SWNOVELXO Chapter 32: Ch32:Encounter
The morning sun cast a warm glow across the ruined highway as Aiden sat in the driver's seat of his modified apocalypse truck. The hum of the newly solar-powered engine was far quieter now, the panels on the roof absorbing rays while the system distributed clean energy through the cables he'd installed. The weight of his gear was a comfort—his sidearm snug in its holster, the katana within reach, and his bow hanging securely beside the driver's seat.
After finishing a quick breakfast—canned fruit, a protein bar, and a long pull from a cool water bottle—Aiden wiped his mouth and unfolded the police map he had looted back at the Atlanta station. Multiple red markings and handwritten notes in faded ink indicated known patrol routes, emergency supply caches, and locations of civilian shelters that had gone dark during the outbreak.
"Red Circle: Emergency Armory
Status: Unknown
Last Patrol: Day 5"
"Blue Square: Civilian Aid Post – Church
Status: No Contact
Reports of Resistance Group Presence*"
"Black Cross: 'Hot Zone'
– Medical Quarantine
High Infection Risk
– Do Not Approach Alone"
Aiden narrowed his eyes. "Armory first," he muttered.
He folded the map and started the truck, pulling away from the shaded residential lane. The massive tires rolled over the cracked asphalt, crushing debris and the occasional walker limb without slowing. Every now and then, a stray zombie would stagger out from a ruined storefront or crawl from under a flipped vehicle, drawn by the low rumble of the engine.
THUMP.
CRACK.
Aiden didn't even blink as he drove over a walker in a business suit, its body crushed under the reinforced wheels. A splatter of blood painted the road in his rearview mirror.
The Road to the Armory
The drive took him past long-abandoned gas stations, cars rusted into place, and crumbling overpasses overtaken by ivy and silence. The world felt emptier now than ever before. No voices. No engines. No screaming. Just the low growl of his truck and the occasional crow circling overhead.
Aiden flipped open the map again, glancing at the next turn. The armory was located just off a back road behind an industrial district—isolated, which was good for security back then, but dangerous now.
As he turned the corner near an overgrown shopping plaza, a group of walkers shuffled into the road. Maybe a dozen. He could've gone around.
Instead, he flipped a switch on the dash.
The plow-mounted front grill, sharpened and reinforced with scavenged sheet metal, lowered into position. The engine roared slightly louder.
WHAM!CRUNCH—SCREEEECH!
The front of the truck became a blender of gore and bone. Bodies bounced off the windshield, slid under the tires, and were left in broken heaps behind him. Blood streaked across the hood like war paint.
[Ding!]
[+2 EXP (Walker Kill)]
[+2 EXP]
[+2 EXP
][+2 EXP]
[+Bonus +3 EXP: Roadkill Combo]
Aiden grinned faintly. "Waste not, want not."
Arrival at the Marked Site
Eventually, the truck rumbled to a halt just outside a rusted chain-link gate, long since cut open. A faded sign above a set of concrete steps read:
Fulton County Emergency Response Armory – Authorized Personnel Only
The building was squat, windowless, and made of dull gray concrete. Barbed wire fences had collapsed, and blackened burn marks marred the left side—a firefight had taken place here. Bullet casings littered the entrance, and a few skeletonized remains slumped against the wall, their gear looted long ago.
Aiden cut the engine and locked the truck's outer compartments. He slid his helmet over his head and tightened the chin strap. Bow in hand, he crept toward the entrance, eyes scanning every shadow.
Inside, it was silent.
The air smelled of oil, rust, and dried blood.
As he moved deeper, the narrow corridors began to widen. Storage racks, overturned lockers, and cracked crates lay strewn about. Aiden checked them one by one—flashbangs, a half-empty ammo box, a combat vest in decent shape.
[Loot Acquired:– Combat Vest (+1 Defense)– x3 Flashbangs– x120 9mm Rounds– Tactical Boots (+Stamina Recovery Rate)]
He smiled slightly as he pulled on the new vest. "Now we're getting somewhere."
