Novel Full Chapter 1139 Marathon
Chapter 1139: Chapter 1139 Marathon
The scent of roasted meat and cooking spices soon filled the air, blending oddly with the faint metallic tang of fear that lingered beneath the surface.
Ross watched silently as they moved about, calm and collected, taking careful mental notes of every movement, every arrangement, every slip in their composure.
"Drink some more, Ross!" Wilson called out, slapping a crate for emphasis and laughing as if the night were entirely in his favor.
Ross merely nodded, raising a bottle with a polite smile, drinking steadily while observing the men.
To the group, it appeared he was joining the celebration, enjoying the rare feast.
But in truth, Ross’s mind was far elsewhere, cataloging every detail, calculating the consequences, and preparing for what he knew was inevitable.
Wilson’s grin widened inwardly as he imagined the night’s end.
Outside, more than a hundred men waited in the shadows, ready to swarm the supermarket at a moment’s notice.
In his mind, it was already over: Ross dead, Sabrina under his control, and the survivors at his mercy.
The thought sent a thrill down his spine. Finally, he thought, everything I’ve wanted... all within reach.
Around them, laughter echoed through the supermarket.
Bottles clinked together, knives scraped against plates, and the rich aroma of cooked meat mingled with the low hum of conversation.
For a few precious hours, the dire reality of the zombie apocalypse seemed distant.
The group of survivors watched, cheered, and drank, caught up in the illusion of safety and abundance.
Yet beneath the laughter, tension simmered like a coiled snake.
Every cheer, every bite, every casual movement of Wilson’s men only made Ross’s patience sharper, his awareness keener.
He could feel the energy in the room—the reckless overconfidence, the pride of men who believed they had planned perfectly.
They had no idea that each step they took, each boastful motion, was leading them closer to their doom.
Even the survivors who weren’t part of Wilson’s plan couldn’t help noticing the strange mixture of festivity and unease.
The supermarket, normally a place of mundane routine and survival, was alive tonight.
Laughter and chatter filled the air, yet it was undercut by the invisible weight of danger.
A feast in the middle of a zombie apocalypse was rare, yes, but so was recklessness, and Ross could see it all like a chessboard laid bare before him.
As Ross casually lifted a piece of meat to his mouth, savoring it without haste, Wilson’s men continued their antics, completely oblivious to the storm gathering around them.
They joked, they drank, and they tried to assert dominance through noise and bravado, never noticing the calm predator at their center.
The night stretched on, the feast continuing, but every second was a countdown.
Every laugh, every cheer, every careless glance was a reminder that they were stepping deeper into danger. Ross didn’t rush, didn’t act.
He simply waited, patient, observing, letting their own arrogance build the stage.
And all the while, the supermarket seemed both a haven and a trap—filled with food, drink, and momentary joy, yet silently ready to become the stage for a reckoning.
Ross’s presence was quiet, unassuming, but beneath that calm exterior lay a force that would turn this night from celebration into annihilation.
The feast, the laughter, and the drinks masked the truth: the night was far from over.
Not when there was much blood left to be spilled tonight.
***
Two hours past midnight, the atmosphere inside the makeshift hall had completely collapsed into drunken chaos.
The tables were cluttered with half-eaten food and bottles scattered everywhere.
Men were laughing too loudly, women were swaying to music that wasn’t even playing anymore, and several people lay on the ground, knocked out cold from drinking far beyond their limit.
But in one corner, Wilson and his gang watched with predatory smiles.
They blended in, pretending to laugh along with everyone else, but not a single one of them was actually drunk.
They had been careful—only sipping the weakest wine, letting it spill down their chins to look messy, taking small mouthfuls of beer then letting the rest sit untouched.
Their minds were clear. Their intentions sharper than the knives that would soon appear.
They had been waiting for this moment.
Thud!
A heavy sound rang across the room.
All eyes turned—or at least the sober ones did—and saw Ross slumping forward in his chair.
His head dropped onto his chest, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. He looked like a puppet with its strings cut.
The bottle he had been holding slipped from his fingers, rolled off the table, and shattered with a crisp crack on the concrete floor.
Ross didn’t react. Not even a twitch.
Wilson’s men exchanged glances, excitement bursting in their chests.
One of them clenched his fist so hard he trembled, as if he were about to shout in triumph.
Only Wilson’s stern glare kept them from acting too soon.
Sabrina, who had been keeping an eye on Ross the entire night, instantly rushed over.
Her heart was pounding as she held his shoulders and tried to lift his head.
"Ross, hey—Ross," she whispered urgently. "You should stop drinking already. You’re going to get sick. Come on, let’s get you to your room."
Ross mumbled something incoherent, his lips barely moving.
His eyes opened halfway for a split second, unfocused and glassy, before sliding shut again. His body was heavy—too heavy.
Sabrina had to brace herself to stop him from sliding off the chair.
She hooked her arm under his and forced him to stand, grunting as she tried to support his full weight.
Ross leaned entirely on her, his legs like jelly.
Then—
A deep, booming laugh thundered through the hall, echoing off the walls.
"Hahaha! Finally... FINALLY! You’re dead, Ross fucker!"
Sabrina froze.
Wilson stood a few meters away, his smile stretching unnaturally wide across his face.
His eyes gleamed with pure hatred and triumph.
Before Sabrina could even understand what was happening, Wilson raised his hand.
A ripple of cold air swept through the room.