Chapter 3: Survivor
The ’s wooden door cracked open. ’s face appeared in the gap, her black-rimmed glasses sliding down to the tip of her nose, the hand clutching a pair of scissors trembling violently.
When her gaze swept over ’s uniform and the rifle in the conscript’s hand, she shrank back.
“D-don’t shoot...” Her voice was so hoarse it was barely audible. “We’re not infected... really, we’re not...”
pressed his palm downward. “Don’t be afraid. The second and third floors are cleared. It’s safe.”
He turned sideways, revealing the corridor behind him. A few zombie corpses lay on the floor, the black blood on the tiles not yet dry.
stared at the corridor for several long seconds. Finally, her fingers loosened, and the scissors clattered to the floor. The tears came—the kind of crying where you can’t catch your breath.
A person stepped out from behind her. He was in his fifties, a blue work uniform stained with oil, a wrench clutched in his hand, his knuckles white from the grip.
“I’m Old Zhang, the bureau’s plumber and electrician,” he said, wiping his face. “I was sorting flood-control supplies when all hell broke loose outside—screaming everywhere. The two of us locked the door. Couldn’t get through on the phone. We’ve been... been here ever since.”
didn’t answer right away. His eyes swept the . Filing cabinets were stacked haphazardly, notebooks and folders scattered on the floor. In the corner sat a half-empty bottle of water and a few bread bags. No water, no food—they couldn’t last two days.
“Anyone else?”
shook her head, tears still streaming. “People outside were calling for help... then the voices got fewer and fewer, until only the screams were left. We didn’t dare go out.”
It matched what the map showed. Only these two were left in the entire building.
turned to . “The generator is in the basement? Still working?”
At that, Old Zhang straightened up a little. “It was just serviced last month. Full tank of fuel will keep it running for twenty-four hours. The bureau’s landline is on a dedicated circuit—it should still work. The walkie-talkies were going off earlier, but then they went silent.”
nodded. He was about to say something when pulled a crumpled notebook from her jacket and handed it to him. “The supplies on each floor... I wrote them down.”
He took it and flipped through it. The handwriting was neat. Each floor’s water, food, and medical supplies were listed, down to how many bottles per case and how many catties per bag of rice.
He glanced up at . “This is useful.”
lowered her head without a word, the tips of her ears turning red.
closed the notebook. “You two stay here for now. , , with me to the fourth floor.”
“Yes, sir.”
The three went up the stairs. The stench of decay in the stairwell was stronger than on the second floor, the air growing thicker and more stifling as they climbed, as if someone were burning rotten meat at the end of the corridor.
The fourth floor was laid out differently than the floors below—all cubicles, with low glass walls blocking the view in every direction.
paused half a step at the top of the stairs. was already pushing forward, gun muzzle lowered.
The first one was crouched behind the water cooler at the corner. spotted it first. A single gunshot, and its head lolled to the side. Black blood sprayed across the frosted glass and began to trickle down.
The second one lunged from a cubicle when it was only two meters from . It was too fast—none of them had expected that door to be unlatched.
leaned back. He barely had time to aim. He fired a three-round burst—two rounds ricocheted off the ceiling, one hit the chest.
The zombie kept charging. He retreated to the wall before finishing it with another shot, right between the eyes.
caught his breath. He looked down at his combat uniform—smeared with a streak of black blood. He glanced at , a hint of apology in his eyes.
said nothing, just nodded. A sudden encounter at two meters—surviving it was skill enough.
It took over ten minutes to clear the fourth floor. Seven or eight bodies lay on the ground.
The fifth floor was a large conference room, open and spacious. Seven zombies wandered inside, their steps slow and aimless, circling without direction.
looked in through the stairwell window and raised his hand to gesture. tossed a length of fire hose through the crack in the door. The metal coupling clanged against the floor-to-ceiling window.
Three of them turned at the same time, snarling, and surged toward the door. and took positions on either side of the doorframe, firing in alternation. By the time the first one fell, the second was already stepping onto its back.
In less than ten seconds, all seven were down at the doorway, piled half a person high.
lowered his gun. “Magazine’s half full,” he said quietly.
On the top floor, the sixth, there were only two in the corridor, wandering right in front of the rooftop door. took two steps forward, one shot each—clean and efficient.
pushed open the iron door to the rooftop. The sky outside had darkened considerably. The setting sun was sinking behind the silhouettes of distant high-rises, coating the city’s ruins in a layer of rust-colored light.
Black smoke rose from a dozen places at once. Corpses and wrecked cars lay scattered across the streets in numbers too many to count. The whole city looked as if someone had turned it over and doused it in oil.
He leaned against the doorframe for a moment. The wind carried the smell of burnt things and rust. Behind him, was already heading back down. “I’ll close the main gate and set up a sentry post.”
didn’t turn around. “Get Old Zhang and . Move the supplies first, then head to the broadcast room.”
“Yes, sir.”
The iron door clicked shut behind him. The entire building was silent for two seconds. Then a gunshot rang out in the distance—someone opening fire somewhere in the city.
squinted at the burning red sky. He pushed the rooftop door half-open again, then turned and walked back inside.