Airborne

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As the zombie hordes closed in, I took refuge in the cramped confines of a food truck. The scent of lingering spices mixed with the tension in the air as I hastily searched for supplies, realizing this mobile kitchen might become my fortress against the undead.
Outside the food truck, the relentless groans of zombies intensified. Scrabbling and banging on the metal exterior, their decaying hands clawed at the windows for me. I could feel the violent rock of the food truck as they tried to reach me I clutched a spatula like a makeshift weapon, heart pounding, realizing the fragrant aroma of blood from my wound had inadvertently attracted the undead. It was a culinary battle for survival.
  

A sudden shift in the undead horde's attention diverted their focus to a distant noise. I could hear the rushed footsteps passing me by as they went after whatever captured their attention. As the groans faded, I cautiously peered out from the food truck, witnessing the last of the zombies stumbling away in pursuit of a new prey. Relief washed over me, but the eerie stillness left me wondering about the unpredictable nature of survival in this apocalyptic world. I ducked my head back into the truck before the any more of the undead could spot me.

I looked around. Scouring the food truck for supplies, I uncovered a couple of canned goods, some bottled waters juice, sodas and a small gas-powered generator. The clatter of pans and the hum of the refrigerator offered a glimmer of hope that, amidst the chaos, this mobile kitchen could sustain me a little while.