Cervine acted with decisive resolve, steadfast in her decisions without wavering. Arno had initially considered preventing her latest course of action but realized that the young and old in their team could probably endure no longer. If they did not solve the food problem in a day or two, the entire team would inevitably starve to death.

  Cervine and Ethan were assigned to guard and keep watch at night. Arno learned the name of the injured man: Peter, formerly a teacher in Philadelphia. His immunity to the virus was strong, so he survived. He had been in charge of refugee management at the Philadelphia base, but during a recent escape, he was struck by a stray bullet in the thigh and abandoned by the main group. Now he was with Cervine's team.

  In this apocalyptic world, everyone had the skill to use firearms. Peter seemed somewhat weak but had grown into a machine gunner during three years of base defense. Likely, Cervine valued Peter's ability as a machine gunner, although there was no machine gun in the group, so he could only stay on the minibus for now, guarding a firing position. He was, at least, considered a semi-combatant.

  Ethan was on guard for the first half of the night, so Cervine instructed Arno to rest. Clutching her gun, she ducked into her tent, soon emitting faint snores.

  Arno shook his head, lying by the fire and enjoying its warmth. Unlike Cervine's carefree attitude, Arno's feelings about his first night in this world were turbulent, his mind filled with endless thoughts. Unable to sleep, he eventually sat up, drew a cigarette, and began to smoke.

  After half a cigarette, Arno called up Zora and began to look through a vast database, discovering that the functionalities of his timepiece were quite powerful. Just using his thoughts, he could perform tasks, such as finding maps. Overjoyed by this discovery, he asked Zora about satellite live maps.

  Zora laughed, saying, "Of course, but..."

  Arno's elation turned into dismay as Zora continued, "You'll need to reach Level 5 genetic permissions to use that feature!"

  Crestfallen, Arno smoked his cigarette more vigorously, muttering, "That's practically the same as saying nothing!"

  At that moment, footsteps approached, and Arno turned to see Peter limping over. He plopped down beside Arno, inhaling deeply, saying, "The smell of tobacco, I haven't smelled it in over a year. How I've missed it."

  Arno, no stranger to this sort of tactic, tossed him a partially smoked pack, saying, "Here, take it."

  Peter accepted it as if it were a treasure, lighting one with a burning twig from the fire, contentedly puffing away. "I haven't smoked in over a year, damn, it's been torture." Noticing the vintage, he exclaimed, "This was discontinued in '45, where'd you get it? It's worth at least ten pounds of white rice."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Arno merely chuckled. The cigarettes had been handed out at his workplace, and he'd saved them. He was surprised that in this food-centric world, a pack of cigarettes could be exchanged for ten pounds of rice, equivalent to two or three hundred grams of gold.

  "Discontinued in '45?" Arno tried to shift the conversation from the realization that he'd just given away thousands of dollars' worth of value. Peter replied ambiguously, then handed over two small 20-gram pieces of gold, saying, "I can't just take your cigarettes; this is all I have."

  Arno waved it away, "Consider it a gift. We're teammates now." He had come to terms with giving it away since it held no real value in his original world.

  Peter didn't refuse, thanking Arno and promising to help if needed in the future. He then carefully retreated to his tent, its faint red glow flickering.

  Arno shook his head, lying back down by the fire, casting aside his concerns. As fatigue overtook him, he fell into a deep sleep.

  The dawn of the second day was still hazy when Arno felt someone gently nudging him. Struggling to open his eyes, he found it was a young boy from the team, his thin, pale face displaying a hint of fear. Seeing Arno awaken, the boy was startled and retreated several steps, pointing to Cervine, who was already packing up the tents, and said, "The captain sent me to wake you."

  Arno offered a gentle smile, replying, "I'm not going to eat you; what are you afraid of? What's your name?" The little boy turned and ran towards Cervine, calling out as he went, "My name is Quintin."

  Arno's possessions, it seemed, were limited to a single steel pot. Since he couldn't store the pot in his spatial storage, he picked it up and followed Cervine and the others down the hillside towards a small bus.

  Truth be told, this bus, in Arno's eyes, had likely reached an age fit for the scrapyard. The windshield was damaged, and the body's white paint was peeling, exposing rust-streaked metal beneath. More alarming was a significant gash in one of the rear tires, revealing a glimpse of the inner tube. Arno even wondered whether the tire would hold up; a blowout during a zombie attack would be a disaster.

  Seeing Arno's stunned expression, Cervine said resignedly, "We had no choice; this was the only functioning vehicle we could find. We'll have to make do and hope to find something better in the next town."

  Arno understood Cervine's predicament and sighed before climbing aboard with his steel pot. The bus's seats had been half removed to make room for miscellaneous items. The six travelers – three older, three younger – settled into the remaining seats, fastening their seat belts. Arno casually tossed his pot into the pile of belongings and took a seat by the window.

  Peter leaned in, kindly advising, "Arno, it would be best to have your handgun ready; zombie attacks can be sudden. If we can't suppress them quickly, they'll soon surround the car. The thin metal of this bus won't hold them off." Arno, having no experience fighting zombies, heeded the advice of Peter, a veteran of over three years. He took his gun from his belt, checked the magazine, and thanked Peter.

  Cervine was driving, and as the bus started, Arno felt the entire interior engulfed by the engine's noise. Ethan, who had stood watch during the latter part of the night, lay beside the pile of belongings, catching up on sleep. Peter just smiled at Arno, then moved to the rear of the bus, lying down, his eyes fixed on the road behind them.