Back to Roots
His hand clenched a little more tightly around the handle of his weapon.
Sweat droplets accumulated at his hairline, showing he was working hard. His breathing deep and tensed. His fire blue eyes tense with pure focus. The club in his hand, dripping steadily with blood. His gaze narrowed, watching his prey. Making sure to let it know, he was the predator here. Not the prey. His tasteful red, purple, and black swirling tail swayed in concentration. His backpack resting heavy on his shoulder, indications of how many spoils he'd gathered. He was nearly done with his raiding. He was nearly ready to leave. But he had a few more zombies to dispatch.
Including the one he was staring down.
With a near sickening snap of its jaws, it rushed for him as best as a limping slow zombie could. Hands out, claws dripping with blood like poison. Eager to sink into his flesh. Pin him down, and feed his body to the gaping maw. He tensed, waiting. His heart beating loud in his ear. Timing it perfectly. He raised his club, waiting for the right moment. It was like a dance, he'd found. The footwork, the timing, the core strength. The ability to weave and move about with a fluid grace. The timing of the beat for a proper strike.
And dance had been his passion.
Until recently, of course.
Just as the zombie reached him, Minho stepped effortlessly out of the way. And brought the club down in a fierce strike. Growling, putting his male omega rage into it. Sinking the corner edge as deep into the zombie's soft skull and mushed brains, as he could. Repeating it a few times, until the zombie lay on the ground in a puddle of its own toxic blood. Defeated. Truly dead. The wolf soul trapped within, finally unleashed. Granted true and proper rest. He paused, slowly lowering the club. Finally, this dance round was completed. He turned with that, and continued his way down the corridor towards the stairs.
He had two more floors to clear out.
Then, he'd finally leave.
He already had a destination in mind. A plan. A course of action. And reasons for what he would, and would not do once he left the complex for good.
Shortly after the chaos had drifted off fleeing from the city, Minho had begun to prepare for his survival beyond the city limits. He'd first started, with determining where he'd likely go. He could not trust random wolves so carelessly, nor easily. He knew how valuable he was now, as an omega. But he also knew his own self worth. He would not spread his legs and become a broodmare. He had more dignity than that. So, he'd figured he'd stay alone for the time being. He'd only let wolves close he knew he could trust. Or hoped his gut promised him was trustworthy.
However, he had a small twinge of fear. Unhinged alphas were the bigger predators out there. How could he possibly hope to survive against such brutal beasts? They would surely collar and leash him. Force him to do what he did not want. He supposed it would help if he had a decent place to hunker down for a bit.
Hence his chosen destination.
The small rural home of his grandparents.
//
He'd often had fantasies about returning to his grandparent's home.
And even living there after they surrendered it. Either through death, or living with his parents until their death. He'd always loved the rural landscape. The ability to grow their own crops, and eat what they'd grown and farmed. It was quaint, yet ideal to him. He'd often daydream of what life would be like once he returned. Having an alpha there to help. A few pups running around. He had wanted to raise a family there.
A distant dream now.
For the most part.
He could still make his way there to live for a short time. Until the need for pack and mate grew greater, than the desire to be seen as someone and not just a pleasure toy. After having determined where he would go, he'd been quick to find a paper map. As old as they seemed, they were now invaluable in a time where technology was now the obsolete. He'd also taken a compass. Ensuring he stayed the proper enough course, he didn't walk in fucking circles. Once he had secured them for his journey to his grandparent's home, he had gone about gathering all the food and medical supplies he could.
Halfway through raiding his home, he had figured he needed a weapon for protection. Mostly against zombies. How he'd protect himself from alphas, he wasn't entirely to sure at this time. And despite looking for any weapon he could get, Minho had found none. He had toyed with the idea of using the plunger. It was comical, in a way. Using a plunger to beat the rotting brains in of awful shit. But it would break before long, after such brutal use.
It had been as he was packing his backpack as tight and efficiently as he could, he'd found his weapon. His gaze had landed on the black table leg he was knelt beside. It had corners to make a nice enough cut and dent. And it was long enough for distance. And it went from the skinny foot area, to the thick thigh region. To him, it had been the perfect solution. Without hesitation but deep silence, Minho had flipped the table over. And proceeded to pry the leg off. After he'd secured it, have tested it in his grip.
Satisfied, he was then ready to face the complex.
And get the hell out of there.
Deciding to give it a test run, Minho had grabbed his backpack. And finally, made to leave the unit. It was picked clean, anyway. He knew there was a zombie wandering the corridor outside his unit. It was his first dance partner. A male. And without identifying scents, eye colors, or anything else, he wasn't sure what it had originally been. It mattered little. All he was to it now, was food. Minho had stumbled a bit in his first dance with zombies. But after perhaps the fourth zombie, he began to understand the dance. And was now very adept at it. It was with this new form of dance and determination, Minho raided the rest of the complex. And while he could easily grow the food on his grandparent's farmland, he needed food to get him there.
