The courtyard was suffused with the metallic scent of blood, a lingering aroma that would take days to dissipate. Dora Lin barely noticed it after a day, but Alex White, with his heightened sensitivity, found it overwhelming, especially since Dora had hung slabs of meat out to dry. It was like a cruel test, akin to dangling a succulent, crispy roast duck, still dripping with juices, in front of someone who hadn't eaten in days.
"If I leave for seven or eight days, maybe ten, you wouldn't starve to death, right?" Dora mused. She had some business in the city, and last time, her plans were derailed when she ran into Alex White .
"Where are you going?" Alex White inquired.
"Never mind, you don't seem like the type who handles hunger well." Dora covered the small tricycle with a tarp, not in any particular rush.
Logically, zombies should be resistant to hunger; even after years of wandering desolate cities, they still attacked humans. But Alex White wasn't a typical zombie. Even humans, when desperate with hunger, could turn into beasts. She didn't want to return to find Alex White , who was gradually getting better, transformed into a creature no different from the monsters outside.
The days grew hotter. Every day, amid the clinking of chains, Alex White engaged in exercises Dora couldn't quite comprehend. He performed eye exercises for ten minutes—he'd forgotten the exact routine, recalling only the part where he rubbed his eyes. His objective was clear: to rotate his eyes left and right twenty times, then up and down twenty times, followed by clockwise and counterclockwise circles, all to avoid looking too dull and stiff.
Each set of exercises helped work out his joints, muscles, and ligaments, increasing his oxygen intake and speeding up his breathing, pulse, and blood circulation. This boosted his metabolism and improved the functions of his organs. It was a rudimentary method, but effective. After all, he had no knowledge of the zombie virus, relying solely on fragments of memory from movies.
Wearing sunglasses, the zombie hopped around under the shed, while Dora sat on the doorstep, cooling off. Before they knew it, several days had passed.
"I think," Alex White suddenly said, his speech improving with his condition, "I became less intelligent after I got infected."
On that day, as Dora was recording his recovery progress, Alex's unexpected words broke the silence.
"Really?" Dora Lin was surprised. She pointed to the door and said, "If you're not clever, then what do you call those zombies outside?"
Alex White opened his mouth, realizing that for Dora, the zombies outside—mindless creatures that only knew how to hunt—were her only point of comparison.
With her small notebook in hand, Dora couldn't help but notice that Alex White seemed to be becoming more human-like, especially when he wore sunglasses.
"Is there any hope for me?" Alex White asked, finally voicing the question that had been gnawing at him for so long. He had regained much of his ability to communicate.
"Hmm?" Dora looked puzzled. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"I mean, can I turn back into a normal person?" Alex White lifted the bandage, revealing the corpse-like spots. The wound from the zombie bite hadn't scabbed over or healed, as if it were in stasis.
Dora said, "Probably not."
Alex White pressed, "Has there ever been a case of someone being cured?"
Dora shook her head, thought for a moment, then shook her head again. "Even someone retaining consciousness like you is unheard of. People usually go mad within half an hour after being bitten by a zombie."
Alex White said, "So I'm..."
Dora replied, "So it's quite miraculous."
Every day, Alex White continued to astonish her with his unusual condition.
Alex White looked at his arm. "My right hand is twitching."
Dora flipped through her notebook and said, "That's normal. Becoming a zombie causes neurological issues, leading to muscle spasms."
Alex White resisted the label of "zombie." "I can still talk to you. Technically, I'm not a zombie."
Even people in comas can wake up; why couldn't he get better?
"Being infected with the zombie virus makes you a zombie," Dora stated bluntly. "You were drooling at me this morning."
"Then why do I still have my consciousness?"
"Maybe the virus mutated and its virulence weakened, lengthening the infection cycle. Meanwhile, your body is producing antibodies. The slower it progresses, the more antibodies you have..."
The virus's mutation was unpredictable.
Alex White took a moment to process this complex explanation. He couldn't help but marvel, "You know a lot."
"This was a theory my grandfather once proposed," Dora said.
Once a complex situation, her memories had now faded. She could only summarize it vaguely, unsure if she even remembered it correctly. She recalled her grandfather and father sitting in the courtyard, enjoying the cool air and discussing incomprehensible topics. She thought she'd forgotten all of it, but when Alex White brought it up, memories unexpectedly resurfaced.
"Your grandfather..."
Alex White paused, choosing not to continue. He instinctively wanted his grandfather to treat him, but seeing Dora Lin alone for so many days in this empty courtyard, surrounded by zombies, he remained silent.
After a moment's thought, Alex White scratched his head, causing the chains to clink. "So... the virus isn't fatal anymore. Maybe someday, they'll find a cure?"
"In the future? Research?" Dora Lin questioned.
"Some surviving scientists will surely study it."
"I don't know. Maybe it's already too late."
"Too late for what?"
"Too late for everything."
Dora Lin couldn't understand why Alex White had so many questions, much like she had been curious about everything a decade ago. Becoming infected by zombies and awaiting death seemed like such a simple fate. Now, he still retained his consciousness—an indescribable stroke of luck. Or perhaps this was a side effect—a zombie with too many questions.
"Maybe you could let me go, considering how stable I am now," Alex White suggested after a moment of consideration.
Dora Lin hesitated, studying him. "Do you want to leave?"
"No, I can help you with some work, and..." Alex White began.
Dora Lin replied, "If you want to leave, I can let you go." She thought for a moment. "You still have your sanity. Maybe you can indeed live like a human."
"Hmm... letting me go doesn't necessarily mean I have to leave, right?" Alex White asked.
Dora Lin looked at him, silent.
"Got it," Alex White said.
A friend who drools over you. A friend you keep locked up. A strong revolutionary friendship.
"The locust flowers are ready to be picked."
"Yeah."
Dora Lin picked up two large sacks, prepared herself, and took her gun, ready to head out. She brought two sacks to pick extra flowers, planning to share some with Aunt Jones.
There wasn't much interaction with Aunt Jones, or to be precise, there isn't much now. When there were more people around, despite the increased danger, relationships were closer. Back when family members were still present, there were frequent interactions. But as those people left, the interactions dwindled, and moving away never crossed anyone's mind.
Perhaps people gradually become accustomed to the silence. As the number of people decreased, everyone became less active. In this place, quiet as a grave, they lived their lives, silently waiting to decay.