1 Chapter 1: When Dreams Become Reality I
1
The sky was blood-red.
The road beneath was charred and curled, a yellowed aftermath of intense heat.
Who's chasing me?
I turn, only to see the endless tar road stretching behind.
Buildings on either side, like overturned trash cans, lay randomly along the road's edge.
Abruptly, I throw off the blanket covering my face, sitting up in a daze.
It's happening again.
About two months ago, I started having the same recurring dream.
Always dreaming of scattered corpses and dismembered limbs.
In these dreams, my face, smeared in blood, reflects in the glass windows of shops.
My mouth moves in the dream, but I can't hear my own voice.
The digital clock by my bed beeps.
Seven o'clock sharp.
Sighing, I walk into the bathroom.
The girl in the mirror looks pale.
I've lost count of how many times I've struggled to wake from such nightmares.
Ever since I lost my job, restful sleep has become rare. Sleep has turned into something that leaves me drained.
Maybe, it's time to see a psychologist...
After washing my face with cold water, I prepare to leave the house.
The trash at home has piled up for a week.
Waking up early today, I can catch the waste sorting schedule.
The elevator isn't crowded, just a woman taking her child to school.
She has a bruise on her forehead, injuries on her face.
Noticing me, she adjusts her mask, turning her head away.
I subtly shift my gaze, trying to offer her some comfort, recalling last night's quarrel echoing through the building.
Stepping out of the elevator, the waste collection point is just downstairs.
The sorting lady chats with a few elderly people doing their morning exercises.
Judging by their frequent head shakes, they seem to be gossiping about some resident.
I toss the accumulated takeout packaging into the dry waste bin.
While sorting the delivery boxes, a low exclamation suddenly rises from the crowd.
"Whoa! What Really? Can't be!"
"Really. Our daughter was supposed to return this morning. But as soon as the plane landed, she was taken to the hospital for isolation, said it was for a safety check."
"Safety check? What kind of check?"
"Blood tests, CT scans, ultrasounds... they did everything possible, no clue what's going on."
Safety check? Health check?
For some reason, my heart starts racing.
Suddenly, scenes from my dream flash in my mind.
The curled road, chaotic fallen barricades, the blood-red sunset...
Seeing me standing there, dazed, the auntie steps forward, taking the trash from my hand: "Oh dear, you look so neat and tidy, why do you only throw out your trash every four or five days?"
Ignoring her teasing, I pull out my phone.
My social media feed is clean as usual, filled with celebrity gossip and social issues.
Strange...
Is it a resurgence of the pandemic?
I frown and quicken my pace back home.
2
It's just been a few days since Singles' Day, and I've recently restocked my household supplies.
Sitting in front of my computer, I browse through product pages.
Years ago, a pandemic swept the globe.
But as time passed, the virus softened. To this day, it has reached a form of coexistence with humanity.
For ordinary citizens like me, long battling the virus, outbreaks in certain areas have become the norm.
I access my order history and casually add some snacks, instant noodles, and sausages to my cart.
"Beep beep beep," a message from the online shopping platform pops up.
"Dear customer, we regret to inform you that all deliveries reaching or passing through Westbrook City are currently suspended."
Startled, I'm about to inquire further when customer service posts announcements from various courier companies.
They state that, starting from November 16, yesterday, all deliveries to Westbrook City have been halted.
What's happening?
Is the city being locked down?
I sense something is amiss.
Even if the pandemic resurges, developments usually occur gradually.
Without any related information or news reports about an unidentified virus...
How could they suddenly quarantine an entire city?
November 17, 12:37 PM.
My sense of foreboding deepens: The government's measures don't seem typical of pandemic protocols. I need to prepare.
I filter for local stores and begin selecting meticulously.
Self-heating rice meals.
Packaged instant noodles.
Compressed biscuits.
The variety of single-serving, self-heating foods is more abundant than I expected, and they seem tasty.
I order ten boxes, each containing twelve packets, in two-serving sizes.
Marking all orders for courier service cash-on-delivery, I rummage for masks, preparing to head out.
The nearest supermarket is about a kilometer from my home.
I plan to buy some fresh fruits and vegetables.
November's weather has turned chilly.
The fallen leaves of the street trees crunch underfoot, not yet swept away.
I notice a water station, besieged by customers, from afar.
Workers busily load water onto a queue of private cars.
"What's going on?" someone asks the store owner.
"Q district's water supply stopped. They can't handle the demand with their reserves."
"Water supply stopped? I hadn't heard."
The owner shrugs: "It's not just water. I heard they'll cut the electricity in a few days. My friend in solar power is swamped with orders."
My heart sinks.
This is not good news.
Judging by the owner's tone, Q district has been without water for a while.
Water and electricity are basic necessities.
Allowing such a widespread cut-off is unthinkable.
Is this related to the pandemic?
It doesn't add up...
It seems Westbrook City is indeed in trouble.
I change my plans.
Instead of the supermarket, I head to a nearby market.
It's a weekday, and the market is almost deserted.
I check my phone for a list of storable vegetables I'd prepared.
Potatoes, corn, cauliflower, cabbage, and other cruciferous vegetables.
According to the internet, these can last several months if properly stored.
After visiting a few stalls, I buy two sacks of potatoes, a sack of corn, and several crates of cauliflower, cabbage, and other vegetables.
I order a medium-sized van for delivery, which should arrive shortly.
There's a hardware store across the street. I go in and browse.
I buy three large water storage containers with taps and lids, a PVC hose, three rolls of tape, four ABS pipes, two transparent rain tarps, a hot glue gun with several boxes of glue sticks, and a home tool kit.
While shopping, the van arrives.
We load everything in several trips.
Heading straight to the supermarket, the day darkens into evening rush hour.
Since I don't live in the city center, the traffic isn't too bad.
The supermarket has plenty of bottled water.
After much deliberation, I buy fifty bottles.
Wet and dry wipes, disinfectants, a few boxes each.
Some snacks and beverages, and three thermos flasks.
I also purchase a vacuum sealer and several boxes of vacuum bags.
I leave my contact information and address, and the staff promises delivery tomorrow.
Heading out, I find the mall entrance crowded.
The once empty streets are now packed with cars.
Amidst the chaos, a conflict seems to have erupted.
In a chorus of screams, I see two men fighting fiercely.
Pushing through the crowd, I jump into the delivery van.
"Let's go," I urge, buckling up.
My phone buzzes relentlessly in my pocket.
Opening it, I see a flurry of messages in various chat groups.
I click on a link.
