That had been a narrow escape.
The man also looked utterly bewildered; perhaps it was his first time wielding a crossbow, and his shot striking the mark was nothing short of sheer luck.
Xiao Ye recalled how, in *The Walking Dead*, Daryl Dixon would always retrieve his arrows from the zombies’ heads after each kill, ready for reuse, or even employ them as short spears for stabbing.
Seizing the opportunity to apply this knowledge, Xiao Ye swiftly pulled an arrow from the head of the zombie behind her.
Just as another zombie lunged at her from the front, she deftly dodged its pounce with her agile body, then plunged the arrow directly into its eye socket.
It seemed zombies, much like humans, relied on their brainstems as the central control for bodily movement; once damaged, their bodies would rapidly lose all rigidity.
Concurrently, Xiao Ye observed a stark difference in her reaction speed compared to when she had been a boy.
Beyond what appeared to be an enhanced talent for combat, her mind remained exceptionally clear during every action—a state reminiscent of her focus when tackling difficult problems at school, where the greater the challenge, the calmer she became.
Whether this heightened acuity was a lingering vestige of her former academic prowess remained an open question.
The zombies surging up the stairs showed no particular preference for the living man; instead, they randomly lunged at the survivors cowering in various corners.
The screams of the crowd swiftly fractured into two distinct tones: the terrified shrieks of the startled and the agonizing cries of those already being gnawed upon by the undead.
Several men desperately fought to halt the zombies’ advance.
At last, someone, though it was unclear who, managed to reload their weapon and fired several bursts, bringing a temporary lull to the stairwell.
Yet, when the flashlight beams illuminated the blood mist stirred up by the bullets, the entire space was instantly bathed in an eerie, dark red glow.
The man holding the gun leaned stiffly against the wall, the trembling muzzle of his weapon aimed at the stairwell entrance.
This was likely a tactic gleaned from playing FPS games: holding a choke point.
However, he had overlooked the danger right beside him.
A fallen body at his feet suddenly stirred, clambered to its knees, and clamped its jaws around his thigh.
Amidst the man’s horrific scream, Old Cao, who had been guarding another corner, spun around and yelled, “Watch out for anyone who’s bitten! If someone gets bitten, they’ll turn into—”
He didn’t finish his sentence.
Instead, he raised his pistol and fired a single shot directly into the head of the man whose leg had been bitten.
The man’s incomplete scream lingered in his throat, wavering almost like a strange, warbling song for a moment before finally collapsing, much like his lifeless body.
A human killing another human with a gun proved to be even more terrifying than a zombie attack.
When zombies bit, people screamed; when a human fired a gun, everyone fell silent.
Zombies attacked indiscriminately, but those wielding weapons possessed the chilling ability to pass “judgment” and selectively take lives based on their own discretion.
Of course, no one was consciously calculating these implications at that precise moment.
Nevertheless, the ingrained lessons of societal living ensured everyone possessed a fundamental understanding of the situation.
“Has anyone been bitten…?” Old Cao’s voice trembled as he asked.
The words barely left his lips before he found the question inherently absurd.
‘I have no means to cure the infection,’ he realized.
‘Asking such a question is tantamount to saying, “Who wants me to kill them?”‘
Below, in the parking garage, the roar of an engine erupted—a violent, frantic acceleration accompanied by dull thuds, suggesting that numerous zombies, still trapped downstairs, were being mercilessly run over.
Occasionally, more zombies would scramble up.
Uncle Li, who was guarding the weapons, pulled out the MP9 submachine gun Jing Lan had brought earlier.
With its last full 30-round magazine, he swiftly dispatched four zombies, finally bringing a temporary quiet to the stairwell.
‘What *should* I ask, then?’ Old Cao’s thoughts spun in confusion.
This was his first encounter with such a situation.
He felt his relative composure stemmed primarily from his extensive exposure to bizarre contemporary art, which had evidently honed his neural threshold to a considerable degree.
Consequently, everything before him seemed to distort, much like a performance art piece.
As a participant, he felt as if he were playing a game.
Decisively shooting the man bitten by a zombie felt like re-enacting a scene from a movie he had once watched or a game he had played.
What was supposed to happen next?
He wasn’t entirely sure.
With the situation momentarily eased, he found himself almost unwilling to witness the unfolding drama.
“Are there any other bitten individuals?”
The question came from the white-haired girl, who still clutched the arrow.
“Who has a knife? If anyone’s been bitten, quickly cut away the wound.
It might save your life.”
