When I Became a Zombie

To be honest, I think this person must be sick.

At night, the surroundings become much quieter. Generally, when it’s quiet, we don’t wander around much. For instance, we’ve entered an abandoned airport now and plan to rest here.

Its outer walls are damaged, looking very empty. I wonder if the waiting hall is as empty.

We don’t need to sleep and hardly need rest. The difference is only in how fast or slow we move, whether we’re heading towards a goal or just wandering around. Of course, if it’s really boring around, we might stay in one place.

Some of us choose to sit or lie down when we stop.

Like me.

But as I was thinking about where to sit, I noticed that person was still following me.

He kept closely behind me on the road, and even now that everyone has scattered, he’s still trailing me.

Is this guy so scared that he really thinks he’s one of us?

I tried to theorize that he might be planning to take me out when others aren’t paying attention. But why
me?

Then I seriously considered that if he kept following me, it might be better to lead him to an empty place, bite through his throat, and then enjoy a good meal.

If I sever his throat, he won’t make any noise.

I just need to find a sheltered place to have a nice meal.

That’s a great idea.

I thought about it and decided the only viable place might be the plane over there.

Several doors on the planes were open. Generally, where doors are open, there aren’t any of my companions. They would have wandered out if they were trapped inside.

I slowly walked toward that direction.

The footsteps behind me paused for a moment but still followed.

Upon reaching the cabin, I raised my hand to try to open the door to the first class, but my hand was a bit stiff, and I failed twice.

Just as I was thinking that this place might work as well, a hand reached out beside me and opened the door.

If my face could still express emotions, I’d have raised an eyebrow.

But that’s just a thought.

I stood at the door, looking at him. He looked back at me, then walked inside. I followed him and closed the door.

He stood in front of me, facing me, and then extended a hand toward me, palm open, slightly curved outward, revealing his slender white wrist.

Up close, the scent is making me hungry.

His wrist trembled, probably out of fear, but I didn’t care if he was scared. I was just very hungry.

I raised my dirty hand, gripping his warm wrist, and brought it closer to my mouth.

However, just a few centimeters away from my mouth, I heard his voice.

He said, “Can you not eat me so clean?”

I paused my action, reflexively looking at his lips—though generally, the wrist so close to me would be the primary focus.

I saw him looking at me with a bit of helplessness: “Can you let me become like you?”

Then he began to smile wryly to himself: “Do you understand? Or do you just find it amusing that I’m making sounds?”

I did understand most of it. I could even occasionally recall some idioms or similar expressions in my mind, though I didn’t know their meanings.

I also found it quite amusing. Indeed, his mind isn’t right—wanting to leave part of himself behind to become like me.

Why would anyone want to become like me?

I think I wouldn’t be happy, wouldn’t laugh, wouldn’t be sad, and wouldn’t cry.

All my feelings come from others’ emotions.

I still held his wrist but suddenly found it hard to bite down.

The wrist I held, which had been trembling at first, had now gradually calmed down, and there was a hint of confusion and hope in his eyes: “… Why aren’t you eating?”

It was the first time I’d seen someone who wasn’t bitten asking why we weren’t eating.

Those who have been bitten, on the other hand, have bravely thrown themselves into our group.

The person’s eyes were wide open, shimmering like stars, and he moved a step closer to me: “… You… you understand, don’t you?”

I didn’t respond. I could nod or shake my head, but I didn’t make any movement.

I was just thinking, how dare he get any closer?

I might bite off his flesh at any moment.

“Chen… Chen Ke… you understand, don’t you? Do you know who I am?”

I think I became interested at that moment.

Is that the name I used to have?

Does he know me?

So he had the chance to kill me but chose not to?

I wanted to frown, or maybe I really did, because I saw the person in front of me move closer, his mouth twitching into a trembling smile as he asked, “How… how did you do it? … Do you remember me?”

No, I don’t remember.

He raised his other hand to touch me. My eyes followed his movement and saw him place his hand on the corner of my eye.

The warmth and scent of his palm made me want to turn my head and gulp him down.

I guessed that if I did that, I’d see the light in those beautiful light brown eyes shatter.

Damn it, I must be abnormal.

Not killing him right then was abnormal, letting him follow me here was abnormal, and thinking of consuming him alone was even more abnormal.

Would my companions be like me?

I kept my gaze on his hand touching the corner of my eye, watching him slowly move his hand down. He gently touched my side, where he had previously shot me. Some dirty liquid had stained the area around the wound.

Yes, I no longer bleed.

But he pressed on my wound and asked with a concerned look, “Does it hurt?”

… Two outcasts.

Both he and I are.

I opened my mouth, and aside from a low groan, I couldn’t make any other sound. I didn’t actually want to answer his question; I just wanted to ask him how he knew me before.

Alright, maybe it was too many words, too complicated.

But I thought about it and couldn’t simplify the question.

So I closed my mouth and let go of his wrist.

As a result, he took the opportunity to come closer and hug me.

My teeth were just inches away from his shoulder.

I could bite down with a lowered head, and I didn’t care if his clothes were clean or dirty—just that there was something to eat.

But I still couldn’t bring myself to open my mouth.

On the other shoulder, the sound of his head was muffled, a bit strange, but still quite clear.

“I found you.”

“… Bastard, I finally found you.”

… It seemed “bastard” wasn’t a good word.

Given the warmth transmitted from his body, the smell of fresh meat drifting into my nose, and the visual effect.

I suddenly wished that the lady who had grabbed him back then had been more precise and killed him.

What’s the situation now?

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