Chapter 5 Escape
Jack crossed the grassy area and walked along the cement path for a few minutes, encountering nothing—not even a bird.
Finally, he reached a tree-lined path leading to the side entrance.
As he turned a corner, a few small white buildings came into view, partially hidden by the trees. From a distance, they looked like storage sheds.
This didn't match what Jack had observed from the window earlier.
He was sure he hadn't taken the wrong path—this was the only route in this direction.
But from the third floor, he hadn't seen these buildings.
It seemed the trees had blocked his view from that height.
Where there were buildings, there was a chance of encountering people—or zombies.
Jack slowly pulled out the homemade metal rod from his waist and gripped it tightly.
He had no other choice but to push forward through this area.
This was the safest route in the entire hospital.
If he couldn't get through here, the other routes would be even worse.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself down, mentally rehearsing how to thrust the rod and dodge zombie attacks. Gradually, he regained his composure.
As he approached the white buildings, the stench grew stronger, even through the towel covering his nose and mouth.
It seemed there were either zombies or rotting corpses nearby—otherwise, the smell wouldn't be so intense.
Sure enough, when Jack was about ten meters away from the white buildings, he saw several rotting corpses lying side by side on the ground.
From the scene, it was clear that the bodies had originally been placed in body bags, but for some reason, the bags had been torn open. The corpses were arranged in strange positions, and some even bore bite marks, with chunks of muscle tissue missing.
Jack deduced that the bodies had been piled up here and left unattended, likely torn apart by stray dogs or other animals.
Soon, a black dog slipped past under the shade of a tree, confirming Jack's guess.
He also noticed a sign outside the white buildings and realized that these warehouse-like structures were actually the hospital's morgue!
If he had stumbled upon this place under normal circumstances, Jack would have cursed it as "bad luck."
But in his current situation, these dead bodies seemed almost comforting—at least they wouldn't attack him like zombies.
The fact that the bodies were piled up outside was a clear indication of how many people had died in the hospital. The morgue had been overwhelmed, forcing staff to leave the bodies outside temporarily.
Jack gripped the metal rod tightly and moved cautiously.
On one hand, he was wary of stray dogs possibly lunging at him from the shadows. On the other, he was alert for any zombies that might be lurking nearby.
There were too many blind spots here, and he had no idea what might be hiding in the darkness, waiting for him.
The bodies were all decomposed, and with no food left, the stray dogs might indeed attack a living person passing by.
Jack had seen videos online of large packs of stray dogs attacking pedestrians before.
He carefully maneuvered around the corpses and reached the front of the morgue.
There, he saw a small square filled with densely packed bodies.
The earlier corpses were just the overflow from this square.
The bodies were all rotting and emitting a foul stench, with white maggots crawling all over them.
As Jack approached, the flies covering the corpses buzzed into the air, forming a dark cloud that seemed to descend upon him.
The stench hit him like a wave, making him gag.
The sight before him sent chills down his spine.
Even the smell of a month-old sock soaked in a bucket of water with a dead mouse rotting inside couldn't compare to the stench here—it wasn't even one-tenth as bad!
Despite considering himself well-versed in enduring foul odors, Jack was still shocked by the scene before him.
This was coming from someone who could tolerate the stench of multiple pairs of smelly feet in a dorm room!
Carefully navigating past the putrid corpses, Jack continued toward the hospital's side entrance.
He didn't let his guard down; in fact, he became even more cautious.
After all, he had just passed the morgue without incident, which felt almost surreal.
When something seemed too calm, there was always a catch!
Sure enough, after walking another ten meters, the stray dog that had slipped away earlier returned!
And this time, it was followed by a pack of over a dozen skinny, fierce-looking mutts.
Generally, Chinese village dogs are known for being loyal and gentle.
But these dogs had likely been born into a life of starvation and constant human harassment, leaving them deeply hostile toward people.
As soon as they spotted Jack, the pack bared their teeth and let out low growls.
Jack was speechless.
"You dogs have no honor, calling for backup like that!"
Jack held the metal rod horizontally across his chest, ready to attack or defend at a moment's notice, his eyes locked on the approaching pack.
The dogs, however, were hesitant. They growled but didn't dare to charge.
After all, they were just dogs—not particularly smart or disciplined.
Two of the dogs even tucked their tails between their legs and began to back away slowly.
Seeing this, Jack's confidence grew. He swung the metal rod, driving the dogs back.
Most of the dogs either crouched low or retreated with their tails between their legs. Only a few of the skinniest dogs seemed unafraid.
These few were likely driven by hunger, their desire to eat overriding their fear.
But with only a few bold ones left, Jack wasn't too worried.
No matter how fierce they looked, they were disorganized and could be dealt with one by one.
With that in mind, Jack swung the rod at the lead black dog.
The rod whistled through the air and struck the dog squarely on the head.
With a dull thud, the dog was sent flying two meters before collapsing in a cloud of dust.
It whimpered a few times, its legs twitching, before falling still.
The other dogs reacted in different ways—some turned and fled, while others bared their teeth and charged.
Jack wielded the rod with precision, striking, thrusting, and parrying.
In less than two minutes, several dogs were lying on the ground, howling in pain.
The rest, thoroughly terrified, tucked their tails and ran off, whimpering softly.
Jack couldn't believe that the weapon he had crafted to fight zombies had first been used against a pack of stray dogs.
He wiped the rod on the grass and continued toward the side entrance.
But just as he thought the dogs were gone for good, they suddenly turned back and charged at him again, faster and more ferocious than before.
Strangely, they were also whimpering, as if terrified of something behind them.
Jack's heart sank. He realized the dogs weren't chasing him—they were running from something!
What could scare dogs like that?
It definitely wasn't him and his metal rod.
Jack already knew the answer.
Sure enough, in the distance, under the sunlight, several staggering figures appeared.
Their stiff movements, twisted gaits, and the overwhelming stench told Jack everything he needed to know: he had finally encountered real, live zombies!
And not just one—several of them!
Faced with so many zombies at once, Jack's mind went blank. All the strategies and techniques he had imagined in his hospital room vanished in an instant.
Now, he had only one thought: run!
He had to run faster than the dogs!
If even the dogs were afraid of the zombies, how could he, a lone human, stand a chance?
Zombies were terrifying in movies, but facing them in real life was a completely different experience.
They were emotionless, relentless beasts—worse than beasts.
Beasts could feel fear, but zombies couldn't.
They would keep moving forward, keep feeding, until their heads were destroyed.
Looking at their grayish, lifeless eyes, pale skin, and the mechanical "huff... huff..." sounds coming from their throats, Jack's feet moved before he could think.
The dogs ran alongside him, but their weakened bodies from prolonged starvation soon fell behind.
Before long, Jack heard the dogs' pitiful cries behind him. He glanced back and saw one of the dogs caught by a zombie, its hands tearing into the animal's flesh.
The zombie's foul mouth opened wide and clamped down on the dog's neck.
Blood seeped through the zombie's teeth and dripped onto the ground.
More zombies gathered around, their grayish hands clawing and tearing at the dog's body.
Soon, the dog's cries faded, replaced by labored breathing.
A few seconds later, even that stopped.
The dog had been gutted, its intestines and organs pulled out.
Blood pooled on the ground, and the metallic smell mixed with the zombies' rot was carried by the summer breeze.
Jack's stomach churned, and he dry-heaved a couple of times.
While some zombies stayed behind to feast on the dog, others continued to pursue Jack.
He didn't stop. He kept running.