My Sniper System in a Zombie Apocalypse World-Chapter 82: Borrowed Sanctuary

On the streets, Jaxon continued to sprint away, his body aching, his mind exhausted, looking for a place to hide, a sanctuary from the infected, his survival hanging by a thread.

He activated the upgrades he had been saving coins for.

(70 coins spent. Ammo Lv.0 → Lv.3)

(55 coins spent. Magazine Lv.0 → Lv.3)

(73 coins spent. Body Lv.0 → Lv.3)

(58 coins spent. Muzzle Lv.0 → Lv.3)

(61 coins spent. Grip Lv.0 → Lv.3)

(75 coins spent. Suppressor Lv.1 → Lv.5 max)

The pistol in his hands transformed instantly. The magazine expanded, the frame reinforced, the muzzle stabilized, the grip refined, and the suppressor now fully silenced every shot.

It felt lighter, easier to control, each shot clean and precise even as he moved. Infected fell before him without slowing his pace.

Then he stopped short. His eyes locked onto a faded sign ahead. Gun Store.

Jaxon slowed his breathing and scanned the area. No howls or footsteps. His hearing, although not fully recovered, picked up nothing from inside, just silence.

After a brief pause, he made his decision.

Quietly, he slipped inside through one of the windows.

The store was dark. Jaxon brought out a small flash light, its beam cutting through the gloom as his pistol stayed steady in his other hand. He moved step by step, careful and alert.

Racks of rifles, handguns, and ammo lined the walls. For a moment, the urge to grab everything and store it away tugged at him, but he pushed it aside. Safety first.

A flicker in the shadows caught his eye. Jaxon turned toward it, his finger on the trigger.

As he rounded the corner, his flashlight caught a young man in his late twenties, both hands tight around an assault rifle, the barrel already aimed straight at him.

Before he could react, more figures emerged from the darkness behind the man, guns trained on him.

"Who are you?" a raspy, aged voice whispered from the shadows.

Jaxon remained still, his body tense. But the fact that they hadn’t fired immediately gave him a sliver of hope. Slowly, he raised his hands. "I’m not infected," he whispered back.

For a long moment, silence stretched.

"Sam, check him out," a rough, commanding voice called from the darkness.

The young man in front of Jaxon stepped cautiously, keeping his distance. A flashlight beam traced Jaxon’s body, scanning for bite marks, or anything that might indicate infection.

"I would’ve already turned if I were infected," Jaxon muttered quietly. Surviving this long, they must know it too, that it only took seconds, maybe a minute, for someone to fully transform. Still, they kept their guard up.

Sam gave a slow nod to his companions. Gradually, their guns lowered.

Jaxon turned slightly and took in the others. Besides the young man before him, three more figures emerged from the shadows.

An older man with a lean, muscular build kept a cigarette perched in his mouth, his shotgun resting casually against his shoulder. A gangster-like man with a Mohawk and a black leather jacket held a submachine gun, his stance casual but alert. Finally, a dark-skinned woman with tight curls clutched a pair of Uzis, her eyes scanning Jaxon.

...

The tense atmosphere slowly eased, though the room still hummed with cautious energy.

"What’s your name, kid?" the older man finally asked, his voice relaxed.

Jaxon turned his attention to him, eyes scanning each person carefully. But none of them reacted aggressively. They all seemed confident in themselves, seeing him as no threat. "Jaxon," he said quietly.

"Why are you here?" the man with the Mohawk asked, his tone sharp and suspicious.

"I was running from the infected... and I happened to find this place," Jaxon replied.

The mohawk man shrugged, seemingly losing interest, and flopped back onto the sofa.

"You managed to survive out there? At night?" Sam asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I was lucky... I guess," Jaxon admitted.

"Damn you are. This is the first time I saw someone surviving the streets at night." Sam marveled, shaking his head.

Jaxon shifted his weight, eyes flicking to the corners of the room. "Mind if I stay here for the night?" he asked, voice low.

Sam hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "I guess... yeah, you can stay."

"Who decided that?" a deep voice cut in. The Mohawk man, still on the couch, raised an eyebrow and didn’t move.

"Then what do you say?"

The Mohawk man stared at Jaxon for a long moment, he scoffed before standing and leaving without a word.

"What about you, Kira?" Sam asked the woman with the Uzis.

"Don’t ask me. Figure it out yourselves," she snorted, turning away and walking off.

"Uncle Harlan?" Sam asked, looking at the older, muscular man still clutching his cigarette.

"Let him," Harlan said with a shrug. "He won’t be going back out tonight anyway." He settled into a corner, finding a comfortable spot to sleep.

