Chapter 17

She spotted our security camera and faced it directly, sobbing uncontrollably, her gaze darting back toward the stairs.

"Xixi, please open the door! I’m begging you!"

I clenched my jaw, refusing to respond—but my heart wavered.

She’d always been kind, greeting me whenever we crossed paths.

But taking in two adults and a helpless, crying baby would be a massive burden.

"We have nowhere else to go!" she pleaded. "I haven’t eaten in days—I don’t even have milk left! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have—"

A choked sob cut her off, as if the memories were too painful.

She must’ve felt guilty for looting her neighbors.

"Let me in! I’ll do anything!"

Meanwhile, the feed from downstairs showed her infected husband—muscles grotesquely swollen, eyes rolled back—emitting guttural growls as he lumbered upward.

Each step shook the stairs.

Even if we let her in, we’d still have to deal with him.

I grabbed fistfuls of my hair, squeezing my eyes shut.

Then, abruptly, the woman went still.

She knelt before the gate, carefully unwrapping her baby and laying him on the ground.

Her voice was eerily calm.

"He’s coming."

My grip on the mouse tightened. Was this a threat?

Sure, her husband had been the one swinging the axe, but she’d benefited from it. She’d been complicit in endangering our lives.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

The infected man was horrifying—pale-eyed, drooling, his body twisted into something inhuman.

The woman glanced back at her child, then at the camera.

To my shock, she smiled.

Then she flung herself onto the windowsill, leaning halfway out.

Her legs dangled, baiting the monster.

He lunged, jaws snapping.

She kept leaning further, her weight dragging him forward.

Tall and top-heavy, he lost his balance.

The last thing the camera captured was his body disappearing over the edge.

A dull thud echoed from below.

……

Silence hung heavy between me and my parents.

The baby at the gate hadn’t moved. Hadn’t cried.

"Xixi…"

I covered my face, inhaling sharply. "I abstain from voting. You two decide."

We’d agreed early on—when faced with impossible choices, we’d vote democratically.

My mom immediately scooped up the child.

Under the wrappings was a boy, barely five months old.

Malnourished, his skin sallow. If not for the lack of food, he might’ve been plump and healthy.

In a way, the threat was gone.

We’d survived again.

But when I stood, my vision blurred. My legs gave out, and I collapsed.

Today marked the 62nd day of the outbreak.

I wasn’t a saint. I couldn’t save everyone.

I didn’t regret my choices.

I was just… tired.