CatOfTheLandlord

In a city besieged by a relentless zombie outbreak, Helen and Anne struggle to survive, fortified by their resourcefulness and an unlikely ally, Chris Carter. As they navigate the treacherous landscape of a deserted metropolis, they must confront not only the external threats of the undead but also the internal challenges of trust, hope, and the haunting realization that rescue may never come. Join them on a gripping journey where every decision could mean the difference between life and death, and discover the unexpected bonds that form in the face of a world gone mad.

The Survivor's Talk

"Let's go to your place first," I decided immediately.

We stopped struggling with the fire door and changed direction. In no time, we reached the entrance to Building 58's passageway.

Even before we got close, a strong smell of pine filled the air. A large puddle of pale yellow liquid was on the ground, likely from a spilled diesel drum.

The wire was more troublesome than I expected; there was no way to untangle it by hand.

Luckily, I had tools in my bag. I handed over the pliers.

Chris struggled for a while before finally cutting the wire.

The door was quietly pushed open a crack. In the dim light, a zombie stood at the stairwell corner with its back to us.

The enclosed space reeked of blood and decay.

What now? I asked him with my eyes.

"We can't kill it here," Chris reclosed the door. "I'll lure them away."

"No," I immediately rejected. "The passages are mostly blocked. If they target you, how will you escape?"

He pondered for a moment, "What time is it?"

I checked my watch, "Just past noon."

He led me backward while cutting a long strip of cloth from his clothes.

"Diesel can't be lit directly, but after evaporating for so long, the vapor concentration should be enough."

"Will it explode?" I felt uneasy.

He lit the cloth and threw it toward the fire door, then pulled me down, covering me with his body.

A wave of heat surged from behind us.

Flames shot up several meters, nearly engulfing us.

I vaguely smelled something burning on me.

A loud bang echoed, but it wasn't an explosion.

Two zombies burst through the door, stumbling out but quickly collapsing.

Behind them, the stairwell was ablaze.

Chris got up to find a fire extinguisher while I rubbed my forehead and stood.

There wasn't much flammable material in the stairwell, and with the extinguisher's help, the fire was soon under control.

We used a flashlight to inspect the blackened walls inside; there were several charred bodies.

"Someone tried to escape but failed," Chris said, touching the knife marks on the door's inside. "Such a commotion would definitely attract the zombies wandering inside." Looking at the burnt remains, I couldn't tell which were survivors.

A cold, calm fury welled up within me—people seemed to have lost all restraint in this world. All heinous crimes were pre-forgiven, and all brutal acts absurdly permitted. Neither of us spoke as we climbed the stairs.

We reached the 22nd floor. Chris's balcony faced 902.

Without communication tools, how could we contact Anne without drawing attention? Staring across, I suddenly had an idea.

I unscrewed the flashlight to use the laser pointer.

A small red beam instantly crossed the hundred-meter gap, landing on the vegetable patch on my balcony.

I waved the beam, hoping Anne would notice quickly.

After what felt like ages, she finally appeared. Seeing it was me, she seemed relieved, probably thinking I was playing another childish prank. She smiled and waved, ready to go back inside.

Panicking, I handed the flashlight to Chris and frantically gestured toward the binoculars on the balcony.

Finally, realizing something was off, she picked up the binoculars and looked at us.

I held up the paper with the two large characters I had prepared earlier.

Sending a Lifeline