.....

Jaxon sank into a corner, pressing a hand against his side where his ribs still ached. The pain throbbed with every breath, but he tried to ignore it.

Sam appeared beside him, dragging over a rolled-up sleeping bag and another extra.

"Here," Sam said, placing them in front of Jaxon. "You’re gonna need these."

"Thanks," Jaxon murmured, nodding as he began to set up the sleeping bag.

Sam crouched down beside him, curiosity in his eyes. "So, where did you come from, Jaxon? You live around here?"

"No," Jaxon replied quietly. "I was just passing through, heading toward the safe zone."

"You’re unlucky to come here, mate," Sam said with a wry shake of his head. "Your worst decision was stepping into this city."

Jaxon flinched at the memory of the mutated infected he had narrowly escaped just half an hour ago. "Yeah," he said, his voice tight. "You’re right." He groaned as a harsh cough wracked his body.

"You okay?"

"Yeah... just a little hurt while running," Jaxon said, trying to keep his voice steady.

A quiet pause filled the corner. Then Jaxon spoke again, curiosity edging into his voice. "How long have you guys been here?"

Sam tilted his head and gestured toward himself. "If you mean the oldest one sticking around, that’s me. I work here. Name’s Sam, by the way."

Jaxon nodded, studying him. Sam seemed easygoing, almost friendly, but there was a careful edge in his eyes, like he was always watching for trouble.

"The rest of them followed," Sam continued. "First was the woman, Kira. She said she used to be a nurse. That’s all I know about her."

"Then came Rex, the one with the Mohawk." Sam leaned closer and lowered his voice. "That guy used to run a gang. That’s why he’s... well, mean."

Sam’s lips curled into a smile as he spoke of the last person. "And lastly, Uncle Harlan. Old man, but tough as nails. He’s a war veteran. Came here to collect guns and fight the infected."

Jaxon nodded slowly, taking in the information.

"Guns..." he murmured. "Can I... can I get some too?"

Sam’s eyebrows lifted, then he chuckled. "Sure. The owner’s dead. No one really owns them."

Jaxon blinked, a little surprised at how quickly Sam agreed. He had just been testing his luck.

"Come on, pick whatever you like," Sam said, standing up and motioning toward the shelves. "We’ve got plenty of stacks here. Not like we can use everything anyway." He sounded almost excited, eager to share his knowledge of the weapons with someone new.

Jaxon followed Sam through the room, listening closely as he moved among the stacks of rifles and guns. Sam’s voice was lively, full of enthusiasm, explaining the differences between each weapon, how they handled, and what they were best for.

It felt like he was treating Jaxon more like a friend than a stranger.

The room was packed with rifles of every kind. Jaxon wanted to grab them all and send them to his storage, but he couldn’t do that in front of Sam. Instead, he found a bag and started filling it carefully, submachine guns, pistols, compact carbines, bolt-action rifles, and a few semi-automatics suited for suppressors. He left the heavier shotguns and larger weapons behind.

Even as he hauled dozens of rifles into the bag, Sam didn’t seem to mind.

"What about the bullets?" Sam asked, seeing him only take the rifles and a few bullets.

"It’s fine, it would be too heavy to carry" Jaxon said.

Sam looked at him weirdly, bullets were just as important as the rifles, wouldn’t they be useless if he didn’t have enough bullets?

Jaxon ignored the stare and continued filling his bag. He could always buy the bullets later through his system, and they were cheap. Guns, on the other hand, were expensive, just one could cost hundreds of coins.

Once they settled back into their sleeping bags, Jaxon spoke quietly.

"Are you guys planning to stay here for good?"

Sam shrugged. "I don’t know. I’d like to get out too, but you know the situation outside. We tried once... didn’t end well."

"Will you take the train then?"

Sam blinked. "What train?"

"You haven’t heard about the government evacuation?"

Jaxon explained it quickly, the scheduled arrival, the few days left before it left the city. Sam’s eyes widened, a mix of shock and excitement spreading across his face.

He jumped up and ran straight to the others’ rooms, eager to share the news.

Jaxon watched him go, a small smile tugging at his lips. He hadn’t expected them to be so unaware, but at least it was a small thank-you for the guns he’d taken.

Quietly, he stood and moved among the racks of rifles. One by one, he stored them in his system, careful to take only a dozen so it wouldn’t be obvious. There were hundreds of guns here, far more than he could ever carry and far more than the small group could use.

When he returned to his sleeping bag, Sam still hadn’t come back, lost in spreading the news. Jaxon sank into the bag, his body aching and his mind buzzing with plans. For now, he allowed himself a brief moment of rest.