Leveling up in Dystopia

Chapter 3, Deadly Mistake.

The glow of a few battery-powered lanterns cast long shadows across the supermarket’s storage room. Shihab sat with the small group of survivors, Abu Mahmoud the retired engineer, Asmaa the pharmacist, Jumana and her baby,the siblings Karam and Karima, the cashier Jamal the young boy Adam. The air was thick with tension as they debated their next move. 

"We can’t rely on the Molotovs forever," Shihab muttered, rubbing his temples. "The gasoline will run out, and then what?" 

The young man beside him, Karam leaned forward, his sister Karima nodding in agreement. "We need a real plan," Karam said firmly. "First, we prepare for all possibilities. If the zombies break in, we have to be ready." 

Abu Mahmoud stroked his beard thoughtfully. "He’s right. We need to secure every entrance, every exit. No weak points." 

Asmaa, still in her white lab coat, adjusted her glasses. "And we need to take stock of our supplies. Food, water, medicine, everything. If someone gets sick, we have to know what we have to treat them." 

Jumana, rocking her baby gently, added, "I can sort through the food. We need to know what’s about to expire, what can last, and what we should eat first." 

Adam, the youngest of the group, piped up excitedly. "And I can help too! For my science project, I made a small generator. Maybe I can build something bigger!" 

Shihab’s eyes lit up. "A generator…" He turned to the cashier. "Places like this usually have backup power. If we can find it." 

The cashier shrugged "I've only been working here for a week, I don't know if we have a generator."

The old man got up. "I know machinery. Let’s search the basement." 

As the group dispersed to their tasks, Shihab felt a flicker of hope. They had a plan now. But in the back of his mind, he wondered, would it be enough? 

The basement was a tomb of stale air and looming shelves. Their flashlight beams cut through the dust as they scanned the walls. 

"There," Abu Mahmoud muttered, pointing at a heavy metal door labeled MAINTENANCE. 

Shihab forced it open with a grunt. Inside sat a diesel generator, its red paint faded but its structure was intact. 

"Same model as the factory’s," Shihab breathed. He ran a hand over the control panel. "If the fuel tank isn’t empty..." 

Abu Mahmoud checked the gauge. "Half full. Enough for days if we ration it." 

Shihab’s fingers hovered over the ignition. "Last chance to back out." 

The old man chuckled. "Turn it on before I die of old age, boy." The generator roared to life. 

Upstairs, the lights buzzed awake. A cheer erupted as the supermarket brightened. 

"We have power?" Karima gasped, spinning in place. 

Adam whooped, sprinting to the snack aisle. "Chips! Chocolate! We’re eating like kings tonight!" 

Even Asmaa cracked a smile as she plugged in a portable kettle. "Tea. Actual hot tea." 

Shihab returned to applause. Jumana handed him a juice box, absurdly childish, but he drank it greedily. For the first time today, laughter filled the air. They dragged chairs into a circle, passing around a deck of cards. 

"Uno!" Adam crowed, slapping down his last card. 

Karam groaned. "How does a twelve-year-old keep winning?" 

"Genius-level intellect," Adam shot back, grinning. 

Abu Mahmoud and Shihab played chess, the old man clucking at every move. "You factory workers think brute force wins games." 

"Worked for the generator," Shihab retorted. 

Asmaa, sorting medical supplies nearby, snorted. "Let’s hope it keeps working." 

The first thud against the reinforced delivery door was dismissed as wind. 

The second made Karim drop his cards. 

Shihab was on his feet instantly, pressing an ear to the door. Distant, inhumane moans filtered through. 

"This isn't good," he said quietly. 

Asmaa peered through the security camera feed. Her breath caught. "They’re everywhere." 

The screen showed shadows lurching past the parking lot, converging on the supermarket. Dozens. Then hundreds. 

Abu Mahmoud cursed. "The generator. It’s not just light, it’s noise." 

Shihab’s stomach dropped. The factory’s generator had been indoors, muffled by machinery. Here, the exhaust vents led outside. They’d basically announced their location. 

Ali, pale, whispered, "Did we just invite them?" 

A violent crash shook the front windows. Glass shattered. 

"No more games," Shihab barked, snatching up a Molotov. "Barricade the doors. Now!" 

But as the survivors scrambled, one terrible truth became clear, the generator that had given them light had also sealed their fate. The horde wasn’t passing through. Or it's going to be the end of them.