The screen shifts to a social media platform.
"Westbrook City" is the top trending topic.
3
I guessed right.
It seems the pandemic has erupted again.
I scroll through the comments.
People are sharing rumors about where the outbreak began.
Schools, hotels, residential areas, even prisons.
There's a myriad of theories, none definitive.
November 17, 7:17 PM.
Lockdown.
It's really happening…
After arriving at my apartment complex, I pay the driver a bit extra to help carry everything upstairs.
After a day of running around, I finally sit down for dinner, but I don't feel relieved.
The government's measures are more severe than I anticipated.
I browse aimlessly on a social media platform while eating, drawn to a few posts.
One from yesterday afternoon discusses the water stoppage in Q district.
After several large-scale cut-offs, the issue finally gains traction online.
Someone posts a photo of the sealed Q district water plant.
The image is blurry, but you can make out the yellow and black caution tape and white-suited personnel on guard.
There are also posts about fortune-telling using the Chinese zodiac.
"Rat brings plague, Ox brings water, Tiger brings conflict, Rabbit brings famine. Rabbit years are always years of great hunger, many will die from food shortage this year…"
After Westbrook City announced its lockdown, these superstitious posts soared in popularity, inciting immense panic.
I read the posts several times before closing the page.
"The direction is wrong."
I reevaluate my shopping list from today.
If water and electricity can't be guaranteed, gas and food supplies will likely be problematic.
Winter is approaching.
It will get colder, and nights longer.
To avoid losing my focus, I compare my purchases with a nutritional chart.
I've bought rice and pasta, adding several large bags of oatmeal for grain diversity.
For protein, I rely on canned goods and long-lasting frozen meats.
Campbell's canned goods, Chef Boyardee canned goods, Del Monte canned goods… they all seem substantial.
After buying the cans, I pick up some bacon and ham.
I skip fish and seafood.
Eggs have a shelf life of only a month or so, not suitable for long-term storage.
Milk and yogurt, however, I buy in several cases.
I already have enough oil, salt, and spices at home, but I add a bit more, along with some vitamin supplements.
For medications, I choose common ones, iodine, and rubbing alcohol.
I order 50 more bottles of water.
Theoretically, a person needs about 2L of water per day.
But accounting for washing and cleaning, I have no idea how long this water will last.
Electricity and gas pose a bigger challenge.
I hesitantly choose a 6000W solar generator.
A complete system, including batteries, inverters, and controllers, compatible with 220V appliances and USB connections.
I also buy two butane stoves.
Butane canisters are inexpensive, so I purchase several boxes; they're reputed to be better than alcohol stoves.
I prepare some outdoor gear as well: two sizable backpacks, three solar flashlights, several batteries, a roll of rope, and two pairs of gloves.
After some thought, I also buy vegetable seeds.
Lettuce, soybeans, peas, spinach, chilies, ginger, and garlic.
These generally have a growth cycle of about a month.
I order accompanying gardening tools, potting soil, fertilizer, and planting boxes.
To maximize space, I buy several storage racks and boxes.
During this period, I often think of stopping this absurd behavior.
But then a voice coldly interjects.
"You know," it says, "you know what's coming… Just do it… while there's still time…"
Do I… really know?
Uneasy, I hurriedly clean up after dinner, preparing to rearrange my home to make space for the incoming supplies.
I'm not originally from this city.
After losing my job, I moved from near the city center in A district to my current house in J district.
J district is actually an old part of town, not lacking in amenities.
But as Westbrook City's economic center shifted northward, J district has become somewhat suburban.
The apartment I rent is over a hundred square meters.
Two bedrooms, two living rooms, with a kitchen, a bathroom, and two balconies.
The master bedroom and larger balcony face south, while the smaller bedroom and balcony face north.
After surveying each room, I decide to gradually clear out the furniture.
As I drag the TV cabinet out for the fourth time, the cleaning lady, who's been watching for a while, finally asks: "Moving house late at night?"
I nod: "Yes. I don't need these anymore. Will they get in everyone's way here?"
She quickly assures me: "Not at all, I'll take care of them. Do you have any other furniture you don't want?"
I consider: "Two beds, a sofa set, some cabinets, and tables."
The cleaning lady confidently promises to handle it.
Perhaps the furniture is worth something, as she's eager to make sure I don't change my mind, quickly bringing a few men to clear it all away.
My once slightly cramped home suddenly becomes empty.
After cleaning, I disinfect everything with alcohol.
"From now on, this is my fortress."
Crawling into my warm bed, I think to myself.
4
This time, I don't have nightmares.
In a haze, it feels like someone is sitting by my bed.
She's flipping through a book, narrating a story slowly: "The geese begin their southward journey, leaves start to yellow, but the sun remains as warm as ever."
I can't see her face, but intuitively I feel she's as kind as my grandmother.
"If you start feeling happy because of the warmth, it means the weather is getting colder."
She fiddles with the page, her figure enveloped in a dim light.
"Hunters in the forest must trust their instincts, or they'll miss nature's cues."
"When the snow seals the doors, it'll be too late."
…
November 18, 7:53 AM.
14th hour of the lockdown.
Lying in bed, lost in thought, I receive a call from the supermarket.
They inquire about a convenient time for today's delivery.
In a residential building, sneaking in so many supplies without notice seems implausible.
I had considered fetching them in batches, but with the pandemic's rapid escalation, if anything changes, all these efforts could be for naught.
Sometimes, excessive perfectionism can sabotage plans.
"Ten o'clock," I respond.
At this hour, with most people busy with work or school, I might avoid drawing too much attention.
I check the status of my deliveries; almost everything is on its way.
Only the water I ordered last night hasn't been dispatched yet.
Throughout the day, a steady stream of packages arrives at my door.
I carefully disinfect each one before bringing it inside.
The fifty water bottles from the supermarket are placed in the smaller bedroom.
Arranged ten in a row, three high, in two rows.
Against the water bottles, I install two two-meter-long shelves.
In both the living room and master bedroom, I set up shelves along the walls for additional storage.
The smaller bedroom, being cooler, is designated for perishable items.
The canned goods, instant noodles, and compressed dry food are stored in the master bedroom and living room.
After categorizing and storing everything, it's five in the afternoon.
The solar panels are smaller than I expected. Each is a little over a meter long and half a meter wide, eight in total.
There are also four 250ah batteries, storing about 12 kWh of energy.
I manage to fit five panels side by side on the retractable clothesline on the balcony.
With good weather, they should generate about 7 kWh of electricity per day.
