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What would you do if the zombie apocalypse started tomorrow?
Everyone has probably heard this question at least once in their life. Maybe you were thinking about it while insomnia was bothering you in the dead of night. Maybe a friend asked you that during another boring lesson?
Phil was no exception. But, unlike everyone else, the man was a realist without the main character syndrome. He knew perfectly well that the chance of surviving the first days of the apocalypse was low: he lived in a densely populated area, in a big city. If the virus broke out, the blond would die in the first few minutes and join the crowd of mindless monsters. And if he somehow magically managed to get out of the city without ceasing to exist, then he would still not have lasted without weapons and supplies. Any group of survivors, just a little more prepared compared to him, would have finished him off.
So Phil was surprised when the calendar on his wall showed that six months had passed since the beginning of the end.
But even if Philza could assume the possibility that he would survive, he did not expect a good, quiet life in such conditions at all. Of course, it was a stretch to call it a quiet life living side by side with zombies, but unlike many survivors, he had a house, there were supplies, there were weapons. Something he couldn't even imagine at the beginning.
At first, the man, like pretty much everyone else, wandered around the country, trying to find a safe place in this hell on earth. But with only one backpack on his back, it was difficult to carry everything he needed for survival. So Philza decided to stop.
Fate led him to a one-story house a little away from the city (and therefore from the crowds of living corpses). When he first came here, he was fleeing from the dangers that awaited belated travelers in the silence of the night. In the dark, he ran into the first house he came across with whole doors and windows and waited for several hours. When the sun rose, the blond packed his things and was about to leave, but something stopped him.
He looked around. The interior of the house was quite simple, but functional and, most importantly, whole. There were some scratches and chips here and there, but in general, all the furniture was in much better condition than in some other houses Phil had to stay in.
The house turned out to be more spacious than expected. In addition to a spacious living room, there was a bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom with a separate laundry room and even a closet. The yard was surrounded by a fence. Having finished the inspection, Philza decided to stay.
He started small: cleaned up the wreckage, swept the floors, wiped everything else. The next step was the porch. The replacement of rotten pieces of wood in the floor actually wasn’t such a problem. The fence didn’t require global changes as well - the wire net already protected the house and the yard from uninvited guests (Phil never ceased to wonder at such an... unusual choice of the previous owners of the house: why did they choose to make a fence out of wire net, and not a wooden fence? Surely, the wood would look better? However, the net worked just fine, so the man didn’t complain).
The days passed one after another. Phil spent most of his time inside, but when he got tired of being alone, he locked the doors and went out to get supplies. Since his new home was in a sparsely populated place, the buildings in the neighborhood were always full of things. And after Philza took everything he could from them, he began travelling to a neighboring city.
There were many trips like this. Consequently, there was a lot found during those trips. The man kept all the most necessary things for himself, and carefully put the rest in the closet. But one day he entered there and found that there was almost no free space left.
So the blond got an idea to open a shop.
At first, this thought sounded silly. In the zombie apocalypse, it was difficult to find living buyers who wouldn’t try to take away the goods by force. Another problem was the exchange process itself: the money left over from the past times when the world was still normal now was just pieces of paper.
But Phil managed to come up with the perfect system. In order to find clients, the man personally created leaflets with markers and paper, which he found once in an abandoned stationery shop, and put them in a neighboring city. Then the blond man made a large sign, which he hung over the porch.
If before the time of the apocalypse, there were signs at the entrance to the store prohibiting food, drinks and dogs inside, now Phil had other rules in his shop: it was forbidden to use weapons and try to pay for goods with money. Only barter was acceptable.
The first customer appeared on the doorstep of the store a few days later. It was a red-haired guy. Despite his tired and battered appearance, he was one of the most cheerful people Philza had ever met. It was obvious that the guy had been alone for a long time - he was always on guard, but at the same time he talked incessantly. He asked the man questions, told him about his life. The blond didn't even notice how they learnt each other's names - the young man's name was Brian.
As a result, after several hours of chatter, Brian finally found the thing he was interested in - his choice fell on a water flask with a beautiful floral pattern. In return, he gave his hoodie and, saying goodbye, left. Phil suspected that Brian hadn't come here for the flask, but he didn't say anything. He himself has been without any human contact for quite a long time.
On the next trip, Philza met Brian again. Only now it wasn't that friendly guy who chatted with him for hours just the other day, but instead another walking dead. The man shot him, trying not to notice the tears on his cheeks. While the blond was preparing the corpse for burial, he noticed a large scratch on Brian's arm - one zombie, apparently, managed to scratch him. Maybe if the guy had long-sleeved clothes, he would have survived.
Since then, Phil has tried to never remember the names of his customers. There was no point in getting attached - in the current realities, each meeting could be the last. The man did not want to grieve for everyone he met.
***
Philza broke the rule a few months later.
That day an unremarkable young man with dark hair and glasses appeared on the threshold of his store. He cautiously went inside and said hello. The blond, who was cleaning the gun at that time, only nodded silently, without looking up.
The brunet looked around. He walked around and carefully examined the goods hanging on the walls and lying on the tables: weapons, canned food, first aid kits.
Usually people came to Phil knowing exactly what they wanted to buy. They quickly found the product they were interested in, changed it for something else and disappeared just as quickly - simple and convenient. This guy, however, just walked around and stared at everything.
Having finished cleaning the gun, the elder put the weapon aside and, walking around the counter, looked at the brunet.
“Can I help you?” the seller asked. The visitor abruptly shifted his gaze to him.
“What?”
“Do you need help? No offense, but you look lost.”
The young man laughed awkwardly.
“No, no, thank you… I'm just looking.”
“Just… looking?” Phil was surprised and came closer to the guy. He nodded.
“I'm sorry, but it’s not a museum. Either take something, or go,” the blond sighed, “Why come to the store if you don't plan on buying anything?“
"I was just walking by! I saw the sign, got interested, so I went in. What kind of service is this? Continue like that, and I'll have to ask to call the manager,” the brunet smiled, and Phil couldn't help but smile back.
Suddenly, the visitor extended his hand forward, and the man frowned. He knew exactly where this interaction was going.
“I'm Wilbur, by the way. And you?”
Philza sighed and went back behind the counter.
“It doesn't matter.”
Wilbur awkwardly dropped his hand and looked around the room again. He stopped at the crossbow and pointed at the weapon.
“I'll take it.”
The young man didn’t take much time to think, and this reminded the blond of his very first customer.
“What are you giving in exchange?”
The brunet started to rummage throughi his backpack. After a few moments, he took out some cash from it and put it on the counter. Phil laughed.
“I didn't think anyone else was still carrying this junk with them. My advice to you is to throw it out. It is no better than blank paper nowadays.”
Wilbur lowered his eyes in embarrassment and took the money back, after which he continued to look for something to exchange. After a couple of seconds, a book appeared in his hands in a beautiful leather cover with the title "The Art of War" printed on it. He put it down on the counter with a thud.
Philza looked at the younger one, then carefully took the offered product and examined it. The cover was not battered, not a single page was bent - the book looked as if it had just been delivered to him straight from the publisher.
Usually the man didn't take such stuff: the only books in his closet were about the basics of survival or simple cooking recipes. There was not a single literary work among them. But this book looked valuable and neat, so the blond decided to make an exception.
