C2 Zombie!!

Willett turned over and gradually woke up. He rubbed his aching head, a result of oversleeping, and slowly got to his feet. Approaching his computer, he discovered it had crashed.

Frozen on the screen was an image of a zombie biting someone's neck, prompting a wry smile from him. This computer had been with him since his college days, a companion for six or seven years. His homebody habits had led him to browse countless "well-known" websites, both domestic and international, which had, in turn, infected his poor computer numerous times. If he were to compile an encyclopedia of computer viruses, the ones his computer had contracted would likely fill a significant section.

After rebooting the computer, he found the internet connection was still down. A phone call confirmed the same issue. Frustrated, he flung his phone onto the bed, exclaiming, "Unbelievable! I pay so much money every year, and when I need it most, it fails me. This is outrageous, utterly contemptible..."

He then dashed to the adjacent washroom to brush his teeth, wash his face, and use the toilet. It was only after these routines that he sensed something was amiss.

"Wait a minute, my house is right by the road. It's usually so noisy in the morning with the constant traffic, car engines, and vendors hawking their wares. It's so loud that I had to install double-glazed soundproof windows in my bedroom. So why is it eerily quiet this morning? Could the curfew still be in effect?" Willett pondered aloud while scratching his tousled hair. He then moved to the washroom window, opened it, and was met with a shocking sight.

Before him lay a vision of the apocalypse. The road was smeared beyond recognition with blood, flowing like rivulets.

"What on earth happened?" Willett questioned, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. He noticed a crowd gathered in his neighbor's house, but due to the poor lighting, he couldn't make out the details.

"What's going on? Why is there so much blood? And why are so many people crowding around Wilmon's place?" Willett peered out, bewildered. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream echoed from Wilmon's house, sending shivers down his spine. He had never heard such a harrowing scream in real life, only in movies. He hurried to the balcony, rummaged through the cabinet, and retrieved the binoculars he had once used to spy on girls in the boys' dormitory. He looked again, this time through the binoculars, into Wilmon's house.

At the foot of the staircase in Wilmon's home, a group of four or five individuals huddled together, seemingly engrossed in eating something, their actions quite vigorous. Willett adjusted the magnification on his binoculars to get a closer look.

"Ugh! Ugh! What on earth is this!"

He finally got a clear view. It was four or five men encircling Wilmon, biting into him. One man pulled something from Wilmon's stomach—whether it was a liver or something else, he couldn't tell—but the man swallowed it whole. Another man had torn off Wilmon's arm, the one donning a Rolex, and was ferociously tearing and chewing at it.

Willett's legs buckled from fear. He crouched on the ground, violently vomiting while his mind raced with thoughts of horror films he'd seen before—Dawn of the Zombies, Zombies Unleashed, Resident Evil, and even Zombie Land, which he had watched just the night before.

"What is this? Zombies? Impossible! Impossible! I must be dreaming!"

Willett muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes. He sat on the ground, taking deep breaths for a long while, until he was certain he wasn't dreaming. Then he stood up, picked up his binoculars, and looked again. Now he was sure. Several people were shuffling slowly from the street corner, drawn like sharks to blood, heading toward Wilmon's house to join the gruesome feast with the other zombies. He realized with horror that the flesh-eating zombies were his own neighbors, once friendly faces now turned into monstrous creatures craving his flesh and bones.

The number of zombies converging on Wilmon's house grew, with more staggering in from around the corner. The sight of them feasting together under the darkening sky was chilling to the bone.

Suddenly, Willett thought of the police. Yes, the police! Where were they? Where was the military? Surely, no matter how formidable the zombies were, they would be no match for the might of the state. As if on cue, gunshots rang out from across the street. Willett then saw a police officer, gun in hand, dashing towards them with urgency.

Willett frantically waved his hand, shouting, "Police! Over here! I'm right here! Hurry, save me, save..."

His desperate cries abruptly ceased. Willett watched in horror as a zombie sprang from around the corner and tackled the police officer. Then two, three, four... more zombies swarmed over the officer. Within moments, the officer, now a bloodied and ragged figure, rose to join the shambling horde of the undead.

"No, this can't be happening... How could this happen! Why is he alone? Where's the rest of the force? The military? Have they all turned into zombies too? Why haven't I turned? Or will I become one of those disgusting zombies?"

Overwhelmed by despair, Willett crouched down, cradling his head and muttering to himself.

