Chapter 5："Rustic Serenity: Life on the Farmstead"

Demnia is British, as is Payton.

But they aren't the typical Brits of stereotypes. Demnia's cooking skills are exceptional, creating delectably aromatic dishes, while Payton has a knack for tea—though one prefers adding corn and tomatoes to their broth, and the other loads their tea with heaps of sugar.

From the meals Chen Dao has had these past few days, the flavor has been excellent. Demnia served Chen Dao a hearty bowl of stew, its hot, red surface fragrant like a tangy beef tomato soup, drool-worthy to any passersby.

The potatoes were cooked to perfection, the salted beef had fallen apart, tender on the tongue, and with the corn's unique texture, Chen Dao felt truly alive. To eat such a meal—ahem, I mean to eat beef stew with tomatoes, corn, and little potatoes—it's the essence of living!

Chen Dao devoured the entire bowl, feeling a profound sense of contentment. Although his cooking level had reached 5, for a man who's not handy in the kitchen and used to char his food, this was beyond his culinary grasp. Demnia must have high-level cooking skills, it's clear. These two survivors must have their own specialties. Demnia, clearly skilled in cooking, has a talent for combat and knows a bit about first-aid too.

What about this dazed British lad, though? What is his specialty?

Chen Dao scratched his itchy ear, perhaps the blood clots inside were further drying out, causing his skin to feel itchy enough to slap and scratch from time to time. It's very itchy indeed.

After finishing their stew, the trio sat silently in front of the farmhouse fireplace, staring at the flames—but it's also mid-summer, so they didn't pile much wood in the fireplace. Once the few branches burned out, the fire died down.

The farmhouse is indeed comfortable. The layout is both simple and convenient, and with the front door open, a cool summer breeze blows through, making even the presence of flames bearable during the hotter season.

Chen Dao slouched on the single sofa in a relaxed sprawl, Demnia tucked her legs under her as she curled up in a corner of the loveseat, and Payton was splayed out, occupying most of the couch like a discarded jacket.

If only they could continue lying here after a full meal, indulging in this ease of life, Chen Dao thought, feeling drowsy again. Had he grown lazier, or was this sleepiness due to severe physical exhaustion?

Well, might as well shut his eyes and rest a while, a little nap won't hurt.

With that, Chen Dao closed his eyes and drifted off, but he kept hearing strange sounds, like a river bursting its banks in the mountains or the sibilant whisper of a gentle breeze. This was because his eardrums were severely damaged from the car crash, with impact trauma to his head causing recent immobility.

Though anxious and worried he might be deaf forever or remain paralyzed, fearful of not hearing his own screams when zombies caught him, death wasn't Chen Dao's biggest fear. He'd seen enough death in this short time to become numb, no longer fearing it.

What troubled him was if his life had any glory, if his death would be meaningless—a death void of cheers or tears, dying not like a person but like a stray dog, unburied and unremembered.

Chen Dao felt he was on the brink of insanity, this world as familiar as a game. Sometimes he thought like an extreme gamer: "Maybe I could go and tease that group of runners; if I fail, I'll get caught and eaten, and perhaps then I'll respawn as another survivor, like in a game."

But his desire for life was too great to dare such a risk, fearing the nearly certain deadly outcome.

Suddenly, a new day dawns, and the comforting aroma of stew drifts through the air.

Chen Dao, after waking up, gets out of bed and stretches, looking at his healing wound, then steps out to greet the day.

Demonia and Payton turn toward his smile as he balances on the door frame.

The accidental meeting of survivors, through merely sharing a smile in each other's company, is warmth enough in the chaos of Kentucky—every living soul is a blessing, especially if they can cook, fix, or heal.

Chen Dao is sure they will become a tight-knit team, living together as best as they can before the zombies have their feast. Life, as real as it gets, is lived in the moment, shared with companions over a bowl of stew—today, Chen Dao beholds it with more clarity than ever.

As he delves deeper into his reverie, Chen Dao realizes just how much he's been through. From surviving hordes of sprinting zombies to escaping the pursuit of a helicopter; from witnessing the undead climb out of the river to injecting a potentially lethal dose of adrenaline, and then suturing his own neck; these harrowing experiences have certainly left an imprint on him. And yet, he can't help but smile at the thought of it all.

What hasn't Chen Dao survived? It was Demnia and Payton who saved his life, a sign perhaps that the stars still shine upon him, and that it isn't his time to be reaped by the Grim Reaper just yet.

The sense of reality? Chen Dao scoffs at it. For now, the steaming bowl of beef stew enriched with tomatoes and chickpeas before him is as tangible as it gets.

He devours the thick, comforting stew, slurping it down. Demnia and Payton exchange a bemused glance. Despite a severe injury just days ago, Chen Dao is now up and about, devouring a hearty meal. They can't help but wonder if perhaps the head injury affected him a bit more than they thought.

But those concerns can wait; it's dinner time now. Any further issues can be discussed when the sun rises again.

Kentucky remains locked down, allowing entry but preventing exit. The military has set up barbed wire, sandbags, and even tank barriers around Knox County. Snipers on watch are ordered to shoot anyone approaching the border, and power outages have plagued the state since the largest thermoelectric plant established by General Electric along the Ohio River went offline.

The President has announced a national state of emergency on television, refusing to cooperate with the World Health Organization's investigation and deeming the WHO's cessation of air and sea travel to and from North America an "unacceptable baseless accusation."

A "dangerous Soviet reunificationist" named Tom Larrich was killed downstream of the Ohio River in Levinsworth, and his companions escaped into the forest. Officials have issued a warrant for one Benjamin Calvinson.

The U.S. populace grows restless, urgently seeking to understand what they're up against, fueled by an igniting rage within.

That was until a cryptic video, unaccompanied by sound, only 2 minutes long, and converted to AVI format, was widely disseminated through community forums, burnt onto floppy disks, and duplicated onto VHS, being physically distributed to people.

The unclear video, with its evident digital transference marks—suggesting it was a projection recorded by a digital camera—showed a man in a forest ranger's truck, nothing significant but for the teeming mass of sprinting "people" in the background. "Those people" climbed out from the riverbed, toppled community fencing, and trampled over "others," regardless of the severed halves they left behind.

When the driver, who had hit and rolled over countless onrushing "people," crashed into a stable and shakily emerged from his truck, he fired hopelessly at "them" before turning the gun on himself as the video cut off.

Gradually, meticulously edited tapes scattered across forest trails and found right at doorsteps made it clear: video cannot be photoshopped. It had to be real.

The American people are enraged. Another march on Capitol Hill is brewing; last time, the protest turned violent with security being attacked.

Biting fingers and faces are minor compared to a ban on protests, unable to quell the fervor of the nation.

And so, on the early morning of July 25th, 1993, as the sun gilded the White House dome, the second Capitol Hill riot erupted.

This time it was worsened, a day-long unrest spiraling until noon the next day when screams continued to echo.

And with each passing moment, the commotion spread further, engulfing the onlookers who realized too late that frenzied assailants were charging towards them – the virus had entered its outbreak phase.

Those who had fallen in the attacks lay waiting for their chance to rise again; those who clashed with the guards, the National Guard, and the Secret Service would also resurrect.

Nowadays, no tape is needed to see the hellish scenes unfolding live in Washington D.C.

Rampaging zombies consumed everything in a matter of hours, clearing the capital of life.

No worries though, the President had fled, hadn't they?