The man put the book back, went to the wall where the crossbow Wilbur had chosen hung, and, removing the weapon, handed it to the guy. The brunet examined the thing, ran his fingers over the wooden base and stood in a pose, aiming at the wall. The crossbow wasn't loaded, so Phil watched calmly. Even though the blond himself was not a master of shooting from crossbows, he understood perfectly well that no one holds this weapon like that - Wilbur, apparently, was holding it for the first time.
“Do you even know how to shoot?” the elder asked.
The younger one looked from the wall to the man and smiled.
“No, but it's never too late to learn,” the young man said and began stuffing the purchase into his backpack.
Meanwhile, Philza picked up the book again and flipped through it.
“Where did you even find this?” he asked.
“In the library,” the brunet replied with a shrug, “There was a pharmacy not far from it, but I couldn't get to it. There are so many zombies out there now! You just have to see it!”
After that, the guy fell silent and thought about something for a second.
“Do you happen to have any friends who could help with the cleanup? I have a group of friends, but we are not gonna be enough to deal with that horde.”
Phil shook his head.
“Unfortunately, no.”
“You know, you gave me advice, and I'll give you one in return. You should set up a board for requests. People would come, ask for help, offering something in return, then other people would come, ready to help for a reward, and everyone would be happy. And you would be like a… like a quest giver!”
“Like in an RPG?“
"Exactly like in an RPG!” Wilbur smiled and slung his backpack over his shoulders.
“I'll... think about that,” Philza replied.
The guy nodded and, leaving the store, ran lightly down the road. The blond tried to get his name out of his head.
It turned out to be not so easy.
***
Phil took Wilbur's advice. Now a board with various tasks was located next to the counter. People came and went. Not only was this helpful, but also increased the popularity of the store.
There were a lot of visitors, and therefore a lot of rumors and news reached the man. A large armory was found somewhere? Philza already knew. Did someone join a group to go on a large-scale supply trip? Philza probably met the leader of the group and helped them with the resources.
And then one day Phil heard about the Blood God. No one knew exactly where he came from, what he was doing, where he was. But everyone was talking about his ruthlessness. He killed anyone who got in his way. People even said his hair turned pink from the blood of his victims (the blond only laughed at that silly statement).
The Blood God was a legend. But Philza wasn’t a no-name either. News about his store, where everything you could ever want could be found, was flying rapidly and had long since left the city. Therefore, in the end, two local legends were destined to meet.
It happened in the evening when it was raining outside. The man was about to close the store, put out the fireplace in the hall and go to the bedroom. But while he was cleaning the counter, the door creaked and someone's heavy footsteps were heard. Before looking up, the blond reached for the gun that always lay behind the counter. Putting his hand on it, he looked at the newcomer and smiled.
He tried to hide his surprise when he saw a guy with pink hair on the threshold. Few people could find hair dye now and bother with such a time-consuming process, so the seller had no doubt that the Blood God was standing in front of him.
But the owner of the store imagined him differently. On the threshold stood not a beefy man with scars and a menacing expression on his face, no. It was an ordinary-looking guy with tired eyes. He was soaking wet. He looked like a kitten that was found in a box in the rain.
It was hard to believe that the whole city was afraid of this young man.
“Hello, can I help you with something?” the elder asked.
The younger one looked around and monotonously asked, “Are you Philza?”
“It's me. To what do I owe the pleasure, Blood God?”
The pink-haired chuckled.
“I have a name, you know,” he said, and after a short pause added, “Technoblade.
Phil nodded, knowing that now there was yet another name forever etched in his memory.
“And what can I do for you this evening, Technoblade?”
The guy came up to theboard with the tasks. There were several pieces of paper on it, one of which was marked in red - this task was particularly dangerous. The pink-haired silently reached for one of the simple quests, tore it from the board and handed it to the man.
“Can I take this one?”
“Of course!”
Having received the answer and without waiting for an additional explanation, the young man nodded and moved to the door. The elder called out to him.
“Wait! Are you really going to walk in this rain?”
“Well... yeah? Why? Where else would I be going? As far as I know, Philza, this is not a hotel, but a shop.”
And with these words, the Blood God disappeared through the door into the darkness.
***
This was not their last meeting. On the contrary, it was just the beginning.
They found their own routine. Technoblade would come to the store almost every day, silently approach the board with relevant tasks, take a couple of notes and just as silently leave without waiting for Phil to start a conversation. The blond didn’t mind that, he liked the dynamics between them: they constantly saw each other, but at the same time they didn’t really depend on each other.
However, the pink-haired one still had his oddities. For example, he never took the rewards for completing quests. At first Philza thought that maybe the guy was planning to accumulate completed small tasks and pick up something more valuable. But when the young man started taking the most difficult of the quests and also not asking for rewards, the man was surprised.
“At this rate, you'll soon be able to buy out the whole store,” Phil once joked, “I don't want to disappoint you, but I still need it. So you'll have to choose something smaller.”
Technoblade, who was standing at the board at the time, looked at him uncomprehendingly.
“What are you talking about?”
“About the rewards. For the tasks. There is a reward for each of them.”
“Reward?” asked the pink-haired one.
“Well... yeah? Wait, you didn't know?” Philza exclaimed.
The Blood God just shrugged and continued to study the available quests.
“I don't need anything, thank you.”
“Then why are you doing these tasks if you are absolutely not interested in the reward?”
“Well, this is at least some kind of entertainment,” the guy answered shortly, tearing off a couple of red notes and turning to the exit.
The blond hurriedly walked around the counter and stopped him.
“I'm sorry mate, but my conscience doesn’t allow me to let you go without anything.”
“Phil, I already told you, I don't need anything.”
“Take something! Anything! People are ready to pay for these services with all their stuff!
”Such people are fools,“ Technoblade rolled his eyes, ”Why give so much for killing a couple of zombies?“
”What you call a couple of zombies is actually a whole horde in a cramped room. Stop arguing, just take something and I'll leave you alone.”
“Anything, you say?” the young man sighed and looked around the room.
His gaze stopped on the table next to the fireplace. There was the book Phil had absolutely forgotten about. That's what the guy named Wilbur brought a few weeks ago. The store owner wanted to take it to the storage all the time, but he constantly forgot.
The pink-haired man walked up to the table, picked up the book, and quickly examined it. Without even flipping through it, he nodded and said.
“I'll take it.”
The elder looked at him with wide-open eyes. He expected the Blood God to take some fancy weapons or maybe food. But he took a book.
“Are you serious?”
Technoblade turned around.
“You said I can take whatever I want. I want to take this book. It'll add variety to my pastime.”
Phil sighed.
“Okay, fine. But from now on, I will supply you with weapons and resources for your trips. Don't even argue.”
“What, are you worried about me? How unlike you, Philza.”
“I just think it would be boring to remain the only urban legend if something were to happen to the Blood God.”
Technoblade laughed.
“Then it's a good thing that Technoblade never dies.”
***
Wilbur reappeared on the doorstep of the store less than a month later. Despite the fact that this was his second visit, he entered calmly, as if he had done it many times before. Noticing Phil behind the counter, he also confidently waved to the man, as if they were old friends. The blond barely noticeably rolled his eyes and grinned.
The brunet soon stood at the counter, leaned on it and looked around.
“How are you, Philza? How's business going?” the guy asked cheerfully.
The elder was surprised at first that the visitor knew his name, but then remembered that he was kind of a celebrity there, on the streets of the city. Wilbur must have heard it from one of the survivors.
“Not too bad. Thanks for asking,” Phil replied, “Don't tell me you came here just to ask me about it.”
The young man laughed and shook his head.
“I need some food. Maybe dried meat? Or grain? Do you have something like that?”
