Under the blood-red setting sun, what came into view was a ruin. The tall buildings that once stood in a row and the wide and prosperous streets were no longer there. There were collapsed buildings, broken vehicles, and slowly moving corpses.
This world is like the lawn after a camping party. At this moment, all that is left is a mess.
The sky was filled with thick dust and smoke, as well as countless parasitic spores that were invisible to the naked eye.
All this did not affect the busy figure in the room.
"I still have 12 unopened bottles of 250 ml water, so I'm not short of it for now. However, I only have 200 grams of wheat flour left. Even if I manage to maintain my physical strength, this will only sustain me for up to two days. I'm also running low on ammunition and food, and I don't know if I'll be able to find supplies on the last floor."
Ian sighed in despair as he sorted and classified the supplies.
He had inexplicably traveled to this parallel world a week ago. Apart from the initial panic and disbelief, he later resigned himself to the fact that time travel happened. After all, time travel happens every year.
In the broken glass window in front of him was reflected the figure of a teenager about fourteen or fifteen years old, wearing a tattered white shirt and messy black hair.
With impeccable facial features, ebony-black pupils, a high nose bridge, and slightly pale lips, he looks like an ethereal, handsome, sunny and cheerful boy next door.
However, what is most striking is his complex and profound mature temperament, his gentle and handsome face, and his maturity that does not belong to his age.
But the contradiction between temperament and appearance is perfectly and cleverly combined together at this moment.
From the original body's memory, He learned that the child's name was Ian Titus, a 14-year-old Western boy who grew up in a single-parent family. The outbreak of the apocalypse caused him to lose his last relative several months ago.
It was only because he understood the meaning expressed in his mother's final eyes, "live well", that this half-grown child was able to hold on for so long. However, under the dual pressure of mental and material, he passed away last week.
"Since the day she left, you've been living in loneliness. I can only hope that you will meet again in heaven and continue your family bond. As for the rest, I will fulfill her last wish on your behalf. I will do my best to live as Ian Titus."
Ian said with a sigh as he looked at the reflection of his young body.
…
"Finding supplies is the most urgent task. But forget about going downstairs. It's full of zombies and animals infected by fungi. It seems that we can only go upstairs to search for supplies. This is our last hope."
Ian thought about his next move, then looked at the bloodstained fire axe beside him.
Through his original memories and the fragmentary information collected during this period, he discovered that this was not a traditional zombie apocalypse in novels, but a more bizarre world eroded and parasitized by unknown fungi.
A year ago, an unknown fungus suddenly broke out. Countless parasitic spores filled the air, and then began to madly parasitize all life, yes all life, including humans, animals, birds, plants, insects, marine life, etc. No one was spared.
Fortunately, after hundreds of millions of years of evolution, insects gradually developed antibodies after the first round of parasitism. Otherwise, there would be no life in this world under the indiscriminate attacks of insects.
The most important thing is the tenacious vitality of the parasite. Since it is a fungus, it cannot be killed by a headshot as shown in the movies. Not to mention a headshot, even if it is cut in half or even chopped into pieces, after a certain period of time, the fungus will still stick to it and repair the host, but this time will be very long.
This makes the situation of mankind even more difficult, and Ian has no idea how many humans are left now.
However, it was true that he felt the situation was not optimistic. After all, there used to be some human settlements that broadcast continuously every day through simple radio stations, but now most of the radio stations have been discontinued for a long time, and only a few are still struggling to support themselves.
"It has nothing to do with me. If I'm poor, I can take care of myself. If I'm rich, I can help the world. I just want to survive, living one day at a time. There are only two floors of unknown areas left in this 12-story office building, and I can't afford to delay any longer. Sitting and waiting for death is like drinking poison to quench thirst. The longer I wait, the more trouble I'll face."
…
Nothing happened that night. At dawn the next day, driven by the primitive human instinct of survival, Ian felt that his body had regained its little remaining strength.
He put on old Martin boots, wrapped thick printing paper around his left arm as a simple shield in case of emergency, picked up a fire axe and the essential "treasure chest opening" tools, three hacksaw blades, and began searching.