He had also thought of getting to his car, and driving as close to his grandparent's home as he possibly could. But the idea was quickly tossed out the window. For starts, he'd left his car at the company he'd been working for. He'd been a dancer. Mostly instructor, with backup as a side job for idols. And there was not a single chance in hell he was going to trudge all the way back there, just to get his bloody fucking car.
He had then thought about hotwiring any car left in the garages of the complex. But he ran into a few issues there. For one, he did not actually know how to hotwire a car. It sounded dangerous, and highly illegal. True, in a zombie filled world laws were no longer a real thing. Morals were tossed into the fire. So Minho could very much get away with it. Most cars still had gas that hadn't been used to try and flee. But that presented a new challenge. The roads would be jam packed with long abandoned cars.
And the last reason he tossed using a car to the side, they made noise. Thus, attracting the wrong kinds of attention. Mostly from zombies. But any survivors out there would see it, and try and flag him down for a lift. As he wasn't willing to trust with ease, he'd try and leave them to their fate. Though an alpha with them would force him to give them a ride. Or even take it from him, and duct tape him. He had shuddered at the thought. So, he was walking.
He didn't mind.
//
He watched as the last zombie body finally slumped to the ground with a ghastly gasp.
It twitched a moment, but that was it. The zombie defeated. The soul unleashed. Minho was breathing a bit now. Shallow and rapid. His club completely soaked in blood and flesh. But he had finally finished the last zombie in the complex. His backpack was stuffed full and almost bursting. Plenty of food and medical supplies to see him through to his grandparent's. The map firmly tucked inside his trouser waistband. The compass firmly in his grip, bound around his wrist so he didn't lose it easily.
With a firm grip on his club, Minho turned to face the rest of the undead world.
He was slow as he opened the door, holding his breath. Not from the stench. He'd become accustomed to it by now. No, it was to avoid being noticed by more zombies then he could handle alone. When there were none directly outside, he allowed himself to slowly tip toe his way out of the building, and into the almost glaring and blinding sunlight. He looked around, not seeing any zombies in his general vicinity.
Worked perfectly for him.
He only ducked back in long enough, to check his map. And then the direction he was meant to go. Once he was certain of the direction to start heading in, Minho left the complex for the last time. He turned to face his destination direction, and began to walk. Though, he did duck into a few alleyways to avoid running in to more trouble than he could handle on his own. Why they had yet to leave, and migrate for their food? He wasn't sure. But he wanted to be out of the city before they started that little campaign.
He did not dare to run.
In the eerie silence left in the wake of the zombies' hostile takeover, the streets would echo the hard sound of his shoes on the concrete and asphalt. He would jog once he was out of the city, and the sound of his feet hitting the ground wouldn't echo so much. He still remained cautious, and aware of his surroundings, often going still as a statue when a group of them were a bit too close for his comfort. He would lay in wait for so long, watching them. Waiting for them to eventually move on. Once they had, he would continue on his way. He would take those moments to check the map and his compass.
Even the city could be hard to navigate when you had to walk, rather than ride or drive a car.
Minho also wondered when his luck would eventually turn.
His self-isolation making way for all kinds of characters to come to him. He had to wonder their intensions, and when he'd learn them. In this world, wolves could become scarily good at lying and hiding their true nature. Their true intentions. Thier scents mastered in ways they weren't meant to be. Covered up a little by the disgusting odor of zombie killing. And that actually saddened Minho a bit. He would have loved to know what his mate smelled like. He also wondered what he would have smelled like for his alpha. What florals and fruits and sweets his alpha detected. And become addicted to. Not just through his slick, but in other consumables.
There had been a decent market of things made specifically to satisfy alphas with an omega mate. Offering over candies, fruits, sweets, drinks made with the ingredients that made up the omega's sweeter scent. He had wondered what his alpha would get. What combination of things he'd be most likely to obtain. Because they'd remind his alpha, of himself. It was a sweet and sentimental thought. Minho could be a soft romantic when he wanted to be. But he was acutely aware alphas weren't exactly the most gentlemanly, or polite and decent. There were genuine creeps and brutish and abusive type alphas out there. Just as there were selfish and self-centered, narcissistic and entitled omegas.
There could be no good and decent, without bad and awful.
A balance.
It had taken Minho far too long for his liking to reach the end of the city. But once he had, he felt a little bit lighter. A sense of relief. True, it was temporary. But better than feeling as he had earlier. With the sun beginning to set and making the world even more dangerous, Minho had to find a place to stay for the night. He hoped to reach his grandparent's place before long. Stay there a while. The future was so very much fogged, it was a mystery no one would ever be able to solve. Less so now, than before. All Minho could do was move forward.
While returning to his roots.