I spend some time setting them up and connecting the wires.
I'll figure out how to install the remaining three panels later.
The next day, strict lockdown measures are implemented throughout the community.
I had just finished stocking up on essentials as the lockdown countdown ended.
The relief I feel is mixed with apprehension.
From the relatively mild measures a few days ago to today's full lockdown, it's been less than 72 hours.
The city's entire water supply has been requisitioned as a strategic material for pandemic control.
My online orders had been abruptly canceled.
The water crisis loomed unresolved, threatening to engulf J district soon.
I fetched the water barrels, each towering at 1.5 meters, and meticulously cleaned them.
Filled and secured, two found their place on the sunnier south balcony, the third on the north.
I glanced over the solar power controller.
The panels had eked out less than 2 kWh today, a dismal output under the cloud-covered sky.
Westbrook City, with its autumnal clouds and scarce rain,
seemed poised to turn water and power into daunting challenges.
The evening prior, I had a lengthy call with my parents,
I urged them repeatedly to stock up on food, stay indoors, and avoid visiting relatives.
Even though Rivervale City is far from here, caution is paramount.
Gathering resolve, I turned to tackle the agricultural bounty strewn across my balcony and kitchen.
The potato haul was hefty, probably tipping fifty kilograms.
Methodically, I scrubbed, peeled, and soaked them in a saline solution before sealing their fate in vacuum-packed solitude.
The TV droned on in the background,
a chorus of channels relentlessly broadcasting the unfolding crisis in Westbrook City.
The stringent measures, once thought ironclad, were faltering, giving way to fresh outbreaks across the cityscape.
A recent clip, captured in one of the hot zones and virally shared online,
showed two figures in hazmat suits at a checkpoint, one abruptly assaulting the other before the footage cut out.
They later surfaced, attributing the altercation to the crushing weight of their duties.
This incident was a mere echo of a growing trend in Westbrook City – a surge in violent episodes, fraying the fabric of public order.
People seemed to simmer on the brink, ready to boil over at the slightest provocation.
As I scrolled through the comments, a remark from a healthcare worker snagged my attention.
"No unidentified pneumonia cases here," she claimed, "but our surgical wards are bursting at the seams."
Stranger still was the notice of her hospital's impending closure, a new directive mandating a single operational hospital per district.
In the dire scenario Westbrook City was facing, such a policy seemed less like strategy, more like capitulation.
"Unless," a commenter mused, "our current medical arsenal is essentially futile against this foe."
Weighed down by these thoughts, I set aside my phone and plunged back into my task.
Hours blurred as I labored, the evening giving way to a gentle rain.
Outside, the community lay still, save for the occasional shuffle of hazmat-clad figures orchestrating supply runs.
By the break of dawn, every piece of produce was processed, stacked high in the secondary bedroom, a testament to my night's labor.
My neck, stiff from the relentless posture, ached in quiet protes...
5
The past few days of physical labor took their toll, and today, I woke up with a sore back.
The sun had warmed the blankets cozily, tempting me to embrace laziness.
It wasn't until the day was well underway that I finally dragged myself out of bed.
I turned the tap, but nothing came out.
November 19, the third day of the lockdown.
The water had stopped. To be precise, it had been cut off since the early hours of the morning.
At five, people in the resident group chat were already reporting the issue.
The property management claimed they were in touch with the water company, suggesting a possible pipeline damage needing urgent repair, and asked for everyone's understanding.
The water cut-off in J district was expected, yet its connection with the current pandemic stage was still unclear to me.
I moved my toiletries to the balcony, where the solar panels were steadily generating power.
Leaning on the railing, I gazed down.
The world was changing too fast, and being a part of it, it was hard to remain unaffected.
It was altering my behavior, lifestyle, even my way of thinking in profound ways.
Often, I felt a sense of alienation.
At this moment, I was like a detached observer, watching from the sidelines.
Occasionally, I felt lonely.
Though I had been living alone in this city since graduating from college, I found myself increasingly reminiscing about my family and old friends.
Every night, I made it a point to call my parents.
Rivervale City, where they lived, seemed to be faring better than here.
I had stopped trying to persuade them to stock up on supplies. Instead, I had ordered for them what I thought necessary, expecting delivery soon.
People in their age group tend to be exceptionally stubborn, especially my parents, who are firm believers in science.
If they knew all my preparations were based on a dream, I'd never hear the end of it.
Returning to the kitchen, I resumed wrapping up yesterday's tasks.
Compared to potatoes, the rest was easier to handle.
Corn needed just to be husked before vacuum-packing.
Cabbage and Chinese cabbage were processed similarly.
Cauliflower required little prep, saving me much time.
With all the vegetables processed, the balcony and kitchen finally felt less cramped.
Then, I spent a considerable amount of time figuring out how to optimize the solar panels' efficiency.
A search on the online shopping platform revealed that most solar panel mounts had a certain angle.
But with the limited tools and materials at my disposal, mounting all eight panels at an angle on the balcony was not feasible with just glue.
Although my plan for maximizing power generation fell through, it didn't stop me from making other improvements.
I reinforced the points where the solar panels met the clothesline with hot glue and protected the exposed wires with waterproof tape.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Checking the time, it must be the volunteer responsible for deliveries.
"Thank you, just leave it at the door," I called out as I approached.
But the ringing persisted.
Peering through the peephole, I saw the light flickering erratically.
Puzzled, a distorted face suddenly appeared in my line of sight.
The eye staring directly at me was nearly engulfed in shadows. Its pupil, shrunken to an almost invisible point, darted around the socket like a trapped fly.
...He's looking inside!
I instinctively stepped back.
It was Mr. Thompson, the security guard from downstairs...
But why did he look like this?
Was he still... Mr. Thompson?
Little did I know yesterday that this was just the first of our encounters.
6
November 20, 2022.
The fourth day of the lockdown. It's happening again...
"Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong..."
After confirming someone was inside, it became more patient, more persistent.
I retreated to the living room, scanning my surroundings.
There were no handy weapons in the house.
Recalling a hammer in the recently purchased toolbox, I fetched it and gripped it tightly.
I had no idea what had happened to Mr. Thompson.
Nor why someone in his condition was still involved in delivering supplies.
"You must be more careful, more alert..." that voice emerged from the depths of my mind again, "You know... they have already appeared..."
What's happening... Why am I having these thoughts...
I shook my head, trying to calm myself.
Since the outbreak, these voices had been relentlessly pushing me forward.
At the same time, strange occurrences kept unfolding.
