It was morning on the Walmart rooftop, and Liam stood alone, still engrossed in the Barrett M82A1. He had made up his mind: on April 1st, they would leave, cross the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan, then pass through Midtown and exit New York via the Lincoln Tunnel, aiming for a secluded village in New Jersey to start anew. That meant they had about a week left in the Walmart, mainly to let Robby recover and to finish modifying the vehicles. Old Mike had already begun, downloading schematics and working with the cars in the underground garage. His age was an asset—he had experience, knew welding, and had been a professional race car driver. No one else understood cars like he did. Even if some parts were missing, the store had enough to improvise.
A gunshot cracked through the air, echoing far. Liam peered through the scope at a car over a kilometer away—it was untouched. But shifting the scope, he saw where the bullet had landed: about fifty meters off, shattering a clothing store window and igniting some garments with the M8 armor-piercing incendiary round. He sighed, massaging his shoulder. The recoil was brutal, and though wind couldn't have caused such a deviation, controlling this anti-materiel rifle was no small feat. Untrained users often found their shoulders sore or bruised after just a few shots.
As he adjusted his stance, footsteps approached—Robby, limping with a cane, drawn by the gunfire.
"Barrett?" Robby asked, eyes on the rifle.
"Want to try?" Liam offered, then added with a wry smile, "I've fired a few shots—terrible aim."
Robby, though not a sniper in the military, approached the rifle, crouched, and took aim. After a brief moment, he pulled the trigger. In the distance, the red car burst into flames, followed by a delayed, muffled boom.
"Missed the gas tank," Robby muttered, standing. He had intended to hit it directly, but the incendiary round ignited the car, leading to the explosion.
"You hit it?" Liam asked, hearing the distant blast and seeing the smoke.
"It's a big, stationary target—of course I did," Robby replied. For a trained soldier, hitting a car-sized object from a kilometer away was expected. He had nearly qualified as a special forces sniper, missing the mark by a small margin.
"Teach me," Liam said, eager.
"Sure," Robby agreed readily. True snipers were rare, requiring rigorous training and exceptional mental and physical resilience. But Liam wasn't aiming to become a sniper—he just wanted better accuracy.
They spent the day with Robby instructing Liam, not with the Barrett but with an AK-47. A good marksman could adapt between rifles, and practicing with the more abundant 7.62mm rounds was practical. The Barrett's .50 BMG rounds were scarce and valuable.
Two days later, Christine, Manila, and Jason joined them on the rooftop. With departure imminent, they needed everyone proficient with firearms. Old Mike continued working on the vehicles, Laura's shooting skills were already sharp, and Bowen declined training, remaining aloof. Liam didn't press him; Bowen hadn't shown qualities warranting attention.
Under Robby's guidance, the trio began practicing with handguns and rifles. Proper stance was crucial, incorrect posture could lead to injuries, especially with powerful handguns like the Desert Eagle. Liam had some experience from shooting ranges, but the others were novices, often using whatever felt comfortable, which wasn't always correct.
In the afternoon, they moved to the underground parking lot—a vast space over 20,000 square meters, with seven regular exits and one for large vehicles, capable of holding over 2,000 cars. Few zombies remained there; early in the apocalypse, some had tried to hide there, but the limited entrances and the initial low number of zombies meant it hadn't become a hotspot. They had previously cleared it using suppressed handguns.
On their first day at Walmart, Liam and Old Mike had selected two vehicles for escape: a Jeep Grand Cherokee and a German truck. The truck was used for store deliveries, making its presence in the parking lot unsurprising. Both vehicles required modifications—reinforced windows with steel mesh, thickened truck beds for added weight to prevent overturning by hordes, external blades to slice through approaching zombies, and shooting ports in the truck bed that allowed firing out without letting zombies in. Interior modifications included anti-collision structures to protect occupants during movement.
The truck would carry everyone and their supplies, while the Jeep served as a backup in case of emergencies like a breakdown or flat tire.
In the following days, mornings were spent on shooting practice, afternoons assisting Old Mike with vehicle modifications. Soon, April 1st arrived.