proprietor. This thrill defined their pursuit.

"Red! We're set for life."

"Yeah, trail the chief, and grub or brews will never be an issue."

"Hahaha…"

The red-haired individual gestured dismissively, directing his group to depart alongside him.

The red-haired thug chuckled boastfully, though perhaps he overdid it, since a tiny insect darted directly into his yap.

"Ptooey!"

He hacked fiercely and ejected a hefty wad of saliva, which splattered precisely onto the pristine floor Ethan had just polished.

He eyed the gooey blotch on the ground, utterly indifferent, treating it as inconsequential.

"Wait." Ethan's tone abruptly pierced the supermarket's quiet.

The red-haired man and his pair of sidekicks halted abruptly, pivoting to regard Ethan with baffled looks.

"What's the deal? Got more words?" The redhead arched a brow, his voice tinged with irritation.

Ethan's icy stare settled on the spittle, his words steady yet laced with a frosty bite. "The ground's soiled."

He advanced toward the red-haired man, his gait firm, his gaze brimming with a frigid, eerie focus.

The redhead paused briefly, then erupted in guffaws. "I merely hawked on the floor, bro. You seriously flipping out over that?"

His two underlings chimed in with laughs, folding their arms and sneering at Ethan, plainly dismissing him. After all, earlier when demanding cash, Ethan had yielded promptly. Why flare up over such a minor issue now?

However, the mirth ceased sharply the instant after.

A gleam of metallic chill emerged in Ethan's grasp, and with a rapid slash, a keen hunting blade arced through the space, targeting the redhead's throat directly.

Thwack!

The edge severed neatly, and the red-haired man's head tumbled to the floor with a heavy thump.

His eyes bulged wide, locked in that arrogant smirk, now contorted and rigid. His lips parted faintly, as though intending speech, but merely crimson spurted from the ragged neck.

Thud!

His frame toppled solidly onto the surface, crimson rapidly spreading across the tiles.

He remained clueless right until the end, unable to fathom Ethan's sudden, merciless slaughter.

The leftover pair of followers stood frozen in terror. Their revered "Red," the figure they idolized, had been beheaded in a flash!

"Oh my god, oh my god—what the hell?!" one blurted, his words quivering, his complexion ashen like paper, his limbs trembling without control.

They were mere petty street hoodlums, accustomed to preying on the vulnerable. They'd never witnessed such savagery. Escape dominated their thoughts now.

Ethan's demeanor stayed frosty, as though the incident amounted to a mere trifle. His gaze betrayed no feeling, as if slaying was simply another everyday chore.

"P-please don't kill me! I'm sorry!" one follower stuttered, collapsing to his knees, his tone heavy with dread.

"Y-yeah! We won't breathe a word, just spare us!" the other hastily added, his eyes brimming with frantic supplication.

Ethan offered a subtle smile, a faint twitch at his lip's edge. "Go on. I won't end you."

Upon hearing this, the duo sensed reprieve from doom. They lurched upright and dashed toward the doorway, tripping in haste to flee, dreading that delay might cost their necks.

Yet after mere paces, Ethan steadily lifted a crossbow, primed and directed at one's rear cranium.

Thwip!

A bolt streaked forth, embedding into the follower's skull's nape, slamming him down at once.

"Aah!" The surviving follower whipped about in panic, beholding his companion's form slumping, a shaft protruding from his head's back, gore flowing freely. His visage blanched to a spectral hue, his supports nearly buckling.

"You promised, man! You PROMISED!" he wailed, his timbre shuddering, optics flooded with hopelessness.

Ethan offered no reply. He merely drew back the crossbow mechanism once more, a fresh bolt trained on the fellow's brow.

Thwack!

Yet another muffled impact resounded in the supermarket as the bolt bored through the man's cranium, snuffing his existence promptly. His form crumpled to the ground, restoring the venue to a mortal hush.

Ethan set down the crossbow and approached the remains, surveying the trio of cadavers. He murmured softly, "The crossbow's force is decent."

With a lax flick of his wrist, the three forms disappeared, tucked into his spatial storage ring.

To him, these remains mirrored the other provisions he'd amassed.

In the impending doomsday realm, the animate and inanimate alike served solely as 'nourishment.'