I had many tasks left today. Fuel was the priority. The SUV still had plenty, but in times like these, more was always better. I wanted to find large jugs or barrels, fill them to the brim, and hide them somewhere only I knew.
My destination: the old street of miscellaneous shops. Low houses, outdated facilities, mostly commercial fronts, few residents. When disaster struck, it was early morning—no vendors, no customers. Safer, perhaps. I hoped few others had the same idea.
Starting the car, I turned clumsily, nerves fraying. In my distraction, I bumped the zombie who had been following me. The speed was low; no harm done. Still, I wouldn't take him with me. Even if he wasn't faking, even if it was my fault, I wouldn't bear the responsibility.
Driving away, I realized: how had he found me? From the hospital yesterday to this morning—did he walk all night? Impossible. No taxis now, no one would give a zombie a ride. He couldn't speak, couldn't ask directions. Why was he so intent on following? Zombies didn't wander unless disturbed. I couldn't explain it. Perhaps fate. Either way, goodbye.
By the time I reached the street, it was past one. Shops stood open, interiors chaotic, like garbage heaps. Dried black blood stained the floor, odorless now.
I parked at a turning spot, locked the car, and searched shop by shop. Large jugs were the goal, but useful tools too.
Wrenches, pliers, nails, screws, wire… I wouldn't use them. Left them. A hammer—yes. Knives—many. Cleavers too.
Finally, I found jugs: 5L, 10L, 25L. Even lidded barrels. Too big for the car. I took five or six 25L jugs. The SUV was nearly full. Regret lingered. A truck would have let me empty the street.
I searched more shops. Tools aplenty, few useful. Enough. Time for the gas station.
East of town, near the highway. No houses nearby. Twenty minutes' drive.
Could a powerless station pump fuel? No. But for me—yes.
I extended thought into the hose. The smell of gasoline filled my mind, harsher than through the nose. Grimacing, I filled the SUV, then the jugs.
Each 25L jug should have been crushing. Yet I lifted them with effort, but not struggle. Mutation had strengthened me.
Soon, six jugs were full. Unsafe, but necessary. Gasoline was finite. Better prepared.
On the way back, I raided small shops. Rice, flour, stacked on the roof. Too conspicuous. But supplies were still abundant. Many people stayed home, waiting for rescue. They watched me, but did nothing.
I trusted my country, my government. But safety was never certain. Better to prepare. Even if the disaster passed, I couldn't return. Better to wander, see the world, than sit alone in despair.
Turning a corner, a figure darted out. I slammed the brakes. The car screeched, stopping just short.
My head nearly hit the wheel. Thank the seatbelt.
The man sat pale, terrified, nearly fainting. I honked, urging him aside.
"Sorry, sorry… the kindergarten… ghosts… ghosts!" he stammered.
"Run! Run! The ghosts are coming!"
He looked neat, not mad. Shocked, perhaps. But zombies weren't ghosts.
I was about to leave when a powerful aura surged from ahead. My body trembled. Threat.
I turned the car, approaching cautiously. Fear grew—part from the aura, part from within.
Ahead stood a kindergarten. Summer break, yet some offered daycare. Parents had sent children. Now, perhaps forever.
I parked in a hidden spot, climbed a nearby house. With my strength, scaling to the roof was easy.
On the third floor, I saw an old man inside. He struggled to rise, eyes gray-white, flickering faintly like a dying lamp. Alone, elderly, living quietly. Becoming a zombie might have been release. No fear, no burden, no suffering.
I knew the thought was wrong. But I thought it anyway.
I avoided houses with people, sensing them with thought. If I could, I would wear a mask, for comfort.
At last, I reached the rooftop. From there, I saw the kindergarten yard. Fresh blood stained the ground.
I dared not act. The aura was too strong. I feared ghosts more than corpses.
A scream shattered the silence. My hand shook on the railing. I wanted to go home.
Four people burst from a doorway, drenched in blood, stumbling. One fell, crawling backward in terror.
And then—their monster appeared.
She wasn't ugly. She was… cute. Two little buns tied with pink clips. A round face, big eyes. Barely a meter tall. A sky-blue dress with butterflies