9
With communication down and the hallway far from safe, things were looking dire. Neighbours with prying eyes and the strange behaviour of Jack were potential risks. After discussing it, she went back to gather some personal items and moved in with me, bringing all her supplies along.
I set up her bed in the living room and gave her a tour of the apartment.
Despite being prepared, she couldn't help but be amazed at the mountain of vegetables in the second bedroom.
I pointed to a notebook hanging nearby, "Each shelf has one of these. Before storing anything, I catalogued everything and noted their expiration dates to avoid waste. Help yourself to anything, just remember to update the log."
I led her through the living room. "This shelf is for fuel canisters. Be careful not to bring any open flames nearby."
"All the seeds are still germinating on the north balcony. Right now, there are only some strawberries growing on the south balcony,"
I explained as we walked.
"The fridge is stocked with fresh fruit. It's best to consume it within the next two weeks."
She remarked, leaning against the railing and eyeing my crude rainwater collector, "Impressive, you're quite the doer."
Her compliment made me a bit embarrassed.
Because, knowing myself, it's quite the opposite.
I'm cautious and conservative, always doubtful and hesitant.
I'm a bundle of contradictions.
Despite seeing various reports about the pandemic,
watching videos of people attacking each other online,
witnessing unusual preventive measures,
and seeing Jack looking like a zombie,
I still struggled to associate this virus with an apocalypse.
I stubbornly and naively kept calling it a pandemic, as if doing so would make our lives return to normal soon.
I couldn't take drastic measures.
I couldn't bring myself to max out credit cards or take out huge loans.
I couldn't abandon this apartment and find a bigger, safer place.
I even thought that if I was wrong, I'd sell everything on Craigslist.
My caution was a double-edged sword.
What I'm doing now is the most I can manage.
Rationality can sometimes lead to blind optimism and arrogance.
The first lesson the apocalypse taught me was to trust my instincts.
I'm not action-oriented.
I simply forced myself to stop overthinking, making me appear more proactive.
Seeing my melancholy, she nudged me with her shoulder and smiled, "Today is our first day as teammates. You're not planning to skip the welcome feast, are you?"
… …
A simple taunt, but it worked perfectly on me.
So for lunch, I extravagantly threw two packs of pork bone ramen and a potato into the electric cooker.
I even opened a 400g can of braised beef and a big bottle of orange juice.
As we ate, I realized we hadn't introduced ourselves.
"You can call me Helen. I was a biology teacher before. I hadn't been working long before the institution restructured, so I've been unemployed for months," I said, trying to sound cheerful.
"Biology? So this virus should be right up your alley," Anne remarked, twirling some noodles.
"Not at all," I replied, still smiling. "I just taught textbook stuff."
She nodded, "I'm two years older than you and work at a nearby hospital."
Fantastic. I perked up immediately. "You're a doctor? So I don't have to worry about getting sick now?"
"Not exactly..." She became modest.
"Are you a surgeon? Or a general practitioner?"
"Not a medical doctor... could it be TCM?"
"Helen," Anne avoided my eager gaze and stammered, "I'm a vet."