Philza grinned. Of course, he had dried meat, and grain, and a lot of other things. He came out from behind the counter and headed towards the storage, waving Wilbur to follow him. He never left customers unattended, no matter how friendly and honest they were looking.
They entered the closet, and the man began to take what the guy asked for: bags of grain and a pack of dried meat. While he was doing this, the brunet was inspecting other goods available for purchase, which were not in the hall.
“By the way, where is that book I brought you last time? Did you burn it?” the younger one asked jokingly.
“You'd be surprised,” Phil said, moving toward the exit, “but no. It was bought.”
“Really?!” Wilbur exclaimed in surprise, “Who could possibly need it nowadays?”
”So you thought it would be useless, and you brought it to me anyway?“
The brunet looked away and blushed slightly.
“No,” he drawled, “You know what they say: one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
“Okay,” the seller sighed and put the goods on the counter, “What do you have for me today?”
“Ah, Philza, luck is on your side today!” Wilbur started rummaging in his backpack and after a few seconds took out another book; it was much thicker than the one he brought the first time, “I present to you... the myths of Ancient Greece!”
The elder sighed and covered his face with his hands.
“Hey! Don't make that face! With such a product, you don’t have to worry about the buyer! If, of course, they come to you again… But even if they don’t come, I am sure that this book will definitely be useful to someone else! Even if not for reading...”
Phil didn't want to listen to this impromptu Wilbur advertisement anymore, so he quickly snatched the book out of the young man's hands and silently pushed the groceries over to him. The brunet exclaimed joyfully and began stuffing grain and meat into a backpack, as if afraid that the seller would change his mind and force him to return the goods. The man went to the table by the fireplace, threw the book on it, and collapsed on the sofa.
Wilbur quickly said goodbye and ran away, leaving Phil to ponder how he allowed this guy to exchange some useless book for valuable food.
***
Philza took his business seriously. All the supplies he managed to get were hidden in a separate storage room, and each item was accounted for in a special book. It kept record of everything he owned - from quantity of the product to its various features.
Therefore, Phil quickly noticed that things from the storage started to disappear.
It all started small. Somewhere one box of matches would go missing, somewhere a bottle of water would suddenly dissapear. It wasn’t a big loss, so the man decided that maybe he just forgot to make adjustments to the book. More and more people came to the store every month, so the errors in the records were quite understandable. No one excluded the human factor and human errors. Therefore, the blond decided to just be a little more attentive next time.
One day, however, a tent mysteriously disappeared from the storage. Then Philza realized that the problem here was definitely not his inattention - he had a couple of such tents, and none of the buyers were interested in them recently. It was easy to conclude that this was the work of a thief.
But few of the buyers even knew about the presence of a back door in this house (which was always closed), or the storage room. The gate in the backyard was also chained with a lock, so that neither wandering zombies nor random passers-by could get into his house unnoticed.
The only ones who knew about the location of the storage room were Wilbur and Technoblade. They became the prime suspects. Phil quickly realized that it was pointless to suspect the pink-haired man - he had never been interested in the goods from this store; the blond sometimes had to literally force him to take something for free. Wilbur went with his group on a supply trip to some city far away and therefore did not visit the store for several weeks, but things continued to disappear even while he wasn’t here.
When there were no suspects left, the man had to only hope that the thief would make a mistake, and the blond would be able to catch them. Philza was just waiting for this chance to come.
And finally, the chance came.
That day, Technoblade went back for tasks and, as always, stayed for a couple of extra hours. The guy was sitting on the couch by the fireplace and reading another book that Phil got from Wilbur. The elder was making entries in his accounting book in the meantime.
Suddenly, a rumble was heard from the back room. Phil and Technoblade exchanged glances and, immediately abandoning their business, quietly headed towards the source of the sound. The pink-haired man took a small axe, which he always kept with him, and motioned for the blond to stand behind him. The owner of the store followed the instructions, armed with a gun that was usually lying under the counter.
Once in the hallway, they saw that the back door was open. The guys couldn't be one hundred percent sure who got inside the house - a zombie or a human - so they were ready for any scenario.
As they approached the door to the storage, they both heard muffled hissing and quiet curses. So there was a human behind the door after all. But this did not mean that it was time to relax. Whoever it was could have been armed or bitten. They had to act quickly and carefully.
Technoblade abruptly opened the door and pointed the axe at the intruder. Phil hurried after him and stood a few steps away from his acquaintance, taking aim. The man's hand did not waver, even when he realized that a teenager was sitting in front of him.
It was a boy about 16 years old, with blond hair and bright blue eyes. His hands were covered in blood. This detail, of course, did not escape Technoblade, and he frowned and asked loudly.
“Bitten?“
"No! No! I'm not! I'm really all right! I just hurt myself!” the younger one cried out in panic.
And, indeed, there was a corkscrew and a can of pineapples lying next to the stranger. Both items were also stained with blood. It wasn't hard to guess that the teenager was trying to open the can, but accidentally cut himself. Sweet juice flowed out from the small hole that he did manage to make, and stained the entire floor of the storage, making it sticky.
“So it’s you who has been stealing Phil's goods for a month now?” the guy said tensely, “How old are you anyway? 12? Didn't your parents teach you that stealing is bad?”
“Oh come on, how do you expect people not to steal when there is such a perfect opportunity? There is no other way to survive now. Not everyone can fearlessly show up in a place infested with zombies and come out without a scratch but with bags full of supplies, Blood God.”
The pink-haired man frowned even harder and took a step forward, bringing the blade closer to the boy's neck. The stranger immediately crawled back a little, pulling away, but accidentally put weight on his wounded arm and hissed in pain. His eyes were filled with fear.
“Do you know him?” Philza asked, lowering the gun and putting his hand on the shoulder of his acquaintance to warn him against any rash actions.
“I rather know of him. But who doesn't?” the younger shrugged and, feeling relatively safe, sat down comfortably, pressing his hand to his chest, “Everyone has heard about the Blood God, who knows no mercy. He doesn’t leave anyone he meets alive-”
“Who the hell is spreading all these rumors?!” Technoblade exclaimed discontentedly and, lowering the axe, brushed Phil's hand off his shoulder, ”I haven't killed a single innocent person! All those who died by my hand wanted it themselves. Not all people want to live in this world! Some simply has no purpose left for existence. I'm just helping them! I don't let them turn into those monsters that roam the streets! And in the end people treat me like a homicidal maniac?”
“Tech-” the elder began, but his acquaintance was not finished yet.
“No, Phil. I'm tired of being treated like this. I don't want people to call me the Blood God or whatever. I have a name. Technoblade,” he said clearly and turned to the boy, “Get out of here. If you show up here one more time and start giving Philza troubles again, then I'll make sure to start living up to those stupid rumors that you people came up with there on the streets. You hear me?”
The teenager, now completely intimidated, quickly nodded. The pink-haired man grunted and, turning around, left the room, leaving the two blondes alone. Soon the front door slammed - Technoblade left.
The stranger was still holding his hand closer to his chest, leaving blood stains on his T-shirt. The man sighed and, taking bandages, napkins and disinfectant from one shelf, sat down opposite the boy. He pressed himself against the wall in a panic.
“I won't hurt you,” the shopkeeper assured him, “Let me help you bandage your arm. I don’t think it’s too comfortable for you with such a wound...”
