Lying on his soft mattress, Miles exhaled lazily. What a refreshing sleep! After washing up, he called Ryan to check if he still had food, then hung up, taking out a hot pancake and soy milk from his stockpile.
His storage space held countless provisions, of every type imaginable. But he had no intention of sharing with Ryan—not out of stinginess, but because he knew people shouldn't grow too comfortable. In this extreme environment, mere survival was a gift, and he wanted Ryan to remember that. Trust, after all, could become a dangerous thing if not kept in check.
After breakfast, he turned on the television and set up his surveillance system, monitoring the activity around the villa complex. He couldn't see much from the distant residential buildings, but he didn't care; everyone's fate was in their own hands. If anyone wanted to try storming his villa again, he was more than prepared.
As he was about to change the feed, he spotted a figure slowly approaching from Block A. The figure moved at an unhurried pace, each step deliberate, almost like an old man taking a morning stroll.
Who would take a walk in this deadly cold?
Curious, Miles squinted at the screen. As the figure drew closer, he was startled to recognize the man—Andrew!
This can't be.
Wasn't Andrew's leg broken? And from the way he was walking, there was no hint of injury. Could he have healed? No, that was impossible. With no medical supplies and no doctor in sight, it was unthinkable.
Then he noticed something chilling: a thumb-sized hole in Andrew's forehead, the unmistakable mark of a gunshot wound. His body bore other gunshot scars too. No one could survive that, so how was he still walking?
Miles shot up, the realization dawning on him.
Andrew had mutated.
The fifteenth day had arrived, and with it, the appearance of the first zombies. And fittingly, the first zombie he encountered was none other than Andrew—the very man who'd betrayed and killed him in his past life. Karma, it seemed, had its way.
Miles felt a strange sense of satisfaction, as if a long-held grudge was finally settling. But a new concern gripped him—if Andrew had turned, what about the other dead residents in the complex? Would they transform as well?
Luckily, Ryan had already cleared the nearby bodies, burying them under snow in the landscaping across the street, making mutation less likely. Miles knew from his previous life that the conditions for zombification were precise: a fresh corpse, less than 24 hours old, and free of complete freezing had a slim chance of mutating.
Andrew's luck must have been extraordinary. As a first-wave zombie, he would be much stronger than any that followed.
The early zombies, like Andrew, had been mutated by cosmic radiation exposure. They became immensely powerful, nearly indestructible unless dismembered or pulverized. By contrast, the second-wave zombies—those infected by bites from the first—retained only trace amounts of human instinct and were more vulnerable.
Miles grew serious. If he didn't act, soon the entire complex would be crawling with zombies, and he'd be confined indefinitely. Taking a breath, he opened his phone, hoping to find news on the emerging threat.
The networks, however, were in chaos. There was no official coverage, just scattered, panicked posts from civilians.
It was clear the authorities either didn't know about the zombies or no longer had control. Sighing, Miles called Ryan.
"Ryan," he began.
"What's up? Bored again?"
Over the last few days, their conversations had become a strange comfort, filling the silence with banter more intense than lovers'.
"No, this time I'm calling for real business."
"Say the word, I'm in," Ryan replied immediately.
"Remember what I told you about mutated zombies?"
Ryan's jaw dropped. "You're serious? I thought you were kidding. Are people really turning into… zombies?"
"Take a look outside," Miles instructed.
Andrew hadn't wandered far. Ryan peered out his window, spotting the figure—and went cold. "Miles… that's Andrew, isn't it? And… that hole in his face, it can't be…"
"Do you believe me now?"
"God," Ryan muttered. "Miles, just tell me what to do. I'm with you."
Miles could hear the newfound conviction in his voice and felt a rush of gratitude.
"We need to take action, Ryan. I need you to lead the other residents, clear away any remaining bodies to prevent further mutation, and kill any zombies that already turned."
It was an incredibly dangerous task, one that could end in infection. And with hundreds of desperate residents still out there, the risks couldn't be higher.
Ryan fell silent. Though Miles had saved him, the reality of the task—a task of life and death—made him hesitate.
Understanding his reluctance, Miles added gently, "Ryan, I'm not going to force you. But think about it—if we don't act now, we might truly be trapped here forever."