CHAPTER 62: TEACHING THE SURVIVORS HOW TO FIGHT

The basement door creaked open and shut, leaving the survivors with only the low buzz of lantern light and their own uneasy muttering.

Kenji adjusted his glasses nervously. "D-did he just say he’s going to... bring one of them down here?"

"Is he insane?" one of the younger men blurted. "He’s going to get himself killed!"

Takuya crossed his thick arms, his voice dripping with scorn. "Or he’s going to get us killed. Dragging a monster right into our shelter? Brilliant idea."

Murata’s sharp glance cut the grumbling short. "Quiet." He leaned back against the counter, arms still folded, but his eyes never left the stairwell door. "Let’s see if he’s as reckless as you think... or if he knows exactly what he’s doing."

Upstairs, Riku moved like a shadow through the second floor. He had already scouted the layout the day before: a mix of clothing outlets and cheap electronics stalls, most of them already gutted. But the dead still lingered here, drawn by the echoes of the living below.

It didn’t take long to find one. A gaunt figure shuffled near a broken display, its jaw unhinged, gurgling softly. Riku watched it for a moment, then slipped behind. With practiced efficiency, he drove his knee into its back, slamming it to the ground. His tomahawk cracked down against the side of its face—not killing it, but shattering the hinge of its jaw. Bone gave way with a wet snap. The creature howled, muffled and broken, clawing the ground.

"Good," Riku muttered, grabbing its wrists. He lashed them tight with a length of scavenged extension cord, binding arms behind its back. Then he looped a second cord around its throat, just enough to keep it led like a vicious, thrashing dog.

Dragging it downstairs was loud—boots scuffing, the zombie’s guttural moans echoing off the stairwell—but Riku didn’t flinch. He wanted them to hear it. He wanted them to feel the raw fear before he explained how to fight it.

The basement door slammed open.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as Riku stepped back into the reception hall, one hand gripping the taut cord, the other resting steady on his tomahawk. Behind him, the zombie thrashed and snarled, jaw flopping uselessly, teeth snapping air but unable to bite. Its eyes burned with mindless hunger, its broken groans sending shivers through the volunteers.

Several stumbled backward at once. Hana screamed and buried her face into Suzune’s chest. Others cursed, scrambling for cover.

"Stay calm!" Riku barked, his voice booming through the chamber.

The command hit like a slap. Their panicked motion slowed, though the fear in their eyes remained. Riku yanked the cord, forcing the zombie to stumble forward and drop to its knees before the counter. The volunteers shrank back, their makeshift weapons trembling in their hands.

Riku scanned them, his expression cold. "This," he said, jerking the cord, "is your enemy. This is what’s waiting for you upstairs, outside, around every corner. It’s not a ghost. It’s not invincible. It’s just meat that refuses to stop moving until you put it down."

The zombie lunged, the cord snapping taut. Several people gasped again.

Riku let it thrash for a moment before snapping the tomahawk’s blade inches from its skull. "And the way you stop it," he said, voice sharp as steel, "is here."

He tapped the creature’s temple. "In the head. Always in the head. Anything else is wasted effort."

The volunteers exchanged uneasy glances. One man raised his pipe halfway, then lowered it, sweat beading down his temple.

Riku’s gaze narrowed. "What’s wrong? Afraid?"

No one answered.

"You should be," Riku said flatly. "They’re fast. Faster than you think. They’ll sprint if they catch your scent, and if you panic—if you run without thinking—you’ll trip. You’ll fall. And then you’re meat." He swept his gaze over them again. "That’s why I dragged this one down here. To show you. To make you stop freezing up like scared children the second you see them."

He dropped the cord, letting the zombie stumble forward just far enough to make the crowd shriek. Then he yanked it back again, eyes hard. "Control your fear. That’s step one. Anyone who can’t do that has no place on the floors with me."

Murata’s voice cut in, low and skeptical. "And what do you expect? That they’ll learn in five minutes what took you... how long to master?"

Riku’s glare shot to him, but his voice stayed even. "I expect them to learn that fear kills faster than teeth."

He turned back to the crowd. "One by one. Step forward. Strike the head. I’ll hold it. You hit it until you feel bone give. Until you know you can do it."

Kenji froze, realization dawning that he was expected to go first. His glasses slipped down his nose, his lips trembling. "M-me? I—I can’t—"

"You can," Riku snapped. "Or you’ll be dead weight tomorrow. Choose."

Kenji’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. With shaking hands, he gripped his length of pipe and stepped forward. His arms quivered as he raised it above his head.

The zombie lunged again, cords straining. Kenji squealed, nearly dropping the pipe, but Riku’s snarl cut through him. "Focus!"

Kenji’s eyes squeezed shut, and with a desperate cry he brought the pipe down. It cracked against the zombie’s skull with a wet thud, staggering it sideways. Not deep enough, not killing—but enough to rattle the volunteers.

"Again!" Riku barked.

Kenji swung again, harder this time. Blood sprayed, bone fragments snapping. The zombie sagged, barely restrained by the cords.

Riku yanked it upright, glaring at the others. "Next."

The older teenager with the pipe stepped up, his jaw clenched. His swing was cleaner—straight to the temple. The crack was audible. The crowd flinched as the zombie howled.

One by one, they came. Some too timid, barely grazing it. Others swinging wildly, almost hitting Riku himself. Each time, he corrected them, sharp and merciless. "Aim for the temple, not the jaw! Step into it, don’t flinch back! You hesitate, you die!"

By the fifth person, the zombie was sagging, its skull fractured, eyes rolling. Riku ended it himself with a swift tomahawk strike, silencing the basement with a dull thump. He dropped the corpse to the floor and let the volunteers stare at it.

"This is your reality," he said quietly, voice cutting through the silence. "This is every day from now on. If you can’t face it here, in the safety of this basement, you won’t last five minutes upstairs."

He let the words sink in. Some looked sick, others pale, but no one walked away. Even Takuya was silent, though his jaw was clenched tight.

Riku finally straightened, wiping the blood from his tomahawk. "Tomorrow, we clear the second floor. Together. You’ve seen how to kill them. You’ve felt it. Remember that. Control your fear, strike clean, and don’t run."

His gaze swept across them one last time. "Do that, and you might just live to see another week."

The basement was silent, but the change was there. The volunteers looked shaken, but they also looked different—less like frightened civilians, more like people who had crossed a threshold.

Riku sheathed his tomahawk, adjusted his sling, and turned toward the stairs. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we reclaim this building."

And without another word, he left them staring at the corpse on the floor—proof of the fight ahead, and of the boy who intended to make them survivors.