Solomon Smith gripped the wheel tight as the truck bounced over cracked asphalt, the small town of Branson Forks emerging from the pine-thick hills like a ghost—abandoned storefronts sagging under faded signs, tourist traps boarded or smashed, Main Street choked with overgrown weeds pushing through pavement. Heat wave gripped the Ozarks hard, humidity turning the air soupy, cicadas a constant roar even in the open cab. Sweat trickled down his dark skin, black tee plastered to his lean back, jeans chafing in the sticky warmth. Practical run: town five miles out, risks calculated—food low, hygiene items critical (soap, tampons running scarce), clothes for the girls after weeks in the same.
All five piled in: Emily beside him, blonde ponytail damp, tee and leggings clinging from sweat, wide hips braced against bumps, thick thighs rubbing faint chafed; Sophia in back left, athletic frame in cargo shorts and tank, toned legs stretched, narrow waist shifting with the ride; Olivia middle back, plush body in sweater and leggings despite heat—wide hips spread seat, very thick thighs pressed together, gentle stomach pooch visible under knit; Mia right back, petite curvy in camo tank and cutoff shorts, pronounced hips cocked, juicy round butt settled firm.
Guns loaded: Solomon's AR and shotgun rack, girls with .22s and Glock distributed—Mia's .308 across lap. "Quiet entry," he said calm. "Park edge, foot from there. Zombies noise-drawn—single shots head only. Humans... avoid if possible." Nods all around—scents thick in cab: floral sweat from Emily, oil from Sophia, warm bread faint from Olivia, pine-gunpowder from Mia.
Town edge hit eerie: cars abandoned mid-road, doors open, skeletons picked clean in some—birds scattering from bones. Stench faint rot on wind, mixed with mold from flooded ditches. Solomon parked behind a derelict gas station, engine kill. "Pairs: me and Mia lead clear, Sophia and Emily mid, Olivia rear watch with pack."
They moved low through back alleys—boots crunching glass soft, AR ready, finger indexed. First store: pharmacy, door ajar. Inside dim and stale—shelves toppled, pills scattered useless expired. Gory surprise: three shamblers in aisles, former locals bloated in decay, skin sloughing gray. Moans low as they turned—milky eyes fixing.
Mia dropped first: .308 crack echoing loud in confined space, head exploding wet pink-gray spray across vitamin shelves, body crumpling with brain chunks sliding down bottles. Recoil jarred her petite frame, juicy butt shifting balance in shorts. Solomon double-tap next: AR bursts controlled, first skull vaporizing in bone fragments and gore mist, second stumbling into wall—follow-up punch through temple, exit spraying arterial dark on posters.
Last lunged at Emily—close, grabbing her arm with rotten fingers. She yelped, .22 up shaky—crack, miss high. Solomon Ka-Bar thrust side: blade sinking ribcage crunch, twist gut-spill hot and stinking, pull free slick. Shambler dropped gurgling, intestines uncoiling wet on floor.
Loot quick: antibiotics unexpired, painkillers, hygiene—tampons, soap bars, razors stuffed packs. "Good haul," Solomon murmured, wiping blade on a rag. Emily's thick thighs trembled adrenaline, wide hips brushing his steadying hand brief.
Next: general store across street—clothing section intact mostly. Gory block: six shamblers in parking lot, clustered around a wrecked car with old blood trails. Group fire disciplined—Mia's scoped shots dropping two precise (heads popping distant wet), Sophia's Glock bursts jarring her athletic arms, hits solid; Olivia's .22 light kicks manageable now, one down; Emily steadying, wide hips braced wide for recoil.
Solomon finished rushers: shotgun boom close, slug obliterating torso in red ruin—guts spraying hot across asphalt, stench voided bowels thick. Brass and shells littered, cordite sharp overriding rot.
Inside store cool dim relief: racks half-looted but plenty left. Practical first: jeans, tees, boots for all—durable, rural fit. Hygiene: deodorant, brushes, feminine pads. Then luxury: girls wandered aisles shy excited—first normalcy in weeks.
Emily picked soft leggings gray and black, tanks thin and breathable, new bras practical but lace-trimmed faint. Sophia cargo pants fresh, sports bras firm. Olivia oversized hoodies cozy, leggings plush-friendly. Mia fitted shorts, tanks hugging.
Changing room makeshift: curtain from salvaged fabric in corner, privacy loose for watch. Girls rotated—shy laughter echoing soft as they stripped behind. Solomon stood guard door, but glimpses inevitable: Emily first, back turned but mirror angle—wide hips flaring as leggings peeled down thick thighs dimpled soft, round plush ass pale and jiggling slight as she bent for new pair, soft belly fluff folding gentle. New leggings slid up smooth, hugging curves better—fabric stretching taut over ass and thighs.
Sophia quick: toned legs flexing cargo off, narrow waist twisting, defined butt firm as shorts changed—practical efficiency, but shy glance over shoulder when Solomon's eyes caught brief.
Olivia hesitant: sweater off slow, plush body revealed in glimpses—very wide hips swaying, very thick thighs rubbing as leggings swapped, massive plush ass shifting heavy, gentle pooch pronounced bending.
Mia last: petite curvy efficient, cutoff shorts down pronounced hips, juicy round butt bouncing faint new fit—tank peeled, perky form quick covered.
Laughter bubbled: "These actually fit!" Emily's voice muffled, thick thighs testing stretch. "Feels... nice," Olivia shy. Shy peeks over curtain—bodies brushing accidental close quarters, scents sweat and new fabric mixing warm.
Food aisle final: canned meats, pasta, batteries—packs bulging heavy. Exit cautious: more shamblers drawn noise, but cleared efficient—gory headshots spraying lot, bodies piling.
Truck loaded, drive home dusty triumph—girls chattering soft new clothes, Solomon quiet proud. House approached safe, but town run painted target bigger—humans might follow tracks.
Unpack inside: changing proper now, privacy curtain same—glimpses lingering, shy laughter warmer. Tension built subtle: new fabrics clinging better curves, touches accidental hall brushes.
Night loomed hot—heat wave no relief.