Adventure of KaptKroniK 1

The pharmacy is a tomb of shattered glass and stale air. KaptKroniK leans against a rusted shelf, the metallic taste of his half empty beer can mingling with the sharp, herbal scent of his lit joint.

A generator sputters in the distance, its rhythmic chugging dying into a metallic death rattle. A teenage girl, soot-streaked and trembling, stumbles from the back storage room. She is dragging a heavy duffel bag and a limp, unconscious survivor.

A heavy thud echoes against the steel shutter at the front entrance, followed by the frantic, wet scratching of fingernails on metal.

KaptKroniK pivots on his heel, his heavy boots crunching over the glass as he turns toward the pharmacy's rear exit. He leaves the girl coughing in the haze, clutching the unconscious man's arm.

The metallic scream of the front shutter reaches a fever pitch as the metal finally buckles. A gaunt, grey hand punches through the gap, followed by a mass of swarming, restless shadows pressing in from the street.

KaptKroniK strides toward the rear emergency exit, his heavy boots crushing glass beneath his weight. The air inside the pharmacy vibrates as the front security shutter tears from its tracks with a screech of tortured metal. A swarm of grey, twitching limbs reaches through the widening gap, grasping blindly at the stale, smoky air. The teenage survivor screams as she loses her grip on the unconscious man, his limp body sliding across the slick tile floor toward the encroaching shadows. KaptKroniK does not break his stride, his hand already reaching for the latch of the rear fire door.

The girl scrambles backward, her fingers frantic as she tries to drag the man away from the encroaching, restless tide of the undead.

He exhales a thick, sweet-smelling cloud of smoke directly into her face. The shutter collapses entirely, the heavy metal slamming into the linoleum and sending a shower of sparks into the dark air. A pale, rotted hand reaches over the barrier, grasping at the teenager's hoodie. She stands frozen, torn between the pull of her fallen companion and the exit route offered by the gnome. The store is filled with the wet, hungry scraping of dozens of dead feet dragging across the floor.

The girl screams, her fingernails digging into the man's jacket as she tries to hoist his limp frame toward the back door. Her effort is futile. The horde surges over the wreckage, a wall of gray skin and frantic, clicking teeth. One ghoul lunges, its fingers hooking into the back of her hoodie. She stumbles, her grip on the unconscious man slipping as she is dragged backward toward the encroaching swarm. KaptKroniK takes a slow, steady drag of his joint, his red eyes narrowed in detached amusement, his boots already turned toward the relative safety of the rear alleyway.

KaptKroniK pivots on his heel with surprising agility, his heavy frame shifting fluidly toward the alleyway. He leaves the teenager struggling against the pull of the undead. A ghoul’s pale, rotted hand clamps down on her shoulder, but he does not look back. He takes one last, long pull from his beer, the liquid sloshing against his teeth, before tossing the half-empty can aside. It clatters loudly against the tiled floor, drawing a few hollow stares from the encroaching mob. The back door is inches away, swinging open into the cool, dark night. Behind him, the girl's desperate cries are suddenly cut short by the wet sound of a struggle. KaptKroniK doesn't break his stride. He is already calculating if he has enough supplies left to last the night elsewhere.

The alleyway beyond the threshold is choked with shadows and damp trash, but it offers a reprieve from the slaughter inside. KaptKroniK steps into the cool, stagnant air, his boots crunching on broken glass. The chaos of the pharmacy muffles behind him as the heavy door swings shut, leaving him in the dim, flickering light of a single streetlamp.

He spots a discarded, reinforced duffel bag partially buried under a pile of rotting shipping crates. It looks like it was tossed aside in a hurry, its zipper snagged on a protruding shard of wood. As he reaches down, the metallic tang of blood catches the breeze, accompanied by the distinct, low guttural groan of something approaching from the far end of the alley. He has a few seconds before he is no longer alone.