Dora Lin's family had left her a handwritten guidebook on common illnesses. It was simple and easy to understand, with no technical jargon.
The book included emergency treatments for injuries in the wild and methods to make drinking water.
"They really did teach you a lot," Alex White remarked.
This was how they helped Dora Lin fight against the disaster. Some of it was about helping her survive; the rest was for what might come after survival—plans that might not be needed for years.
The survival guide, written long ago, would still be relevant. If they were alive, they would have continued searching for solutions until the end, leaving everything for her. When Dora Lin felt lost, she could always find her way with their guidance.
She wasn't alone in her survival—she had the support of those who had gone before her.
"My grandfather predicted you'd appear," Dora Lin said. "He thought that during the virus mutation, some infected people might coexist with the virus and retain their sanity."
"He predicted a lot of things. That's just one possibility," Alex White replied.
"Just admit it—was he right or not?" Dora Lin insisted.
"Okay, okay, they were right."
Alex White noticed the wound on his hand needed fresh dressing. He grabbed a few leaves, initially wanting Dora Lin to chew them for him. But then, suddenly, he glanced over his shoulder, worried that Dora Lin's zombified father might appear and attack him.
After some thought, he decided to take the clay pot and small wooden hammer they had used earlier, crush the leaves himself, and apply the paste to his wound.
"Any pus?" Dora Lin asked.
"No, it hasn't changed much. It's not getting worse," Alex White said, comparing his symptoms with those described in the guidebook on animal infections.
First, inflammation, then the wound becoming stiff and lifeless, followed by pus, ulceration, and rapid deterioration. So far, his condition had only reached the stiffness stage and hadn't worsened.
"I think I'll survive," Alex White said. "The zombies couldn't kill me; I'll become the Zombie King. These animals can't beat me. Next time, I'll bite them back."
"If you survive, fix my shed," Dora Lin said, pointing at the rubble near the wall.
"Tomorrow, I'll go to those ruined houses, grab some wood, and fix it for you," Alex White replied.
Alex White also had a fondness for this makeshift shelter. It provided protection from the elements and allowed him to scavenge for food. But now, with nightfall nearing, he was left without a place to stay.
"Can I sleep in the kitchen?" Alex White asked.
"No way. It's too risky if you start drooling in the kitchen," Dora Lin replied, shaking her head. After all, Alex White was still an infected person.
"Then I'll just make do under the eaves for the night. You make sure to lock the door."
"Alright… Take that mattress with you."
They had slept on rooftops, in large warehouses, and even without a mattress—just a foam board with some clothes on top. As long as it was safe, it didn't matter much. Neither Alex White nor Dora Lin was bothered by the arrangement. After making their preparations, Dora Lin retreated behind a makeshift curtain to take a quick shower.
"By the way, shouldn't you find a zombie to see if you can have little zombie babies?" Dora Lin called out over the sound of running water.
"Am I crazy?" Alex White asked, bewildered. "No, wait. You're the crazy one."
"I should have found you a wife when we were in the city. Some of those zombies trapped in the buildings looked decent—still in one piece and fairly pale."
Dora Lin found it amusing. She genuinely thought Alex White might actually be able to marry a zombie.
"Please stop with these bizarre ideas."
Alex White couldn't stand it. Even if the city zombies looked clean and somewhat presentable, they were still zombies.
"Sing me another song," Dora Lin requested.
"Aren't you worried Uncle Jones and Eddie will come?"
"Even if they do, they'll just wander around outside the courtyard."
As Dora Lin spoke, a scene suddenly flashed in her mind. Once, in this very courtyard, she had made as much noise as possible, trying to attract Uncle Jones, Eddie, and another strange zombie that used to roam near the village.
She tilted her head, pondering the memory. It was from the early days when she first started living alone. She wasn't used to the silence, nor to being by herself. The dead quiet of the night, with not a single sound, was maddening. So, she had crawled out of bed, barefoot, and grabbed a stick to bang on the tricycle and metal frames in the courtyard.
Uncle Jones and Eddie came, lingering outside the courtyard wall, wailing. Finally, the night wasn't so quiet anymore, and it no longer drove her insane.
In the nights that followed, she spent them much the same way, until she gradually became accustomed to the silence.
That was a long time ago; the tricycle still bears the marks from those days.
Alex White sang one of his old favorite songs. His voice, hoarse since the infection, had a rough edge to it. Dora Lin thought that bringing back that broken wooden box from the city—what she supposed was a guitar—had been a wise decision.
After her shower, she draped herself in a piece of clothing and sat on the doorstep, resting her chin on her hand. The evening had just begun, and the breeze was refreshingly cool.
This was probably the kind of life people had before the disaster—bathing, listening to music, and drifting off to sleep.
There was a noise outside the courtyard. It was hard to tell whether it was Eddie or Uncle Jones, both listening to melodies that likely hadn't been heard since the world changed.
"This one's different from the last," Dora Lin remarked when Alex White stopped singing.
"I know a lot of songs," Alex White said.
"Did your family teach you?"
"You could say that."
"That's nice," Dora Lin sighed, standing up from the doorstep and heading inside to rest.
As summer approached, the stars grew brighter each night. Tonight, the weather was perfect—the sky was filled with sparkling stars, and the moonlight was as clear as silver.
In the soft glow, Alex White sat under the eaves. Behind him, in the house, was Dora Lin; outside the courtyard, the zombies still lingered.
Chelsea Jones... Alex White recalled the name in the notebook. He guessed it was Aunt Jones's name, and that she might have known Dora Lin's parents before the disaster.
A beautiful name.
Once, she had been a young, pretty woman, full of happiness, who later became the sharp-eyed old lady sitting in the gloomy courtyard.
The previous generation had endured so much.
At dawn, Dora Lin grabbed her gun and went outside, like a queen surveying her domain, with the zombies as her subjects.
She was more of a queen than he could ever be, Alex White thought.
The zombie king, wearing sunglasses, wandered through the empty village, scouting for materials to repair the shelter. He planned to dismantle whatever he could find, all while familiarizing himself with the surroundings, considering where he might live in the future.
After all, there was no one to stop him, and no one to object.
Repairing the shed proved to be no easy feat, especially for Alex White, who had always been more at home behind a desk than with tools in hand. The shed needed to be not only sturdy but also watertight. He and Dora Lin spent an entire afternoon clearing away the debris, carefully salvaging any materials that could still be used.
After several days of labor, piecing together whatever they could find, they finally managed to get the shed standing once more.