Second Trip

18

The next morning, the first thing I did was pull open the curtains.

Though it wasn't the winter wonderland I had imagined—there weren't many snowflakes on the ground, and those that had fallen had melted into puddles under the sun, with only a thin layer remaining on the parked cars—it was enough to make me happy.

It rarely snowed in Springvale.

Maybe because human activity had been erased, this winter seemed particularly cold.

I put on my clothes and ran to the balcony, washing up while looking around.

There was also a lot of snow on the rain tarp, and the melting snow water flowed gurglingly into the storage barrels through the pipes.

Chris was sitting at the table having breakfast. 

"Good morning," I said, sitting down next to him. 

"You seem very happy," he smiled. 

"Do I?" I coughed, "It's just snow, no big deal." 

"Yes," he sipped his coffee and nodded, "You just happened to get up early and happened to spend half an hour on the balcony." 

... 

When did this guy start talking so much? 

At that moment, Anne also came out of the bedroom in slippers. 

I took the opportunity to change the subject, "Milk or cereal for breakfast?" 

"The same as you," she answered indistinctly, toothbrush in mouth.

Chris usually had a cup of coffee and a few slices of toast for breakfast.

Anne and I would drink milk or cereal and steal some of his bread.

Occasionally, we would have instant porridge for a change.

Drinking tea was out of the question; it was never going to happen.

After Anne's isolation ended, I once again buried the box of tea bags at the bottom of the trunk under her disapproving gaze. When she finished washing up and sat down, we officially began our discussion.

This infection incident was undoubtedly the biggest crisis since the zombie outbreak. 

"Are you sure the blood splashed into the wound?" I asked her. 

"Yes," Anne nodded, "Their blood is much darker than normal; I'm certain." 

"Any unusual symptoms in the past few days?" 

"None, everything's normal." 

"That's odd..." I mused, "You exchanged blood... the chance of infection should be very high..." This was why I had been so desperate. 

"Helen," Chris suddenly asked me, "What are the general modes of virus transmission?" 

I thought for a moment, "Typically, viruses can be transmitted through vertical transmission (mother to child), respiratory droplets, the digestive tract, direct contact, vectors, and bodily fluids." 

Anne opened her notebook, jotting down my words and crossing out bodily fluids. Vertical transmission was quickly ruled out as well. 

"It shouldn't be respiratory," she crossed out another, "I spoke face-to-face with the neighbors about the drinking water issue." 

"And it's not vector-borne."

With the late autumn weather, even mosquitoes had disappeared.

If there were a sudden appearance of unknown insects, it would be noticeable.

I hadn't seen any related reports.

Next, we crossed out direct contact transmission.

Using the public elevator, which would be the most likely source of infection in the residential building, both Anne and I had used it without taking any protective measures.

This left only digestive tract transmission.

But before the lockdown, our food and water were no different from anyone else's. Staring at the last option, Anne's pen hovered in the air, unable to make a mark. Suddenly, Chris reached over and crossed it out as well.

I looked at him, not understanding his reasoning.

About to ask, fragmented images flashed through my mind.

Anne and I exchanged a glance. In each other's eyes,

we saw the same shock.

When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. 

"It's not infectious," we all said in unison.

Or more accurately, it no longer showed infectious properties towards the remaining survivors.

I thought of the corpses and scattered bones in the neighborhood.

Consuming the survivors wasn't an effective method of spreading the infection.

This could only mean that after turning into zombies, the behavior logic of the horde was no longer about spreading the infection.

We had fallen into the mindset that all uninfected humans had avoided the virus.

But based on our discussion, this was clearly not the case.

So, the truth might be—we had been exposed to the virus all along but weren't chosen as hosts.

This existing barrier between predator and prey, it's hard to say if it's fortunate or unfortunate.

On one hand, without considering infectiousness, our margin for error in facing the horde greatly increases.

On the other hand, this also means that the disappeared humans—they never got infected but were eaten alive.

"So, eating is for survival?"

Anne drummed her fingers on the table, "If they go without energy for too long, they will still die."

This way, zombies are very similar to humans.

Except some of their abilities are enhanced while others are diminished. 

"Their blood is even more attractive than human blood," Chris furthered the hypothesis. I knew he was referring to the zombie we had killed.

Its body had drawn an unusually large horde. 

"So, under certain conditions, cannibalism exists within the horde," Anne, ever the combatant, said, "Could there be a way to make zombies kill each other?" 

"It may not be that simple,"

I thought for a moment, "When that one died, it might have lost some pheromones distinguishing friend from foe, thus being seen as food by its kind."

Simply creating wounds might not be effective, and directly killing them contradicts our goal.

Given the current situation, killing one zombie means facing ten times as many in retaliation.

The cost is too high.

There was a moment of silence at the table. 

"I need to check the convenience store," Chris changed the topic.

Hmm?

I had always thought he ventured out for food, but it seemed that wasn't entirely true. Since joining us, he no longer had to worry about food. What did he need from the convenience store?

I glanced at him but didn't ask. 

"We shouldn't act alone. Helen, go with Chris." 

"What about you?" 

Anne raised her hand, "I request to sit this one out."

She didn't look well and had lost weight.

Though she hadn't said much, she must have had a tough time these past few days. This person wasn't as fearless as she appeared.

I nodded, quickly packing my bag.

At 9:20 a.m., Chris and I left home.

Maybe due to experience, I wasn't as scared of going out as before.

We opened the fire escape door and walked down the emergency exit.

Eighth floor.

Seventh floor.

Sixth floor.

When we reached the fifth floor, I suddenly stopped. 

"What's wrong?" Chris asked when he saw me staring at the ground.

I shook my head, quickly pulling him through the corridor.

Once we reached the first floor, I whispered my discovery to him. 

"Someone's on the fifth floor."

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