In the neighboring yard, a long-forgotten millstone was discovered, its surface intertwined with green vines, a silent testament to years of disuse.
"If you manage to survive, you could put that millstone to good use," Dora Lin suggested with a cheerful tone, as if mapping out his future career path.
"The Zombie King doesn't grind mills."
To Alex White, it was already absurd enough to have a zombie chopping wood; but the idea that Dora Lin would suggest him grinding the mill seemed beyond belief.
The wound inflicted by the animal was now inflamed, and the uncertainty of whether he could survive weighed on him.
Returning to Dora Lin's yard, after a brief inspection of the wound, Alex White asked for the 'Zombie Observation Diary' she had been keeping—a small notebook devoted primarily to documenting his behavior.
The thought of encountering a zombie that could maintain rationality made Dora Lin wonder if her father might also have a chance to regain his sanity.
The notebook contained records of his behavior from the moment he was captured—or perhaps saved. To be honest, Alex White had been in such a fevered daze during those days that he barely remembered what had happened.
"I recall you had an old notebook that you used to cross-reference with this one while observing me," Alex White asked.
Dora Lin nodded, "That belonged to my father and grandfather. It contains plans they made for my future, along with notes on treating illnesses and other random things."
"Could I have a look?"
"Well..."
Dora Lin hesitated for a moment, but seeing that Alex White didn't appear likely to suddenly go berserk and tear the notebook apart, she went inside and brought it out.
The collection was thick, comprising several volumes. Since the shed where Alex White had originally stayed had collapsed, he had no choice but to sit on a tricycle to read.
The first volume was filled with strong, clear handwriting, documenting zombie observations and subsequent changes. Generally, when a person was bitten by a zombie, depending on the location of the bite, they would lose their sanity within half an hour at most. If bitten on the ankle, there might be enough time to leave a final message, but if bitten on the neck, the onset was swift.
Alex White quickly flipped through this record of zombie infections and then set it aside.
He picked up another volume, and the handwriting was markedly different—more hurried and uneven, clearly penned by different hands with varying habits. This one contained the plans for Dora Lin's future, laying out several scenarios and predicting future developments.
He carefully read through the pages, realizing that Dora Lin's relatives had long ago foreseen possible future scenarios and made various suggestions and arrangements for her depending on the situation. As Dora Lin had mentioned, if enough survivors remained, they might choose to redevelop a few key cities, while other cities would be abandoned. In such a case, cities with a military presence would be prioritized.
Her father, after noticing signs of zombie aging, had been filled with optimism about the future. He frequently urged Dora Lin to keep an eye on how quickly the zombies aged. However, his confidence began to falter when he discovered that infected animals had learned to reproduce.
Zombies could be resisted, and animals could be resisted too, but when the disaster first struck, people put all their energy into fighting the zombies. By the time the zombies were no longer a threat, they realized that at some point, the infected animals had started to breed.
Alex White flipped through a few more pages. The writing was old, spanning a long period. At first, there were dates, but gradually they disappeared, perhaps because time had become less meaningful after so many years of disaster.
He figured that during the period when zombies were still a significant threat, Dora Lin's father must have understood that each time he left the house, there was a chance he wouldn't return. So, he began preparing—searching for organized groups and writing these notes just in case he didn't make it back.
The thick notebook was full of writings.
Even while they were still alive, they had thought about what Dora Lin should do if they were gone.
Their sole hope was for Dora Lin to survive, to live by any means possible.
Alex White read from noon until the sun was almost setting before he finally looked up, stretching his neck and letting out a long sigh.
Dora Lin glanced at him, only to see him stand up, look around the yard, and then head out the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Next door."
Alex White left quickly and returned just as fast, bringing back two crickets and a small bug. He also found a glass jar in a corner and then picked up a splinter of wood near the collapsed shed. Carefully, he pricked his skin with it.
A drop of blood welled up, and Alex White used the splinter to dab some onto the crickets, then covered them with the glass jar, watching them intently and seriously.
Dora Lin was taken aback by his actions, watching him from a distance. "What are you doing?"
"Shh." Alex White raised a finger to his lips, focusing on the cricket.
It wasn't long before the cricket stopped moving. Alex White's eyes narrowed. "Step back a bit," he cautioned Dora Lin, then removed the jar and prodded the cricket with the splinter.
It was dead.
Alex White exhaled deeply, staring up at the sky in thought for a moment, then buried the cricket in the dirt. "It seems the worst-case scenario your father envisioned hasn't come to pass yet. That gave me quite a scare."
"Huh?"
"Some creatures… can't withstand the side effects of the infection. It's lethal to them, so they can't act as vectors."
Alex White felt a slight sense of relief, though it was far from complete. He recalled the zombies he had seen upon entering the city. At the time, nothing had seemed particularly off, just a vague discomfort, as though something was missing. Now he realized—
As the weather grew warmer, on their way into the city, the zombies weren't swarmed by flies, nor were their bodies infested with maggots.
Perhaps it was because those insects couldn't survive the infection—or at least, not yet.
Dora Lin's grandfather had speculated that infected individuals emitted a pheromone, explaining why zombies didn't attack each other. Over time, organisms that couldn't endure the infection would instinctively avoid the infected, much like sulfur repels insects—the infected were like walking sulfur.
However, Dora Lin's father had a more pessimistic outlook. At first, it was only humans; even if the scattered pets in the city were infected, they couldn't survive, dying quickly after being bitten by zombies. But as time went on, animals that were infected yet still survived began to appear in the city. According to his predictions, the infection would eventually spread to all forms of life, and one day, even insects would succumb.
—When that day comes, the true apocalypse will have arrived.
In this catastrophic upheaval, only the fittest will survive.
The thick notebook didn't provide any conclusive answers. Only time would tell. All they could do was offer Dora Lin limited advice and warnings based on various scenarios and predictions.
"Have you read it all?" Alex White asked Dora Lin.
"Yes, I've read it. Some parts were unclear to me, and others… have already been confirmed," Dora Lin said.
Alex White gently ran his fingers over the aged, yellowed pages. In the last entry of the thick notebook, Dora Lin's father had written:
"Maybe Chelsea Jones's decision was the right one. I'm so sorry for bringing you into this harsh world. I love you."
Signed, Hugh Lin.