Chen Mo stared at the twitching fingers of the English class representative, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks.
The metal compass still lodged in her temple was being slowly pushed outward by some eerie force. Black blood bubbled up from the wound, popping with wet "gurgle" sounds and releasing a stench of rotting flesh mixed with disinfectant. Her eyeballs rolled back, then locked onto Chen Mo again—those lifeless black voids filled with mindless greed.
"Run!" Chen Mo roared. He grabbed Li Xiang by the collar of his school uniform and dragged him away from the corpse like he was hauling a sandbag.
The corridor had already descended into chaos.
Screams erupted from every classroom, slicing through the air like knives. Chen Mo heard Teacher Liu shouting from the back door: "Don't panic! It's rabies! Lock the doors!" But his voice was quickly drowned out by more shrieks. A girl burst out of Class (4), half her face gnawed away, brain matter dripping down her hair. She lunged straight at Chen Mo.
Chen Mo moved faster than he could think.
He shoved Li Xiang aside, pressed himself flat against the wall, smashed the glass of the nearest fire extinguisher cabinet, and yanked out the fire axe. He had seen this thing countless times—every Monday before the flag-raising ceremony, the logistics staff would check the fire equipment. He had never imagined there would actually come a day when he needed it. The handle was red fiberglass-reinforced plastic, brutally heavy. He gripped it with both hands and swung—not a chop, but a full-powered smash, using the explosive core strength he'd trained for track and field. The blade struck the girl's forehead with a sharp "crack." Her skull split, but the zombie didn't fall. It kept coming.
"Hit the back of the head!" someone shouted.
It was Lin Xiaoyue. Somehow she had slipped out through the back door of Class (3). She held a long mop handle that had been sharpened at the tip and wrapped with duct tape. She didn't charge in—just stood five meters away, calm as if she were coaching a drill: "The brainstem is at the back! Smash the cervical spine!"
Chen Mo understood instantly. He twisted his wrists, changing the axe from a chopping motion to a hammering one—like driving a nail with a sledgehammer. He smashed down hard on the back of her neck. The cervical vertebrae snapped with a crisp sound. The zombie collapsed instantly, like a marionette with its strings cut.
"Upstairs!" Lin Xiaoyue shouted. "Fifth floor!"
Chen Mo dragged Li Xiang upward. Behind them came more guttural roars. The door of Class (2) was smashed open by a wave of corpses; students fell like wheat under a scythe. He didn't dare look back—just gripped the axe handle tighter. The raised anti-slip ridges on the handle dug painfully into his palm, but the pain kept him sharp.
At the third-floor landing, the cleaning lady was still mopping the floor, movements mechanical and slow. The mop head left dark red streaks across the tiles. Hearing footsteps, she slowly turned her head. No expression on her face—just two black-pit eyes. Li Xiang's legs gave out; Chen Mo hooked him under the arm and hauled him up the stairs.
"Auntie…" Li Xiang called in a trembling voice.
The cleaning lady dropped the mop and charged. She moved fast, but her posture was grotesque—like a puppet being violently yanked forward. Her ankles twisted at ninety degrees; they were clearly broken.
"Joints broken and she can still run!" Chen Mo yelled. "Aim for the head!"
Lin Xiaoyue thrust the mop pole forward, driving it straight into the cleaning lady's eye socket. But she had underestimated the momentum. The pole lodged deep; the corpse kept coming, pole and all, slamming Lin Xiaoyue against the wall. Chen Mo rushed in, swung the axe horizontally, and smashed the flat back of the blade into the back of the woman's neck. The spine snapped. The body finally went still, though the mop pole remained embedded in the eye socket, its end still vibrating with a low buzz.
"Leave the pole!" Chen Mo yanked his axe free. "Up!"
He noticed Lin Xiaoyue's tiger mouth had split open from the impact; blood ran down the pole. She gritted her teeth and dropped it.
The Wushu club room on the fifth floor was ajar. The scent of sandalwood mixed with sweat drifted out. Chen Mo pushed the door open and froze.
The training room was quieter than expected.
Zhao Yanran was wiping a Miao dao (苗刀) with a white cloth. The blade gleamed coldly; the edge showed tiny nicks. She wore black training clothes, hair tied high in a ponytail. A few drops of blood dotted her face, but her eyes were calm—like she was warming up before a competition. In the corner, Su Rui crouched over several test tubes scavenged from the infirmary, each filled with black blood. She held a piece of shredded flesh in forceps and carefully dripped iodine onto it, as if conducting a chemistry experiment.
"Data doesn't lie," she said without looking up. "The virus's activity drops in acidic conditions, but iodine isn't strong enough. We need concentrated acid."
