Playing mind games with people in a post-apocalyptic world is a bit too much to ask of a zombie.
Late in the night, Alex White suddenly sat up. The name of the street wasn't important; what mattered was that perhaps his repeated denial of being "caught" was the real reason.
The night passed quietly.
In the morning, Dora Lin stepped out of the house. Alex White was already geared up, wearing his helmet and stretching his muscles like a warrior ready for battle.
"Morning, Zombie King," Dora greeted him.
She didn't know what it meant, but her mother used to say, "Good morning, Dora," to her every day. She learned the habit and kept it.
When she lived alone, she would say to herself, "Good morning, Dora."
Mornings mark the beginning of a new day. If the morning goes well, perhaps the rest of the day won't be so bad.
After checking the house and yard one last time, Dora Lin helped Alex White fasten his helmet, unlocked the chain, and pushed the tricycle outside. Fully armed with his helmet and thick gloves, Alex White looked like a warrior.
He turned back to lock the door.
On this cool, breezy morning, Dora Lin continued pushing the tricycle, pedaling away from home with her fully armored zombie companion.
The village road was a bit uneven. Alex White gazed into the distance; this was a small village nestled at the foot of the mountains.
He started by pushing the tricycle from behind, following the village road out. The wild grass in the fields had grown tall, and far away, there were faint signs of wandering zombies.
"Why are you giving me a stick?" Alex White began to feel nervous, puzzled by the long stick in his hand. As a weapon, it seemed less practical than a knife when fully armed.
"When you see a zombie, just stab it," Dora Lin instructed.
"Uh..."
Alex White was still a bit uneasy. Was he really about to fight zombies? He wasn't sure if zombies would bite him.
While he was still thinking, a figure at the village entrance started walking toward them.
"There's a zombie!" Alex White shouted.
"Stab it! Don't let it get close!" Dora Lin yelled back.
"Just stab it with the stick? It's coming closer!"
"Never mind, you pedal. Just follow the road straight ahead." Dora Lin got off the tricycle, took the stick from Alex White, and told him to ride the bike.
The tricycle and the zombie moved closer and closer to each other.
"If I keep pedaling, I'll run right into it. Shouldn't I deal with it first before getting back on the bike?" Alex White asked, watching the zombie draw closer. It was a reasonable suggestion.
Riding the tricycle straight toward it didn't seem like the best idea.
"Just pedal!"
As the zombie closed in, Dora Lin thrust the stick forward, sending it flying and knocking it down hard on its backside.
Alex White was momentarily stunned.
The old zombie, after landing in the ditch, struggled to rise, barely managing to crawl forward.
It was ancient, its withered body nothing but skin and bones, its eye sockets sunken deep, tattered and filthy rags clinging to its frame, emitting a hoarse rasping sound.
The tricycle creaked as it rolled past the zombie, and Alex White kept turning his head to watch it.
He kept looking back, even as they moved far ahead, nearly steering the tricycle into a ditch. Dora Lin knocked on his helmet with a firm tap. "Keep pedaling!"
Dora Lin couldn't understand why Alex White, a fresh zombie, was so afraid of these old ones.
A bit bewildered, Alex White straightened the handlebars to keep the tricycle on the road.
Was this the thing that had bitten him?
Suddenly, a wave of melancholy swept over Alex White.
"It's so weak," he murmured. This was nothing like he had imagined.
"Old zombies are like that," Dora Lin explained.
Exposed to the elements, these zombies aged rapidly. Unable to feed like normal people, they withered to skin and bones within a few years.
Twenty years had passed, and nearly all of the first wave of zombies were gone. Most of those still roaming the land were people infected in the years that followed, and even they were growing old.
"What about fresh zombies?" Alex White suddenly grasped what Dora Lin meant when she called him a fresh zombie.
He really was fresh—in the literal sense.
"Fresh zombies are extremely dangerous—not only are they fast, but they're also strong and fierce," Dora Lin paused, then added, "You're an exception, though."
"Good thing I'm an exception," Alex White replied.
Zombies had truly aged.
For the first time, he felt the weight of living in a post-apocalyptic world, more than twenty years later.
The disaster broke out the year Dora Lin was born. Now she was grown, and the zombies had aged.
Many years had passed since the catastrophe first struck.
"So, does that mean this place isn't as dangerous anymore?" Alex White asked as he pedaled the tricycle. He noticed the slight shift as Dora Lin climbed into the cart, but it was still easy enough to ride.
"Did you forget about that rat?" Dora Lin replied, gripping her stick.
The sun was rising, and the morning's coolness quickly gave way to the increasing heat.
The world was eerily silent.
Alex White jostled along the rural path, and after nearly an hour, they finally reached the main road. The tricycle became much smoother and easier to navigate.
A thick layer of dust coated the road. Dora Lin, holding her stick like an emotionless warrior, prodded at any old zombies that ventured too close, while Alex White took the chance to speed up, furiously pedaling to leave them behind.
This was nothing like the zombie battles Alex White had imagined before they set out.
There was no real fight—just Dora Lin poking zombies with her stick.
As they passed some roadside villages and shops, the only signs of movement were the occasional zombie stumbling out of a courtyard.
"A family used to live here, with a child. The mother was in her forties. I wonder if they ever left," Dora Lin said as they passed a village called Windmill. She gazed at it from a distance.
Alex White glanced over. The village was eerily still.
Dora Lin didn't seem inclined to investigate, just recalling the memory.
They hadn't really known the family—just passed by them twice before. The first time, both sides were cold and wary; the second time, they didn't speak, merely exchanging a distant glance before moving on.
Alex White noticed that whenever they passed through a village, Dora Lin always had her gun ready.
In the post-apocalyptic world, unless you knew someone well, people kept their distance. Even if you crossed paths, you'd avoid each other, keeping far apart unless absolutely necessary.
This was something her mother had taught her. Her mother had been one of those who struggled through the early days of the disaster, enduring the harshest years. During those chaotic times, her mother had witnessed and heard many things, sharing them with her daughter. Those stories left a deep impression on her.
As time passed, the number of survivors dwindled, and those who remained gradually adapted to post-disaster life, finding a semblance of stability. By now, perhaps such incidents had become rare, but those who had endured the initial years still clung to the habits they formed during that time.
Dora Lin suddenly felt an urge to laugh.
Humans guarded against humans.
Yet when faced with a zombie, they chose differently.
Dora Lin glanced at Alex White, who was pedaling the tricycle. Perhaps it was because he wasn't all that sharp... or maybe something else?