Dark Awakening

Chapter 3

Yang Xiu sobbed helplessly, failing to reach his parents by phone. His attempt to call his sister, Yang Xiaoxiao, also went unanswered, leaving him feeling frozen with loneliness, huddling tightly in a corner as he cried.

Outside, chaos reigned. Car crashes, cries for help, and screams transformed the world into a living hell.

Hiding in a room, Li Ruiming and Ma Yuan scrolled through their phones, scanning news about the zombie outbreak. Despair and dread washed over them as they frantically dialed family and friends.

Nightfall approached, and a car explosion outside jolted Yang Xiu awake from a brief, fitful sleep. He shifted slightly, only to be met with searing pain in his left arm.

Looking down, he saw a steel bar embedded in his arm. The skin around it had turned purple, the trapped flesh throbbing in agony. His lower forearm had taken on a sickly gray hue, with thick, dark liquid oozing from the wound.

“At least I didn’t turn into a zombie,” he murmured with a bitter laugh. Part of him wondered if ignoring the wound and letting himself turn would be simpler—just like his parents.

It didn’t matter if he’d been adopted; his parents would always be his family.

Instinctively, he reached for his phone, the reflex of a modern man just waking up.

Suddenly, his eyes widened as he spotted a message from his sister, Yang Xiaoxiao. He choked back a fresh wave of tears.

“Brother Xiu, stay alive. I’m all alone in this world without you.”

When he tried to call her back for details, there was no signal. Forcing himself up with his back pressed against the wall, he limped to a nearby overturned table and retrieved Zhang Zhe’s fallen phone. But it, too, had no signal.

Yang Xiu’s heart sank. Dragging his injured arm, he staggered to the window and looked out.

The street below was in ruins, burnt-out cars smoldering amid a wasteland. Dark, shambling figures moved erratically, punctuated by distant screams and relentless zombie howls.

Loneliness and despair mingled with a stifling, eerie chill, seeping into his soul beneath the pitch-black sky.

Clenching his fists, Yang Xiu wiped his tears, his gaze firm. "Xiaoxiao, stay safe in the army. Your brother will find you!"

Kneeling, he turned toward his home’s direction and bowed, tears streaming down his face. "Mom, Dad, forgive me for not being there. I swear—I’ll find Xiaoxiao!"

His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten all day.

Composing himself, he pocketed his phone, grabbed a knife, and moved to the kitchen. He knew Ma Yuan’s place well, having visited frequently.

The news advised against drinking tap water, and though he spotted a water barrel in the corner, he wasn’t sure if it was safe. The few months-old drinks in the fridge, however, were probably fine.

He found some drinks and took a long swig.

His food search yielded little: four buns, two bottles of water, half a bottle of ketchup, two bunches of lettuce, and four packs of instant noodles. There was also a large chunk of raw meat.

He poured oil into a pan, heated it, and fried the raw meat, hoping to turn it into jerky for longer storage.

“One bun a day,” he calculated grimly. “If I ration it, this might last a week. Hopefully, by then, the army will have contained the virus…”

With a stern expression, Yang Xiu wrapped his graying left hand in plastic. Though his left arm was nearly useless, he took precautions to prevent any accidental ingestion of infected material.

Holding a bun in his right hand and tucking ketchup under his left arm, he stood by the window, pondering the strange virus. How had something straight out of fiction invaded reality?

Lost in thought, he finished his bun and a small piece of meat.

Suddenly, he remembered the small package he’d received.

Curious, he used his teeth and right hand to tear open the packaging, his left arm throbbing with pain that sent cold sweat down his forehead.

Inside was a small, black box, roughly the size of a palm, with a six-digit lock. Following an instinct, he entered his birthdate, and the box clicked open.

Three small vials lay inside, filled with mysterious liquid. One vial held a red liquid; the other two were pure white.

A small note was tucked inside. Intrigued, Yang Xiu placed the box on the windowsill and pulled out the note.

The words stunned him.

“The white vials contain the antidote to the zombie virus. Use one on yourself; save the other for someone who’ll need it in the future. The red vial is a strengthening serum that will increase your physical capabilities three to five times.”

The note continued: “Using the serum carries a 50% chance of death, a 30% chance of permanent injury, and a 10% chance of renal failure and lifelong impotence. Other unpredictable side effects are possible.”

“The antidote has a 50% chance of curing the infection, and a 40% chance of mutation. It must be administered within ten minutes of infection for full efficacy. Once zombified, the antidote will no longer work. Side effects may also include impotence.”

“Lastly—survive.”

Before the outbreak, Yang Xiu would have laughed it off as a belated April Fool’s joke. But now…

Who had sent this package?

How did they know about the outbreak?

And why did he have this potential world-saving formula?

As questions swirled in his mind, he read the note again under his phone’s light, ensuring he hadn’t misread.

How could such a crucial formula have ended up with him?

And what was with the bizarre side effects?

Though skeptical, a tiny hope sparked within him. With a trembling right hand, he picked up one of the white vials.

Desperate to avoid losing his arm, Yang Xiu hesitated. According to the note, the serum was most effective within an hour, and it had been several hours since he was injured. The potency was likely reduced.

But finally, he plunged the needle into his graying left arm, which was now numb.

Even if it was poison, the steel bar restricted the blood flow to his arm, preventing it from circulating throughout his body. He figured he’d try his luck.

He injected the antidote, watching as the clock ticked by. Ten minutes later, his arm reacted.

A thin line of blood snaked from his wound, piercing through the plastic wrap and swaying in the air like a ghostly wisp.

More bloodlines emerged, dark and twisted, creeping out from his arm in a disturbing spectacle.

Yang Xiu was horrified.

Was this… a cure?

It didn’t look like it.

Was he mutating?

A terrible foreboding gripped him as he brought the knife closer, hoping to slice off the bloodlines. As he approached, the lines shot into his right hand.

His knife clattered to the ground as his heart raced. He frantically pulled the bloodlines out, fresh blood dripping from his hand as they seemed to feed and grow, redder and longer.

As more bloodlines crept from his left forearm, they wrapped around the steel bar and burrowed into his upper arm, as though seeking a path forward.

Panic surged as Yang Xiu tried to pull them free, but the lines were immovable. His graying arm flushed blood-red, pulsing like living veins.

If there were a mirror, he’d see his face had paled to an ashen white.

A dizzying weakness overtook him, and with his last strength, he injected the remaining two vials into his arm.

Despite the instructions, all Yang Xiu could think about was surviving.

As the final dose took hold, he passed out.

In the shadows, his arm continued its gruesome transformation as bloodlines slithered like sinister snakes, intertwining with muscle and bone, until his left arm doubled in size, while his entire body withered, drained.

With a loud “crack,” the steel bar shattered.