Mutation

Chapter 12: Descent into Darkness

“Yeah,” Liang Zhiyong replied, a hint of resignation lacing his voice. “It’s tough out there, isn’t it? Hiding like a dog.”

I raised an eyebrow at his comment, a smirk creeping onto my lips. “If anyone’s acting like a dog, it’s you. Look at your kitchen table; you’ve got half a bag of baby formula left. Planning to lick it clean until the end, are you?”

His voice faltered as he peered out the window, disbelief crossing his features. “Where are you? How do you know all this?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound cutting through the tension before I hung up.

On the video feed, Liang’s frantic movements painted a picture of desperation as he rummaged through his apartment for answers. I tossed my phone aside and glanced at my mother in the kitchen, worry etched on her face, her hands deftly preparing our evening meal.

“Mom, I’m starving. What’s for dinner tonight?” I called out.

“Your favorite, beef casserole,” she replied, her voice brightening at the thought.

In the past few days, my mom had transformed our stockpile into a feast fit for royalty. She was a culinary magician, conjuring warmth and comfort from our dwindling supplies. With plenty of food and freshly harvested bok choy sprouting in our garden, we felt safe—for now.

After dinner, I took to the balcony, binoculars in hand, scanning the streets below. A growing horde of zombies shuffled aimlessly, their heads drooping like wilted flowers in the dying light. But at the slightest noise, they snapped to attention, snarling and snapping their teeth—a terrifying testament to their insatiable hunger.

I calculated my chances against them; the odds were grim. Just yesterday, I had sent a drone to survey a nearby school that had fallen to the chaos. The playground was littered with corpses, and inside the classrooms, more zombies awaited hungrily, their eyes vacant yet eager for fresh flesh.

As I panned the camera over the scene, a survivor—a sturdy-looking boy—emerged, wielding a baseball bat. With fierce determination, he swung at the zombies, hoping to carve out an escape. For a moment, he prevailed, smashing skulls and scattering brain matter. But as the relentless tide of undead overwhelmed him, despair took hold. The camera captured the hopelessness in his eyes, and my heart ached for him.

In the face of such overwhelming horror, we were but fragile beings, barely clinging to life.

Night fell like a curtain dropping on a horrific play, the sounds of the undead growing louder. Strangely, I found myself growing accustomed to the cacophony. Soon, fatigue pulled at my eyelids, and I slipped quietly into my bedroom, careful not to disturb my mother, who had already succumbed to sleep. Before dozing off, I checked my phone and saw a barrage of messages from my toxic ex. Without a second thought, I blacklisted him, severing another thread that tethered me to the chaos of the outside world.

Days blurred together into an indistinguishable haze until, inevitably, our apartment complex fell victim to the chaos outside.

Despite our best efforts to maintain order, the relentless waves of zombies continued their assault. The breaking point came when a man from the seventh floor, overwhelmed with fear, forced his way out. Under a barrage of push and pull, the entrance finally gave way.

What followed was a nightmare. Zombies surged inside, tearing apart anyone in their path, scattering limbs like confetti. The remnants of the fallen crawled and dragged themselves forward, an unnerving display of horror that made my stomach churn.

I was startled by what I saw through the video feed. “Mom! Look! The zombies seem to be evolving!” I called her over, my heart racing with disbelief.

“More like mutated,” she retorted, turning pale at the gruesome sight. “Will they come up to the 23rd floor?”

I nodded grimly. “Yes, but we’ve got double protection—an electric fence at the entrance.”

Moments later, the chilling moans of the undead echoed through the hall, so close I could almost feel their breath. I stood sentinel at the door, anxiety thrumming in my veins, until the sounds faded into the distance.

As darkness enveloped the night, all our utilities—water, electricity, gas—failed us, leaving us isolated in the suffocating silence of our home. It was as if the world had ended, leaving only echoes of despair in its wake.

In the quiet of the evening, I received a text from a young neighbor—a mother with children. “Are you guys okay? Do you need water? I still have a few barrels left.”

Her contact came through the property management; I had helped her with some cold medicine before this nightmare began, and now she genuinely wanted to assist.

I hesitated, reluctant to accept help. Trust was a fragile commodity in this new world, and every connection felt like a potential weakness. But as we chatted, something shifted within me. Perhaps it was the weight of isolation or the constant threat lurking beyond our walls that compelled me to reconsider.

“Maybe,” I typed back slowly, “just a little would be nice.”

As I waited for her response, my heart raced. The world outside was filled with danger, but perhaps in these small acts of kindness, we could still find a shred of humanity amidst the horror.

The thought lingered as I glanced out into the night, the dark streets alive with shadows and distant cries. Every noise outside was a reminder of how tenuous our grip on survival had become. The fight for existence felt endless, each day a battle waged against the creeping dread.

When the neighbor’s reply came, relief washed over me. “I’ll bring you some in a bit. Stay safe!”

I took a deep breath, the air heavy with tension. In that moment, I realized that reaching out could be the difference between life and death. Perhaps this small act of reaching out to one another could bridge the chasm of isolation that had widened in the wake of chaos.

As the minutes dragged on, I paced the living room, glancing at the door every few seconds. I imagined the worst—what if the zombies broke through? What if I lost everything? My heart raced, not just from fear, but from a growing sense of hope that flickered like a candle in the dark.

When the sound of a gentle knock finally came, it was like a bell tolling in the silence. I rushed to the door, heart pounding. Peering through the peephole, I saw the familiar face of my neighbor, her arms laden with barrels.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick with gratitude as I opened the door, letting in the cool night air.

The world outside felt alive with menace, but in that moment, I felt a flicker of resilience. The fight for survival was just beginning, and as long as we had each other, there was a chance—however slim—that we could find our way through the darkness. In this fractured world, humanity flickered like a dying flame, but I was determined to keep it alive.