Up to now, not only had the water supply not been restored, but even the cell phone signal was intermittent.
And that nightmare that had plagued me for nearly two months had vanished as if it had fulfilled its purpose.
Taking a deep breath, I suppressed the unease in my heart.
Amid the continuous doorbell rings, I cautiously resumed my unfinished tasks.
I spent the afternoon browsing through numerous documents.
Two hours before sunset, I finally moved on to the last part of my base setup – cultivating the seeds.
I retrieved the seeds from the storage room and counted them.
There were 500g packets of spinach, bok choy, lettuce, thistles, and chili seeds, along with 1000g packets of soybean and pea seeds.
I soaked a bit of each of the five types of vegetable seeds in warm water, a method said to enhance germination rates.
With the seeds soaking, I surveyed my two balconies:
The south balcony, after accommodating two water barrels, still had a sizeable vacant area.
I divided it into two using a walkway.
The cultivation boxes could be assembled into various sizes.
I set up the water storage layer and a separation net, poured in the compressed cultivation soil, loosened it, and mixed in the fertilizer.
It took about six bags of cultivation soil for the garden to begin taking shape.
The north balcony was smaller, with just enough space for a water barrel and a vertical washing machine.
So, I created a narrow seedbed along the outer edge.
All seeds were first sown here. Once they grew true leaves, they would be transplanted into the garden on the south balcony.
Regarding the rainwater collection system, I bought materials for both balconies but honestly wasn't confident about its success.
Setting up both balconies took more time than I anticipated, but it bolstered my confidence – my home was starting to feel like a survival base.
It wasn't cozy or pretty, but it was teeming with vitality.
A harsh beauty permeated the space.
When I returned inside, the doorbell had stopped.
Peering through the peephole, Mr. Thompson was nowhere to be seen, leaving only a lonely bag of supplies at the door.
I had no intention of opening the door to retrieve it.
I knew well that my best course of action now was to maintain silence and observation.
7
In the following days, the internet was patchy.
I devoted more time to gathering and sorting information.
Only sharpness and vigilance could enhance my chances of survival. In the forest, the line between hunter and prey was thin; lowering the gun meant a change of roles.
Clutching my phone, I unknowingly drifted to sleep.
First, I heard a commotion, then a loud pounding at the door jarred me awake.
The living room was pitch black. I crouched and edged towards the door.
Listening to the sounds outside, I fumbled for the hammer on the shoe cabinet.
There were about five or six people in the hallway.
The motion-sensor light was broken. They were using flashlights, taking turns knocking on three different doors.
A middle-aged man, arms crossed, stood silently in the center.
The man in the jacket beside him seemed certain: "I'm sure of it. You saw it too, right?"
The woman behind him nodded vigorously.
Despite the noise, no one responded from inside the apartments. The hallway was filled with their hushed whispers and nothing else.
Who were they looking for?
I took out my phone and opened the residents' group chat, scrolling through the history.
"So much water could be donated for everyone's use. In hard times, we should help each other!"
Another fist pounded on the door, startling me, nearly making me drop my phone.
So it was about this. My tension skyrocketed.
I had indeed stockpiled a significant amount of drinking water.
But how much would I need to distribute to over ninety households in the building? And for how many days would it suffice?
Sometimes, less is more.
More than the water, I feared exposing the extent of my food supplies during distribution.
I pressed my lips together, staying silent.
As long as the other residents remained uncooperative, they couldn't pinpoint me.
After some discussion, the group moved to apartment 901's door.
This time, the only woman in the group, who I recognized as the cleaning lady from downstairs, knocked.
She coaxed in a gentle tone: "Sweetheart, I know you. We didn't want to disturb you so late, but these are exceptional times. We're all neighbors, after all. Please help us."
"I'm quite familiar with the resident of 903, and 902 just moved out a few days ago. You're the only one left on this floor. We'll need each other's support in the days to come…"
She was about to add more when the door of 901 opened.
My heart clenched.
I couldn't see the scene due to the crowded hallway, only hearing a young woman's voice.
Despite facing such a crowd, her tone was unflustered.
"I mean... could you folks check the time before dropping by?"
"And I don't understand what you're talking about. I'll call the police if you don't leave."
The group was taken aback.
"We were just discussing with you, miss. You can't be so selfish. The vegetables you eat, aren't they delivered by us?"
"Everyone should contribute to the community. Didn't your teacher teach you that?"
One man, about to act out in anger, was promptly held back by the others.
"Alright, I need to sleep now," the girl dismissed their chatter, "Good night, everyone."
She closed the door before they could respond.
The man, still fuming, seemed intent on banging the door again, but the others, more rational, persuaded him to leave.
The hallway fell silent once more.
Back in bed, I stared at the ceiling, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, tossing and turning until dawn.
After a sleepless night, I made a decision.
November 22, 6:23 AM, the sixth day of the lockdown.
I knocked on the door of apartment 901.
8
Yet, the moment after I knocked, regret washed over me.
What madness was this?
What was I doing... knocking on a stranger's door?
As I hesitated, contemplating retreat, the door swung open.
Before me stood a face of serene clarity.
She looked as though she hadn't slept well either, pale and slightly worn, but her eyes lit up at the sight of me.
"Hello..." I stood there, dumbfounded, "This isn't the best place to talk... Maybe..."
"Come to your apartment."
She didn't wait for me to finish, stepping out and pulling me back to 902.
Since the living room was bare, I led her to the dining table and poured her a glass of water.
"I'm sorry... for the trouble caused last night."
After a moment's deliberation, I ventured, "I want to know... why?"
"Why did you help me?"
She had seen everything.
On the day the water was delivered, the workers had made several trips. She happened to be in the hallway, waiting for the elevator.
Having lived here for just over three months, our encounters had been few and far between, barely even nodding acquaintances.
I couldn't fathom why she would act as she did under yesterday's circumstances.
She took the cup from my hands, drinking deeply.
"Well..."
"Let me think how to put this..."
"It wasn't just the water; I saw all your packages too."
"I hadn't paid much attention to the pandemic news before, but in a way, you alerted me to the severity."
"Yes, that's it." She blinked, "Consider it a way of repaying that favor."
Hmm?
Does this mean she also stockpiled supplies?
"Of course," she said candidly, "As someone in the know, I'd really like to be your ally."
"But don't interpret this as a threat. What I did last night was just a small favor."
I bowed my head, sipping water.
I had braced for her to expose me or to use this as leverage for her own demands. In either case, I was prepared not to yield.