The teenager looked at him incredulously, but still held out his wounded palm to the elder. Phil nodded and smiled slightly to show the boy that he was safe. After wiping the blood next to the wound, he realized that the cut wasn't really that deep. Therefore, Philza carefully poured some of the remedy on a napkin and soaked the wound with it. The younger one hissed in pain again, clenching his teeth, and almost pulled his hand away, but thanks to the man's strong grip, the palm remained motionless.
Phil began to apply bandages. Such a small cut could have been sealed with a plaster, but he had much fewer of them available. He couldn't spend it on the first child he came across, especially not on the child who was stealing from him for a month.
“Why are you doing this?” the teenager whispered, suddenly looking away.
“You'll have to be more specific, mate.”
“Why are you helping me? I thought if you caught me, you'd shoot me on the spot. Others would have done just that.”
“Hey, I'll tell you a little secret. As a child, I also sometimes stole from stores. And it was because I lost a bet. I didn't have to steal, but I did it anyway. You did it to survive. You have compelling circumstances,” the elder replied, getting to his feet, “But I still don't want this to continue. Go this time. But if something else goes missing from the storage, then it won't end with just one conversation.”
The boy nodded. Phil smiled and, turning off the light in the room, led the uninvited guest to the exit. He stopped at the door and looked at the owner of the store again. After a few minutes of awkward silence, he nodded a couple more times.
“Thank you...”
And the teenager quickly slipped out of the store. Phil watched for a few seconds as he stood in the middle of the road, looked in all directions and moved uncertainly along the road.
***
A few days later, Phil watched the first snow of the year fall outside the window. Last time the man saw the first snow on his way to work. Then he didn’t suspect that the snowdrifts would not have melted before the world would go downhill.
It was unusual to watch the beginning of the apocalypse at the end of winter. Usually in shows and movies, it started in the warm season, and as soon as the cold weather came, the life of fictional characters became more difficult. In real life, everything happened the other way around.
Soon the snow would cover the ground again, and the first year of the apocalypse would end. All the survivors would be proud to say that they managed to live a whole year without incidents. An amazing achievement.
But so far, the snow just swirled in the air and melted without even getting close to the grass. There was still time to prepare for the hard season.
Mesmerized by the view from the window, the owner of the store almost missed someone's knock on the door. He came out of the kitchen, went into the main room, put his hand on the gun hanging on his hip and, clicking the lock, slightly opened the door.
On the threshold of the house stood the boy whom Technoblade and he had caught stealing earlier in the week. The appearance of the teenager surprised Philza: he thought that the pink-haired man had instilled enough fear in him that he would not appear here for at least another year. But, apparently, the younger had no instinct of self-preservation whatsoever. Or maybe there, in the world outside the walls of the store, he was in greater danger.
The nameless thief was trembling; rubbing his hands did nothing to save him from the bone-piercing wind. Phil also noticed that the boy was wearing nothing but a short-sleeved T-shirt, ripped jeans and a vest. There was very little time left before winter- how did he survive autumn with just that?
The man hurried to let the teenager inside. Entering, he looked around uncertainly. He seemed surprised; as if he hadn't expected to get in a warm room at all.
The shopkeeper closed the door behind him and, gently putting his hand on the younger's shoulder, led him into the kitchen. Having seated the guest at the table, Philza took a teapot with still hot water and poured some into a clean cup, then took out a box with tea bags and, throwing one into boiling water, pushed the cup closer to the teenager. He looked warily at the drink, then at the elder, then back at the drink. But, apparently, the desire to warm up as soon as possible overcame all doubts, and the boy took the first sip.
“My name’s Phil,” the man said, not knowing how else to start talking to the guest; he really didn't want to sit in silence and just stare at the younger one - it would be creepy and uncomfortable for both of them.
“I know,” the nameless blond replied shortly and took a couple more sips.
“What's your name then?” Philza immediately cursed mentally - he himself violated his own main rule not to ask for names. However, this was not the first time breaking this rule, so it was too late to start feeling disappointed.
The boy was nervous for a split second. He looked around the kitchen, sipped some more tea and timidly muttered, “Tommy."
“And what are you doing here at this late hour, Tommy? Why are you alone?”
Tommy immediately roused himself and frowned at Phil.
“I'm not alone! I'm with a group!” he insisted, and for some reason this phrase sounded too learned by heart.
“Then why aren't you with them now? Something happened?“
"No!” the teenager exclaimed and looked away, ”They're all right. Maybe. I was just... going back to camp, and I miscalculated the time I had, so it got dark outside before I could get back. Then I remembered that your store is nearby, and decided to wait out the night at your place.”
Tommy's explanation sounded quite reasonable, but something still alarmed the man. Did this group deliberately send the boy to steal from the Philza’s storage? Why couldn't they take care of warm clothes for the blond? And where could the camp of these survivors be located? There were no open and safe spaces nearby... The owner of the store had doubts about whether this group even existed in the first place.
But before he could ask a single question, Tommy asked.
“Where did you get the electricity from? I thought the electricity was cut off everywhere,” the guest visibly relaxed, realizing that he had managed to change the topic.
“This house has its own generator, it runs on gasoline.”
“And where do you get so much gasoline?”
“Many people are ready to exchange gasoline from gas stations or any factories for something more useful for them personally. Therefore, I have enough gasoline to last me several years,” Philza laughed.
“That is enough to set the house on fire...” Tommy chuckled and rubbed his chin, as if seriously thinking about it.
The man pretended to gasp and, reaching out to the boy, flicked him on the forehead. The younger one also pretended to cry out.
“If you burn down my house one day, I won't even think about saving you from Technoblade’s wrath, you little shit,” Phil said with a smile.
“It's my birthday today, by the way,” Tommy suddenly announced the next morning at breakfast.
“No, it's not your birthday today,” the elder replied, rubbing his sore back after sleeping. Last night Phil voluntarily gave the boy his bed for the night. Yes, Phil himself had to sleep on the floor, but he just couldn’t deny the child warm blankets and a soft mattress.
“But it really is my birthday! Your manipulations won't work on me, old man,” the teenager quitely bit off a piece of toast with jam.
“Well, let's pretend I believe you, so what? I don't have a cake for you, child.”
“First of all, I'm not a child. I just turned 17. And secondly, I don't need a cake. But it would be nice to receive a gift.”
“I see what you're getting at… I can give you a book. They say the book is the best gift,” the shopkeeper watched the guest's reaction with a grin: the blond frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Books suck! A gift from the Shopkeeper Philza himself should be something cooler than a lame book!
”And what does your generation think is cool?”
“Guns!” Tommy replied with a strange delight and admiration.
“I will not give a firearm to a minor.”
“But Phil! How can I survive in this dangerous world without a gun?” the teenager begged, “All the cool guys have guns. I also want one. And imagine how everyone will envy me when they find out that I got mine not from some unknown guy, but from Philza himself!”
“Tommy, no.“
"Tommy yes!” however, realizing that requests would not help, he added, “I will not leave you until you give me a gun.”
”And who is a manipulator here now?” Phil sighed, but got to his feet and went to the storage. Tommy smiled contentedly, quickly finished what was left on his plate, and hurried after the owner of the store.
After a short search, the elder took out a small pistol with a silencer. It wasn't outstanding, beautiful or expensive, but it was enough to satisfy Tommy's needs. The man, giving the weapon to the teenager, knew that his stock of goods would not suffer irreparable losses after that.
“Thank you, Phil! You're the best, Phil!” Tommy smiled.
“Yes, yes, now get lost,” the owner playfully chased him away.
The boy didn't need to be told twice.
