Zombie stories really are my comfort zone.
I’ve watched countless games and movies, and my theoretical knowledge isn’t lacking.
But only when that stench of decay drilled into my nose did I realize there’s a chasm called primal fear between theory and reality.
Luckily, it’s only the beginning of the Post-Apocalypse, so these corpses haven’t yet rotted to the exaggerated extremes seen in the movies.
Still, when they’re actually standing in front of you, that chill races up your spine all the same.
I don’t particularly want to let the others know I’m a coward—and I really don’t want to get bitten—but in this situation, forcing myself onward is a better choice than sparing myself once.
I slowly stood up and squeezed through the side door into the mall.
The door closed silently behind me, cutting off the last ray of daylight.
Pure darkness pressed down like a physical entity, filled with the mingled scent of dust, mildew, and an indescribably sweet, metallic odor.
The air was so still it was suffocating.
With no phone or any source of light on me, I stood in place, forcing my eyes wide open, waiting for my vision to adjust to the inky darkness.
Meanwhile, I recalled the mall map I’d studied before.
Entering through the staff passage… I should be in the Logistics Area, and to the right is the corridor leading to the sales floor.
Thankfully, I didn’t run into anything on the way.
My eyes darted quickly around—this was the supermarket’s storage area.
Piles of cardboard boxes lay scattered, most of them already torn open and obviously picked over.
But my goal was clear: find a backpack and basic supplies.
Keeping close to the wall, I moved quickly and slipped into the nearest Staff Rest Room.
Luck was on my side—a few staff jackets hung in the corner, and a black backpack was tossed on a chair.
I grabbed the backpack, stuffed several unopened bottles of mineral water and half a pack of crackers from the table inside, moving with crisp efficiency.
Slipping the backpack on, I carefully pushed open the door leading to the sales floor.
At this moment, the true face of the supermarket in the Post-Apocalypse unfolded before me.
Darker, quieter—a vast tomb.
Most of the shelves leaned this way and that, goods and broken glass scattered everywhere, and the sweet, cloying stench of decay was even thicker in the air.
Keeping low, I moved quickly along the shadows of the shelves.
The daily goods section was a mess, but I still managed to fish out a few cans of meat and a pack of compressed biscuits from the bottom shelf.
Every movement was as light as possible, and I checked the shadows for any abnormalities before reaching out each time.
Just as I stretched for an unopened package of medical supplies on a high shelf, a faint scraping sound froze me in place.
It wasn’t the sound of human footsteps—more like something dragging itself across the rough floor.
Very soft, but relentless.
I crouched slowly, peering through the gap in the shelves.
About twenty meters away, near the fresh food section, a disturbingly long and thin figure had its back to me, moving slowly beside an overturned freezer.
Its limbs moved awkwardly, shoulders jerking in unnatural spasms, making that teeth-grinding scraping noise.
I held my breath and slowly scooted backward, trying to put more distance between us.
“Click.”
“Shit!” My foot had stepped on a shard of broken glass, the noise piercingly loud in the dead silence.
The figure abruptly froze, then its head turned a full 180 degrees at an utterly impossible angle.
Its pupils were a cloudy, soulless white, but it was staring straight in my direction.
The next instant, it let out a shrill screech and, on all fours like a massive spider, charged at me!
It rushed to the shelves, but found nothing there.
It lowered its head, scanned beneath the shelf, but still couldn’t see me.
I turned away, clamping a hand tightly over my mouth, suppressing a scream in my throat by sheer force.
That thing circled the shelves anxiously, its pale eyeballs reflecting faintly in the darkness.
This guy’s vision isn’t great—it ran right past my spot to the shelves further back.
Because of its awkward position, I could only inch my way, step by painstaking step, looping around and back toward where I’d come.
What would’ve taken one minute in normal times became a protracted standoff lasting over ten minutes.
I held utterly still, even my breathing slowed to its quietest; my muscles ached from tension, but the instinct to survive overwhelmed everything.
After circling for more than ten seconds, it let out a low, guttural growl, then suddenly darted off in another direction, the crawling sounds fading gradually.
I didn’t dare relax.
I waited another two minutes before letting out a slow breath.
Cold sweat had already soaked my back.
“A zombie? That’s a zombie?! Are you kidding me—did you see that speed? It’d leave Bolt in the dust!”
I had to get out of here.
That medical kit was close at hand, but I abandoned it without hesitation.
Seventeen minutes.
A route that would normally take seconds to cover took me a full seventeen minutes.
When I finally made it back to the staff passage door, I was nearly spent.
I gently pushed the half-closed door open.
The moment I poked my head out, my face met a zombie’s in an intimate stare.
A random, out-of-place thought popped into my mind.
‘No house, no car, no savings. No love, no passion, no descendants.’
—Dashing guy.
I quickly retreated into the corridor, slamming the door shut on the dashing guy.
Leaning against the cold door, I listened as the dashing guy clawed at the outside in frustration, accompanied by hoarse growls.
Inside, the corridor was dim, with only a sliver of weak light seeping in through the crack at the bottom.
“Well, looks like I’m the filling in a dumpling now,” I muttered, oddly calm.
“Guess there’s nothing left to worry about.” A strange, reckless sense of acceptance rose inside me.
So I just slid down the door to the floor, pulled the backpack in front of me, and started checking through it at my own pace.
Three bottles of mineral water, five cans of meat, two packs of compressed biscuits.
“Might last me two or three days.” I scoffed, unscrewed a bottle, and took a couple gulps.
“Guess I’ll just eat it all today—go out with a full belly.”
The water was cold, sliding down my throat and slightly suppressing my churning nausea.
I picked up a can of meat, fingers tracing the chill of the metal.
The scratching at the door became background noise.
Leaning against the door, I let the symphony of the end times accompany me as I devoured my “last meal” with full concentration.
Each bite was taken seriously, as if I were performing some solemn ritual.
When I was full, I tossed the empty can aside with a satisfying burp.
With food in my stomach, I felt a bit stronger, my mind clearing as well.
Desperation often breeds ingenuity.
I glanced around the short staff corridor, eyes finally settling on the dusty old vent cover in the ceiling corner.
The scratching outside stopped.
Maybe it gave up, or maybe it went to call for more friends.
Silence fell again, more unnerving than the commotion from before.
Leaning against the door, I could clearly hear my own heart racing.
My mind was a mess—sometimes replaying that creature’s unnatural 180-degree head turn, sometimes recalling the dashing guy’s rotting face inches from mine.
“Did that thing evolve from a zombie?” I wondered, comparing the dashing guy and the monster.
“No, that’s two completely different forms.”
At that moment, a thought flashed in my mind like a match struck in the dark.
Maybe this isn’t a dead end after all.