A man—the burly individual from before—grunted “Heh,” brandished a dagger in his hand, and offered it to Xiao Ye.
“Is there anyone?” Xiao Ye scanned the survivors huddled around her.
People averted their gazes, fixing their eyes on the ground.
No one wished to meet her stare.
‘It wouldn’t be fun to be branded a “suspect” for being bitten.’
‘Oh god, I’ve become a harbinger of death,’ the girl thought, a mix of tears and laughter welling within her.
‘But this must be done.
I promised my companions I would protect this place.’
A hand rose from within the crowd.
“Will it really work?”
The one who raised their hand was Niu Xiaoma.
“It’s you? …Have you been bitten?”
The boy stepped forward.
“On my shoulder.”
Niu Xiaoma’s face still bore the lingering traces of pain he had struggled to suppress.
“Have you done this before? Cut off a wound to save a life?” Niu Xiaoma inquired.
“…I haven’t.
But Jing Lan has.
He was bitten on the leg by a zombie, and after the wound was cut off, he didn’t turn.”
As Xiao Ye spoke, she raised the blade, aiming it at the bloody teeth marks on Niu Xiaoma’s shoulder.
What she said was true.
Yet, another stark reality was that cutting away a wound to halt infection needed to be done immediately, within mere seconds.
After she herself had been bitten, back when she was a boy, it took only a brief moment before she felt her entire body begin to undergo an unsettling transformation.
The virus’s spread and efficacy within the body utterly disregarded the speed of bodily fluid circulation.
Xiao Ye understood this all too well.
Her assertion that “cutting away the wound could save a life” was almost a deception.
Her mind, now remarkably clearer, seemed to have shed some of the organic impairments caused by depression, and the rationality she possessed as a diligent student had sharpened considerably.
They needed to identify anyone bitten immediately, or everyone would be in peril.
However, Niu Xiaoma, trusting her implicitly, now bared his shoulder, awaiting her “surgery.”
‘Should I pretend to operate? Or…?’
Suddenly, Niu Xiaoma pulled up his collar, covering the wound.
“I’m sorry, but I think it’s too late.” The boy’s gaze turned chillingly cold.
“Too late?” Xiao Ye uttered, then in a flash of confusion, comprehended the situation.
Niu Xiaoma had detected the unsettling changes within his body, realizing that cutting the wound would be futile.
“You haven’t been infected, so of course you wouldn’t know.
But I’m certain now; I’ve been infected.
Cutting the wound won’t work.
I’ll just jump out the window myself.”
The young man spoke, a desolate smile gracing his lips, and began to shuffle towards the window.
He had barely taken two steps when he turned his head once more.
“Are there any other friends who’ve been bitten? Don’t cling to false hope.
Let’s jump together.
If we turn into zombies and harm our own kind, all the good karma we’ve accumulated will be gone, heheh.”
Though his forced laughter strove for naturalness, it failed to mask the slight tremor in his voice, born of fear.
With one foot already on the windowsill, a faint voice suddenly echoed from the crowd.
“Xiaoma…”
It was Officer Niu!
Niu Xiaoma whirled around.
“You… don’t…” Old Niu, the father, had somehow regained consciousness from his faint, but his voice was hoarse and weak.
“Come here…”
“I’m right here.
Please, say something.” The boy’s voice also became chaotic, tinged with an uncontrollable urge to cry.
“I command… you to come here…” Old Niu continued to murmur.
Old Cao stepped forward two paces.
“Old Niu! Snap out of it.
Let the boy go.
We’ll all… meet up there in the end.”
Old Cao and Little Niu shared a bond that transcended age, and at this moment, the grief in Old Cao’s heart almost shattered his dazed detachment from the current reality.
Niu Xiaoma turned, slowly taking a step.
But he immediately retracted his foot, resuming his attempt to climb out the window.
“I’m sorry, Dad.
And I apologize to everyone.
Xiao Ye, you’re amazing.
Protect everyone.
[He lowered his voice] Protect the one you love.”
“Son!!” The middle-aged father suddenly roared, “Get back here!”
Niu Xiaoma, in the midst of climbing through the window, suddenly tumbled down, then sprang up from the floor.
His head shot up, eyes bulging, and on his distorted face, his bared teeth hissed out a chilling sound.
He lunged, mouth agape, towards a woman cowering in a corner.
Xiao Ye kicked him down, then leaned forward, steadying herself on one knee as she plunged the knife held in her hand directly into his eye socket.
The stairwell finally fell silent once more.
Only a faint, mournful wailing could be heard from a corner.