After confirming that his current predicament was the result of a zombie outbreak, Alto racked his brain to recall everything he knew about the undead. Most of his knowledge came from movies and television, and while he wasn't sure if it would be effective, he had no other way to verify it.
The most critical piece of information was that a bite or a scratch would transmit the virus, meaning he had to avoid direct contact with the creatures at all costs. Secondly, he knew that to truly kill a zombie, he had to pierce its skull or destroy its brain. Otherwise, even if he severed its neck, the head would continue to snap and bite. Thirdly, if someone close to him became infected, his only choices were to kill them or get away immediately. He couldn't let emotions cloud his judgment or harbor the false hope that a shred of humanity remained. He couldn't view them as people anymore; they were merely monsters in human skin. Even if the creature had once been a parent, a child, or a partner, it would not hesitate to tear into him the moment it turned.
Alto knew he had to follow these three ironclad rules strictly. One moment of carelessness could cost him his life and turn him into just another member of the undead horde.
Beyond those, there were other rules that required testing. For example, it was likely best to avoid going out at night when zombies were most active. He also suspected that food touched by a zombie would be unsafe to eat. Testing these rules might not be fatal, but failing the first three certainly would be.
Thinking through all of this left him feeling more exhausted than if he had played a full game of basketball. His body was still recovering from his injuries, and he desperately needed food and nutrients. The supplies on the nightstand were meager; for a young man like him, it was barely enough for a single day. However, Alto didn't try to ration it. He swallowed the food in large gulps and drank the water greedily. He had a clear plan in mind and needed to ensure he had the physical strength to carry it out. He consumed half of his three-day supply in one sitting without a hint of regret. He needed to recover his stamina quickly to face what was coming.
Outside the window, the sky began to darken. With a somber expression, Alto walked to the window to look out. The entire city was shrouded in darkness without a single light in sight. It was clear the whole city had fallen. It wasn't just the hospital that had lost power and water; all of Zenith city was in the same state. As the night grew deeper, strange noises and growls began to echo through the air as the zombies became more active. He heard the constant sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway downstairs, sounding like lost souls wandering in search of an exit.
It seemed the hospital was crawling with zombies. His floor was only safer because the monsters were still trapped inside the patient rooms rather than roaming the halls. If they had been out, he would have had to find a way to barricade his door even more securely. He realized he needed to leave the hospital as soon as possible. His food and water would soon run out, and being surrounded by the undead made this place a deathtrap. He needed to prepare and gather his energy before making a move. Since it was already late, he decided to get some sleep and start his preparations at dawn.
With a calm mindset that allowed him to stay steady in a crisis, he managed to sleep soundly. He checked the door and windows one last time before returning to his bed and drifting off.
He woke just as the first light of dawn touched the sky, even before the sun had fully risen. He immediately began gathering his gear. He unscrewed the bolts on the IV stand and removed a solid iron rod over a meter long. He gave it a test thrust and found the weight and balance to be excellent for fighting zombies. However, the rod lacked a sharp point, which might make it difficult to pierce through bone if he didn't hit a soft spot. To fix this, he spent an hour grinding the tip against the floor until it formed a sharp point. He was satisfied with the result. Unless he hit something incredibly hard, he was certain he could pierce a zombie with a single strike. By aiming for the eye sockets or the mouth, he could kill one instantly.
Once he had a proper weapon, he moved on to protective measures. He tore the bedsheets into thin strips and wrapped them tightly around his sleeves and pant legs. The hospital gown was loose, leaving his forearms and shins exposed, prime targets for a bite. He wrapped the cloth carefully to cover those areas. Finally, he tore the duvet cover into long strips and braided them into a sturdy rope.
By the time he finished, the sun had risen between the buildings and the world was bright. The sounds of zombie activity from the night had faded. As the morning light washed over the land, the world became eerily quiet, as if humanity had vanished and left Alto as the sole survivor. He looked out the window and mapped out an escape route. He knew the plan was ideal and that variables would likely force him to adapt, but his goal remained the same: reach safety without getting bitten.
With the route firmly memorized, he sat down to finish the remaining food. He needed the energy, and saving the food would be pointless if he died during the escape. He ate quickly and drained the last of the water. It was time to go. With no more supplies left, he was effectively cutting off his own retreat. He stuffed toilet paper, towels, and other small items into a pillowcase, along with the empty water bottle. The bottle weighed almost nothing but would be useful for carrying water later. He tied the makeshift bag to his back and tucked the sharpened IV Stand rod into his waistband. Finally, he tied his braided rope to the window frame. After tugging it a few times to ensure it was secure, he gripped the rope and climbed out the window.
To avoid taking the stairs through the hallway, Alto planned to use a rope to descend directly from the upper floor to the grass outside. There was no other way. Although the zombies on the third floor were locked in the wards, the ones on other floors roamed freely. If he were cornered in a narrow stairwell, it would be a death sentence. He had to take the risk and use his handmade rope to lower himself down the exterior wall.
Fortunately, a drainage pipe ran down the wall with protrusions at regular intervals, providing a steady foothold for every step. The rope served mainly as a secondary support to ensure his safety. Alto was certain that anyone with strong climbing skills could have made the descent even without it.
