Chapter 2：Survivors

"Zombies? You don't know what they are? They're those crazy people that bite!" Chen Dao furiously scribbled on the paper, his disbelief evident.

"So, how on earth have you survived?"

"They eat people! Those biters are zombies! One bite will infect you and turn you into a zombie. Even a scratch could infect you."

Chen Dao wrote for a while, mumbling constantly about zombies as he did so.

But seeing the two's confused expressions, he grew increasingly frantic and frustrated, abandoning his writing.

"Can you hear me? If you understand, nod your head. But I can't hear you, so if you want to say something, write it down, okay?"

Both nodded.

"Great. First, let me introduce myself. I'm Chen Dao, or you can call me by my English name, Seth Chen Macfarlane. I'm a doctor, a very skilled one."

"I used to live in Riverside, fairly stable until I encountered the helicopter."

"Have you heard the sound of a helicopter?"

Seeing them nod, Chen Dao realized the helicopter couldn't have followed him far, at most within a ten-kilometer radius. This also meant the zombie horde was nearby, within that same range.

He noticed the two discussing something before the girl wrote on the notebook:

"Was that sound from a helicopter? Are they here to rescue us?"

"They're not here to rescue us. To survive, we can only rely on ourselves!" Chen Dao said while writing in the notebook: "Do you really not know what a 'zombie' is?"

He circled the word "zombie" heavily.

Both indicated they had never seen or heard the term.

Chen Dao, left with no choice, started from the beginning.

"You must have seen 'those people,' right? Well, 'those people' are zombies."

Chen Dao paused, trying to organize his thoughts:

"Zombies shouldn't exist according to common sense. They break all biological rules, even some physical laws."

"No one knows how they stand up again, with their decayed brains, nervous systems, and hydrolyzed muscles."

"But you've seen it. Dead people senselessly get up, some running faster than me, opening doors and jumping barriers…"

"Why do I call them zombies…?"

Chen Dao suddenly recalled the oppressive terror of the runner hordes, realizing he had miraculously survived multiple encounters with the helicopter and those fast-moving zombies.

His neck itched. Chen Dao adjusted his neck—it's the medication taking effect. The wound no longer felt hot and was slowly healing, causing the itch.

As mentioned earlier, "Project Zomboid" isn't about destroying zombies but rather being destroyed by them in various bizarre or classic ways.

You might sprain your ankle climbing a fence, failing to outrun a horde and dying.

Or, while sneaking through a horde, you might accidentally press the "Q" key and make a loud "declaration of independence," attracting all zombies to you.

You might forget to close a door when sleeping, waking up with an uncontrollable urge to eat people.

Or face overconfidence, trying to solo a runner, only to be overpowered by a bulky weightlifting zombie and dying.

Thus, your death in the game reflects its theme of "destruction."

"Project Zomboid" is a complex, realistic, and hardcore survival game. However, its survivors have unusual biological behaviors—consuming large amounts of food without excretion.

Realistic yet not entirely so, it intricately covers minute details while lacking concern for extras, similar to engineering where each screw is accounted for, but extra tiles go unnoticed.

This might be because the game is in an early testing phase, incomplete.

"Don't Starve" is similarly misleading; you don't starve in that game. In "Project Zomboid," you don't destroy zombies; zombies destroy you.

The original game doesn't clarify the zombie origin but offers fragmented information through radios, survivor notes, map traces, and news.

For instance, a mysterious military radio continually broadcasts numbers as if conveying some message.

Or, military forces encountering zombie attacks, oblivious to what attacked them.

Or, the local Spiffo's chain and an M-brand fast food rivalry, alongside Spiffo beef's public prosecution.

This exploration suits survival gamers well.

Despite the crafted details and Easter eggs, the creators left the zombie pathogen ambiguous, hinting at conspiracies.

Based on what Chen Dao knew, the pathogen resulted from various intersecting factors.

First: a military base in the southwest woods, an anonymous American military lab employing about 300 staff.

Initially, heavily injured individuals were seen wandering in the southwest woods.

Gradually, dense fog covered Louisville from the southwest, coupled with stench and burnt odors.

Suddenly, the military base was abandoned, leaving equipment, files, and weapons.

Suspicious indeed, for a base to flee so abruptly in America's heartland.

Then there's the Spiffo's mad cow incident in 1993. The restaurant was thriving in Kentucky but confined to the state.

Just before Independence Day 1993, Spiffo was exposed for using low-quality beef, even diseased cows, and prohibited drugs.

After eating Spiffo meat patties, people experienced nerve tremors, vomiting, eye bleeding, and violent rage.

Moreover, Spiffo locations saw severe incidents where post-burger individuals violently attacked others, biting off ears and fingers, causing chaos.

