16

Anne moved to 901 for self-isolation.

Before leaving, she tried to comfort me, "I'm not fond of meat, so it shouldn't be easy for me to turn into a zombie. Make sure to harvest your unlucky lettuce. I want to eat it when I come back."

But I couldn't bring myself to smile.

Anne took her notebook with her.

She said she would carefully record any changes in her body over the next few days.

She mentioned how little we knew about zombies and that this time we would surely make significant progress.

She also took my outdoor rope, promising to tie herself up securely as long as she didn't suddenly lose her mind.

She told me that if she did turn into a zombie, I shouldn't hesitate to end it.

Though the zombie would share her body, it wouldn't be her.

I lay in the bedroom. Tonight, I would be alone.

In the following days, I cooked meals on time and hung them on the door handle of 901. The bags also contained notes I wrote.

Day 1:

Anne,

I harvested the vegetables today, and one of them grew particularly large. I gave the outer leaves to Chris and saved the tender ones for you. He's really lazy, just lounging in the sun reading every day. How are you feeling? Is your appetite normal? Any cravings for meat?

When I retrieved the dishes, I found her note. It was torn from her notebook, with a few large words scribbled on it.

Helen,

So far, my pupils are normal size. PS: Use less salt next time.

I crumpled the note in frustration; she was so sparing with her words.

Day 2:

Anne,

I'm worried our vegetables won't be enough, so I converted the seedbed on the north balcony into a vegetable garden. Chris eats too much, and I regret taking him in.

She replied:

You make him sound like a dog.

Day 3:

The temperature dropped. I wrote on the note.

Anne,

The weather's getting colder. Remember to add more blankets. I'm not sure if your nightlight has enough battery, so I put a new one in the bag. The strawberries seem ripe; I picked a few for you to try. (PS: The zombies outside the opposite building have scattered.)

She replied:

The strawberries are good.

Day 4:

Anne,

The power generation is decreasing. Today, I extended the drying rack on the balcony to fit eight solar panels. I also examined Chris's diesel generator, and it's not as efficient as ours. By the way, how does he have a telescope and a generator at home? He can't be one of those mad scientists who messed up the world and then hides to observe, right? (PS: I think he saw me writing this.)

She replied:

You have the nerve to call someone else weird; you seem more like that. PS: He does seem a bit odd, but his personality is okay. PPS: Today's canned food was good; I want the same tomorrow.

See, Anne also thought he was a bit off.

But he wasn't overly enthusiastic; rather, he was unusually indifferent.

The more I got to know him, the more I sensed the cold detachment beneath his gentle demeanor.

The closer I got, the more unreachable he felt. After several nights of poor sleep, I overslept on the fifth day.

When I woke up, Chris had already delivered breakfast. I left a note in the lunchbox.

Day 5:

Anne,

If you think breakfast tastes bad, that's normal because Chris made it. I've been sleeping poorly and feel lethargic during the day. Do you think he might have drugged me?

She replied:

It's not as good as yours.

Day 6:

The weather got even colder. After thinking for a long time, I finally wrote in clear handwriting:

Anne, I'm worried about you.

She replied with a blank note.

I leaned against the windowsill, wrapped in a thick blanket.

Through the glass, I saw Chris watering the vegetable garden.

Today's sunlight was unexpectedly bright.

I covered my eyes with the note, recalling what Anne had once told me. She said, "Helen, if the time comes for me to make some sacrifices, I'm okay with it, as long as it's worth it."

"Too many people have died. Those of us who are lucky enough to survive must bear some responsibility."

For a long time, I considered these words naive idealism.

But at this moment, I felt a profound connection with her.

People are often deceived by their own eyes, just as Anne possessed strength far beyond her delicate appearance.

If there were a protagonist in this apocalypse, it would surely be someone like her.

I spent the entire day doing nothing but staring out the window.

Night finally fell.
Tomorrow would be the seventh day.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Time seemed to rewind. In the not-too-distant past, I had also spent sleepless nights like this.
The next morning, I woke up early.
Anne liked tea, but since we didn't have many tea bags, it rarely appeared on the table. She always scolded me, calling me a miser for being so stingy.
I took a packet from the small box in the storage room, brewed a pot of black tea, and poured it into a thermos. I also grabbed a thick slice of honey milk toast from the shelf. At 8 a.m., I hung the breakfast bag on the door handle of 901.

Compared to yesterday, I was a whirlwind of activity today.
First, I meticulously cleaned the entire house.
Since the zombie outbreak, I hadn't done such a thorough cleaning.
Under my direction, Chris changed all the bed linens and hung the bedding outside to bask in the sun.
At noon, I prepared lunch and had Chris deliver it. Meanwhile, I fetched fertilizer from the storage room to tend to the balcony garden. The garden was large.
Sitting on a small stool, I patiently loosened the soil to ensure the fertilizer mixed well. Chris leaned against the railing.
He didn't speak, nor did he look at me.
He just stood there, from dawn to dusk.

The sun finally dipped below the horizon.
I stood up and wiped the sweat off my brow, "I'm going to make dinner."

"Helen."
Chris called out to me but ultimately said nothing.
I wiped away my tears and retrieved the untouched lunchbox from the returned thermos bag.
The food inside had long gone cold.
I turned on the stove and started cooking dinner.

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