***
Phil, who was in the bedroom at the time, stiffened slightly when he heard someone enter the store. He remembered for sure that he had hung a “closed" sign on the door. But that rarely stopped people who wanted to rob him.
However, hearing a familiar sigh and footsteps, the man recognized Technoblade and smiled. The owner of the store left the room and headed towards the main room to greet his acquaintance.
Technoblade, as expected, was standing at the task board and choosing a new quest. However, he usually looked completely different. Now the guy was absolutely exhausted. His hair was tangled, as if the pink-haired one had been caught in a hurricane before coming here. And, of course, it was hard not to notice a large amount of blood on the clothes, hands and face of the visitor.
But Technoblade stood there as if nothing had happened.
Philza gasped and froze in place from shock.
“Technoblade! What the hell happened to you?!”
”Hello to you too, Phil,“ the young man replied without taking his eyes off the bulletin board.
“I'm serious! Are you okay?” the man exclaimed in fright, running up to the youngest and carefully examining him, “Are you bitten? Are you hurt?”
“Phil, do you really think I'd come here if I was a danger to someone?”
“Who the fuck knows! You're a lunatic!” the blond man sighed with some relief and shook his head, ”Stay here, not a step outside. Or you will be the first person on the store's blacklist.”
“And here I thought that this honorary title had already been awarded to that blond kid-thief,” Philza grinned, but did not answer. He didn't want the guy to know about Tommy's second visit. Therefore, without further ado, the elder disappeared into the corridor.
A couple of minutes later, he returned with a basin full of water and a clean set of clothes for the guest. Technoblade looked at him blankly.
“You ruined your clothes doing who knows what, and I don't want any more blood on the floor of my store. Scares away the customers, you know.”
“We live in a zombie apocalypse. There are worse things on the streets.”
“Come on, get changed. Refusal is not accepted. And don't forget to wash.”
The pink-haired man rolled his eyes, but took clothes and a basin, then went further down the corridor to Philza's bedroom. The shopkeeper chuckled contentedly and, taking out a rag, began to wipe off the blood.
In less than a few minutes, the front door opened again. The blond didn't even have to turn around to realize that Wilbur was behind him.
“It’s ya boy, Wilbur Soot!” the brunet exclaimed cheerfully to announce his arrival.
“You do know that there's a ‘closed’ sign on the door, right?” the elder asked without turning around, but still smiling slightly.
“Of course. But I'm your favorite customer, Phil. So I have privileges.
”You are absolutely not my favorite customer.”
Wil gave a fake gasp, putting his hand over his chest.
“I'm offended, Philza… But am I at least in the top 10?”
The man examined him from head to toe, squinted and, shrugging his shoulders, said, “Maybe.
“What about the top 5?” with the hope in his voice, the guy asked.
“Unlikely.”
Before Wilbur could protest, Technoblade emerged from the corridor with wet hair and a clean outfit. With one hand he held the towel with which he was drying his hair, and the other lay at ease on his hip. Phil knew that was where the pink-haired man usually had throwing knives hidden.
“Is everything okay? Technoblade asked calmly, slowly shifting his gaze from the brunet to the blond.
“Yeah, don't worry,” Philza smiled and put both hands on the counter. Seeing that the owner of the store was not making any attempts to get his hidden gun, the guy removed his hand from his hip.
Wilbur remained silent. When the man turned his gaze to him, he saw that the newcomer had frozen in place and was looking admiringly at the other young man in front of him. Technoblade also noticed his gaze and frowned.
“Are you… okay?”
“You… You're the Blood God! I can't believe it!”
The Blood God sighed heavily and rolled his eyes; Phil already knew what he would say next.
“Stop calling me that! Once again: I have a name!” unlike Tommy, Wilbur didn't look scared. He was still completely delighted.
“Technoblade... what a cool name! I'm Wilbur. You can call me Wil if you want. Can I call you Techno?”
The pink-haired definitely didn’t expect such a reaction. He looked away and shrugged.
“Well... okay? I don't mind. The main thing is that it is not the ‘Blood God’.”
“Of course, of course! I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“So,” Philza interrupted, “Wilbur, have you come here for something or..?”
“You say that like you want me to leave as soon as possible… But I'll ignore that because I'm a good customer. Clearly deserving of a place in the top 5-”
“Wil.”
“Okay, okay. I came with...” the brunet took off his backpack from his back and, after rummaging in it for a few seconds, took out a book from there, “That's right! With a book!”
“Who would have thought...” the shopkeeper sighed with a smile.
“Wait...” Techno muttered, “Do you always bring Phil books?”
“Well, yeah... the last one was-”
“Spanish Dictionary. Where do you even find this stuff?”
”So you're the guy who always buys them!”
“Oh my god, you are just made for each other...” Phil added jokingly.
“Envy in silence, Philza,” Wil waved away.
“Yeah, Phil. We may not need you soon,” Techno nodded.
“You value me too much, Technoblade. You couldn't just ignore my store.”
The pink-haired man didn't answer anything, just grinned and looked at the brunet again.
“What are you offering today?”
“Potato planting and care guide!”
“Yooo!” the guy said monotonously and joyfully at the same time, “I'll take it. What do you want in return?”
“Take it for free! Just because you are such a loyal customer. Phil, you should do something like that at your place, too. You'll attract a lot of new people.”
“Thanks for the advice, but I will chose to ignore it. I have enough customers as it is. I don't need to do giveaways,” Philza crossed his arms over his chest, “And you could just ask, maybe I would give you something for free.”
“Really?”
“No.
“That's what I thought,” Wilbur shrugged and slung his backpack over his shoulder, “Well, I have to go.”
He took a few steps towards the exit, but suddenly stopped and turned to a new acquaintance once again.
“By the way, Techno, how about going out for supplies together sometime? We could get to know each other better.”
“Sure, why not.”
Wil immediately beamed.
“Great! Then we'll agree on a date and place later. Will you meet me here next Tuesday?”
“Okay, I'll be waiting.”
Wilbur smiled even harder and, nodding several times, left the store.
Philza was sure that he had just watched the birth of a new friendship. He wasn't lying when he said that these two, in his opinion, were made for each other.
***
Phil woke up to the loud roar of the engine outside his window. If a year spent in the apocalypse taught him anything, it's that zombies are especially sensitive to sounds. If you do not get rid of the source of the noise, then very soon crowds of undead will gather at the door of the store.
Therefore, the man threw on the first clothes he could find without looking, took a gun and ran out into the street. It was cold, but that was the least of his worries.
There was a car parked on the road right in front of Philza's house, driven by none other than Tommy. The boy was smiling, obviously pleased with his find, but the elder did not share his enthusiasm. A teenager could enjoy his new car somewhere else without putting Phil in a dangerous position.
Noticing the man who came out of the house, the younger motioned him to the seat next to him. Philza sighed, but still opened the door and sat down.
“I have one question: why did you roll this rattler to my house?”
“Hey! This is not a rattler at all! The car is almost new! Plus there is heating and a radio-”
“That doesn't answer my question,” Phil interrupted, and the boy looked down guiltily.
“I've been stealing from you for a long time… My parents wouldn’t be happy with me if they found out about this. That's why I want to give you this car as payment for everything I stole from you,” noticing the doubt on Phil's face, Tommy continued, “It's really good. With a full tank, it's easy to get to the coast. So even if you don't need it yourself, someone from the customers will need it.”
The shopkeeper pondered for a while and, shrugging his shoulders, extended his hand to the younger one. He smiled radiantly, grabbed his hand tightly and, quickly shaking it, hurriedly opened the door and jumped out of the car.