This testimony came from law firm "Marbo & Christie," though local to Rosewood, retained by an M-chain restaurant.

Evidently, local patrons also felt Spiffo's beef burgers lost their former taste.

Then there's Foss Oil, a major petrochemical company. Gas stations and plants spread across Kentucky, reliant on old rail systems to transport hazardous materials like ethylene, xylene, and ligroin.

Train stations' tank cars mainly belonged to Foss Oil.

Transporting barrels of raw materials or products through forests or residential areas, two crew members serving as both drivers and safety officers, without any safety measures.

Kentucky farmers often complained about strange-smelling barrels causing crop failure, and rangers discovered abandoned, unidentified chemical-laden freight cars in May's woods.

While unmarked, the barrels unmistakably belonged to Foss Oil.

Nobody knew when these chemicals might backfire.

Additionally, summer flu spread annually in Knox County; slight carelessness could cause illness.

July was peak flu season, many experiencing sneezing and fever.

This contributed to the initial unawareness of a deadlier virus mimicking flu symptoms, spreading within communities, turning humans into zombie carriers.

Reflecting on past experiences, Chen Dao realized even as an omniscient player, he couldn't deduce the zombie outbreak's cause.

Whether bacterial, viral, fungal, or volatile organic compound, Chen Dao remained uncertain.

For the first time, Chen Dao sensed his ignorance. He arrived at Riverside's suburban house with an omnipotent [third-perspective] view, knowing Knox County's map by heart.

Yet, he was powerless faced with the game's unknowns. His presence wouldn't alter the course, only capable of guessing until truths revealed themselves.

Listening attentively, Demonia and Payton were engrossed when Chen Dao suddenly paused, recalling something.

The man named "Chen Dao," but listed as "Seth" on his license, appeared zoned out.

They confusedly stared until Payton, unable to bear the awkward ambiance and wait, nudged the dazed Chen Dao.

"Oh, oh… Sorry." Chen Dao broke his reverie, apologizing.

Believing Chen Dao, like them, grieved a loved one; Payton rose to make tea.

Chen Dao had ample coffee and tea for the journey, based on game-inspired survivalist strategies to stay awake for days, enhancing early-game scavenging efficiency.

But enhancing alertness through tea and coffee alone defied reality; no miraculous substance existed to forgo sleep completely.

After surviving the first day, Chen Dao's body faltered. No longer relying on stimulants, he prioritized sufficient sleep for better productivity the next day.

Payton wrote "I'll make some tea" and left. Observing Demonia's odd attire—cheerleader outfit albeit practical for movement, with a gun belt on the skirt—Chen Dao questioned its necessity.

Her purple backpack clashed with the white skirt, t-shirt, and sneakers.

However, her eyes reflected a fierce spirit, more in line with a true survivor compared to Payton.

Chen Dao asked, "I just realized, I don't know your names yet."

Her lips moved, seeing Chen Dao's unresponsiveness, she frustratedly slapped her forehead, then wrote their names on the notebook.

"Demonia Stuart"

"Payton Stuart"

"We're from a nearby resort. Our uncle brought us for a vacation. We've stayed here a month…"

"Great names. Now that we're acquainted, could you bring me my backpack?"

Demonia obediently retrieved Chen Dao's backpack.

Both survivors appeared young; Chen Dao, rummaging through for meds and essentials, chattily addressed his isolation.

"I know not everything I say is factual. I merely chance upon certain information, speculating based on it."

As he spoke, Chen Dao pieced together his recollections and insights.

"Zombies, that's what I call those people. You know, they act like instinct-driven creatures—hearing, seeing, moving toward sound or light. But I'm unsure of their sense of smell."

"My guess is they can't. Many have wounds and decaying limbs; if they could smell, they'd already be dazed by their own stench."

Demonia listened intently while Chen Dao fetched various medications from his bag, their labels in Spanish with names like Oseltamivir, Ribavirin, and Lopinavir, alongside various antivirals and NSAIDs.

Uncertain if he was infected, Chen Dao opted for a "cocktail therapy" to prevent infection Taking out the appropriate dosages, Chen Dao grabbed a handful of pills.

"So, our main concerns are zombies' hearing and sight."

Chen Dao continued rummaging through his backpack, finding the pre-prepared antiseptic bandages sealed in a bag.

Demonia watched intently; noticing those small packages weren't clothes but rather the pre-prepared bandages coated with powdered antiseptics.

"They're actually not hard to deal with, especially those that can't run. I can tell from your eyes that you have faced them, haven't you? You've even killed a few."

Demonia nodded. She had ventured to a nearby gas station, initially fearful, but noticed the zombies didn't react unless very close. She kept her distance, picking off a few stragglers. The ones near the farm were her doing as well.

