Humen? Zombie!

Although that girl was more than a hundred meters away from John, that blood-red shadow kept following him relentlessly.

He could clearly hear the sound of her rapid footsteps in his ears, and it even seemed as if he could hear her heart pounding wildly.

"Damn, this zombie's hearing is unreal," John Carter thought to himself.

He followed a group of zombies at a slow pace of about two kilometers per hour, chasing after that girl.

Most of the zombies moved sluggishly, but their numbers were astonishing, and they could surround the girl from every direction.

Among them, there were even a few that could move a bit faster—reaching speeds of up to four kilometers per hour, clearly more agile than the average zombie.

He was so ravenous he was almost going mad, and he could nearly smell the youthful scent emanating from the girl.

Even his long-abandoned arm seemed to be stimulated by that meaty aroma, as if it were being drawn up to his chest involuntarily.

Though he tried desperately to suppress his hunger, his drooling mouth filled him with a sense of utter despair.

"Forget it, maybe all zombies are like this—just driven by the instinct to eat people," John Carter muttered to himself, sneaking a glance at the vacant, almost mindless eyes of the zombies beside him, wondering if he was truly different from them.

Just then, the girl in jeans suddenly found herself surrounded by a group of zombies, her face turning pale with fear as she began screaming and bolting toward him.

"I... I'm so damn hungry—I just want to eat meat, I want to eat human flesh!" he roared in his heart, and his uncontrollable finger pointed straight ahead.

He stared at his pitch-black nails, both excited and tormented as he thought, "Let me get you! I really want to eat you! Don't blame me—I just want to use my teeth, strong enough to bite through an iron pipe, to snap your snow-white neck, suck out your bright red blood, and tear your tender flesh into pieces to shove into my mouth. It'd be so damn good!"

John Carter's eyes were bloodshot, and he kept muttering incoherently.

But in that very instant, the girl in jeans seemed to sense his weakness and charged at him like a whirlwind, knocking him several meters away.

"Damn it, I want to eat you! Let me take a few bites—don't run!" John Carter screamed inside, but once he hit the ground, how could he possibly get up immediately?

He could only watch in horror as another zombie pounced on the girl, and amid her screams, hundreds of zombies began frantically clawing at her.

After struggling for what felt like an eternity, he finally rolled over, exhausted like someone on the verge of starvation, and crawled while keeping his eyes fixed on the gruesome scene of the girl's blood-red flesh being torn apart and shoved into zombie mouths.

Starved by hunger, John Carter crawled forward with every ounce of strength he had left.

"Am I really going to eat her? Do I really want to eat human flesh?" His head pounded, and he stopped to lie on the cold ground, gasping against the dark night air.

"No, I can't eat people!" he insisted internally, yet at the same time, a frantic thought whispered, "No, I'm too hungry—I might starve to death. Fine, I'll eat her; bite out her intestines. The large intestine is the best!"

His mind was like a battleground of debates—a voice angrily scolding, "You can't eat people!" while another whispered seductively, "Go ahead, you're already a zombie. Eat—savor some large intestines, the crimson heart, and those beautiful livers and lungs. Don't let some so-called principles starve you."

The clash between his humanity and his zombie instincts raged in his head.

Finally, John Carter lifted his head with great difficulty, and, gazing at the moon hidden behind dark clouds, he let out a heartrending, mournful howl.

His bloodthirsty instinct completely overpowered his lingering attachment to humanity, and with blood-red eyes, he slowly and helplessly moved toward the group of zombies.

Those zombies had long since torn the girl to shreds, and they were frantically scrambling for the fresh chunks of meat!

He struggled for a while before managing to squeeze next to the girl—only to find that she had been completely devoured by hundreds of zombies, leaving not even a scrap of skin, just a few scattered, meatless spinal bones on the ground.

All around, many zombies were greedily gnawing on meat and swallowing off innards, making slurping noises as they feasted.

The zombies that couldn't get any meat, or those eating too fast, glared with bloodshot eyes at each other, scrambling over the unfinished remains.

Just minutes ago, they had banded together to surround that poor girl, and now, within minutes, they were viciously fighting over a piece of bloody, fresh meat.

In the world of zombies, it seems size and strength are the ultimate truths—smaller, weaker zombies were trampled, bitten, or kicked aside by the big, powerful ones.

John Carter originally wanted to snatch some meat for a taste, but looking at the zombies—much stronger—he realized his own small frame could never compete with them.

Now, apart from that astonishing biting force, his limbs remained as limp as ever—back in the hospital, he couldn't even lift a scalpel weighing over a hundred grams, and that hadn't improved at all.

John Carter, with no choice, shuffled along on small, halting steps. He had planned to pick up the few spinal bones that had been completely gnawed clean, to take a bite—but then, unexpectedly, four or five zombies stepped on them, crushing the bones to mush.

Burning with anger, he could only let out another howl of sorrow and despair toward the moon hidden behind the dark clouds.