Still, something gnawed at him—why was this place mostly untouched?
Just then, he heard it—a faint shuffle.
Low. Wet.
Not from behind.
From under the floor.
Aiden crouched, knife drawn, as a trap door creaked open several feet ahead of him.
His eyes narrowed.
"Guess this isn't over yet."
Aiden's grip tightened on the M9, the barrel pressed firmly against the man's sweaty forehead. The dim light from the cracked trap door cast long shadows across the walls, but Aiden could see clearly enough—this man was familiar.
His face was gaunt, dirt-smeared, but his eyes still held that same nervous twitch. The same twitch Aiden remembered from that day back in Atlanta—the standoff where Rick had traded guns for Glenn. This guy had been there. One of the cowardly ones, hiding behind the real muscle.
"Y-you gonna shoot?" the man stammered, voice dry and cracked. "I ain't got a weapon, man. Please…"
Aiden didn't move, expression cold. Memories flashed.
Glenn in a chair.
Rick's fury.
This guy, laughing in the background. Holding a bat.
And now, here he was—unarmed, alone, crawling out of a bunker like a rat.
"You were one of them," Aiden said, his voice low and lethal. "You helped take Glenn."
"N-no! I was just following orders! I—I didn't even want to be there, man. That was Guillermo's crew. I was just the lookout!"
"Don't lie." Aiden's finger hovered near the trigger.
The man swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward the trap door. "I swear! I bailed after that day! Been hiding here ever since—look, man, you can check down there. Supplies, radio… You'll see. I've been off the radar. I didn't hurt nobody!"
Aiden stared into the man's eyes for a long moment, the silence pressing in like a weight.
[System Prompt:]
"This man was part of a hostile group"
.– Execute– Interrogate
– Spare (Add to Group – Trust = 5%)"]
The pistol didn't move. But Aiden slowly stepped back, lowering the barrel just an inch—not mercy, but a reprieve.
"Down," Aiden ordered. "Hands on your head. If you twitch wrong, you'll be fertilizer."
The man obeyed quickly, shaking as Aiden patted him down. No weapons—just a canteen, a flashlight, and a beat-up photo in his coat pocket. Aiden glanced at it.
A little girl, maybe six or seven. Missing teeth. Smiling with the man in better days.
"…That your kid?"
The man nodded, eyes damp. "She's gone. Lost her in the first wave."
Aiden didn't say anything. He pocketed the photo and nudged the trap door wider with his boot, sweeping his flashlight into the underground space.
Crates.
Radios.
Canned food.
A first-aid station
A loaded bolt-action rifle on a table.
Liar.
"You said no weapons," Aiden growled, snapping his head back toward him.
"I—I didn't use it! It's just for defense! I swear I haven't shot it!"
[System Update:
– Lying Detected
– Trust Level: 3%
– Optional Objective: Track Ballistics on Rifle]
Aiden exhaled slowly, holstering his M9.
"Start talking. Everything. What you were doing with Guillermo. What you know about CDC activity. About any groups still operating. You lie again—"
He drew the knife and let it gleam coldly in the dark.
"—you'll wish I just pulled the trigger."
Aiden let the silence hang for a moment longer before lowering his knife, not sheathing it, just letting it rest at his side. His eyes were still hard, but the fire behind them cooled just a little.
"You're not the only one who did shit to survive," he muttered, almost more to himself than the man. "I remember now. You were part of that crew in the nursing home. Sick, kids… old folks. You weren't monsters. Just cornered."
The man nodded slowly, breathing easier, though he kept his hands up.
"Yeah… that's right. Guillermo tried to keep the place going. We weren't tryin' to hurt no one, just keep the power running, keep the meds comin'. But after that standoff… things fell apart. We lost most of our people. Power went out. Supplies dried up. I bailed. Couldn't take watchin' them die slow."
