Footprints

Back at home, Simon set aside the drying pole, his mind filled with thoughts of the swollen female corpse, its flesh gnawed to obscurity. His thoughts were in disarray, and it took him some time to regain composure.

"Now, should I stay here and wait for rescue, or should I find a way to leave and seek an exit in this city? Could there be other survivors like me?" Simon pondered aloud.

He removed his wet shoes and socks, replaced them with dry ones, and walked to the balcony window, deep in contemplation.

Looking out at the water surface beyond the window, he could see sporadic tall buildings emerging from the water. All of these structures visible above the waterline were thirty stories or taller.

Gazing at these emerging buildings, Simon couldn't help but wonder if there were survivors like him inside those buildings. Finding them would be better than being alone.

Of course, there were unknown risks in this endeavor. The image of the gnawed corpse had left a shadow in Simon's heart, making him feel uneasy.

"Or perhaps I should stay here temporarily and wait for rescue. Maybe a rescue team will appear soon," he mused.

The only relief Simon felt was that he lived alone, which made it convenient to stock up on instant noodles and some biscuits and bread for breakfast, all neatly stacked in the refrigerator.

Simon, being alone, could sustain himself with food for about four to five days. After pondering for a while, he decided to take a two-pronged approach. Firstly, he would temporarily stay put, hoping for a turn of events or the arrival of rescue personnel. Secondly, he planned to construct a makeshift raft. If no rescue arrived in the coming days, he would take the risk of using the raft to venture out actively seeking another way out.

With his decision made, Simon felt a slight ease of mind. He took a pack of biscuits from the refrigerator, tore it open, and began to busy himself while eating. His only source of relief was that the water supply had not stopped yet. He filled a kettle with water from the water bottle and started boiling it on the stove.

He used an old-fashioned canister of liquefied gas, rarely lighting it up for cooking. This month, he had only used it once, during a dinner gathering with Wang Lan and a few friends at his place. When alone, he hardly ever needed it. Now, he was grateful for having that canister of gas; without it, even boiling water would have been a challenge.

"I should boil more water just in case. Although the water hasn't stopped for now, if the power goes out, the water might stop too," he thought to himself.

Although Simon didn't know the exact reason, perhaps due to different power lines, the electricity had gone out, but the water supply hadn't stopped yet.

In addition to preparing hot water, Simon searched around his house for various tools. He quickly found some iron nails, two screwdrivers, pliers, scissors, a lighter, and a hammer. He also collected the kitchen knife and fruit knife stored in the kitchen, placing them all together on the coffee table in the living room for easy access when needed.

After finishing the biscuits and drinking some water to fill his stomach, Simon began his task. His plan was to ascend to the rooftop, release dense smoke to attract the attention of potential rescuers—if there were any. Afterwards, he would proceed to craft a makeshift raft for contingency.

Gathering some old clothes, including a quilt and a pair of plastic slippers, along with several plastic bags, he bundled them together. Equipped with a lighter, he prepared to step outside. His intention was to carry these items to the rooftop, ignite them, and create substantial smoke. If there truly were rescue teams, the sight of the deliberately produced smoke would surely signal the presence of survivors, ensuring his rescue.

As Simon opened the door, ready to step out with his belongings, he suddenly paused. His eyes fell upon wet footprints visible on the corridor ahead. These footprints emerged from the end of the hallway, stretching all the way to the residence of the young couple.

Simon's heart raced wildly. Observing these damp footprints, he realized they were not his own; his own footprints from earlier, which had dried long ago, were distinctly different. These fresh wet footprints on the corridor indicated someone had recently passed through, and not long ago—otherwise, they would have dried by now.

"Could there be someone else here besides me? Someone who just walked up those stairs and entered the apartment of that couple? The exterior stairs are all submerged, so how did this person get here?"

Simon stared at the partially open door, tempted to rush in and see for himself. Yet deep inside, a vague sense of fear held him back, as if something inexplicably odd was at play.

He didn't act rashly but swiftly retreated to his home, setting down the quilt and clothes he was carrying. Instead, he grabbed the kitchen knife and hammer from the coffee table. With these makeshift weapons in hand, he felt a slight reassurance, bolstering his courage with a deep breath to calm himself. He ventured out again, determined to investigate.

"If there truly are other survivors, that would be a relief," Simon thought silently.

Alone, facing various unknowns, he not only felt loneliness but also a profound fear of the unknown, which engulfed him incessantly, oppressing his spirit. He dreaded continuing like this, fearing an imminent breakdown. He yearned to see other living beings, companions, or even a dog would suffice.

Soon, Simon approached the door, observing the partly open security door and the damp footprints before it. Drawing closer, he noticed the significant water stains on both sides of the footprints. Clearly, the person who left these prints wasn't just wet from the feet up; their entire body was soaked. As they walked, they left not only a trail of wet footprints but also numerous water marks on the ground.

As time passed, these water traces were slowly evaporating, a detail Simon only noticed now that he was closer. He tightened his grip on the hammer and kitchen knife, hesitating to immediately push open the door. His throat moved as he swallowed, finally calling out, "Is anyone there?"

Apart from his own voice, both the hallway and the house beyond were eerily silent. Simon paused for a few seconds, then repeated his question, attentively listening for any sound from within the house. Suddenly, he heard a series of noises coming from inside, the sound of a chair being shifted. In the profound silence of the place, the noise seemed particularly loud, resembling the accidental bumping of a chair by someone turning around.

"Is there truly someone inside? And why aren't they responding to me?" Simon could no longer hold back, lifting his right hand with the hammer poised to push open the partially ajar door.