C20 Are You Okay?

Attacks among survivors were not rare, with a clear objective in mind: to plunder each other's supplies for survival. Yet, the recent chase defied logic. The one being pursued had nothing of value, so why did the "Knights of Death" insist on capturing him? With no law enforcement around, who would bother feeding a captive?

Even the black market security teams, upon capturing a criminal, would simply shoot to kill. Maybe there was a personal vendetta at play?

After briefly pondering, Horace decided not to dwell on it. It wasn't his concern, and he didn't want to waste his precious mental energy and body heat on it.

However, as he was about to dismiss the matter, a chilling thought related to his own safety surfaced. He quickly returned to the windowsill, peered through his telescope, and urgently instructed his son, "Dad's going downstairs for a bit, I'll be right back. Keep an eye on the surveillance, and call me immediately if anything happens!"

Frank, sensing the gravity of the situation from his father's demeanor, nodded solemnly.

Horace dressed and stepped out for the first time in a month, but he didn't venture beyond the building. Instead, he dismantled the warning lines from the first to the third floor and concealed his tracks with dirt, ensuring that any intruders wouldn't detect signs of habitation.

Thankfully, no intruders came, neither human nor nuclear zombie.

Horace intended to keep watch for another two weeks. With ample food at home, there was no urgency to scavenge the barren lands.

But he had neglected a foreseeable issue: the energy-saving light overhead started to flicker as the battery was nearly depleted. While the lack of lighting could be remedied with candles, the inoperable computer monitor posed a significant threat to their survival.

To recharge the battery, he had two options: connect it to their car or visit the black market. Their Buick, hidden in a mound of trash, was their last ace in the hole, best kept secret.

With a sigh, Horace acknowledged it was time to venture out.

He was the kind of person who acted on his ideas immediately. He told his son to get ready for digging early the next morning.

Frank nearly cheered out loud. He pursed his lips, doing his best to suppress the genuine smile bubbling up inside him.

Horace's heart ached at the sight. He felt he owed his son a childhood.

No! It was this cursed world that owed all children their childhoods!

After the nuclear explosion, the city's population plummeted, and the birth rate nosedived.

Survivors struggled to care for newborns, and there was a 50% chance the babies would be born deformed.

In this nuclear world, it was impossible for survivors to avoid contamination. Pregnant women suffered the most, and the fetuses they carried were the direct victims.

These fetuses absorbed not only their mothers' nutrients but also their toxins.

Some female survivors even became pregnant on purpose to purge radiation from their bodies, giving birth to deformed children who were called "Dagger".

Horace had seen a few "Dagger" with only mouths and noses on their faces; some had withered legs and disproportionately long arms...

The word "mother", once the most noble in the world, was now tainted by nuclear pollution.

Babies, once the purest angels of the human world, were born tainted, abandoned by their biological parents, and used as test subjects in black market hospitals and aid stations, faring even worse than nuclear zombies.

Sometimes, Horace thought that in a way, nuclear zombies were an evolved group of humans adapting to this nuclear world.

Was she still alive? Was she doing alright?

Before going to sleep, the battery finally died. Horace lit a candle and tucked his son into bed, afraid of the dark, before returning to the living room.

He wasn't tired. Normally, he'd watch a movie before sleeping, but not tonight. The laptop's battery had to last a few more hours for monitoring purposes.

He extinguished the candle and stood at the balcony's floor-to-ceiling window, gently parting the curtains. He peered into the surrounding abyss, feeling not the usual sense of security but a chilling sensation of being consumed by a monster.

He finally realized that his sense of safety in the darkness was actually dependent on the presence of light.

With electricity in the house, he felt a comforting sense of security. But now, without power, he was seized by panic, feeling as though he and his son, Frank, had been abandoned by the world.

Horace drew the curtains closed, finding solace in the familiar surroundings of his home.

That night, he experienced a nightmare. The eerie scream he heard outside the window returned, and in the heavy darkness, a pair of blood-red eyes seemed to fixate on him.

Wait, why did that scream sound so much like Frank's?

Horace jolted awake into complete darkness, the screaming still reverberating in his ears.

This was no dream! It was indeed Frank's voice, coming from the bathroom, his cries of "Ah, ah!" unceasing and strangely altered. What horrific event had occurred?

Horace's body tensed, and he snapped to full alertness. He snatched the pistol from beneath his pillow, tumbled out of bed, and, barefoot, charged towards the bathroom, yelling, "Don't be scared, son! Dad's on his way!"

It wasn't even 5 a.m. yet, as his watch alarm hadn't sounded. The only window not covered by curtains was the small one in the bathroom, which let in a sliver of night light.

It wasn't negligence on Horace's part; the bathroom was tucked away in a blind spot of the building, with small windows and no light. The glow from the living room didn't reach outside, leaving just enough night light for the father and son to navigate if they needed to get up during the night.

Upon bursting into the living room, he saw a small figure standing frozen in front of the bathroom toilet, facing the window, screaming incessantly...

What was outside the window? Without time to ponder, Horace leaped forward, shielding his son and pointing the pistol out the window, his gaze following suit.

At a single glance, he inhaled sharply with shock.

Against the murky backdrop of the night, a slender, human-like figure clung to the window like a gecko.

It was humanoid, but grotesquely distorted, with proportions so exaggerated they couldn't possibly be human.

The most terrifying aspect was the pair of enormous eyes that, despite the darkness, he could feel boring into him.

Was it a dream or reality?

Could this be the terrifying humanoid creature?

Horace couldn't afford to think twice. His son, Frank, let out a terrified scream, prompting him to slam the hammer and pull the trigger without a moment's hesitation.

A sharp gunshot pierced the pre-dawn stillness, followed by the sound of shattering glass and a chilling, piercing shriek.

The flash from the gun's barrel danced on the fragments of glass, casting reflections onto Horace's retinas, along with a fleeting glimpse of a slender figure.

But all he could remember were those bloodshot eyes, hauntingly colored, that stabbed into his soul before vanishing into the boundless darkness that followed the gunfire's glare.