Be a neighbor

The fragile trust between them shattered with a single crack.

The Zombie King, with his wild and terrifying hairstyle, had lost faith in Dora Lin.

Without a calendar, they guessed it was June by now. The sun was merciless. Over time, the neighboring yard was finally fully restored. Not only was the roof repaired, but the walls were also reinforced to withstand the next heavy storm.

Alex White stood in the yard, his neck burning under the sun, admiring the fruits of his labor.

Once a place where many had died, the house had lost much of its ominous atmosphere after being thoroughly cleaned. In fact, at first glance, it even looked better than Dora Lin's place—

Dora Lin's yard was cluttered with useless junk, nowhere near as neat or spacious as this newly restored yard.

"Is there any way to fix this well?" Alex White asked. The well in the yard had been abandoned for many years and was now unusable, a problem that frustrated him the most.

"I can't," Dora Lin replied.

The well in her yard had always been that way, and if it broke one day, there wouldn't be much she could do about it. But if push came to shove, she would have to try fixing it herself.

"Then we'll have to draw water from your place," Alex White said.

"We could search for some water barrels, bring them over, and clean them up."

The village still had many useful things. If they were short of something, they could always find it in one of the abandoned houses.

"Look."

Alex White stepped outside and spotted Uncle Jones in the distance. Suddenly, he pointed, "Did you do that?"

A small morning glory was tucked behind Uncle Jones's ear, making the limping zombie look less menacing.

Dora Lin shook her head. "Wasn't it you?"

"Nope."

"Then it must have been Aunt Jones."

Dora Lin lowered her gaze, walked around Uncle Jones, and headed toward the spot where she remembered seeing a water barrel. The walls of the old houses were easily damaged by wild grass, and with the next heavy rain, who knew if they'd collapse and break the water barrel along with them?

As Alex White walked along the path, he glanced back at Uncle Jones with the flower tucked behind his ear. He couldn't help but think that maybe, before the disaster, a younger Aunt Jones and Uncle Jones would have joked like this. But now, everything had changed. Uncle Jones no longer reacted to the little flower.

In the distance, Aunt Jones's house stood quietly, its old walls worn and silent.

Alex White discovered a water barrel that was just the right size. He tilted it and rolled it along, letting the bottom scrape across the ground as he guided it back to his place. Dora Lin grabbed a stick, ready to shoo away Uncle Jones and Eddie if they wandered too close during their work.

When everything was in order, and nothing seemed to be missing, Alex White finally felt it—a sense of ownership. He now had a place to call his own.

It was a strange feeling. After years of back-breaking labor, he'd never managed to own a house. And now, against all odds, he had a home.

"You won't have to sleep in that shack anymore," Dora Lin remarked.

"Definitely not!"

Alex White had grown quite fond of the house.

The only downside was the lack of neighbors—only Dora Lin lived next door. He would have preferred a bit more company.

Once the water barrel was clean, Dora Lin found a long hose. She had scavenged it a while back. When connected, it reached perfectly over the wall, and they placed the barrel by the wall.

Then she called out, signaling the start, and began pumping water from the well. Cool, fresh water flowed steadily from the hose into the barrel. After a while, Alex White called for her to stop, and she did.

"It's been ages since we had any new folks in the village!" Dora Lin called over the wall. "Never thought my new neighbor would be a zombie."

"Infected sounds a little nicer," Alex White replied.

He glanced around the yard and sighed. Sadly, there was no shack here.

He didn't know if he'd grown too accustomed to sleeping in a shack or if it was because he had survived the infection by living in one, but he found himself missing it. He actually wanted to sleep in a shack again.

"Does this mean I've survived?" Alex White asked suddenly.

"You've been surviving for a while now," Dora Lin said.

Alex White didn't clarify further. From the moment he had been infected and dragged to this desolate place to the present, where he stood in his own little yard, he realized he could never return to his old life.

All those memories felt like they belonged to a different era.

Now, as he stood in the yard, he felt a strange sense of grounding, as if he truly existed in this new world.

Two old zombies wandered aimlessly through the village, and among the quiet ruins, Dora Lin was his only neighbor. There was also an old woman living alone further away.

As night fell, the stories Dora Lin had told him about the people who had died here started to fade from his thoughts. Alex White chose a small room to settle in. It was his first time sleeping in a bed since returning from scavenging in the city.

Moonlight streamed through the window, bathing the room in a soft glow.

Dora Lin lay awake, her thoughts wandering. She pushed open the window and gazed out at the yard. The shed, once home to the Zombie King, now stood empty. He had moved into his own house next door.

Life has a way of unfolding like this—gradually sorting itself out, piece by piece, until things get better.

Or, perhaps, until life quietly slips away.

Thankfully, the Zombie King hadn't perished. On the contrary, he was thriving. Early each morning, even before dawn, Dora could hear him bounding around in the yard next door.

The days of labor had tanned his skin, trimmed his figure, and made him stronger.

Alex White was determined to become a zombie with abs.

If someone turned into a zombie but kept up with daily routines—washing their face, brushing their teeth, keeping their clothes clean, and practicing good manners—who would still dare to call them a zombie?

And if that zombie also trained and developed abs, looking healthier than most people, wouldn't they be considered just as human? By then, Dora Lin would seem like the weak and fragile remnant of a bygone era.

"What scheme are you brewing now?" Dora Lin noticed the strange glint in his eyes.

"The more I think about it, the more I believe this is a higher form of life, not just a virus."

Alex White didn't share his thoughts about the frailty of old-era humans. For one, he didn't want to hurt Dora Lin's pride. And for another, he still needed to learn survival skills from these humans.

"Is having corpse spots what makes it superior?"

"Don't worry about those little imperfections. Evolution is still a work in progress."

If the worst-case scenario came true and all living beings got infected, he'd be the last one standing.

To sculpt abs, proper nutrition was essential.

With the large bamboo basket Dora Lin had crafted slung over his back, Alex White set off. He wore sunglasses and sported a haircut that looked like it had been chewed by a dog. He was ready to live on his own.

Given the heat, he carried a large water bottle at his waist. Under the scorching sun, he marched forward, stick in hand.

A gust of wind blew, making the worn-out window frames creak. He walked along the village path, heading toward the hills.

In the distance, he saw a figure—not a zombie, but someone wearing a straw hat. Alex White recognized her as Aunt Jones.

As he approached, Aunt Jones glanced at him, then at the bamboo basket on his back, and said, "Be careful."

"Huh?"

Alex White hadn't expected Aunt Jones's first words to be a warning. He paused, momentarily caught off guard.

"Sometimes there are traps around here. Be careful, or you might get caught," Aunt Jones warned as she pulled a wild rabbit from a pit. The rabbit struggled in her grip.

"Thank you."

Alex White inspected the area closely. There were markers around the traps—if you looked carefully, you could spot them.

He expected Aunt Jones to leave, but to his surprise, she remained where she was, showing no intention of going.

"Are you living with Dora now?" Aunt Jones asked, still holding the rabbit, as she cast another glance at Alex White.