Time seemed to stand still before he finally snapped out of his daze and staggered down to his bedroom. There, he continued to talk to himself, "I don't want to be a zombie. How could this happen? I don't want to turn into one. I'd rather die than become a zombie!"

In a sudden burst of panic, he rushed to the drawer and pulled out a black switchblade. With a flick, the sleek blade sprang forth. The knife's black, refined handle and the gleaming sharp edge spoke of its high quality. This knife was a gift from his Uncle Wilmon on Willett's 25th birthday, reportedly a special model used by the military, well-crafted and multifunctional, intended for Willett's self-defense. Yet now, Willett pressed the knife against his wrist.

Gripping the dagger firmly, he wavered for what felt like an eternity before flinging it to the floor, where it stuck quivering in the wood. Willett collapsed onto the bed, pulling the blanket over himself, whispering, "I'm such a coward, a complete waste. Afraid of dying, too scared even to end it..."

Tears streamed down his face as he berated himself for his inadequacies—failing at academics, relationships, and work. And now, he couldn't even face death. He was just a sheltered city-dweller, a homebody who had never faced real adversity or danger. The fear of death was real, paralyzing, and he was too terrified to take his own life.

I can't help but wonder if my parents are doing okay in Inyilona, or how Uncle Wilmon and the rest are faring. They must be alright; they have to be. I have to survive. Everyone outside has turned into zombies, but I'm unscathed. It must be like in the movies—you only turn if you're bitten. So staying inside should keep me safe for now. Uncle Wilmon's in a high-end, well-secured complex, and he's up high; zombies shouldn't be able to reach him. And with Inyilona being sparsely populated, my parents should be safe. I have to make it through this; I have to see them again!

Willett spoke to himself, though he was well aware that his uncle might be in grave danger and that the outbreak could have spread internationally. But he couldn't afford to dwell on those thoughts. He had to stay positive, almost hypnotizing himself with hope, fearing that if his loved ones had succumbed to the outbreak, he'd lose the will to carry on.

He took a deep breath and recalled everything he'd learned about zombies from horror films and novels over the years. The most detailed depictions were from the Resident Evil series. The zombies he'd seen outside were strikingly similar—slow-moving but incredibly strong, capable of tearing a person apart with their bare hands, and possessing a formidable bite force. Willett remembered reading that zombies have the same physical strength as humans, but without any self-preservation instincts, they can exert their full power. In contrast, humans hold back due to their natural self-defense mechanisms. This might explain why zombies can rip people apart so easily. Therefore, it's clear that going toe-to-toe with a zombie is out of the question. They don't feel pain; ten slashes from you are less effective than one bite from them. As humans, we must rely on tools and agility to combat zombies. And as every horror movie has shown, zombies are driven by their brains, meaning there's only one target that truly matters—the head!

With these thoughts, Willett's fear began to subside, and a sense of calm washed over him. He couldn't help but smirk at the irony that while many capable leaders and executives had been turned into zombies, he, a supreme homebody, had survived. It was a twist of fate, but he was determined to seize this chance to keep living. At the very least, he had to strive to survive long enough to reunite with his family.

Upon realizing what needed to be done, Willett sprang into action, his fearlessness coming to the fore. He dashed to the ground floor without hesitation, ensuring every door and window was securely locked and reinforced. He looked at the robust anti-theft bars on the windows with a newfound appreciation for his mother's foresight; they were designed to deter burglars, but now served as a defense against zombies. Using some leftover lumber from the construction crew, he braced the main door before slowly making his way back up to the rooftop to meticulously survey the surroundings through his telescope.

Willett's home was a standalone property adjacent to Martyrs Park, situated near the roadside with an expansive view. As he repositioned his telescope to take another look, the scene that unfolded before him was chilling.

He had braced himself for the worst, yet the reality was even grimmer than he had imagined. Depridge was shrouded in a haze, with distant screams, gunshots, and explosions still audible. Zombies roamed in small groups around his house, some relentlessly gnawing at corpses on the ground. The road leading to Martyrs Park was swarming with a dense, dark throng of the undead. For some reason, a large number had congregated near the supermarket across from the park, presenting a daunting spectacle. Thankfully, due to Martyrs Park's distance from the city center and its lower foot traffic, the concentration of zombies there was less intense, though he suspected the city center to be far more overrun.

Descending from the rooftop, Willett retreated to his bedroom and booted up his computer, only to find, as expected, that the internet was still down. He browsed through his video storage, searching for any piece of knowledge that might help him improve his dire situation.