Aiden exhaled through his nose. He got it. The desperation. The grief. He'd been there more times than he could count.
Still, he cursed under his breath. "Dumb move mentioning Glenn…" he muttered. "Now they'll think I'm with Rick's people."
He turned his eyes back on the man. "Name?"
"…Luis."
"Alright, Luis." Aiden motioned toward the trapdoor. "I'm going down there. If there's anything else that can surprise me, you better tell me now."
Luis shook his head. "Just gear. A little food. A hand-crank radio. Sometimes I catch chatter… mostly static. Haven't heard anything clear in weeks."
[System Prompt:– Luis added to Known Characters– Trust Level: 10% (Rising)– Bunker Stash Discovered– Radio Access: Potential Broadcasts – Unknown Origin– Decision: Keep Luis alive?
Yes: Luis becomes a contact and possible allyNo: Eliminate threat, claim suppliesImprison: Keep under watch inside truck's rear cell]
Aiden eyed Luis again, then looked down into the bunker. The air inside smelled of old metal and dry air—a hint of survival.
"You're lucky I don't kill you for lying about the rifle," Aiden said flatly. "But you stuck by the sick when it counted. That still means something."
He pointed a finger in Luis's face. "You're not off the hook. You try anything, I'll bury you out here where even the walkers won't find your bones."
Luis raised his hands again. "I get it. I swear, I ain't lookin' for trouble."
Aiden turned to the trapdoor. "Good. Because if you're gonna be useful, I might have use for a radio man. Otherwise… I'll drop you off with the next group of survivors I don't hate."
He disappeared into the bunker.
Inside the bunker: neatly stacked crates of MREs, water purification tablets, field medical kits, a solar shortwave radio, several ammo boxes (9mm & .308), and an emergency power inverter. On one wall, a hand-drawn map with scribbled notations about other survivor broadcasts, names, and strange coordinates circled in red…
Do you want Aiden to:
– Interrogate Luis further about the map and radio signals?– Take Luis along as a temporary ally?– Loot the bunker and move on alone?– Leave Luis with a warning?
ChatGPT said:
Aiden gripped his M9 tighter as Luis began to descend the ladder into the bunker, step by cautious step. The soft creak of old metal groaned under their weight, dust falling with every shift. Aiden's eyes never left the man's back.
He didn't trust him. Not completely. Not yet. Humans were worse than walkers, because they lied. Because they could think. Because they could plan.
Luis hit the bottom of the ladder and glanced over his shoulder. "It's just like I said… supplies, a radio, some old maps."
"Good," Aiden replied coldly, lowering himself after. "Then you won't mind showing me everything. Walk slow. Hands visible."
[Trust Level: 12% – Luis appears compliant but still under suspicion.]
The bunker was cramped but organized, clearly used by someone with military habits—maybe not a soldier, but someone who learned from one. Aiden scanned the walls: shelves of supplies, labeled and grouped, all untouched by rot. Bottled water. First-aid kits. An old Kevlar vest hung beside a rack of empty rifles, just the hooks now.
Aiden's gaze locked onto the map pinned above the desk. A red sharpie had circled four locations:
"Haven 13 – Silent since week 3"
"Whisper Static – No response"
"Macon Relay – Last contact: 'We're burning out'"
"Hartsfield Refuge – Possible survivors??"
Luis stepped aside. "That's where we used to try reaching out. We thought if we could find anyone else still running, maybe we could trade… or warn 'em what's coming."
Aiden narrowed his eyes. "Warn them about what?"
Luis looked down. "Not all the dead are slow. We saw… different ones. Smarter. Hunters."
Aiden's jaw clenched. That lined up with the odd things he'd started noticing—walkers reacting faster, stalking in shadows, some ignoring noise and instead watching from a distance. He thought it was paranoia.
Now it felt like confirmation.
