Chapter 24: Clearing the Grounds
Sam woke up to find the space beside him empty. The blanket still held some warmth—Emmy had only just gotten up.
He sat up slowly, blinking against the faint morning light filtering through the window. From the bathroom, he could hear the soft hiss of running water. Ira and Luna were still asleep on the floor, wrapped in their blankets, peaceful for the moment.
Sam moved quietly to the corner of the room where their supplies were stacked. He pulled out a water bottle and a pack of instant coffee, plugging in the electric stove. It hummed to life, the sound oddly comforting.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open, and Emmy stepped out, toweling off her hair. She gave Sam a small, tired smile, and he returned it as he poured two mugs of coffee. Without a word, he handed one to her. Their fingers brushed, but neither of them said anything about it.
"Mia replied," Emmy said, her voice low.
Sam raised his eyebrows. "She okay?"
"She's alright. She's formed her own group with other girls"
He nodded slowly. "That's good to hear."
They stood in silence for a moment, sipping their coffee. No rush. Just a rare, quiet pause.
When the mugs were empty, they both sat down on the floor, cross-legged and focused, returning to their work on forming their mana cores. The closer Sam got, the harder it became. It was like trying to compress energy that didn't want to be held. His mana resisted the structure, pushing back with every breath.
Outside, the sky was beginning to brighten. Students were already up and practicing in the courtyard, their silhouettes moving in slow drills against the growing light.
By 8:30, the mess hall began to fill with people. Sam and Emmy finished their training and joined the others for breakfast. More students trickled in—some early risers, some just trying to catch a bite before it finishes
The food was simple but hot. A few students had volunteered to become mess staff, cooking and organizing meals for the growing group.
As everyone gathered, Sam stood and addressed the group around him. "Today, we'll join the other groups to finish clearing the zombies around the dormitory area," he announced.
There were nods all around. No one needed convincing—everyone knew the risk of waiting too long.
Interestingly, no new survivor groups had formed among those Sam's group had rescued. Everyone understood that forming a new group in the middle of chaos was dangerous. Trust wasn't easy to come by anymore.
Soon, the cleanup began.
Sam's group, along with several others, moved across the hostel compound, clearing out stray zombies and newly arrived ones. It was slow work, complicated by the presence of mutants. They encountered three more around the area.
Sams group encountered particularly fast zombie gave them trouble. It was too quick for most of the team, darting between broken paths and rubble.
But Sam was faster.
Now at level 25, he reacted on instinct. He shifted Ira into her shield form and sprinted forward, blocking the zombie's path. The creature lunged at him, but Sam expanded the shield's radius mid-swing and slammed it into the zombie's chest. It staggered backward, dazed.
Before it could recover, Sam pulled a mana arrow from his quiver and drove it into the zombie's chest.
The creature exploded into pieces—gray, rotting flesh splattering across the ground.
A yellow orb clinked onto the concrete beside its remains. Sam pocketed it quickly, wiping off his sleeve without a word.
By noon, the hostel area was cleared. Everyone regrouped in Hostel B4 for the next planning session.
Only students above level 15 were allowed to attend. About eighty people filled the mess hall, seated in concentric rows around four tables that had been pushed together.
Ryan stepped up and took the lead.
"As everyone knows," he began, "we've secured the boys' and girls' hostels. The next step is cleaning out the rest of the campus. We need to secure everything we can. If anyone has suggestions or information, speak up."
Ian was the first to reply. "I think we should head to the gym next. The students there are almost out of food."
Others chimed in too. One suggested checking out the nearby police station.
"My father gave me a contact in the military," Shangguan Binger said. "He told me there's a military station about fifteen kilometers west of campus."
The room went silent.
"No one mentioned that in the government broadcasts," someone said.
Shangguan Binger, seated off to the side, nodded. "That's because the government only listed the camps they've fully secured. What they didn't say is that some zombies—especially ex-military or trained individuals—retain their muscle memory."
Sam frowned slightly. "So... they could still use weapons?"
"Technically, yes," she replied. "But not every zombie retains memory. It varies."
She went on to explain more about what she knew. The details weren't comforting, but information mattered more than fear now.
"Can you contact that base? Ask for help?" one student asked hopefully.
"I already tried," Binger said. "They told me they're not in a position to send assistance."
A few students—especially those newer to this life—started begging for the contact number, desperation clouding their judgment.
Sam stayed quiet, scanning the room.
Then he felt it—a stare.
He looked around and found the source: Roy Miller. His old bully. Roy sat a few rows back, on the left side, flanked by his usual crew.
Emmy was sitting in the front row, With Sam beside him, focused on the discussion. Roy was watching them.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Sam didn't look away. But Roy did—turning his attention to the speaker as if nothing had happened.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Sam's mouth.
He had never feared Roy Miller. Only the influence he once had. But now, in this new world, connections meant less. Strength, clarity, and teamwork meant more.
And seeing Roy look away first?
That said enough.