Initially, both she and Payton thought they had committed manslaughter and dreaded the day American authorities would arrest them.

"I don't know if you've encountered the ones that run. Regular zombies aren't scary, but the running ones are terrifying. Never try to face more than three runners at once."

Chen Dao pulled out suturing needles, medical sutures, scissors, forceps, and other tools for treating wounds.

"The neck wound needs thorough cleaning and disinfection. Who knows what that half-body zombie left inside me. Although the infection is under control, removing any foreign objects is crucial."

He also pulled out his electronic watch, showing the date: July 23, 1993, 10:32 AM.

It had been a whole month since the helicopter incident. Five days since escaping, filled with wakefulness and unconscious spells, sleeping heavily, losing all sense of time. Reacquiring this was surreal.

Setting the watch aside, Chen Dao prepared for the impromptu surgery,

Demonia continued watching intently, learning from Chen Dao, who, as an "experienced" survivor, explained zombie knowledge.

She had seen the runners but wisely avoided them. Hearing Chen Dao's warnings reinforced how close to death she had been.

Killing a few walkers had boosted her confidence; had she not seen the number of runners, she might have foolishly attacked them.

Chen Dao continued while sorting medical supplies: "Runners charge you once they spot you. If you're not physically fit, don't confront them head-on. Using fences or anything to trip them is safer than doing it yourself."

"These clumsy creatures, once they fall, become easy targets. Demon...nia, did I get your name right?"

Demonia nodded, though Chen Dao spoke loudly, his pronunciation was accurate.

"Could you get me a mirror?"

Demonia rose to find a usable mirror. There was one on the second-floor dresser; she decided to get it.

Chen Dao lowered his head, double-checking the equipment, soaking the suturing needle and small scissors in disinfectant alcohol.

Touching the bandage on his neck, the tight, swollen feeling had lessened, but there was clearly something stuck in the wound.

It was his first time performing surgery on himself, especially on a crucial area like the neck—whether he could succeed was unknown.

After a while, Demonis returned with the large dresser mirror, and Payton entered with a tray holding a kettle and three steaming cups, filling the room with a soothing aroma of tea.

Chen Dao took the tea from Payton. Although he desired a cigarette, as an injured person facing two teenagers, he refrained, knowing tea could relax him.

Sipping the tea, Chen Dao swallowed the large handful of medication, bewildering Payton, whose blue eyes, like Demonis's, widened in surprise.

After downing the meds, Chen Dao patted his stomach and smiled at Demonis: "Sorry to trouble you, but thank you for taking care of me."

Payton hurriedly wrote on paper: "We should be thanking you for your supplies; without you, we'd starve!"

Feeling the medication and sweet tea soothing his stomach, Chen Dao shook his head: "At times like these, supplies aren't the most valuable resource—people are!"

"Do you know Riverside?"

Both nodded. The Ohio River-once reachable small-town was a tourist spot. They had planned to visit, but their uncle disliked it, calling the residents "weirdos" and avoiding risky "inferiors."

Lawrence Stuart, their uncle, was a kind British merchant, unmarried, childless, yet treating his sibling's children as his own after a tragic accident.

RIP, Lawrence Stuart, now a zombie.

"As far as I know, I'm the only one from Riverside who survived…" Chen Dao mentally perused the chaos: the exploding Spiffo, the helicopter, neighborhood alarms…

Even if there were survivors, the entire ordeal would likely have decimated them.

"The whole Knox area might have fewer than 100 survivors. Many like you lack experience, don't know what they're up against, and survival is bleak…"

"Enough about that. We're just acquaintances for now; the future will be long."

Payton, anxious after hearing Chen Dao's words, quickly wrote on the paper:

"What do you mean by the future is long? Isn't anyone coming to rescue us? What about the U.S. Army?"

Reading the note, Chen Dao said:

"If there were rescue missions, would they spend so much time getting here? Think about it, have you seen soldiers coming to save you?"

Dejected, Payton tossed the notepad and sulked while drinking tea.

"How do you know there won't be any rescue?"

Demonia, calm and composed, took the notepad, writing her question.

"Time will tell, provided you survive."

Chen Dao met her eyes.

Most Knox County survivors harbored similar hopes, wondering why help hadn't arrived.

But, with the outside world likely falling too, the lines of rescue could blur.

Chen Dao felt the bandage, readying for the suturing.

He asked the two: "Can you help? I need these tools for a minor surgery."

Demonia swiftly removed Payton's teacup, handed him the dresser mirror, positioning it, ordering him to hold it still, then sat by the bedside, ready to hand Chen Dao the tools.

Smiling, Chen Dao nodded his thanks to Demonia, starting to remove the amateurish neck bandage.