But I never anticipated she would do nothing and simply leave the choice to me.
She was smart.
She had chosen the most gentle way to express her goodwill.
Yet, her honesty was so disarming that I couldn't find a pretense to refuse her.
For some reason, there was an affability about her that I found hard to resist.
I sighed after a long pause.
"I might disappoint you. I really don't know anything."
Knowing my explanation was inadequate, I altered my dream into a different story: "A friend warned me something bad might happen soon."
"Not just 'bad,' but potentially much worse."
She didn't press on my explanation but instead continued where I left off.
"Since last night, I couldn't make any calls."
"Then your threat to call the police..."
"It was just to scare them off."
Silence settled over the dining table.
Had the cell towers also failed?
The world seemed to be slowly spiraling out of control, irreversibly sliding towards an abyss.
I had thought I was prepared to face everything alone.
But at this moment, when someone extended a hand, I found myself instinctively wanting to grasp it.
I had to admit, humans are often far more vulnerable than they believe.
9
With communication disrupted and the hallway far from safe, lurking dangers were everywhere - the watchful neighbors, the unsettling Mr. Thompson... each a hidden threat.
After discussing, she gathered her personal belongings and various supplies, moving them into my apartment.
I arranged a makeshift bed for her in the living room and showed her around the house.
She was mentally prepared, but still gasped in awe at the mountain of vegetables in the spare bedroom.
Pointing to the notebook hanging nearby, I explained: "There's one of these for each storage area. I've listed and dated everything before putting it away to avoid waste. Feel free to take what you need and update the records."
"The shelves here are all filled with fuel cans; be careful not to bring any open flame near them."
We moved through the living room.
"All the seeds are still germinating on the north balcony, and I've just planted some strawberries on the south one."
"There's also plenty of fresh fruit in the fridge, best consumed within two weeks."
I shared a few more guidelines with her.
"Not bad, quite proactive," she leaned on the railing, eyeing the clumsily assembled rainwater collector.
Her compliment made me somewhat bashful, contradicting my self-awareness.
I knew myself to be cautious and conservative, always doubting and vacillating.
I'm a person of contradictions.
Despite witnessing various pandemic-related leaks, internet videos of people attacking each other, numerous unconventional preventative measures, and the zombified Mr. Thompson, I struggled to connect this virus with an apocalyptic scenario.
I even naively continued to refer to it as a 'pandemic,' as if doing so would return our lives to normal soon.
I couldn't bring myself to act rashly – to max out credit cards on a loan or abandon my current home for a larger, safer place.
I had even considered, in case of a misjudgment, selling everything on a second-hand platform.
My caution was a double-edged sword.
What I was doing now was already at the brink of my limits.
Rationality can sometimes trap one in a delusional optimism and arrogance.
But the first lesson the apocalypse taught me was to trust my instincts.
I wasn't proactive.
I was merely forcing myself to abandon futile thoughts, giving an impression of decisiveness.
Sensing my somber mood, she nudged me with her shoulder, smiling: "Today's our first day as teammates, you're not thinking of dodging the welcome feast, are you?"
...
A childish provocation, but perfectly effective against me.
So, I grandly threw two packs of pork bone ramen and a potato into the electric cooker.
Gritting my teeth, I opened a 400g can of braised beef and a large bottle of orange juice.
As we ate, we realized we hadn't formally introduced ourselves.
"You can call me Helen. I was a biology teacher, but I've been unemployed for months after the institution restructured right as I started."
I said with a wry smile.
"Biology? Then this virus must be right up your alley," Anne scooped up some noodles.
"Not at all," I continued with a bitter laugh, "I just taught basic textbook knowledge."
She nodded: "I'm two years older than you and work at a nearby hospital."
Great news.
My spirits lifted: "A doctor? Then I don't have to worry about getting sick anymore!"
"Not necessarily..." she modestly demurred.
"Surgeon? General practitioner?"
"..."
"Not Western medicine... Traditional Chinese medicine, then?"
"Helen," Anne avoided my eager gaze, stammering, "I'm a veterinarian."
10
The day after Anne moved in, I was lounging on the bay window, reading.
The thick blanket on the windowsill was so cozy that I soon dozed off.
In a daze, I heard a woman's piercing scream nearby.
My sleepiness instantly vanished.
I hurried to the living room, where Anne stood on the balcony, her face pale, gesturing for me to come over.
The noise was clearer outside. It was coming from upstairs, no more than two floors away.
The sound of furniture being dragged, dishes clattering to the floor, interspersed with a woman's panicked pleas and cries for help.
Anne and I exchanged a glance, wordless.
Then, all sounds abruptly ceased.
The next second, a blurred shadow flashed by and crashed heavily onto the concrete ground below.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, stifling any sound.
Anne quickly peered out to check, then pulled me back into the living room, locking the balcony door behind us.
"What happened?" I managed to squeeze the words through clenched teeth.
She shook her head: "She couldn't have survived that."
"What on earth is going on? That was a murder!"
I trembled uncontrollably.
"Not murder," Anne's lips turned white, "Suicide."
"Her body was barely intact, just bones left on her arms and legs. She was..."
"…eaten."
As her words hung in the air, the door of 903 slammed open.
A man cursed as he ran towards the fire escape, footsteps chasing after him.
No, it wasn't just the neighbors...
The sound of chaos echoed down the fire escape.
The entire complex seemed like a battleground.
The once quiet residential area, subdued by the lockdown, now thrummed with a morbid energy.
People burst from the main entrance, but where could they run?
Standing out in the open made them easy targets.
Crying.
Begging.
Roaring.
I saw crowds scatter in panic.
I watched a man in the opposite building strangle his deranged wife.
A child stood crying on the street while his grandmother gnawed at his limbs...
Elsewhere, unseen by me, many faced a grim choice:
Kill them... or be killed.
Nausea churned in my stomach.
The brutal scene shattered my mental defenses.
"Why?" I huddled in the chair, "We were all isolated, weren't we? Why did everyone get infected?"
"They didn't just get infected; they turned almost simultaneously," Anne frowned deeply, "Could it mean they were infected at the same time?"
Despite living in the same complex, these people had little daily interaction. How could they all contract the virus simultaneously...
"You mean the source isn't outside but right here in the complex?" I licked my dry lips, "But since the outbreak, everyone's been ordered to stay home. Even in the same complex, there was no way to spread it. Unless—"
"Unless it came from some common source." Anne sat down next to me.
"But I've eaten the distributed supplies and used the water before the cut-off – why am I fine?"
