They clutched their only weapons for self-defense: a small knife, a rough wooden stick, and a steel pipe.
"Is it really okay to keep it blocked like this?"
The woman's voice trembled, her eyes filled with fear and doubt, her gaze constantly shifting between the glass door and the two people.
One of the men, wearing a white T-shirt, gritted his teeth, his forehead covered in sweat, but he said calmly, "Let's block it first, it's better than doing nothing."
Another short man, while bracing himself against a makeshift obstacle with his shoulder, panted, "Yes, yes... we'll definitely survive..."
But the glass door looked far too fragile; the zombies could easily get in with just a little force.
Although the woman understood this, she didn't say it aloud.
The three were on the verge of collapse, their inner fears crashing against their last remaining line of reason like waves.
They wanted to wait for the nearby zombies to leave on their own.
At least the supplies in the convenience store can last for a while longer...
The woman slowly took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart and force herself to regain her composure.
His gaze peered out through the stained glass door.
Just then, she caught a glimpse of a blurry figure out of the corner of her eye.
The figure's movements were completely different from those of the zombies, suggesting that he was a survivor who had not yet been infected. Moreover, she vaguely saw that the person seemed to be holding a long staff.
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