The third floor wasn't particularly high, and in less than ten minutes, Alto was standing on the soft grass below. With one foot planted firmly on the ground, he immediately scanned the area to confirm there were no zombies nearby before setting his other foot down and releasing the rope. He had already prepared himself; if there was any sign of danger, he would have climbed back up instantly. Survival required knowing when to push forward and when to retreat.
The hospital grounds were relatively safe during the day, or at least there were no zombies within his line of sight. With a faint, lingering stench of decay in the air, his head began to swim. It was a sweltering day. Even though the sun had only been up for a short while, the heat was already scorching. This year's summer had arrived earlier and felt much more intense than those of the past.
With a towel pulled from his pillowcase, Alto wiped the sweat from his forehead before wrapping it around his nose and mouth. This makeshift mask served to block out the foul odors. It was better than nothing, and at the very least, the stench of rot was no longer as piercing.
With these preparations complete, Alto began to move forward. He intended to cross the grass and head straight for the side gate of the Hospital. He had mapped out this route while still in the ward because it was less frequented by people, which meant the number of zombies would likely be lower. Leaving through the main entrance was out of the question. Even without seeing it, Alto could imagine the place crawling with zombies. It was a large general hospital, and the usual foot traffic was staggering.
With a few minutes of walking along the concrete path after crossing the grass, he encountered nothing, not even a bird. Eventually, he stepped onto a tree-lined path that led directly to the side gate.
As he rounded a corner under the shade of the trees, several small white buildings suddenly appeared. From a distance, they looked like a warehouse. This didn't match what Alto had observed from the upper floor. He was certain he hadn't taken a wrong turn, as this was the only path in this direction. However, he hadn't noticed these white houses from above. It seemed that because the third floor wasn't high enough, the buildings had been hidden by the canopy of the trees.
Where there were buildings, there were likely people, or zombies. With the iron rod gripped firmly in his hand, Alto slowly pulled it from his waist. He had no other choice but to steel himself and pass through. This was the safest route in the entire Hospital. If he couldn't make it past this point, he wouldn't stand a chance on any other path.
With a deep breath, he tried to calm himself. He mentally calculated how to thrust the iron rod and how to dodge an attack, and slowly, his nerves settled. As he approached the white buildings, the stench grew thicker, penetrating even the towel over his face. It was clear that the white buildings held either zombies or rotting corpses; otherwise, the smell wouldn't be this overpowering.
Sure enough, about ten meters away from the buildings, Alto saw several decaying corpses lying side by side on the ground. The marks on the scene suggested the bodies had originally been placed in body bag, but for some reason, the bags had been torn open. The corpses were twisted into strange positions, and some even showed signs of being chewed on, with large amounts of muscle tissue missing. Alto surmised that the bodies had been left here with no one to handle them, leaving them at the mercy of animals like stray dogs.
With a black dog slipping through the shadows of the trees, his suspicions were confirmed. He also saw the sign outside the white buildings and realized these warehouse-like structures were actually the Hospital Morgue. If he had stumbled upon this place under normal circumstances, Alto would have cursed his bad luck. But in the current state of the world, these dead bodies seemed almost pleasant; at least a corpse wouldn't attack him like a zombie. The fact that these bodies were piled outside was a testament to how many patients had died at the Hospital, so many that the Morgue couldn't accommodate them all.
Alto walked cautiously with the iron rod held tight. He kept a sharp eye out for stray dogs that might leap from the shadows and for any zombies that might be wandering nearby. There were too many blind spots, and there was no telling what might be waiting for him in the dark. These corpses were completely rotten, and if the stray dogs were hungry enough, they might actually attack a living person. Alto had seen videos online of large packs of stray dogs attacking pedestrians before.
With a wide berth around the corpses, he walked toward the front of the Morgue. There, he saw a small square packed with even more bodies. The corpses he had seen earlier were only there because the square had run out of room. The bodies were all rotting and stinking, with white maggots crawling over them.
With a buzzing sound, a swarm of flies rose from the corpses as Alto approached, forming a black cloud that hung in the air. The stench hit him so hard he gagged. The scene before him made his skin crawl. The smell of a dead rat rotting in a bucket of dirty socks for a month wouldn't have been a tenth as foul as this. Even though he considered himself a man of the world who had smelled his fair share of filth, the scene still shocked him. This was a man who could tolerate the stench of several pairs of dirty feet in a dormitory!
With careful steps, he moved past the foul-smelling corpses and continued toward the side gate. He didn't let down his guard; instead, he became even more cautious. The fact that he had passed the Morgue without incident felt surreal. When things seemed too quiet, there was usually trouble brewing.
Sure enough, after walking another ten meters, the stray dog that had slipped away earlier returned. With a group of over ten gaunt, fierce-looking dogs following it, the animal reappeared. Generally, local dogs were known for being loyal and steady. But these dogs had likely been strays since birth, never knowing a full belly and constantly being chased away by humans, leading them to harbor a deep resentment.
With their teeth bared, the pack began to growl at Alto. He was momentarily speechless.