"I don't know." This time it was my turn to admit uncertainty.
But it also meant there might be others like us in the complex, uninfected.
However, we had no way of knowing how many.
The massacre continued until sunset.
The heavy scent of blood stained the setting sun and sky crimson, as groups of the infected scattered throughout the complex.
Contrasting their earlier frenzy, they now stood motionless, like deactivated machines.
The "Book of Genesis" in the Bible recounts:
On the first six days, God created various things.
And on the seventh day, His work of creation was complete, and He rested.
November 23, the seventh day of the lockdown.
The virus erupted throughout the complex.
11
It was bitterly cold.
Half-asleep, I suddenly felt a chill creeping in, making me curl my toes under the blanket. But the cold breeze kept gusting into the room, causing the curtains to flutter.
I shivered as I got out of bed to close the open window.
Reaching for the light switch...
"Click."
No response.
The moonlight was bright, casting a cold glow on my face.
November 24, 1:30 AM. The eighth day of the lockdown.
Power outage.
I sighed, got up to find an LED magnet light for the bedside, and tightly drew the blackout curtains.
From now on, I needed to be cautious with electricity use at night.
After putting on a sweater, I installed lights in the remaining rooms.
In the living room, Anne seemed fast asleep.
The balcony door was securely locked. I instinctively checked the lock, finding nothing unusual.
"Helen," someone suddenly called from behind.
I jumped, startled: "You're still awake?"
"Mm..." She rubbed her nose and flipped back a corner of the blanket, "Why aren't you asleep?"
"The power's out," I replied as I crawled in.
I wondered how things were in Rivervale...
My parents must be worried, unable to contact me.
"It was bound to happen," she nodded, "But, I've noticed something strange..."
"What?"
"They've disappeared." Anne stared at the ceiling, lost in thought, "All of them, gone. I wonder where they could have gone."
I knew she meant the infected downstairs.
They might have resembled zombies, but they weren't afraid of the sun.
Instead, they seemed to be active from dawn till dusk.
"Where could they go?"
Anne muffled her voice under the blanket, speculating: "Do you think they'll come back...?"
"Come back? You mean to their homes?"
I remembered the open door of apartment 903.
Since the outbreak, it had remained ajar.
"It's just a guess... I think they're still in the complex. We could check — like, closing the main lobby door to see..." she pondered.
"No way, that's too dangerous."
Her idea alarmed me, and thinking of the possible zombie next door, I lowered my voice: "What if there are still infected in the hallway? What if you run into them?"
"True," she conceded, "I'll think of something else."
She always seemed keen on counterattacking, even when we could just lay low...
We lay awake side by side, lost in our own thoughts, eventually drifting off to sleep.
The zombie virus outbreak lasted for two or three days.
During that time, many attempted to flee their homes, only to be swallowed by larger hordes of the infected. In this grinder-like slaughter, the survivors faced even harsher challenges.
We re-planned our electricity usage.
From now on, the primary power needs focused on the fridge, rice cooker, kettle, and lighting.
The induction cooker consumed much more power than I expected, a whopping 2100W.
I decisively stored it away and dug out my old single-person electric cooker from college. Although it had only a 0.8L capacity, it was sufficient for simple cooking.
Time seemed to fly by after that. Or perhaps, with a companion, the days no longer felt as unbearable as before.
Since the virus outbreak, Mr. Thompson had disappeared. No supply vehicles had come since.
The world had quieted down.
It was as if everyone had left the city overnight, leaving only me and Anne behind.
We couldn't see the streets directly from our home.
The complex was eerily quiet.
Most of the time, the zombies hardly moved, unless a desperate survivor took a risk and lured them into a frenzy.
Water and power briefly returned at one point.
I dared not store water directly but boiled it first before adding it to the balcony barrels.
Normally, Anne and I could only use hot water for a quick wipe down. Taking advantage of the restored water supply, we indulged in a thorough hot shower.
Anne brought scissors, and we cut each other's hair short.
In the days without water, hair had become a burden. Now, we simply shaved it off, requiring just a quick wipe while washing our faces.
I touched my bald head, then Anne's, feeling the prickly sensation.
"Your skills are average," I commented.
"That's not what you said when you begged me to help," she replied, turning her head from side to side, inspecting her reflection in the mirror.
After nearly half a month together, this woman had become increasingly indifferent to me.
12
After that, there was no sign of water or electricity returning.
December 15, the 29th day of the lockdown.
Just when it seemed things were getting back to normal, I started to run a fever. Wrapped in blankets, I shivered through the night, unable to get up until noon the next day.
Anne, noticing my pallor, felt my forehead.
"You're burning up. Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" she chided, rummaging through the medicine box.
"You're a vet," I mumbled deliriously, "are you going to treat me like a dog? Anne, you cold-hearted woman, not even a cat or dog at home."
Ignoring my delirious talk, she placed a damp towel on my forehead and busied herself with something.
"My cabbage is almost ready for harvest. Remember to pick it after I'm gone..."
I closed my eyes, losing clarity.
"If you talk about bad luck again, I'll pull out all your damn cabbage," she yelled from the kitchen.
I don't know how long passed before she woke me.
"Anne's porridge, it should speed things up," I said, weakly holding the bowl.
"What do you mean?"
"That..." I corrected, "I mean, I should recover quickly after drinking it."
"You better," she said with a snort of warning.
After a few sips, I paused: "Anne, I had another dream last night."
I was no insider, nor did I have friends with connections. I was just an ordinary person who happened to be right.
She listened quietly as I described the dream.
Finally, she said, "The brain collects and processes far more information than we think, much of it stored in the subconscious, emerging later in dreams."
"Intuition is your subconscious making decisions for you, and often, it's right."
"I knew it, you couldn't have any serious friends," she said, appearing enlightened.
I assumed she was mocking herself, slurped up another mouthful of porridge, and grabbed a chopstick of olive vegetables.
It tasted so good, I felt rejuvenated.
After taking my medicine, drowsiness set in again.
Anne sat beside me, absorbed in her notebook.
In my feverish state, I was transported back to the time before the apocalypse.
Children would be playing, cars driving over speed bumps with a 'clang' sound.
The fever made me feel dizzy.
So, when the doorbell rang, it didn't seem unusual.
Not until I saw Anne's astonished face did I realize the seriousness of the situation.
Who was it?
We cautiously approached the door.
A young man stood outside, his face obscured by the dim light.
"He's here for us," Anne whispered after a moment, speaking close to my ear.
As I pondered, the doorbell rang again, insistent.