“Nice doing business with you, Philza!” and with a loud bang, the door slammed shut. Phil watched the teenager go, and when he disappeared from sight, the blond man began to drive the new car into a more secluded place.
***
Phil returned home after a trip to one of the neighboring cities and found that the front door was open. A couple of months ago, he would have been worried and would have immediately pulled out a weapon. But now he calmly went inside and, putting a backpack with new food against the wall at the entrance, he stretched. Taking off his jacket, the man heard two familiar voices and followed the sound.
The owner found unexpected guests in the bathroom. Technoblade was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, and Wilbur was standing nearby, washing his hands in the sink. On the edge, next to the faucet, there were bandages; there were clearly fewer of them than before the guys came. Philza became alert and cast a cautious glance at the pink-haired man, but Wil noticed it and smiled calmly.
"Nothing terrible happened, I promise. There was just a terrible misunderstanding," the brunet said and closed the water, after which he shook his hands without thinking twice and all the water flew towards Techno, "It's just that someone shouldn't get zombie blood all over himself, and then, as if nothing had happened, go to the group of survivors."
Techno sighed and only slightly winced fully understanding and accepting his guilt.
"Did you meet a group of survivors?" the owner of the house was surprised, "Are you okay? Have they done anything to you?"
"No, no! They turned out to be very friendly and nice people! We even got some medicines for the inconvenience provided."
"Inconvenience provided?"
"For shooting at me," Techno explained and poked at his bandaged hand.
Philza had a lot of questions that worried him, but he did not have time to ask any of them, as the pink-haired man suddenly declared, "there is a safe zone to the south."
The brunet, who was cleaning bandages at that moment, froze, "I thought we agreed to keep this between us."
"Phil is our mutual friend. I'm counting on him not to tell anyone who shouldn’t know."
Wilbur rolled his eyes, "At least I could have prepared him for this conversation, and not just dump this information on him."
"Wait… There is a safe zone to the south? And... what are you going to do about it?"
"Well... those people said they heard about its whereabouts on the radio. Therefore, the first thing we need is to get one. And then we can decide whether we should take the risk and look for this place."
***
Phil stayed up all night trying to figure out where he could get a radio. The idea that there was a safe place somewhere out there haunted him. On the one hand, going there was quite a logical decision. Who wouldn't want to live with other survivors in a safe zone? But on the other hand, Philza's life wasn't so bad. He managed to build a house for himself, provide security and even some comfort. He had everything figured out here. To go to the safe zone meant leaving the place he had called home for the past year. And who knows how true the information about this safe zone will even be. Who knows, maybe he will come there, only to find ruins in its place.
Was it all worth the risk?
As a result, the blond decided to stop thinking about it for a while, and for now to focus on searching for a radio.
He was marking on the map the places where it was supposedly possible to find the device when Tommy came into the store. He had a bag on one shoulder and a guitar case on the other. The boy took them off and, putting them next to the chair, sat down to the right of the man.
"What are you doing?" the teenager asked, peering at the signs on the map.
"I’m thinking where I could find a radio."
"Why do you need it?"
Phil froze in place. He promised the guys not to tell anyone about their find.
"None of your business."
"But I can help!"
"We'll figure it out without your help."
"I literally have a radio ! But if you want to complicate your life further, then please go ahead and look for one yourself."
"Okay, okay, drag it here!" the elder exclaimed, and Tommy immediately rushed out into the street.
After about 20 minutes, the boy returned to the house with a small box and a bundle of wires in his hands. He put them on the table and started plugging them into the outlet.
"Where did you get this thing from? Is this even a radio?"
"Of course it's radio, Philza. I got it out of the car."
The man mentally hit himself on the head. What he was looking for was under his windows the entire time.
"Why did you come here in the first place?" the shopkeeper asked, watching the work of the younger one.
"Oh, right! I came to give you some things. They're there, by the chair."
Phil leaned over to the bags Tommy had brought. In the first one there were various jars, bags and boxes - nothing unusual. The other one had a guitar. The instrument was in good condition, as if it had not been used all year since the beginning of the apocalypse, but at the same time small scratches and worn stickers made it clear that the guitar had been actively used before.
"Where did you find it?" Philza asked.
Tommy looked at him, then at the guitar, and his gaze got sadder. He looked down at the wires and radio again and muttered, "Doesn't matter."
The man decided not to push.
After a couple of moments, white noise was heard and the teenager smiled again.
"It's working!"
The elder came closer. Indeed, the numbers lit up on the display, and the buttons were glowing.
"It is..." Philza confirmed with some surprise.
"Now what?"
"What?"
"What are we looking for?" the boy looked at him questioningly, "You'll have to tell me, since I'm helping you anyway."
And Phil, sighing, started telling him about the safe zone to the south. Tommy really made his job easier, so he deserved to know.
***
Phil woke up to a quiet melody playing softly from somewhere to his left. Without thinking, the man reached for the sound and, grabbing the device, patted it, instinctively trying to find the button to turn off the alarm clock and calmly sleep a little more. Only after a minute and several failed attempts did he realize that he did not have an alarm clock at hand, and he did not sleep in bed, but on the sofa in the main room.
The events of the previous evening began to pop up in Philza's memory. He gradually remembered how Tommy had found the radio in the car, how they had been trying for a long time to find at least something other than a white noise, and how Phil had fallen asleep on the couch without finishing what he had started. But now the radio was clearly broadcasting some kind of radio station, and that was all Tommy's doing.
Philza slowly got up from the sofa and began his usual morning routine. While brushing his teeth, he noticed that he had not seen the boy since his awakening. Thinking about it, the owner of the house quickly ran around all the rooms, checked the garden, and finally made sure that the teenager was nowhere to be found. In any other situation, Phil would probably not have been alerted by this - Tommy was not under his care or control and had the right to come and go as he pleased - but this time he did not find most of everything that had been hidden in his storage the night before. And he knew for sure that the teenager would not just steal from him; not after that meeting with Technoblade. If Tommy decided to do this, then he had some kind of plan. And Philza did not trust any plan that could arise in the head of a seventeen-year-old.
After the second inspection of the house, the blond man found a note that, apparently, was originally lying on the radio, but Philza accidentally brushed it off sleepily. The man unfolded it and gave it a quick glance, feeling his anxiety grow.
This note could have been about anything, but of course it was about what Phil was afraid of the most. It was a note left at parting.
In it, Tommy managed to thank him for everything and tell him a little about his life before and after the apocalypse, but Philza could not concentrate on anything except the last part of the letter. The boy found the right radio station and found out where the safe zone was, decided to go there alone, taking half of the store supplies with him.
Phil was still sitting with the note in his hands when the calm melody on the radio suddenly stopped, and a woman's voice replaced it.
“Morning to all survivors!” the blond turned up the volume, “We remind you that it's better to stay at home today. After all, over the next few days, the largest horde in the last six months will pass by the City, and it will move north. I wish you all good luck! Well, in 15 minutes we will return to you with the weather forecast and-”
Philza didn't even notice how he turned off the radio and crumpled the note still lying in his palm. The horde was heading in their direction. Straight towards Tommy.
Phil sighed and leaned back on the sofa. He promised himself not to get attached to other survivors. And no matter what he told himself, he knew that he had broken his promise a long time ago. Violated it the moment he met Wilbur, Techno and Tommy.
Now he had no choice but to reproach himself for this oversight.