[System Log Updated:– Intelligent Variant Walker – Possible Threat– Map Locations Stored in Navigation– Luis is a Source of Intel – Temporary Passive Bonus to Awareness]
Still, Aiden wasn't convinced.
"I'm not giving you a gun," he said as he inspected the radio. "You lie to me, I'll bury you under this bunker and lock it behind me."
Luis nodded again. "Fair."
"You said your group had elders, kids. If that's true, and they're alive, I'll help." Aiden's voice dropped slightly, steel hiding behind the tired tone. "But the second you make me regret that, I'll end you. Pack or not."
Luis held his hands up. "Understood."
Aiden spent the next hour:
Cataloging supplies into the system.
Taking photos of the map and radio logs for later decoding.
Checking the medical crates for anything advanced (scored antibiotics, gauze, and antiseptic).
Swapped his worn vest for the bunker's better-condition Kevlar.
Before they left, he made Luis carry the bulk of the gear. If this was an act, the man was damn committed.
Aiden led him back to the truck, still wary, but with a growing idea:
A proper pack. A group. His own. With rules, with gear, with a mobile fortress.
The truck rumbled down the half-cracked, overgrown road—its reinforced armor and mounted solar panels catching glimpses of sunlight between swaying tree branches. Aiden sat behind the wheel, eyes cold and sharp, but there was tension in his jaw, in the way his gloved finger rested near the trigger of the M9 pressed against Luis's ribs.
Luis sat still, his hands visible, not daring to provoke the man who'd already proven more than capable of surviving the apocalypse alone.
System Prompt:"New Route Activated: Civilian Compound - Underpass Bunker""Trust Gauge: Luis – 14%""Emotion Ping: Aiden – Unsettled Compassion (Kids: Priority Tier 1)"
As the truck crested a hill, Luis motioned forward.
"There," he said quietly. "Down the highway ramp. We barricaded a few buses together under the I-85 bypass. It's not much but... it's home."
Aiden slowed the vehicle. Through the cracked windshield, he spotted two overturned city buses, a broken chain-link fence reinforced with scrap metal and wire mesh. Behind them, tarps strung between concrete pillars, a faint trail of smoke from a cooking fire. A handful of figures moved behind the barriers—thin, slow-moving, some clearly children, one in a cast, another being helped by an older man with a cane.
Aiden parked two hundred feet away, keeping the engine idling. "You move funny," he warned Luis, "and I'll make sure no one ever finds what's left of you."
Luis nodded solemnly. "Understood."
They walked forward slowly—Aiden's bow slung across his back, M9 still drawn. At the barricade, three men appeared, none armed with anything more than makeshift spears and a crowbar. A woman called out, "Luis?!"
He raised his hands. "It's me! I brought someone who might help."
The people looked at Aiden warily.
He scanned them—malnourished, pale, bruised but alive. His eyes landed on a little girl clutching a ragged teddy bear, hiding behind a bus seat turned into a wall.
Something inside him shifted.
A tall woman stepped forward. Mid-40s, scar across her cheek. She held herself like someone used to giving orders but beaten down by too many losses.
"I'm Mara," she said. "Leader, if you want to call it that. We don't have much—food's low, meds lower."
Aiden responded flatly, "I want to trade. Ammo, tools, maybe spare gear. In exchange—medicine."
Mara raised a brow. "You got medicine?"
Aiden motioned toward the truck with his thumb. "I do. But I don't hand it out for free."
She nodded. "We understand."
System Notice: Negotiation Interface Activated
Aiden offers: Basic medical supplies (antibiotics, painkillers, gauze)
Possible trades from group:
x60 9mm rounds
1x box of MREs (8 meals)
Clean water jugs (5L)
Handwritten map with walker migration notes
Crate with spare M4 parts
Information on other survivor groups
Luis turned to Aiden. "They're not fighters. But they've survived through luck and hiding. You could help them… build something stronger."
Aiden didn't answer at first. He looked again at the girl with the teddy bear.