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墨書 Inktalez
Surviving—these three words sound simple, yet doing so is harder than climbing to the heavens.
Although there are still some supplies of food and water in the lab, they won't last much longer. A pack of biscuits, two cans of beans, half a dozen bottles of mineral water, and aside from that, only some spoiled canned meat remains. It's important to note that I'm not an omnivore; for someone like me, a medical researcher, the absence of fresh fruits, vegetables, and steak feels like a form of torture.
Worse still, as time passes, I feel increasingly lonely and on the brink of collapse in this confined space. The lab mice have become my only "confidants," but even talking to a mouse doesn't alleviate the panic within me. I've started having frequent nightmares, dreaming of standing alone on an empty playground surrounded by the corpses of Infected Persons. Their desperate faces and mangled bodies are frozen in the moment of death, and I can only watch helplessly, unable to shed a single tear.
I must do something; I must change the situation, even if it means risking my life. How ridiculous it is—three months ago, when I chose to be a coward, I vowed to fight for humanity's future. Now I can't even save myself. Realizing this, I've made up my mind: tomorrow morning, I will venture outside to seek hope for survival.
Yes, I am Matthew Wright; I am not a coward. I am a healer with the blood of saving lives coursing through my veins. Even if the road ahead is long and fraught with difficulties, I must take this step. For the future, for life itself, I must face my fears—even if it ultimately leads to becoming a pile of bones.
As night deepens, my heartbeat gradually calms down. I rummage through my locker and pull out a crumpled photograph, gazing at my mother's gentle smile.
"Mom," I think to myself, "give me a little more time; I will definitely return to your side."
With that thought, I feel a wave of relief wash over me.
I closed my eyes and gradually fell into a dream. This time, nightmares did not come to haunt me.
In the morning, when the first rays of sunlight filtered through the cracks of the bunker, I had already packed my backpack. Two bottles of mineral water, a scalpel, a roll of bandages, and a few packs of compressed biscuits—this was all I owned. I took a deep breath and pushed open the rusted iron door.
Stepping out of the "shelter" that had accompanied me for three months, my emotions were incredibly complex. Accustomed to darkness and silence, the outside world felt so unfamiliar. A faint odor of decay lingered in the air, and the streets were littered with the bodies of Infected Persons. The crumbling buildings stood like massive tombstones, telling tales of the brutality of this catastrophe.
I carefully stepped over each corpse, afraid to disturb anything. The once-bustling streets were now deserted. I felt like the last survivor of this city, wandering alone among the ruins. The fear and loneliness within me grew stronger as I pulled out the walkie-talkie from my pocket.
"Are you really sure you want to go out? It's too dangerous out there!" came James's anxious voice from the other end of the walkie-talkie. As one of my few comrades, he had always opposed my leaving the lab.
"I have to go. If I don't find food and water soon, we'll starve," I said casually, even though my mind was already in turmoil.
"But..."
"Don't worry; I'll be fine. Just stay in a safe place and take care of yourself." I interrupted him, fearing that I might waver.
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