Wang Lei leaned against the window, clutching a homemade weapon—a mop handle lashed to a fruit knife with layers of iron wire. He stared at the zombie horde below, body trembling, muttering: "My mom is still selling pancakes at the school gate…"
"The rooftop is full of people watching the show, the sports field is full of people running down. Only you would think to climb higher," Lin Xiaoyue said to Chen Mo. Sweat mixed with blood trickled down her temple.
Chen Mo didn't reply. He scanned the room. On the wall hung four large characters: "武德尚勇" (Martial Virtue Values Courage). Below them was a weapon rack—taiji swords, Miao dao, training blades, everything. He walked over, took down a taiji sword with a bamboo scabbard, drew it halfway. The blade was slender and sharp-edged.
"Use this." He handed it to Lin Xiaoyue.
Zhao Yanran looked up at Chen Mo for the first time. "Can you use it?"
"No." Chen Mo leaned the fire axe against the wall; its blade was covered in black blood. "But I'll learn."
"Learn what?" Su Rui pushed up her glasses. Blood speckles on the lenses looked like tiny red stars.
"How to survive," Chen Mo said.
He walked to the window and looked down at the growing crowd of zombies—thirty or forty now, milling aimlessly like stirred ants. The dean of students, Li Jianguo, was smashing zombie heads with a fire-hose nozzle, cursing with every swing. But the more he smashed, the more appeared.
"Li Jianguo grabbed the school van keys," Su Rui said. "Planning to escape through the back gate."
"Let him try," Chen Mo replied. "He won't get far."
He turned to the group. "We need to leave."
"Where to?" Wang Lei asked.
"Your place first," Chen Mo said. "Xingfu Li Neighborhood—two kilometers from school, has walls and a gated entrance. And…" He paused. "My parents might be home. I need to check on them."
The room fell silent. Distant fire-truck sirens sounded, but they were fewer now.
"I agree," Lin Xiaoyue said first. "We need supplies."
"Split into groups," Chen Mo said. "Zhao Yanran, Lin Xiaoyue, Wang Lei—you three go get a vehicle. There's my dad's van in the parking lot. Su Rui, Zhou Lan, Li Xiang—you come with me through the fire stairs. Zhou Lan leads, Su Rui stays in the middle to record observations, Li Xiang stays right behind me."
"No!" Li Xiang suddenly shouted. "I want to be in your group!"
His voice was too loud. Outside, the zombies responded with guttural "hrrk-hrrk" sounds. Zhao Yanran backhanded him across the face. "You want to get us all killed?"
Li Xiang was stunned; tears welled up, but his voice dropped. "I'm scared…"
"If you're scared, shut up," Chen Mo said. "You got scratched. Staying with me is the safest place for you."
The moment he finished speaking, Lin Xiaoyue snapped her head up. "He was scratched?"
Li Xiang's sleeve was rolled to the shoulder. The bluish-gray discoloration around the wound had already spread up his arm; veins stood out dark as ink. Zhou Lan rushed over, pressed fingers to his carotid, and her expression darkened. "Heart rate way too fast, temperature rising, skin starting to stiffen…"
"How long?" Chen Mo asked.
"Don't know," Zhou Lan shook her head. "But judging from how fast the ones downstairs turned…"
"Forty-seven seconds," Chen Mo said. "The security guard turned in under a minute after being bitten. Li Xiang was scratched—six minutes already, and he's still himself."
"Mo-ge…" Li Xiang's voice was barely a whisper. "If I turn into a monster… will you kill me?"
Chen Mo met his eyes. He remembered that junior-high league game when he hesitated on the final pass and they lost. No one on the team blamed him; they just said "Next time." But there was no next time in the apocalypse.
"I will," he said. "So don't turn."
Tears rolled down Li Xiang's face, but he nodded.
The plan was set. Everyone began preparing.
Zhao Yanran sheathed her Miao dao with a crisp "click." Lin Xiaoyue slung the taiji sword across her back and wrapped cloth strips around the scabbard to prevent reflection. Wang Lei reinforced his makeshift spear with more wire, wrapping layer after layer like he was binding his own life to it.
Chen Mo inspected the fire axe. The edge was chipped, but the flat back was intact. He took off his school jacket and bound the axe handle tightly to his right hand—both to prevent dropping it and to keep his grip from slipping in blood.
The last ray of sunset slipped through the window. The training room fell into twilight gloom. Chen Mo pulled open the door.
"Let's go," he said.
The fire-stair door handle was cold and clean—no blood. Chen Mo cracked it open. The smell of the green belt mixed with blood rushed in. He was about to step through when Da Huang suddenly wriggled free from Tang Tang's arms, darted to the front, and let out a single "Woof!" into the darkness.
The bark wasn't loud, but it was enough to freeze everyone in place.
Down among the distant zombie horde, one figure stopped moving. Slowly, it turned its head. Those black-pit eyes fixed directly on the fifth floor.
It had smelled them—or heard them.
(End of Chapter 2)