Chapter3

I was cutting steak in the island's kitchen when the sirens came from the direction of New York.

The oil sizzled in the wok, filling the room with the aroma of pepper and rosemary. The generator was running smoothly, there was a whole shelf of meat in the refrigerator, and water and canned goods were piled up to the ceiling in the pantry—if the world really did rot, at least I wouldn't starve to death in the first week.

The sky outside the window was dark, and the clouds hung low, like a sheet of iron about to fall.

The wild roses in the yard trembled, their leaves rustling, and a voice whispered into my ears: "They're here. The zombies are here ."

I put down the knife, wiped my hands, and walked to the surveillance wall.

Four screens flickered simultaneously. On the coastal highway, first a car swerved and crashed into the guardrail; the driver got out and bit people. Then came a second, a third. The crowd erupted like an anthill being opened, screaming, running, and biting. Red dots of heat rippled in the night vision.

My phone vibrated.

The name "Eileen" popped up on the screen.

I stared at it for a second, then clicked away.

The tremor continued; it was her again. The third time, the fourth time.

I put my phone on silent and tossed it onto the corner of the table . A short while later, the phone lit up again; this time, a voicemail message had automatically transcribed into text.

[ Ethan ! Help me! ]

I just deleted it.

I was about to put the plates in the sink when I heard a very faint sob coming from outside the door. I stopped.

The grass in the yard rustled in the wind, whispering to me, " A child . About two years old. Right outside the stone steps."

I frowned, walked to the entrance, and pressed my ear against the door to listen.

The crying continued intermittently. Further away, there were dragging footsteps and the sound of fingernails scraping against the cobblestones.

I turned on the intercom inside the door and switched to the wide-angle view near the entrance. In the night vision footage, a child was huddled behind a flower bed beside the door, trembling with his face buried in his arms. Several zombies were lurking not far away .

I picked up a crowbar, put on cut-resistant gloves, and opened the door.

The zombie hadn't noticed me yet; it was facing away from me, its neck twisted at an unnatural angle. I swung the crowbar and smashed it on the back of the head. The sound of cracking bones was crisp, like smashing a coconut. It collapsed with a thud, twitched twice, and then lay still.

I immediately squatted down and picked the child up in my arms.

He was too light, his body was covered in cold sweat, and his face was so dirty that you couldn't tell his skin color. His eyes were wide open, his pupils were trembling violently, but he didn't cry, he just gripped my collar tightly.

I picked him up and turned to walk through the door.

Suddenly, a car engine roared from the direction of the road, followed by the screeching of brakes screeching against the ground.

The security camera lights automatically turned on, illuminating several disheveled figures stumbling and rushing into my yard.

I recognized her at a glance—Eileen, Black, and her parents and brother.

They were covered in dust, their clothes were torn, and one of their shoes was missing; they looked like they had crawled out of hell.

I didn't stop walking, but my heart grew even colder.

The best at finding a way is never a hero, but a parasite.

When Eileen saw me, she paused for a moment, then her eyes lit up as if she had grasped at a straw, and she shrieked, " Ethan ! You really are here! Open the door! Let us in!"

Her voice was so loud that I glanced out of the corner of my eye at the edge of the woods in the distance, and saw several shadows drawn by her voice, beginning to sway in this direction.

I lowered my voice, my tone menacing: "Shut up. If you want to live, don't scream."

Blake, panting heavily and pale, still tried to maintain his director's airs: " Ethan , it's your duty to open the door now. We are—"

"What are you?" I asked, looking at him .

Eileen's mother exploded first, pointing at me and yelling, "You ungrateful wretch! Don't you have any conscience?! We're all dying!"

Her brother was even more direct, rushing up to push me: "Open the door! You live in such a big house all by yourself, why won't you help us!"

I held the child and moved to the side to avoid it, using the crowbar as a gentle block.

He crashed into it, gasping in pain.

I warned them , “Take one more step and I’ll smash your knees.”

He was stunned, clearly never having seen me look at him like that before .

When Eileen saw the child in my arms, a glint of malice flashed in her eyes: "You're saving other people? What kind of good person are you pretending to be? You're selfish and self-serving, you won't even save me, but you're saving a bastard?"

I ignored it and turned to go inside .

Just two steps from the door, Eileen suddenly pounced on her.

My shoulders sank, and my center of gravity shifted.

Blake reached for my doorknob, trying to slip inside while things were in disarray.

My eyes turned cold. I kicked the stone steps by the door to steady myself and used the crowbar to sweep Blake's hand away.

"Get out of here."

Over there, three or four zombies in the shadows of the woods had been drawn by her voice, their footsteps slow and drawn closer.

I was pushed and stumbled, my back hitting the courtyard wall, and the child almost slipped from my grasp. I immediately pulled him into my arms.

Eileen seized the opportunity to back away, shrieking as if throwing away trash: "People like you should die! Selfish bastard! You deserve to be an orphan! You're blocking my way! Let's go in!"

She turned and ran, rushing towards the door.

Blake and her family, like hyenas smelling blood, squeezed through the crowd, shouting, "Open the door! Open the door now!"

The zombies' hoarse growls echoed from all sides, and their footsteps were as dense as raindrops.

When the first zombie pounced, I pinned the child beneath me, knelt on one knee, and held the crowbar across my chest, ready to take the first hit. Even if it broke my bones, I would give myself a chance to roll back inside the door.

Just when the zombie was less than a meter away from me—

The ground beneath my feet suddenly tightened.

It felt like an invisible hand reached out from the ground and grabbed my ankle.

The next second, vines burst forth from the ground, as thick as ropes, carrying the damp smell of earth, and quickly wrapped around my waist and back.

My body suddenly felt light, and I was suddenly pulled up, along with the child, three meters, four meters off the ground... straight into the air.

The zombie missed its target and crashed into the courtyard wall with a dull thud as if its bones were breaking.

I was suspended in mid-air, the wind whistling past my ears, and my child clung tightly to me in my arms, not crying, but trembling with all his might.

Below, more vines emerged from the ground like snakes, whipping and entwining, tripping the zombies' legs and dragging them to the ground into the shadows.

The plants are saving me.

I looked down at the child in my arms. He raised his head, and his eyes shone abnormally in the darkness, as if a layer of moist green light flashed by.

The wild roses chuckled softly in the wind, their sound penetrating my ears:

"It's not that we want to save you."

"It's him."

The vines continued to climb upwards, pulling me and the child into the shadows of the eaves, away from all sight.

The howling of zombies below grew closer, while the group of people at the entrance were still fighting over something.

And I heard more whispers from the plants at night, weaving into a net:

Is the door about to break down?

"They will rob your house ."

"Don't let them in."