***
Philza didn't know how long he sat there trying to accept the fact that he would never see Tommy again. The only thing that brought him out of his stupor was the creak of the door. Hearing it, the shopkeeper stood up and immediately met the gaze of Wil. The guy anxiously examined him from head to toe.
“Phil? What's wrong?” the younger asked solicitously, “What happened?“
"Huh?” The elder shook his head and lightly patted the brunet's hands to let him go, ”I'm fine. How are you?”
“Me?” Wilbur lowered his hands, but there was still worry in his eyes, ”I'm fine. Phil, you look-”
“I look fine, thank you very much. Let's close this topic,” the man replied a little irritably and went in the direction of the counter.
“Okay. Whatever you say, man,” the guy muttered uncertainly and looked away. Then he noticed the guitar case, which the blond had not had time to put away yesterday, too carried away by experiments with the radio, “Oh, I haven't seen this here before.”
Wil came closer and almost touched the cover, but turned to the owner of the store, waiting for permission. Philza didn't care what his friend was going to do, so he waved his hand without looking and sat down to paperwork. There was a soft sound of zipper opening.
And then silence.
Phil had to admit he was a little disappointed. He thought that Wil would like the instrument, considering that before the apocalypse he often played guitar. But, apparently, the blond was wrong.
His thoughts were interrupted by the brunet who suddenly appeared at the counter. Philza barely had time to look up at him, as the guy pressed him against the wall with astonishing force, grabbing him by the throat, almost blocking the elder's access to oxygen.
“W-wil?” Philza croaked. The brunet looked furious. Phil had never seen him like this before.
“Where did you get this guitar from?” he growled.
“I... can't say.”
“What?” Wilbur squeezed his throat a little harder, and black dots began to dance in front of the blond's eyes.
“It's... confidential...”
“Think again, Philza. What is more precious to you: your life or information about where you got this damn guitar.”
It got increasingly more difficult to breathe, and it became very clear that Wilbur was not bluffing. He was ready to kill.
“Boy...” the elder groaned. The brunet loosened his grip slightly, and even though he was still holding Phil tightly enough, the man was finally able to take a deep breath.
“What boy?”
“Blond… About seventeen years old...”
“His name?” Philza was barely holding on so as not to lose consciousness, so he ignored the question, which angered Wil even more, “His name, Philza! What was his name?!”
“To-Tommy...” the shopkeeper said on an exhale, and instantly felt the grip on his neck disappear completely. He barely managed to grab onto the counter before his legs gave way and he began to fall to the floor. Having found a more or less stable position, he began to rub his throat, at the same time glancing at the brunet and imperceptibly stretching out his hand to the gun.
Meanwhile, Wilbur himself had moved a few steps away from Philza, and was now looking at the guitar in confusion.
“Where... where is he now?” the guy asked in a trembling voice, without taking his eyes off the instrument, and turned only when he heard the click behind him.
“I'm asking questions now,” the blond said with a frown and put the muzzle of the gun to Wil's forehead.
“Phil...”
“No, Wilbur. Now I'm talking. Were you ready to kill me for this guitar?
“No, Phil, it's not like that...”
“Oh, really? The elder replied sarcastically and took a step towards the younger. “Why were you so interested in who brought me the guitar?”
“Because it's my guitar!” Wilbur exclaimed, “And Tommy is my brother.”
Phil expected anything but this. He lowered the gun and looked at the guy questioningly. He took it as a sign to continue and spoke again.
“A few weeks before the apocalypse, my friends and I flew abroad and had to stay there for another month, but it so happened that we returned earlier… Our plane landed on the day it all started, so we were stuck at the airport for a long time. At first, my return was supposed to be a surprise, and then when we realized that something really scary was happening and I tried to call my parents and Tommy, the lines were overloaded, and soon they were completely disconnected. By the time we got to my house, it was already empty… I thought they were dead. But since he brought you my guitar, it means that there is a way I can see him again!”
“Wilbur...” and how was Phil supposed to tell the man who had just found hope that the one he was looking for had already gone to certain death?
“I... I haven't seen him for over a year. He must have grown so much,” Wil continued, ignoring Philza.
“Wilbur.”
“Do you know where he is? Is there anyone with him?”
“Wilbur,” the man repeated louder, and the brunet finally turned his gaze back to him, “He's dead.”
Wil froze in place; everything he wanted to say disappeared in an instant. The blond thought for a moment: perhaps it was worth lying, saying that the boy was somewhere in the city? But he quickly came to the conclusion that he had done the right thing. Lying would only delay the inevitable. One day Wilbur would have found out about his brother's fate anyway. Finding out the truth now was much better for him.
“What..?” the guy whispered, a slight smile appeared on his lips, “No… It’s… It’s not true. This can't be happening. This is… It's Tommy! He's... how do you even know he's... gone?”
Philza silently handed him a note written by a teenager. Wil hastily unfolded it, looked at it.
“How long ago have you seen him?” the brunet asked without emotion in his voice, without taking his eyes off the letter.
“Last night... but Wil, you have to understand, he was going strait to the horde...”
“So what? It’s Tommy we are talking about!” Wilbur exclaimed, ”He's been surviving alone for so long. He is quick-witted and agile. And very stubborn. I know him.”
“I don't deny any of that. But...”
“But nothing, Philza. My brother is alive. I'll find him, bring him here, and together we can scold him. But don't think even for a second that he might be dead,” and before the elder tried to stop him, Wil disappeared through the door.
***
“I could try go looking for them,” Technoblade said quietly.
Phil immediately shifted his gaze to him and frowned, “No.”
“Phil...”
“I said no, Technoblade,” the man got up from the sofa and walked over to the counter, “I've already lost two friends today and I'm not going to lose the last one.”
“I get it. But Wilbur was right. Yes, it was stupid of him to follow his brother without anything, but there is still a chance that they are alive. You shouldn't write them off so quickly,” Techno followed the shopkeeper and put his hand on his shoulders, “Besides, you know me. I can safely survive in the horde.”
“Techno,” the blond removed his hand, “That's enough.”
The pink-haired sighed, “You're making a mistake.”
“I'm playing it safe.”
Technoblade looked at his friend for a few more seconds, and realizing that the elder was not going to continue the dialogue, shook his head and returned to the sofa.
However, as soon as he sat down, a quiet hiss was heard from his backpack. It took the guy a couple of moments to listen and realize that the sound was similar to a white noise. Before he could do anything, someone's voice was heard behind the interference.
“-ody... -hear... -s?”
Techno was immediately at the backpack. He hastily raked all the contents and took out a walkie-talkie from the bottom. Wilbur should have had the second one.
“Wil? Is it you?” Technoblade glanced at the blond man still standing at the counter; Phil had his back turned to him, but even so it was clear that the man was tense.
“Technobl… -you?” the faltering voice from the other end came again. The voice clearly didn't belong to Wilbur, but the pink-haired man had definitely heard it before.
“Yes, it's Technoblade. Who am I talking to?”
“-ommy!” the walkie-talkie hissed unpleasantly again, “-help us, please-”
“Tommy?” Techno repeated, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Philza was now looking at him, “Where are you? Is Wilbur with you? What's going on?”
“We're on-” interference interrupted the boy for a moment, “In the laundroma-”
“What?” Technoblade asked someone, either Tommy or Phil, he wasn’t sure.
“He said they were in the laundromat. He's probably talking about...” Philza began, but stopped.
“About what?” Techno frowned, “Where is this laundromat?”
“If I tell you, you'll go there right away.”
