[
From here.]
It was only a few quick strides to the auto repair shop, but Otacon had seen enough movies to know that was plenty of time for a zombie to bite him. He needed a weapon. Something long or heavy or anything. He dashed across the small lot and into the garage, which held slightly less undead townspeople than the street... but not by much. Hadn't this been a sleepy small town just an hour ago? Where the hell had they all come from? What had happened to his life that he wasn't even really questioning the existence of zombies?
Otacon snatched a couple of wrenches off a tool cart and swung a glancing blow off the closest zombie. Adrenaline propelled him on even as his breath shortened and his limbs ached; he shoved the cart into the approaching zombies and ran for a nearby sedan - locked. "Come on," Otacon muttered, and rammed his wrench into the driver's side window, smashing it. But the creatures were catching up, and he was forced to run again, lest they grab him while he was trying to get through the window.
He threw one of his wrenches at them out of desperation, and landed a lucky shot as the wrench brained one and it went down, tripping others. Otacon rounded another cart and threw a random handful of tools. That... was somewhat less effective. He couldn't keep doing this. Another three steps placed him beside a pickup truck, and Otacon spun away from the zombies, only face another much closer one. It moaned inhumanly; he brought his last wrench down on its head with both hands, and gagged when the rotted skull practically exploded on him. His hand found the truck unlocked, and Otacon darted in without hesitation, slamming the door behind him.
Part of him wanted to just curl up now, maybe vomit first. But somewhere out there in that hell was Fox, and Snake, and while the two of them were battlefield veterans, even a legendary soldier couldn't take on an undead army alone. Forcing himself to ignore the moans and thuds outside of his vehicle, Otacon pried off the access cover and got to work. Most models predating ID-locking and computer automation operated under the same principles, and this truck didn't look nearly that recent. And, hopefully, would have some gas.
It did. The engine ignited, and Otacon straightened up to look at what he was dealing with. "Standard transmission?" He hadn't driven stick in years, but the zombies beginning to clamber onto the hood were enough to convince him that he'd do fine. The engine revved reassuringly as he hit the pedal, and then he was off, plowing straight out of the garage and turning onto Weigal Street.
[
To here.]