The Lazy Chronicles: Apartment of the Apocalypse-Chapter 64: The Risky Blueprint

Mallory leaned back against the cold wall of the library, staring at Clara’s hand-drawn map. The rough sketch of the mall was simple—blocky shapes denoting floors and hazard zones—but something about it felt ominous, like the mall wasn’t just another zombie-infested landmark but a lurking beast waiting to devour anyone foolish enough to enter.

"So, let me get this straight," she said, waving the map around. "We need to go into the belly of the beast to find...what exactly? A vial of magical cure-all serum?"

"It’s not magical," Clara said, exasperated. "It’s experimental. The lab was one of the last operational sites before everything collapsed. They were developing something to stop the spread."

"And you didn’t think to mention this until now?" Greg asked, his tone dripping with incredulity.

Clara crossed her arms. "We didn’t think we’d live long enough to make it there."

Mallory snorted. "Wow, inspiring. You should write motivational posters."

Alex laughed, nudging Mallory. "You’re going to get punched one day, you know that?"

"I like to think I’m charming enough to dodge it," she said with a wink, before turning back to the map. "Alright, let’s get real for a second. This mall—what’s so special about it?"

"It’s not just the cure," Clara admitted, her voice dropping. "It’s supplies. We’ve heard rumors of food, clean water, even power sources. It could mean survival."

"Or it could mean death," Derek said sharply from across the room. His perpetual scowl deepened as he leaned against a shelf, arms crossed. "You think the zombies we just fought were bad? That mall’s got hordes. We’re talking claustrophobic hallways and no escape routes."

"Geez, Derek," Mallory said, rolling her eyes. "Did you have a bad dream about malls or something? What’d they do, refuse you a Cinnabon?"

Vanessa stifled a laugh, while Derek’s jaw tightened.

"Enough," Clara snapped. "This isn’t a joke. If we go, we need a solid plan. No stupid heroics."

Mallory glanced at her frying pan, which was resting on the table beside her. "Define ’stupid.’"

--- frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

The group spent the rest of the night huddled in the library’s back room, hashing out their strategy. Clara laid out the map, and each person contributed ideas based on their strengths.

Altair, ever the stoic strategist, pointed out potential choke points. "If we can bottleneck them here," he said, tapping a section labeled Food Court, "we might have a chance to thin the herd before moving deeper."

Vanessa added, "We’ll need distractions. Noise works, but it can backfire. Maybe something like..." She trailed off, looking at Blinky 2.0, who was innocently cleaning one of its glowing legs.

"No," Mallory said immediately.

"Oh, come on!" Vanessa said. "The little guy’s perfect for it. He can skitter around, make some noise, lead them away—"

"Absolutely not," Mallory said, scooping up the robotic spider and holding it protectively. "Blinky is not bait. He’s a pet."

Blinky beeped in agreement, snuggling into her arms.

Alex smirked. "That thing’s got more personality than some of the people here."

Mallory grinned. "Right? Honestly, Blinky might be the MVP of this apocalypse."

"Focus," Clara said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Greg, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. "What’s the backup plan if things go south?"

Silence fell over the room. Everyone exchanged uneasy glances.

"There isn’t one," Derek said bluntly.

"That’s encouraging," Mallory muttered.

---

The journey to the mall began at dawn. The survivors moved in a tight formation, each person scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. Mallory, who had begrudgingly traded her slippers for sneakers, kept Blinky perched on her shoulder like a robotic parrot.

Greg walked beside her, his face tense. "You okay?" he asked.

"Peachy," she said, twirling her frying pan like a baton. "Nothing like the threat of imminent death to wake you up in the morning."

He chuckled. "You know, for someone who hates leaving her apartment, you’re handling this pretty well."

"Yeah, well," she said, shrugging, "I figure if I die, at least I won’t have to pay rent anymore."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Only you could make a joke about rent in a zombie apocalypse."

---

When they reached the outskirts of the mall, the air grew heavy with tension. The building loomed in the distance, its shattered windows and graffiti-covered walls a haunting reminder of what it once was.

"Alright," Clara said, pulling the group into a huddle. "Remember the plan. Stick together, stay quiet, and for the love of everything, don’t do anything stupid."

Everyone nodded, though Mallory couldn’t resist whispering to Alex, "Define ’stupid.’"

They entered through a side door that Altair had pried open. The inside was eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of metal or the distant shuffle of undead feet.

The group moved cautiously, weaving through abandoned kiosks and overturned displays. Mallory couldn’t help but notice a pair of mannequin legs sticking out from under a pile of debris, their disjointed pose strangely comical.

"Hey, look," she whispered to Alex. "Even the mannequins are tired of this apocalypse."

He smirked but quickly shushed her, pointing to a nearby corner where a zombie was slowly dragging itself along the floor.

They managed to avoid the lone zombie and made their way to the first checkpoint: the Food Court. The area was a mess of broken tables and spilled trays, but to their relief, it was relatively clear of undead.

As they searched for anything useful, Mallory couldn’t resist poking fun at Greg, who had found an old menu and was reading it like it was a treasure map.

"Whatcha doing, Greg? Planning our last meal?"

"Ha-ha," he said dryly. "I’m just saying, if we survive this, I’m recreating the nachos from this place."

"Ambitious," Mallory said, smirking.

---

Their luck ran out when they reached the second floor. A horde of zombies, previously hidden in a darkened department store, came shambling toward them with horrifying speed.

"Plan B!" Clara yelled, though no one had any idea what Plan B was supposed to be.

Mallory swung her frying pan with wild abandon, knocking over racks of clothes to create obstacles.

Greg tripped over a fallen mannequin arm and nearly got bitten, but Alex swooped in just in time, bashing the zombie’s head with his bat.

"Thanks," Greg gasped.

"No problem," Alex said, grinning. "Try not to die, okay?"

Mallory, meanwhile, found herself face-to-face with a zombie wearing a sequined dress.

"Wow," she said, dodging its clumsy swipe. "Even in death, you’re overdressed for the occasion."

She brought her frying pan down with a satisfying clang, sending the zombie sprawling.

Despite the chaos, they managed to fight their way to a service elevator, which Altair had pried open earlier.

"Go, go, go!" Clara yelled, shoving everyone inside.

The elevator creaked as it descended, the sound almost drowned out by their heavy breathing.

"Well," Mallory said, leaning against the wall. "That was fun. Let’s never do it again."

Vanessa laughed, though it was tinged with hysteria. "You’re insane, you know that?"

"Probably," Mallory said, grinning.

As the elevator doors opened, revealing the lab hidden beneath the mall, Mallory couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

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