Zombie Chaos: We Rescued a Pregnant Survivor

“There’s someone outside the subway station biting another person’s neck; it’s extremely gruesome. I guess a mental patient escaped,” I said, pushing open the apartment door. “Also, I messed up my interview again today.”

As soon as I said it, I realized that I might have chosen the wrong time to report.

My roommate Mark is scolding my other roommate Alex.

Seeing me return, Mark abruptly turned around and precisely turned his ire on me: "Look at this pile of trash! Having an unemployed artist who can't pay rent in this house is already unbearable enough, and now there's another recent graduate who can't find a job! You two should just form a band and busk in the subway; even making up a lame excuse like 'biting someone in the street' sounds so fitting!"

Although the junior Wall Street analyst's custom-made suit was impeccably tailored, the veins on his forehead were practically bulging.

I looked at him innocently and shrugged: "Don't be like that, Mark, I want to work too."

I closed the door and walked into the apartment, but I stepped on a wrench.

"Oh, okay, I admit you're right, these things do look a lot like garbage."

I've only been living in this shared apartment for seven days, and in those seven days, there's hardly a clean spot in the apartment.

Rusty bicycle rims, plastic mannequin arms smeared with engine oil, and a pile of shapeless metal scraps almost covered the entire living room.

Mark stood in the middle of that pile of scrap metal.

"Sean, don't be so harsh. This isn't garbage; it's art."

A lazy voice came from the pile of waste.

Alex was lying on an old surfboard, wearing a welding mask on his head.

He slowly removed his mask, completely ignoring Mark's roar, and instead looked at me with shining eyes: "Wait, bro, you just said people were biting each other in the street? Is it a zombie outbreak?"

"I don't know if it was a zombie, but I guarantee that guy was definitely not a vegetarian..."

"My God, this is the best news of the century!" Alex sat up abruptly, as excited as a gambler who had just won the lottery. "Just think about it, if the world ends, will I not have to pay next month's rent?"

Mark laughed angrily: "Yeah, anyway, you don't have a brain. Your brain is full of scrap metal."

“You don’t understand, Mark! The experience of becoming a zombie is absolutely amazing!” Alex became completely excited, jumping over a wrecked tire on the ground. “No boss, no KPIs, no need to look for a job, just wandering around the streets aimlessly every day, biting whoever I don’t like—God, this is true freedom!”

As he delivered his passionate speech, he sauntered to the entrance: "No, I can't miss this historic moment. I've decided to go and see my new life for myself!"

"Who gave you permission to walk on my carpet in those paint-stained, tattered pants...?"

Before Mark could finish his rant, Alex had already flung open the security door.

A pale-faced man stood outside the door.

The man was wearing a tattered hoodie, half of his face was torn apart, his eyes were cloudy, and dark red blood was dripping from his chin onto the welcome mat in our apartment building.

"Wow," Alex paused for a second, then exclaimed sincerely, "These college drama club students are so ambitious these days! That blood texture, that special effects makeup, it must have cost a fortune!"

As he spoke, he actually reached out and tried to poke the other person's protruding gums.

"roar--!"

The other party let out an inhuman roar and opened its blood-red maw to bite Alex's neck!

"Get out of my way, you idiot!"

My body moved before my brain could even process it.

I rushed over, grabbed Alex by the back of his collar, and yanked him backward with all my might.

The other person bit down into thin air, and with a crisp "click," the sound of teeth clashing echoed in the corridor.

Because it lunged so hard, it tripped on the threshold and fell into the garbage heap in the living room.

"Close the door!" I shouted, and kicked the security door shut.

"My Persian carpet! You damned monster, you've dripped your blood on my carpet!" Mark let out a scream more piercing than if he had seen a ghost.

"Damn it! Is this really a zombie?" Alex shouted.

The zombie rolled around in the rubble, roared as it got up, and stared intently at Mark, who was closest to it.

"Forget your rug, Mark! Smash it with something!" I yelled as I rummaged through Alex's "artwork" and finally grabbed a heavy iron rod that looked like a handle or an exhaust pipe.

"This is Armani haute couture!" Mark grabbed a plaster statue and smashed it down on the head of the lunging zombie.

The plaster shattered on the ground, and the zombie staggered from the blow, but it didn't fall down. Instead, it lunged at Mark with even greater rage.

"Don't touch my 'The Thinker'!" Alex finally got up from the ground, pulled out a heavy iron chain from somewhere, and grabbed the zombie by the neck from behind. "Sean! Shoot it in the head! That's how it's done in the movies!"

The zombie struggled frantically, dragging Alex around the living room.

I seized the opportunity, gripped the heavy iron rod tightly with both hands, aimed it at the still roaring head, and swung it out with all my might.

“That was a perfect home run,” I said.

With a sickening cracking sound, the zombie slammed heavily to the ground, twitched twice, and then remained motionless.

The small living room fell silent instantly, with only the heavy breathing of the three of us.

The three of us collapsed in the messy living room, staring at the real corpse in the middle.

There was a full minute of silence.

"So..." I swallowed hard, breaking the deathly silence, "These really are zombies? Is the end of the world coming?"