“If you don't tell me, then two people will die,” the guy replied, “I agreed not to look for them when we had no evidence that there would be any sense in the search. But you heard Tommy.”
Seeing that Phil wasn't convinced, Technoblade added, “I'm not asking you to come with me. I'll save them myself.”
At that moment, the walkie-talkie came to life again, and the boy's voice came out of it once more, only now even more desperate, “Please!”
That was enough for Philza to grab the nearest map and point to the laundromat, which was probably where Tommy was hiding.
***
At some point, Philza thought that maybe he should have gone with Techno.
If he'd gone looking for Wilbur and Tommy, he might have had some control over the situation. And if the situation had turned for the worse, he would have died with them.
No, Phil didn't want to meet his end as soon as possible, but at least that way he didn't have to grieve for his last friends.
However, he had made his choice, and it was impossible to change anything now. He could only sit, holding the silent walkie-talkie in his hands, and hope that the skills would not let Technoblade down, and luck would be on the guys' side.
The walkie-talkie hissed as morning began to replace night outside the window.
“Phil? Do you hear me?” Techno asked.
“I hear you. Have you found them?”
“I have,” Philza heard a slight hitch in Technoblade's voice.
“Is something wrong?”
“Wilbur... is injured. He's got blood all over his leg. He'll probably be able to walk, but...”
“Do you think he was bitten..?” the man asked hesitantly.
“I don't know. There's too much blood, and we're not in a position to look more closely. Tommy claims that he pierced his leg while climbing over the fence, but the kid can say anything to keep his brother alive.”
“What are you going to do?”
Techno sighed, ”I think you should make this decision. I'll be able to bring them to your store either way. But whether you want to take this risk... it's up to you.”
Phil rubbed the bridge of his nose. At that moment, someone's loud footsteps were heard on the other end.
“Phil? Phil, is that you?” Tommy's voice rang out.
“Yes, Tommy, it’s me.”
“Phil. Listen. I swear, I swear on everything I have...”
“You don't have anything,” Techno added in a muffled voice.
“Shut up, Technoblade. Phil, I swear, Wil is not bitten. I'm not dumb, I know how dangerous it is to hide bites. I wouldn't put you in danger if there was such a situation. I would have told the truth. But he's not bitten ! Please don't let Techno leave him here!”
“Calm down, Tommy,” Philza replied as gently as possible, “No one leaves anyone. Techno, take them and come back. I’ll examine the wound here.”
Technoblade grunted and the connection was interrupted again.
The door burst open about an hour later, and Tommy and Techno, who were helping Wilbur move, flew inside the store. As soon as all three were inside, the boy led the hobbling brunet to the sofa, while the pink-haired one slammed the door behind him, locked it and immediately began to move the chair to it. Phil grabbed bandages, water and alcohol, which he had prepared while waiting for the guys, and immediately started taking care of Wil. Tommy watched the process with concern, and it was clear that the teenager was not going to leave his brother for a single step.
As it turned out, Tommy actually didn't lie. There was no bite on the leg. Phil breathed a sigh of relief after washing the wound. But as soon as the man bandaged his friend's leg, the bandages immediately turned red - Wil continued to lose blood, but the store owner hoped that now it would happen much slower.
Soon Technoblade completed the construction of a small barricade. Having done everything possible for Wilbur for the time being, Philza approached the pink-haired man; Tommy immediately took a place next to the wounded guy.
Techno stared intently out the window. Phil wanted to know the reason, but the question disappeared as soon as he went to the window himself.
The whole yard was filled with zombies, and with every second it became more and more.
“What the fuck,” the elder muttered.
“The horde,” the pink-haired one replied, “It was following us.”
“Damn. We're... we're stuck with them.”
“Maybe… Maybe we can wait it out?” Wil asked uncertainly.
“We could. Before someone took most of everything that was stored in my storage,” Philza sighed a little irritably, but noticing that Tommy bowed his head in shame, he added, “This is… Nothing. I'm sure we'll come up with something else.
“You said we were stuck here with them, right?” Tommy got up, moved towards the storage, and the owner of the store followed him.
“Well... yeah?”
“What if we make it so that they get stuck here and not us?” the teenager started rummaging through the things that were still left here after his last visit.
“What do you mean?”
“We will attract their attention, lure them in here. When most of them get here, we'll set fire to the house, and we'll leave.
”You want to burn down my store?!” The man exclaimed discontentedly, and turned to the other two guys still sitting in the main room, “Please tell me that I'm not the only one who thinks this is reckless!”
“I'm afraid I have to agree with Tommy,” Technoblade said, “the longer we sit here, the more they will accumulate. At some point, we just won't be able to deal with them. And there is no guarantee that they will not decide to break into the house. Besides, you said it yourself: we don't have the resources to wait.”
“But where are we going?
”To the safe zone,“ Wilbur shrugged, ”If the horde is here, it means that the way to the City will be free. And while I was looking for Tommy, I came across signs and arrows on the walls, they will help us with the directions. The main thing is that there is enough gasoline for the whole trip.”
“Don't even worry about it! Phil has gasoline to last him several years!“ Tommy grinned, coming out of the storage with a large canister, ”So we have enough to drive and to arrange a fire show here."
It didn't take much time to collect things, so they focused on pouring gasoline on as many surfaces as possible. When everything was ready for the fire, Phil and Tommy cleared the barricade at the front door, helped Wil up and waited for a signal from Techno.
Technoblade himself stood at the back entrance with a pistol in his hands, and when he saw that his friends were ready, he fired into the air. The loud sound immediately attracted the attention of all the zombies in the area, and hundreds of undead moved in his direction. The pink-haired man fearlessly waited until they began to follow him into the house and coldly shot at those who approached him too close.
At that moment, Tommy, seeing that the zombies began to move away from the main door, opened it and quickly ran to the car, started the engine, then threw several backpacks into the trunk. Phil and Wilbur followed him, though a little slower, taking into account the brunet’s wounded leg. When all three sat down, Tommy beeped twice.
Techno heard the signal while in the main room. Just a couple of meters away from him, a significant crowd of undead had already gathered, each of them desperately trying to get to him. The guy smiled, fired another loud shot at the first zombie he saw and rushed to the exit. He closed the door behind him, even knowing that it would not keep the dead for long, and ran away from the house for a short distance. After that, the pink-haired man took out matches, struck one of them and without hesitation threw it on the ground. The path of gasoline instantly lit up, and the flames rapidly moved towards the house.
Having completed his part of the plan, Technoblade jumped into the passenger seat, and as soon as the door closed, Tommy stepped on the gas.
After leaving the gate, they were convinced that the plan worked even better than originally planned - the main road was freer. Techno's shots attracted even those zombies who were previously on the road.
A couple of seconds later, a loud scream rang out, and Phil didn't even have to turn around to realize that this sound was made by the dead burning inside his store.
They drove far enough away that the building disappeared from sight, when Tommy laughed. Wilbur giggled after him, and soon the whole car was filled with joyful laughter.
“We did it! My plan worked, and we got out!” the boy exclaimed enthusiastically.
“And no one was left behind to die a gruesome death,” Techno grinned, patting the teenager on the head.
“And now we're all together,” Wil added.
Phil smiled and hugged the brunet closer to him. Yes, he had to burn down the store, which was the only constant in his life after the apocalypse began. But if it was necessary for all his friends... no, his whole family to be safe, then it was worth it.
And if, thanks to this, they could get to this Safe Zone together, then maybe he should have burned down that store months ago.