C8 Survive the Siege!

"Ugh, the pain... it's unbearable!"

Willett shifted his position, intending to soothe his slightly throbbing head, when he suddenly felt as if he were floating in mid-air, plummeting downwards. Panicked, he grasped the nearby guardrail and slowly opened his eyes. What he saw made him gasp in shock.

He found himself half-lying at the broken section of the staircase between the fifth and fourth floors. Had he not clung to the guardrail just in time, he would have tumbled down to where a large group of zombies was gathered. They were growling and wandering restlessly, refusing to leave, their hands reaching up in a futile attempt to grasp at Willett above them. Less than two meters away, another horde of zombies was pushing and shoving, trying to extend their hands toward him. Zombies that fell over the edge of the broken stairs would rise again from the sea of corpses below and attempt to climb back up. The putrid smell of decaying flesh was pervasive, almost making him retch. If it weren't for the fact that he had killed so many zombies the night before, his nose almost desensitized by the foul odor, he would have been violently sick by now.

He rose to his feet in silence, not sparing a glance at the zombies a short distance away. For the moment, he was safe; ordinary zombies couldn't bridge the two-meter gap. Exhausted, starving, and chilled to the bone, he longed for nothing more than to return to the warmth of his bedroom, to feast, and then to sleep soundly. Still, as a precaution against any zombies that might manage to cross over, he made sure to securely lock the iron door at the fifth-floor entrance. If only one or two zombies were to approach, they would have a hard time breaking through the door. And should any zombies get in, he would be able to respond swiftly and find a way to escape.

Back in his bedroom, he retrieved the last few packets of instant noodles from his dwindling supplies. These were the last remaining packets, his treasured stash, as the house had nothing but rice and a few spices—no other food to accompany a meal. After the harrowing ordeal he had just survived, he decided to indulge in the remaining noodles as a treat to himself. As Willett boiled water on the gas stove, his mind wandered back to the bizarre sensations he'd experienced in his body before passing out. Were it not for the broken staircase and the zombies crushed into a pulp, he might have believed the entire episode was nothing more than a hallucination brought on by his severe headache.

"What was that final blast of air? And why did my right arm suddenly bulk up like that?" Willett mused to himself. He lifted his right arm, examining it closely. It looked just as it always had—pale skin with a bit of muscle that had developed from over a month of intense training. There was nothing about it that screamed 'Terminator.' Yet, everything that had happened before he passed out felt incredibly real. A shiver ran through him, "Bro, I haven't turned into a mutant, have I?"

He was willing to accept that the blue liquid had altered his body, enhancing his physical capabilities, but the thought of exhibiting any traits that were non-human was unsettling. He held onto the belief that one day, the formidable government forces would come through, wielding powerful weapons to eradicate the zombies and rescue survivors like him. If he were to mutate, he'd surely be taken captive. Even if it didn't lead to execution, it would mean life imprisonment and being subjected to endless experimentation. The more he thought about it, the more terrified he became, realizing he needed to keep a close eye on himself. But no matter how much he racked his brain or how hard he tried to find a change, his arm remained the same—perhaps a bit stronger, but showing no outward signs of mutation.

"Thank goodness, thank goodness! I'm still one hundred percent a real man... a human being..." He chuckled at himself. While the abnormality in his arm had saved his life in a critical moment, he hoped such mutations would never occur again. He always wanted to remain human, not become a zombie or some kind of mutant. He used to think it was cool and impressive when characters in movies and books gained special powers, but now faced with reality, he realized he just wanted to live a simple, peaceful life. That was the truest wish of a homebody at heart.

After finishing off the last seven packets of instant noodles and sipping some hot soup, Willett patted his slightly distended belly, letting out a contented moan. He made his way to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. Surrounded by the pungent stench of decay and the relentless groans of zombies from below, he drifted off into a heavy sleep.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Willett gradually came to. The zombies were still howling downstairs, but he had grown accustomed to their noise. To him, as long as they posed no threat to his life, he could withstand any amount of their roaring and foul stench.

Upon opening the bedroom door, he took a sip of water and made his way downstairs. The stench intensified as he approached the fifth floor, reminiscent of thousands of dead rats decomposing together, enough to turn his stomach. Observing the zombies nearby, they seemed convinced that a feast awaited them here. Over a day had passed, yet they showed no signs of dispersing, continuously climbing, pressing against each other, and tumbling down to the fourth floor. Watching the zombies futilely repeat their actions, Willett couldn't help but smile with satisfaction. He then grabbed his hammer and got ready to work.

Though the two-meter breach was relatively secure, he didn't want to take any chances. He resolved to widen the gap further. He swung the hammer with force, and with a resounding "Bam!" the once-sturdy staircase was easily breached, creating a large gap. It wasn't completely severed, but a few more strikes should do the trick. Staring at the gaping hole, Willett was astounded by his own handiwork. Just the day before, he had struggled mightily to chip away at the staircase. After much toil and splitting his palms, it was only the sudden surge of strength from his mutation that had saved him from becoming zombie fodder. Now, he could effortlessly create such a large gap. It wasn't the staircase that had weakened—it was he who had grown stronger after the transformation. Excitedly swinging the hammer, he realized that his enhanced physical condition significantly increased his odds of surviving in this perilous, post-apocalyptic world.

Gazing down at the sea of corpses, a sense of relief washed over him. He might not be able to eliminate them all at present, but as he grew stronger, his chances of escaping their clutches improved dramatically. Willett steeled himself and resumed the demolition. With each powerful swing, chunks of the staircase broke away, crushing the zombies below. In under five minutes, he had extended the gap from two meters to five. Given the staircase's slant, it was now impossible for the zombies to leap across. For the moment, he was safe.

Willett inspected the staircase he had finished, humming a tune while carrying a hammer up to the rooftop. He was unaware of the situation outside. Upon reaching the rooftop, he didn't even need to use his binoculars; the sight before him sapped his strength and plunged him into despair.

"Could it be that every zombie in the street has converged here..."

Willett groaned weakly, gazing down at the endless sea of corpses and listening to their unified roar. Suddenly, he felt a surge of frustration.