As the familiar five-story walk-up slowly came into view, I finally let out a long breath. These streets were so familiar I could navigate them blindfolded—I knew exactly where Zombies might lurk, where survivors gathered, where to scavenge food.

This place had been my home for nine years.

My old apartment had vanished during a relocation project long ago. But that was before… before my parents died in that car crash. Since then, I’d lived here alone. I rarely saw neighbors, but we recognized each other’s faces.

Like now—barely seconds after I drove into the compound, a Zombie shambled toward me.

A familiar face. Deep wrinkles carved her skin. Milky white eyes completely obscured blood-red pupils, leaving her blind. Her steps were unsteady, her hunched back unchanged even in undeath. Calloused hands stretched slowly forward…

"Granny Wang… from next door?"

Instinctively, I slammed the brakes. Tires screeched. The SUV shuddered to a halt. At that exact moment, thin smoke curled up from the hood. The engine sputtered and choked—

"*Dead?*"

Frowning, I stepped out, ignoring Granny Wang’s Zombie. Her sluggish movements posed no threat from thirty meters away.

Blood and gore coated the wheel wells, reeking of decay. A sharp, acrid smell stung my nose.

I circled to the front. The Land Rover’s grille was crumpled wreckage. The bumper hung twisted, barely attached by a few screws. One tug would rip it off.

I didn’t *need* a car now—but for the journey ahead, I’d need transport. This one would’ve been perfect.

The bumper could be fixed. I’d worked temporary shifts at a garage once. Basic bodywork? No problem.

*What a miserable time that was.*

The senior mechanics never trusted me with real tasks. Just hauling heavy parts all day. My body was stronger back then. Every night, I’d collapse into bed, muscles screaming.

Lost in memory, I popped the hood. A wave of burnt oil and melting plastic hit me. One glance inside told me everything—

"*Is that… a leg bone?*"

A pale, broken femur pierced the radiator, jammed deep into the oil pan.

"No saving this. The engine’s seized." Wisps of smoke curled from the cracks. It wasn’t just seized—it was probably burned through.

"*Totally unfixable. Needs a 4S shop overhaul…*"

Seized engines happened when oil vanished. Pistons overheated, welding themselves to cylinder walls.

I shut the hood with a tired click. Back in the driver’s seat, I grabbed my backpack, tossed the keys aside, and sighed.

I headed straight for the compound gate. Passing Granny Wang’s shuffling form, I automatically called out:

"Granny Wang, good morn—"

The word "*ing*" died on my lips.

*Right. This is the Apocalypse now.*

I forced a wry smile, tightened my backpack straps, and strode past her toward the buildings.

This wasn’t a proper residential compound—just a cluster of run-down blocks housing relocated families. For a writer like me, its quiet isolation was perfect. Peace meant better focus.

Exhaustion weighed on me. I craved sleep. But I drew the combat knife from my belt. The pistol went back in my pack—useless without bullets.

I gripped the knife in reverse. Better leverage. Faster strikes. Shorter reach, but that didn’t matter against Zombies.

Against humans, a deep gut wound could cripple. But Zombies? Only a blade through the skull guaranteed safety.

Precision and power mattered more than reach. One strike. One kill.

I didn’t know how Zombies functioned—but after countless near-deaths, I knew their weakness: the head.

Anyone could see it. Zombies crawled with guts spilling out. They dragged severed torsos. But remove the head? Instant silence.

I rounded the corner carefully, stepping lightly to avoid drawing attention.

Only nine buildings here. Mostly elderly residents. So when I turned the bend, another familiar face greeted me.

Half a face, actually. One eyeball dangled by veins or nerves below its socket. Teeth marks tore through the missing cheek.

"Uncle Li," I murmured. "Skipping chess today?"

I knew he was a Zombie. Habit made me greet him anyway.

He replied enthusiastically.

"*ROOOAR!*"

Uncle Li’s Zombie charged. I raised my knife. Thrust down hard!

"*SCHLUCK!*"

The blade sank halfway into his skull. His body jerked violently, then collapsed. Thick fluid oozed around the blade as I pulled it free.

I wiped the knife on his shirt. Stood up.

Distant, hungry roars echoed through the compound.

"*Zombies really do have their own way of talking…*"

I tightened my backpack straps and quickened my pace.

My apartment was in the easternmost stairwell of Building 3—the compound’s edge. Just one or two minutes away now.