Not only had the zombie learned to speak, but it could also perceive more details. Alex White noticed the woman wearing a dark jacket and coarse gray trousers—practical clothing, like the kind people used to wear for farm work. They were durable and resistant to getting torn by brush. Her shoes appeared to be work boots, possibly with steel-toed protection, though he wasn't certain.
Her hair was unevenly cut, as if she'd done it herself without much care. She looked healthy and energetic—a young, robust human.
Before, he could only catch her scent, like a moving... something, but now he could see her more clearly. This indicated that his condition had stabilized, not worsening but possibly even improving, which was certainly good news.
Alex White wiped away his drool, feeling a bit embarrassed about drooling over a human.
It seemed like flowers might be blooming outside. One day, she returned carrying a gun and a small flower, which she tossed to him. Alex White appreciated the little flower, even though he didn't know its name; it had a life-affirming presence.
He also realized that, while he was trying to recover in various ways, she was observing how different things affected him—like the books or this flower.
"Flower," Alex White said.
"Wildflower," she responded.
"White."
Alex White wanted to tell her that he had a name, unlike zombies who typically didn't. Perhaps this could further foster their harmonious coexistence.
"Bye," she said with a wave and went inside.
Alex White stood there, staring at the closed door for a moment, and sighed. He was trying his best to recover.
In the morning, he had attempted to ask for a mirror to check his appearance, but his request was unsuccessful. He felt she hadn't misunderstood him but had rather gently refused. This left him feeling a bit uneasy.
In many strange stories, the protagonist doesn't realize they're dead and continues living as if they were alive, until someone reveals the truth, and then they truly die.
The most famous example is perhaps Bi Gan, from the time of King Zhou of the Shang dynasty, who, even after his heart was removed, continued to walk around and converse. However, upon realizing that his heart was gone, he suddenly dropped dead. Maybe she's worried that if he comes to grips with the fact that he's a zombie, he'll lose control. After all, zombies aren't supposed to speak, are they?
Alex White thought it over and decided to put these thoughts aside. Perhaps it's better this way. He feared that if he saw his reflection and confirmed he looked like a zombie, the fragile progress he'd made might shatter, and he'd fully succumb to being a zombie. The power of self-suggestion is indeed potent.
He poked around the wound on his arm. The necrotic areas didn't seem to have spread, or maybe they had. But looking on the bright side, the change wasn't drastic and seemed stable.
The following day, she showed up with a bundle of bamboo, dumping it next to Alex White. She took two pieces and a small knife, starting to whittle them. She glanced at him.
Alex White understood; she wanted his help. Reluctantly, he picked up a knife and started cutting the bamboo into uniform lengths and sharpening one end, mimicking her actions. He was hesitant because he was focusing on regaining his communication skills—reading and practicing speaking, which were vital to his existence. But he'd been freeloading for a while, and she hadn't mistreated him, so he felt obliged to help.
She seemed pleased with his effort and went back to sifting beans with a basket.
After finishing with the bamboo, Alex White considered offering to help with the beans. However, since it was food and he was infected, it seemed best not to risk it. Drooling on the food would not only be gross but potentially hazardous.
The day remained overcast, and by the afternoon, it began to rain. Large raindrops fell heavily. Alex White sat quietly under the shed, which offered both shade and shelter from the rain.
She tidied up the yard, covering anything that shouldn't get wet with waterproof cloths, and then hurried under the eaves, drying her hair with a towel. Through the rain, she looked at the zombie. The rain didn't seem to bother him; he remained calm and steady.
She pondered for a moment, then went inside and rummaged through her belongings, eventually pulling out an old basin. Alex White noticed but didn't think it concerned him. She thought that even zombies deserved the right to wash, and this could prove that he wasn't just an ordinary, freshly-turned zombie.
However, with the rain pouring down, she couldn't bring it to him until it stopped. The rain drizzled steadily, quickly forming puddles in the yard and flowing out through the lower areas.
To her surprise, before she could give the basin to the calm zombie, he had already dragged himself to the edge of the shed, using his hands to catch some rainwater. He washed his hands, then his face and neck, carefully avoiding the wound on his arm. She felt a sudden pang of guilt, realizing she might have overlooked something. Maybe zombies do have a need for cleanliness—at least this one seemed to.
A zombie that could help with chores and cared about hygiene.
In addition to singing and being fresh, she mentally tagged him with two more labels.
Resting her chin on her hand, she watched as Alex White slowly cleaned himself. He even tugged at his hair, seemingly checking its stability. When none came off, he seemed rather pleased.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. She tossed a clean cloth, wrapped in a plastic bag, over to him. Alex White glanced at it and muttered a "Thank you," unsure if she heard him. He tore a strip from the clean cloth and wrapped it around the infected wound on his arm.
The sound of the rain was soothing, bringing a sense of tranquility, though for zombies, it could easily cause agitation. Luckily, the rain muffled the scent of her that stirred him up, allowing him to sit quietly.
The rain made it dark early. She left the shelter of the eaves and returned inside without lighting a candle, seemingly ready to sleep.
As the rain drummed softly, Alex White sat under the shed, gazing into the inky night sky. In a world overrun by zombies, this place felt as ordinary and peaceful as a typical farmhouse courtyard, as if danger had never touched it. The biggest threat here was likely just him.
He scratched his head, feeling perplexed. The post-apocalyptic world he imagined wasn't supposed to be this tranquil—of course, his "imagination" was entirely based on various artistic depictions. In those, any place with humans was always surrounded by swarms of zombies, ferocious and eager, drooling as they tried to break in.
Much like the first zombie he had encountered.
If zombies permitted such calm, the world wouldn't have reached this apocalyptic state; they would have been wiped out by humans long ago. The empty city and silent streets he had seen were enough to confirm the danger zombies posed. He had only been bitten once, and the infection had spread swiftly.
Could this place be a safe zone? Alex White wondered.
A safe zone with only one person in it felt strange.
If she were the last human left, it might actually be better to become a zombie. Alex White mulled this over, then turned his gaze toward the courtyard wall. Well, okay.
Considering her daily routine of carrying that old shotgun while making rounds, there must be some unknown danger outside the walls. It wasn't as simple as he had initially thought.