As the blood seeped from the wound, the "thing" also burrowed into it.
Hua Zhen tentatively dubbed it "the filament."
Perhaps due to the pain, Hua Zhen did not feel the filament wriggling inside.
About three minutes later, Hua Zhen observed that the skin around the wound had developed fine blisters.
Five minutes later, the wound began to show signs of necrosis.
Another five minutes passed, and his originally pale eyes gradually reddened, suffused with blood vessels.
A wave of nausea overcame him, his stomach churning slightly.
In just thirteen minutes, Hua Zhen already felt his body was amiss.
Over the next hour, Hua Zhen experienced the following symptoms:
His body stiffened slightly, a burning sensation arose, the muscles in his left arm began to twitch, and his breathing became irregular. The superficial skin of his mouth and nose ruptured, bleeding ensued, and soon, swollen black veins became prominent under his skin…
Looking at himself in the mirror, Hua Zhen felt a tinge of emotion.
In just over an hour, he had mutated into a zombie.
Yet, his consciousness remained clear.
Hua Zhen picked up a baseball bat and opened the front door, his hand still on the doorknob.
The landlady was wandering near the entrance; hearing the door open, she turned reflexively.
Upon seeing Hua Zhen, she showed no reaction.
Recognized as a comrade, it seemed the infection was wholly successful.
Hua Zhen then released the doorknob.
However, Hua Zhen found it peculiar; unlike half a month ago, he remembered feeling only sleepy after being bitten and returning home, without this nauseating sensation.
Was it merely a coincidence?
This, Hua Zhen did not know, his expression still tense.
After all, celebrating with champagne at halftime is never a good idea.
He had only succeeded halfway.
He needed to revert to human form to be completely at ease.
Hua Zhen recalled the moment of transformation back to human.
It was while searching the man's body that the repulsive, wriggling thing emerged from the wound, releasing a small puff of grey-yellow mist.
Did he need to search the man's body again?
As Hua Zhen pondered this, he noticed a small point emerging from the wound, wriggling slightly.
It was the same entity he had inserted earlier, twisting like an underdeveloped maggot.
As if responding to Hua Zhen's will, it gradually emerged from the wound.
But there was more; additional filaments were emerging.
Hua Zhen distinctly remembered inserting only one such entity an hour ago; the rest were still in the box.
These new filaments were finer, hair-like, and also writhing slightly.
Upon closer inspection, Hua Zhen realized they were all connected.
Many fine filaments had grown from the original one.
What was this situation?
Had it reproduced?
Hua Zhen had seen something similar on a science channel.
In nature, there is a fungus called the nematode-trapping fungus, which splits into hyphae after parasitizing its host, not unlike what Hua Zhen was witnessing.
Moreover, the grey-yellow mist that had emanated from the "filament" while searching the man's body, upon close observation, revealed tiny particles under the light—were those spores?
In other words, was it a fungus, not a virus, that caused the apocalypse?
Hua Zhen licked his lips; he could not yet be certain.
One certainty prevailed: his gamble had paid off.
Like any other human, Hua Zhen was susceptible to infection, yet post-infection, he retained his self-awareness and could revert to his human form!
This was paramount!
Having ascertained this, Hua Zhen scrutinized his reflection for any anomalies.
All was normal.
Subsequently, he reverted to his zombified state once more.
Many survivors were still awaiting rescue, hence their reluctance to venture out.
Now was an opportune moment to gather supplies.
Hua Zhen donned a white, hooded jacket stained with the blood from the man's corpse, slung his backpack over his shoulders, and placed a cleaver from the kitchen into its side pocket.
Once prepared, he stepped outside.
The landlady lingered nearby, not wandering but standing still in a bizarre posture, her body occasionally twitching, emitting intermittent, guttural groans.
Hua Zhen drew the cleaver.
Approaching the landlady, she looked up at him.
Upon closer inspection, Hua Zhen noticed her bloodshot eyes seemed on the verge of rupturing as if something was about to emerge.
The landlady showed no reaction to Hua Zhen, a fellow zombie.
She merely tilted her head, baring her ghastly teeth, emitting a sound akin to a creaking, aged wooden door.
Hua Zhen gripped the cleaver tightly.
Initially, he intended to leave her be, remembering how the landlady, a stickler for cleanliness, had waived two months' rent for him during his financially strained post-graduation days in exchange for household chores.
Of course, given her penchant for cleanliness, her home hardly required his help, save for washing dishes at noon, which also afforded him a free meal.
Facing the blood-covered, grotesque visage of the landlady, Hua Zhen raised the blade.
It was nothing personal, merely practice for future encounters with zombies.
The cleaver sliced into the landlady's neck, the blade burying deep.
Hua Zhen jostled the cleaver, yanking it out forcefully, blood spurting forth.
The landlady collapsed, still struggling.
With gritted teeth, Hua Zhen ended her existence.
Descending to the lower floors, Hua Zhen was confronted with the extent of the recent horrors.
The corridors were strewn with dried blood, the air reeked of decay, and scattered belongings and suitcases lay about…
Hua Zhen had attempted to spot any remaining occupants through the windows.
Of course, some might have been fortunate enough to hole up in their rooms, like the man before, but from what Hua Zhen observed, there were none.
Many apartments lay open and in disarray.
Some rooms bore bloodstains, others housed zombies, with clothing and valuables left behind…
But there were no signs of life.
It seemed the building had succumbed to death.
Yet, this was of no concern to Hua Zhen.
The only person he knew in the building was the landlady.
Reaching the ground floor, the scene was equally grim.
Shadowy figures swayed in the greenery, kneeling together as if feasting on something.
Hua Zhen disregarded this sight and headed towards the convenience store across the street.
His gait was unsteady, his steps faltering.
Residential buildings lined both sides of the road.
As he walked, his gaze intermittently swept the windows above.
Perhaps survivors were there, silently observing the world outside.