"What do you want?" I asked, bracing myself.
"You must have some extra vegetable seeds. Can we trade?"
His voice was soft, yet it struck me like thunder.
How did he know?
A chill ran down my spine as I awkwardly denied: "I don't understand what you're talking about."
After a moment of silence, he said, "Okay, sorry to bother you."
It seemed our answer was expected.
Rustling at the door. I peered out and saw him shouldering his backpack.
"Wait!" Anne suddenly called out, "What will you trade with us?"
I didn't understand her plan.
With our supplies, we didn't need to trade with anyone.
"I brought some biscuits, water, instant noodles, whatever you need," he replied.
"How many people are with you?" she asked.
"Just me."
"It's hard for us to trust you."
Silence followed.
"So, you'll wait at the end of the hallway, and I'll bring you the seeds," she said.
"Are you crazy? You're going outside?" I grabbed her arm.
Anne's expression was serious as she held my hand firmly: "This is an opportunity... I have to try."
I didn't understand her meaning: "Wait..."
Her voice was soft but firm: "No matter what happens, don't open the door, okay?"
I wanted to say more, but she had already turned the handle.
Their conversation was muffled, barely audible through the door.
"What's your name?"
"Louis, as in 'L', 'O', 'U', 'I', 'S'."
"How did you know we have seeds?"
"I observed it unintentionally," he paused, "Besides, your balcony is quite noticeable."
"You don't seem short on food," Anne continued.
"True."
"You can even cook a bit."
"Something like that."
"Then your supplies..."
"I restock regularly at the convenience store," he said.
Suddenly, their conversation stopped.
Through the peephole, I saw them standing by the hallway window, looking at something.
I turned to the window.
The sky was overcast, light rain falling outside. The raindrops were fine and light.
After a while, Anne knocked on the door.
Opening it, there stood Louis, his plain face marked only by deep, inscrutable eyes.
"Helen," Anne said, "It's raining, and Louis will be staying with us tonight."
13
After dinner, I prepared new bedding for Louis and moved Anne's bed from the living room. I also locked the doors to the master bedroom and the storage room.
"What happened today? What did you two talk about outside?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity any longer.
"It's a long story," Anne pondered for a moment, "Louis has been outside the complex; he seems to know a lot about the zombies."
"According to him, they return to buildings at night."
"So... the zombies in the complex return to the residential buildings?" This closely matched Anne's earlier guess.
"Yes," she nodded, "But they only stay on the first floor, in the lobby."
"Why?"
"He believes conserving energy is likely a fundamental behavior for zombies. From that perspective, they should minimize unnecessary energy use," Anne explained, "Notice how they barely move unless they detect survivors."
"Of course, this doesn't mean the hallways are safe. Some people never left their apartments from the start," she added.
"Do they... fear water?" I recalled the afternoon scene.
In the rain, zombies scattered in all directions, disappearing into the buildings long before sunset.
"I'm not sure," she shook her head gently.
"But why did you agree to let Louis stay with us?" That was my biggest concern.
"Louis... doesn't seem like a dangerous person."
"Besides, he's in the dark, and we're in the light," Anne frowned, "If he really wanted to harm us, there are plenty of ways."
"It's a gamble. I sold him a big favor today; tomorrow, I need to extract some information from him," she sighed, "I wouldn't have let him in if it weren't for that."
"Whether it's Louis or the zombies, as long as we stay inside, we're safe enough," I couldn't understand, "Why take such a big risk?"
"Yeah, why?" Anne repeated my question softly, "Helen, you need to think about that."
The next morning, they were already sitting at the table having breakfast.
Seeing me, Anne jabbed fiercely at her fried egg, "Helen, you sure sleep well."
Dark circles hung under her eyes.
Louis was her guest, but she hadn't let her guard down all night.
I sat down and also took a piece of fried egg.
"Actually... we have a lot of questions for you."
Now that I was there, Anne initiated the conversation: "Have you fought with the zombies?"
"It's not really a fight. I've always avoided direct confrontations," Louis put down his chopsticks.
"Simply put, I follow their patterns. When the zombies retreat into buildings, it's relatively safe outside, and vice versa."
"So far, I haven't seen them cannibalize each other, so they might mark friends and foes in a specific way."
"Besides humans, do zombies have any other energy sources?" I asked.
The number of survivors they could prey on was limited. What sustained their activities?
"Apparently not. The virus might suppress certain bodily functions to slow down energy consumption," he replied.
So he really just came for the vegetables?
I silently chewed on the crispy edge of the egg, not voicing my silly question.
Intermittent rain continued all day.
My fever rose again in the afternoon. I lay in bed, dozing off, occasionally woken to drink water or take medicine.
By evening, after sweating profusely, I finally felt clearer-headed.
Anne, exhausted, gave a few instructions and went to sleep.
Feeling much better, I got up, intending to get some water from the kitchen, only to find Louis standing alone on the balcony.
Tightening my sweater around me, I walked over.
He made room for me.
I leaned on the railing like him, looking out.
Without its neon glow, the city seemed lifeless.
I felt like I was trapped in a tiny matchbox, the night amplifying the sense of oppression and claustrophobia.
"The weather's cleared up," he said softly.
Speaking as if to me, yet also to himself.
The night breeze gently tousled his hair, scattering moonlight across his face.
"Hmm..."
"Do you have something to say to me?"
"Not really..." I organized my thoughts, "Just chatting... What do you think about this place?"
"It's good," he smiled slightly.
I was sure Louis knew what I was really asking.
But he skillfully evaded my invitation.
So, as Anne said, Louis didn't really need us.
"Don't you have anything to ask me? Like why I've stockpiled so much..."
He showed no curiosity.
"If you really knew something, you wouldn't still be in this city," he said, his face lost in the darkness, "But if I had to ask something, you could share your thoughts about me."
What kind of person was Louis?
Knocking on doors, exchanging goods, sharing information, even daring to spend a night in a stranger's home.
He was too mysterious and elusive.
Honestly, I couldn't see through his intentions.
"You don't really care how we see you," I said after a moment, "Just like we don't care who you really are."
He looked down, lost in thought.
"We don't need to understand each other, especially since we couldn't even if we wanted to."
"We're not aiming to be friends, so there's no need to flip through each other like a book or 'gaze into each other's faces and peer into each other's souls.'"
"We don't care who you are, where you come from, or where you're going."
"In the end, we're just strangers passing in the dark, each with our own destination. What we share is the courage and faith to move towards our goals."