After all, after the initial parasitic outbreak, the surviving humans are almost immune to the fungus. What they need to do now is to avoid physical attacks from the parasites.
"Control the distance. The maximum sensing range of the parasite is 5 meters. As long as they are not discovered by it, they will remain relatively quiet. Once they are detected, they will fight to the death..."
The information about the parasite that he had learned from the radio resurfaced in his mind.
"What a gentle and desperate doomsday. There is no tide of zombies, no crazy bloodthirstiness, but only this upright trend of crushing, dividing, reproducing and parasitizing." Ian thought somewhat sadly.
When I pushed the door open, what came into view was a dark and quiet corridor. After walking around the corridor for more than ten seconds, I arrived at the fire escape leading to the upper floor.
As for elevators and the like, don't even think about it. One year is enough to paralyze most of the world's industrial facilities, with electricity supply being the first to be hit.
Even if there is still electricity, anyone with a bit of common sense would not choose to take the elevator. After all, no one knows what will greet them when the elevator door opens.
After about fifteen minutes, Ian successfully reached the 11th floor. Looking at the office area in front of him, although it was messy, fortunately there were no obvious human parasites.
After a careful exploration, Ian had to confirm that he was a little lucky, this floor was empty. This was normal, after all, the upper office area was almost always where the management of a company was located, and there would not be many people.
Unfortunately, he didn't get much in the way of supplies. Ian looked at the three bags of potato chips, two obviously rotten butter burgers, three unopened bottles of red wine, a whole box of cigars, and two cans of caviar in disappointment.
"It's better than nothing. Even though it's just a drop in the bucket, it solves the immediate problem. Especially the potato chips and canned food, which can effectively replenish salt. These foods can probably sustain us for another week. After a week, we must go to the top floor."
Ian was sorting out the supplies he had harvested while thinking secretly.
He was always somewhat resistant to searching the top floor, because the infected bird parasites had three-dimensional perception capabilities, and were not limited to two-dimensional perception like humans and other mammals. This meant that all spaces within a five-meter radius with it as the center were within its perception range.
Moreover, after being parasitized, they do not fly for 24 hours. Most of the time, they perch nearby on tree trunks, roofs, or unbroken telephone poles.
Therefore, exploration of the top level is very likely to attract them.
"Forget it, live in the present. Thinking too much will only cause more trouble. These things can at least last me a week."
After a short rest, Ian began to organize and pack all kinds of useful supplies like a hamster, and then carried them downstairs little by little.
In his own small base, he lit the solid wood furniture as fuel, wrapped three steel bars as thick as chopsticks together as a simple stand, and then skillfully set up the pot.
It is called a pot, but it is actually a large 304 stainless steel cup. Add a little flour, potato chips, and caviar into it, then pour in half a bottle of mineral water to make it into a paste, and wait quietly for the water inside to boil. This is Ian's lunch today.
As the wood burned, there was a crackling sound of a campfire, and smoke rose from the pot, accompanied by the sweet fragrance of wheat.
Ian stared blankly at the dancing flames, while unconsciously playing with the toy in his hand.
When I was searching for supplies just now, I found a 13-inch wand in a desk drawer, but the difference is its peculiar shape. It looks a little different from the description in the original "Harry Potter" book.
Ian was actually a genuine HP fan in his previous life. He had read a lot of books and read countless HP fan fictions.
A man is a young man until he dies. Since he found this toy, he packed it up along with other supplies and took it away. Besides, this magic wand has no weight and does not take up any space, so he just took it with him.
Judging from the material, it is an iron core wrapped in a layer of dark resin, and the shape is not any familiar magic wand.
"Expelliarmus" subconsciously waved his wand, and with a spell to dispel his weapons, Ian was also having fun.
"Expelliarmus!" Ian subconsciously waved his wand, casting a spell to disarm his opponent, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of amusement. It was originally a casual incantation, but this wand really gave him face. In an instant, the tip of the wand flashed red before quickly enveloping him in a protective aura.