Chapter 15

About ten minutes later, I gathered my courage and lifted a different corner of the curtain.

The look of that zombie was burned into my memory, but I couldn’t spot it again after searching.

I shared my fears at our family meeting. Unexpectedly, they were optimistic.

“We’re in the shadows; it’s in the light. If it comes to that, we’ll figure it out together.”

“Three regular people can’t be dumber than one zombie genius, right?”

We changed our watch routine. Two-person teams. Dad and I took overlapping shifts.

Most nights, under Mom’s watchful eye, I’d sneak up to the roof.

The carrot seedlings grew fast, denser than I expected. Time for thinning—pulling out the weaker ones.

I diluted the fertilizer I’d made from fruit peels with rainwater, applying it lightly but frequently for extra nutrition.

Over a month into the outbreak, fresh veggies were long gone. Meals relied on frozen vegetables, which just tasted… flat.

Our little farm was our lifeline.

We’d already harvested lettuce, snipped cilantro and green onions.

Made a family-style BBQ.

Thinly sliced marbled pork belly, thinly sliced marinated beef, sizzling on the grill. A dip in dry rub, then wrapped in a crisp lettuce leaf, devoured in one bite.

Juices exploded, the lettuce cutting the richness.

Remembering it made me swallow hard.

Lost in visions of harvesting baskets full of future veggies, a suspicious sound echoed from the stairwell.

Like something heavy hitting the railing, the impact reverberating.

I held my breath, clutching the green onions.

Tiptoeing, I slipped back inside.

Dad guarded the outer door, Mom the inner. We’d installed hidden cameras covering the stairwells from 17 down to 15.

Even the first floor had our eyes.

In the grainy feed, at an odd angle, a pair of feet appeared.

We checked the first-floor camera. The security gate, though just barred, was shut.

So those feet… probably not a zombie’s?

Why hesitate? Because I’d witnessed people returning injured from supply runs, turning zombie inside their homes.

Forcing families onto balconies, leading to desperate, fatal jumps.

Before the jump, zombies had already gathered below, arms raised, mouths gaping.

And the infected zombie just wandered the building.

Eventually reaching the first floor, pushing the security gate open from the inside.

The three of us held our breath.

Panic surged. Had we been discovered?

What if they came up? How would we handle it?

“We rigged a fake barricade on the 15th-floor fire door,” Dad reassured us, though his eyes darted to the weapons by the door. “Even if they get through that, it’ll take time, and 16th has obstacles.”

“Honey, remember the family above us, the Xis? They left ages ago. No one’s up there now,” Mom whispered.

“You remember every resident?” A man’s voice, rough.

A woman’s voice, softer. I recognized the couple from the 13th floor!

“And didn’t we already grab…” She paused. “...get some stuff? Let’s head back tonight.”

Oh my god!

Forgot to mention: the husband? Total gym rat. Sleeves of tattoos. His pecs could crack walnuts.

I only ever made eye contact with his wife.

Their words were chilling.

Grab? Stuff?

Metal clanged sharply on concrete.

Holy shit. A fire axe. Sharp.