Chapter1

The suffocating feeling of blood flowing back into my trachea was still swirling in my throat when I suddenly rolled off the bed and fell heavily onto the floor.

"Cough cough... Huff..."

My limbs convulsed uncontrollably. I clutched my neck tightly, my nails digging almost into my skin until they bled, until my palms felt warm, intact skin, not the bloody holes bitten through by the monster.

I scrambled to the bedside table and grabbed my phone. The screen lit up with a blinding light—October 12th, 7:15 AM.

I collapsed to the ground, looking around at the familiar yet quiet apartment. There were no limbs strewn across the floor, no zombie growls echoing through the metal door.

I was reborn, back to three days before the apocalypse.

"Buzzing—"

The phone I was holding suddenly vibrated, and two messages popped up on the screen.

The first message was from his girlfriend Maya: "I have a fever and feel terrible. Transfer me money immediately, buy fever reducers and send them to me. If you don't, we're breaking up ."

The second one is from his good friend Ryan: "Hey buddy, I have a few big boxes to move, come over and give me a hand, don't just stay at home all day doing nothing."

The moment I saw those two names, images of my dying moments in my past life exploded in my mind. When the apocalypse broke out, Ryan took over my house, stole my food, and drove me out to feed the zombies, while Maya morally blackmailed me, saying that as long as I sacrificed myself, they could survive, and that I shouldn't be so selfish.

I clenched my teeth so tightly that a strong, metallic taste filled my mouth. I wanted nothing more than to rush to them and tear them to pieces.

I'll tear them to pieces. I'll make them taste what it's like to be bitten to death.

Right now, in their eyes, I'm just a hardworking ATM and a tool. If I lash out now, causing a police report or a dispute, I won't be able to prepare doomsday supplies , and they might even steal them anyway.

I cleared my dry throat, rubbed my stiff facial muscles, pressed the voice button, and forced myself to use the gentle, even somewhat sycophantic tone I had in my past life: "Okay, baby, I'll transfer it to you right away. I'll do whatever you say."

He then replied to Ryan with a message: "No problem, buddy, I'll be there as soon as I finish what I'm doing."

I put down my phone, quickly splashed some cold water on my face, put on my hoodie, and rushed out the door.

Before the full outbreak, I must quietly build the shelter.

I withdrew all my savings and maxed out all my loan apps and credit cards. These banknotes will be worthless in three days.

To avoid arousing suspicion from my neighbors, I rented a bulky truck with a cargo bed and bought a set of bricklayer's work clothes stained with white paint to wear, disguising myself as a construction worker.

I plunged into a wholesale market on the outskirts of the city and began a shopping spree: 500 liters of bottled water, 200 boxes of high-calorie canned meat, boxes of compressed biscuits and vitamins; then I visited seven or eight pharmacies and stockpiled large quantities of anti-inflammatory drugs, antibiotics, bandages, masks, alcohol, as well as generators, high-lumen flashlights and industrial batteries.

I contacted workers to reinforce my house, and they used the best materials for the doors and windows.

When I went to deliver fever reducers and nutritionally worthless snacks to Maya, she was busy playing games and had no time to pay attention to me, as if I were just a cleaning lady she had hired.

As for Ryan's "moving job," I casually agreed and drove straight into the city's largest building materials market, where I bought five solid forged steel door bolts, 100 meters of cut-resistant steel wire rope, thickened anti-collision strips, and extra-long expansion bolts.

In the afternoon, I covered the heavy building materials completely with old plasterboard and pushed the handcart upstairs to carry them.

Just as I reached the elevator, Ryan's burly cronie Deck suddenly stepped out, grabbed my shopping cart, and sneered as he tore open the plastic bag on top, which was being used as bait: "Oh, you bought some good stuff? Don't you know how to offer a little something to your senior?"

As he spoke, he snatched the batteries and imported snacks from the bag and shoved me hard.

I swallowed the urge to stab him through the throat, and obediently took two steps back, lowering my head and pretending to be my usual timid and cowardly self.

Late at night, the entire building was eerily quiet.

Suddenly, piercing sirens blared from the street outside the window. Red and blue flashing lights lashed wildly against the walls. Upstairs, a neighbor on the balcony was on the phone, their voice trembling with terror: "The ER is in complete chaos! Someone's gone mad, biting people and tearing off a huge chunk of flesh..."

But no one cared, thinking it was just a simple episode of mental illness.