Regardless of the dangers outside the walls, the threat he posed was still considerable. He couldn't fathom why she'd brought him back. Surely, it wasn't because he could hum a tune—no one would bother with a humming infected.
On the eighth day, he was still conscious, which was a good sign.
Before dawn, after breakfast, she slung a bamboo basket over her shoulder and carried a gun, preparing to head out. She glanced back at the zombie reading a book and pointed to the pile of unchopped wood under the shed. The meaning was clear.
Alex Wyatt set the book aside. Making a zombie chop wood—how unfair. It had poured the previous day, but the rain had stopped overnight. Today promised to be sunny, perfect for drying out the chopped wood.
"Sa...fe," Alex Wyatt murmured.
She tightened her sleeves, squatted to tie her pant legs, and looked quite capable. Hearing the zombie speak, she glanced up while tying her pants. "Sa...fe," Alex Wyatt nodded. The zombie had been striving to regain his speech. She raised an eyebrow, smiled, stood up, waved, and opened the gate with the bamboo basket on her back. If it weren't for the gun, she could easily be mistaken for a little herbalist off to gather herbs.
Alex Wyatt straightened, his curiosity piqued about the world beyond the gate. As it opened, he saw another fence outside, constructed from two rows of wooden stakes. It extended about ten meters, providing a clear view through the gaps.
This setup was a smart precaution against any lurking zombies that might rush in at the sound of the gate opening. The buffer zone allowed for a safe inspection of any potential dangers outside.
Alex Wyatt immediately grasped its purpose. He doubted he would have thought of such a thing on his own. Simple, yet effective. A clever human.
He watched as she left, then turned back to close the door. After a soft clang, the courtyard fell silent. He wiped his mouth, sat for a moment, then stood and went to the pile of wood. Grabbing an axe, he began chopping. While working, he noticed the barbed wire coiled around the shed's pillars.
He stared at the barbed wire for a while, then glanced at the door before focusing on the task at hand. The morning passed in a flash.
When she returned, plenty of wood had already been chopped. It was just past noon, and she looked dirtier than when she left in the morning, with mud on her clothes, stray hair clinging to her cheeks, and traces of sweat visible. The bamboo basket she carried was heavy, landing with a dull thud when she set it down.
She had dug up a lot of wild roots, which seemed plentiful this season. They had a texture similar to sweet potatoes and could be eaten raw or cooked into porridge or gruel. Freshly dug, she washed one and bit into it, producing a crisp sound.
Yesterday's rain had softened the ground, making it easier to dig up underground food. Alex White thought of his previous life in the mountains, where people would dig for bamboo shoots after the rain; it was easy and rewarding, as the softened soil made the shoots emerge overnight.
Unexpectedly but logically, she pulled out a few large bamboo shoots from the basket, making Alex White happy—they might have bamboo shoots for dinner tonight.
She sat down to rest, munching on the wild roots. She brought water over to the well, poured some into a bowl, and then gripped the wooden pole beside the well, pressing down hard. After about ten pumps, water started flowing.
Alex White watched the water flow, vaguely recalling an ancient pump well that used physical methods to draw water up. He was surprised such old things still existed. He thought about tricycles, bicycles, makeshift guns, and this quaint well. Could it be the end times of the late seventies and early eighties?
Alex White couldn't help but wonder. If that were the case, with fewer modern cities and more rural areas instead of secure buildings, zombies would indeed be terrifying.
As he pondered, his thoughts were interrupted by a faintly familiar yet strange sound. Alex White froze for a moment, listening carefully, then his expression turned serious. The faint familiarity came from having heard it before: his own growling voice. The strangeness was because the sound wasn't coming from him—there were zombies attacking outside the courtyard wall.
And the fresh human was still washing the food from her basket, unaware of the impending danger.
The zombies were on the hunt.
Alex White felt a surge of anxiety and shook the iron chain, its clinking sound catching her attention. She didn't stop her work but threw a brief glance in his direction.
"Danger," Alex White said, pointing outward. There was a zombie, or perhaps more, lurking outside the wall.
He pointed at the wall and then at her gun, making the warning as clear as possible.
She gave a quick glance, then resumed washing the wild roots.
Alex White's anxiety mounted. Was she deaf? There was a zombie out there!
"Shh…"
Perhaps Alex White's commotion had been too loud. She placed a finger to her lips, signaling him to be quiet, while taking another bite of the wild root.
"It will leave on its own after a while," she said. Noticing Alex White's agitation, she sighed, broke the wild root in half, and tossed the untouched half to him.
Her nonchalant demeanor was both stylish and somewhat reckless.
Alex White was terrified. How could she remain so calm? With zombies attacking outside, why was he, a zombie, so frightened, while she, a human, was so composed? It didn't make sense.
Was this small courtyard some kind of high-tech fortress he hadn't noticed?
Alex White found himself in a daze.
The zombies outside continued their roars, growing increasingly agitated. She couldn't possibly be oblivious to the danger.
The noise persisted for over an hour and then gradually waned. She had cleaned the bamboo basket and the food she had dug up, filled a basin with water, removed her outer jacket, and was now washing the dirt and dust from her body.
She worked quietly, while the zombies continued their outcry and Alex White remained anxious. It felt as though they were in separate worlds, each unperturbed by the other. "What are you staring at?" she asked, wiping her neck with a cloth. Noticing Alex White's gaze, she raised an eyebrow and added, "You're a zombie."
The zombies outside groaned in a low, throaty manner, while she hummed a soft tune, wiping the droplets of water from her hair.
Alex White watched this bizarre and surreal scene, silently sitting back down.
He thought.
At this moment, he should be brewing a cup of coffee, sitting at his desk, basking in the afternoon sun, working on his computer, listening to colleagues share amusing anecdotes, and occasionally taking a break.
Instead, he had become a zombie, listening to another zombie's growls outside the wall, while observing a human go about her tasks in this perilous world.
Alex White longed for his former life.
In hindsight, even the demanding clients and troublesome colleagues have taken on a certain charm in my memories—at least they seem more endearing than zombies.