"So... when I say this, it's not an 'invitation' – I'm just wondering if we could possibly journey together for a while?"
"Helen," he called my name for the first time, "Why?"
Yes, why?
Stockpiling supplies was meant to avoid going out or joining others, wasn't it?
"There won't be any rescue," I heard my voice crack.
December 16, the 30th day of the lockdown, was the first time I faced this reality.
I couldn't understand.
These zombies didn't seem particularly strong.
How did they bring Westbrook City to such a plight?
This was the age of hot weapons...
How could hordes of zombies withstand bullets and cannons?
But why, after so long, was the crisis still unresolved?
No broadcasts...
No reconnaissance drones...
Water and electricity hadn't returned...
Nothing.
It only meant one thing – the world beyond Westbrook City had also fallen.
I believed Anne saw this and relentlessly prepared for this day.
It wasn't so much that we chose Louis, but rather we had no other choice.
"Louis, will you stay?" I asked, word by word
The virus, having spread uncontrollably, had become a global catastrophe.
The outside world was struggling too much to spare attention for Westbrook City at its epicenter.
For a long time, there would be no rescue.
Roads and communications were completely cut off. I had no idea how my parents were faring.
Should I head to Rivervale?
Or wait for them to find me?
Either way, it was a long haul.
So, we were likely to venture out for supplies and likely to encounter zombies and other surviving humans.
For Anne and me, two women, the future seemed brutally harsh.
14
The curtains were yanked open with a whoosh. Sunlight streamed in, forcing me to squint.
"Stop sleeping," Anne insisted, pulling off my blankets. "You'll miss dinner at this rate."
"I'm still a patient..." I clutched the blanket tightly.
"Please, you've been fever-free for ages," she suddenly remembered something, "Last night, didn't I tell you to lock your bedroom door? You forgot!"
Last night...
"It's okay, Anne," I cut off her rambling, "Last night, I practically sold us both to Louis."
She stared at me skeptically.
"What's with that look? Dump whatever yellow waste you're imagining in your brain. It's not what you think," I shivered under her gaze.
"But regardless of the type of sale, are you sure it worked?" Anne pointed outside, "He's packing up to leave."
What?
I sprang out of bed.
In the living room, Louis leaned against the kitchen's glass door, seemingly waiting for me to confront him.
"I need to fetch some things," he said before I could ask.
"If you're interested in the outside world, you can come with me."
This was an invitation Anne couldn't refuse.
I glanced at her, but, unusually, she didn't immediately agree.
She was waiting for me to decide.
Though I spoke confidently about joining forces with Louis last night, I lacked both courage and conviction.
My interactions with Louis were too brief to understand him fully; I could only guess, trying to find a reason he might accept to stay.
But I hadn't expected to face the reality so soon.
The thought of venturing outside with him, facing zombies, made me hesitate.
Was I convincing Louis, or was I fooling myself?
"What do we need to do to cooperate with you?" I asked, steeling myself.
I never planned to confront the zombies directly; otherwise, I would have prepared some decent weapons at home.
"Dress as warmly as possible. No skin should be exposed," he pointed at our clothes.
"Zombies can sense sound and have some vision. Don't get too close to them."
Louis shouldered his bag. "You don't need to do anything special, just follow me."
The distance between the two residential buildings wasn't far.
From the window, I could see several zombies standing on the road.
I was uneasy: "Aren't they scattered throughout the complex during the day? Won't it be dangerous moving among them?"
"In the complex, their density is lower, so it's manageable. But if they gather on the first floor, it's impossible to get around them," he explained.
"We need to leave now."
He glanced at the wall clock.
There were about four hours left until sunset.
Besides clothes, Anne and I also wore masks and gloves.
Before leaving, Louis opened the fire escape cabinet in the hallway, revealing a fire axe.
"I checked 903 last time; there are no zombies there, so this floor is safe for now."
We nodded.
Since Anne was unarmed, she took the axe.
Fully equipped, we cautiously descended the fire escape with Louis leading half a flight ahead.
I tread carefully, closing each safety door connecting the staircase to the corridors on each floor to prevent any surprises.
"I thought you wouldn't want to go out," Anne whispered, squeezing my arm.
After closing the eighth-floor door and adding extra precautions, I replied absentmindedly, "Do I look willing?"
"You've figured it out, but still playing tough," she said cheerily.
We reached the ground floor.
It was my first time seeing such a gruesome scene up close since the virus outbreak.
The entrance was ajar, a man's torso lying on the ground, eaten clean with only his head lolling to the side, like a fish skeleton stripped of meat.
In the cold winter, his head hadn't fully decomposed yet.
As I looked at him, a maggot burrowed through the skin of his cheek.
I felt nauseous.
"Eaten clean, otherwise the rotting smell and various insects would worsen the sanitation," Louis glanced at the corpse. "Let's go."
We followed closely behind him.
Zombies between the two buildings were sparse.
We carefully avoided the victims' remains on the ground and squeezed through the bushes.
Soon, we reached the opposite building, number 58.
"It seems easier than I thought," I whispered to Anne.
She gave me an 'ok' sign.
While Louis was inside gathering his things, we looked around his apartment.
Aside from a huge floor-to-ceiling bookshelf facing the entrance, his place was almost devoid of decoration.
Food and drinking water were stacked on the living room floor.
"What are you doing?" I asked Anne in a low voice as she sneakily rummaged around.
She glanced at the balcony and was about to say something when Louis emerged from the bedroom.
Anne straightened up, wincing in pain as she accidentally hit her forehead.
Louis approached the balcony, removing a pair of binoculars from a tripod and opening a nearby cabinet. "What you're looking for is in here."
Inside was a diesel generator.
Having recently chosen power equipment, I recognized it immediately.
Anne, rubbing her head and not embarrassed by being caught snooping, said, "Such a good generator, it'd be a shame not to take it."
Louis didn't object.
He packed the generator into his backpack, and we each took one of the remaining two oil drums.
They were heavy.
I checked the label – 4 liters each.
I wondered about its efficiency.
Descending the stairs took longer due to the weight.
By the time we reached the ground floor, the density of zombies outside had visibly increased.
"What time is it?" Louis asked.
"Half past four," I checked my watch. The sun would set soon.
"Can you handle it?" Louis handed me his drum.
I nodded. Stepping out of the lobby with two oil drums, I immediately felt the extra weight.
Louis scanned the area and whispered, "We can't return the same way. We'll go around the other side—"
Before he could finish, Anne cried out in alarm.
"Watch out!"
