C9 Unfair

Every day brought new changes for her. Despite her hands being bound, blisters sprouted from her once smooth skin like flames licking at water, growing larger across her face, lips, tongue, and every part of her body.

Her skin, once as white as snow, turned pink, then purple-red, and finally a ghastly grayish white. Her big, watery eyes shifted to pink before settling into a haunting blood red.

No one understood the mutation process of nuclear zombies better than Horace. He had watched, heartbroken, as his beautiful lover transformed into a monstrous figure in just three days.

Her mutation, though slower than the nuclear zombies on the streets, was a lifelong nightmare for him, the memory he most wished to erase.

They say tragedy shatters the beautiful things right before your eyes. But for Horace, the agony of those three days was beyond words, beyond description.

In the still of the night, when Frank and she were asleep, he would retreat to his study, gaze at her photos on his tablet, and weep in solitude.

He loved her deeply.

When they were out together, they held hands tightly, like college sweethearts, drawing warm smiles from those they passed. During their courtship, he would post daily about their happiness on social media.

Together, they had dreamt of a bright future, playfully debating whether Frank should have a little brother or sister. But that future was shattered by the nuclear blast, destroying everything he held dear.

She could no longer eat; even her favorite dish would be rejected with a single taste. Her days were marked by frequent, bloody, and mucous-filled trips to the bathroom.

She began to lose her cherished hair, leaving clumps on her pillow with the slightest movement.

Though she had become a monstrous figure, she retained her clear mind and human consciousness. In her still moments, she would gaze at him with eyes filled with both pain and tenderness.

But they both knew, deep down, that the past was irretrievable.

Those three days and nights, every minute, every second, were an excruciating ordeal, a torment so profound it was unbearable.

On the fourth morning, as he entered the house downstairs, amidst the overwhelming stench, she was nowhere to be found. The bed was left with nothing but a severed rope. The bedroom window stood wide open, its sill smeared with red mucus.

He crumpled before the window, tears mingling with the dust below, yet her body was not to be seen.

How had she, once so fragile, managed to descend from such a height?

It mattered little now. The woman he cherished in his heart was gone, and with her, his belief in love had died.

From that moment, whenever he encountered a woman of ordinary appearance, no matter how enchanting, he couldn't help but envision a humanoid monster covered in blisters.

He had even forgotten her name...

Since her "death," despair had nearly consumed him; his son Frank became the sole reason he clung to life.

Isolation persisted as external travel and communication remained severed. The black rain fell intermittently, and the number of people turning into nuclear zombies increased. The horrors of cannibalism unfolded daily.

Each day, aside from tending to Frank, he would sit by the radio, listening to the same eight critical announcements on repeat, or he would lean against the windowsill, gazing with detachment at the chaos below.

In those darkest days, many survivors couldn't bear it any longer and chose suicide.

The relentless black rain finally ceased after a month.

The streets, bearing the scars of war, were littered with rubble and remains, and nuclear zombies roamed freely. The city had transformed into the Dead City.

The sky remained perpetually overcast, the once vivid blue skies and fluffy clouds now just a memory, while the vegetation struggled to grow under the feeble light filtering through the gray clouds.

Their food supply dwindling, Horace and his son faced dire straits.

On the brink of venturing out in search of sustenance, risking their lives, the long-awaited People's Army finally arrived. They cleared out the nuclear zombies, quelled the unrest, and reignited hope among the survivors.

Soldiers clad in nuclear biochemical protective gear went door-to-door, distributing military rations, medical supplies, and gas masks.

Life slowly returned to the streets.

Yet, as the soldiers entered the explosion zone for rescue operations, they too succumbed to nuclear mutations, and the spread of panic showed no signs of abating.

The military had to withdraw, leaving only an ambulance crew and a rescue station behind.

Subsequently, the radio broadcasts ceased, the final official message urging survivors to stay in their homes, deemed the safest option.

Attempts to leave were made by some, but none were successful.

A few made it back, others perished outside where it was too perilous, as the roads were obliterated.

Those who remained were no longer whole.

He recalled a philosopher's words about human needs, ranging from basic physiological ones to the pinnacle of self-actualization.

Yet, the survivors and the nuclear zombies had little to distinguish them, both living solely to satisfy hunger.

Would this cause humans to suffer and feel unfortunate?

When misfortune was shared by all, the pain seemed to diminish, as acceptance is part of human nature.

This psychological equilibrium allowed even the proudest to live like dogs, mirroring the survival of those around them.

Before the nuclear blast, a near-truth was spoken: the world's only fairness was its universal unfairness.

"Fairness" had been an elusive goal for generations of humans.

But in a crumbling world, this goal was ironically realized.

The concept of "fairness" became the final bastion of hope for those mired in despair.

In the face of death, the high and mighty were no different from the rest; equality reigned supreme.

In the warmth of his bed, Horace gently grasped his son Frank's tender hand, wishing to express his gratitude.

Frank was his ultimate pillar of strength, allowing him to live with dignity rather than as a desperate, struggling dog.

The distant howls of an unidentified beast were unsettling.

Frank shivered in his sleep and instinctively snuggled closer to his father's embrace.

Horace held his son close, and together, father and son melded into the deep darkness...

*Beep! Beep! Beep!* The alarm on his watch sounded, signaling to Horace the start of a new day.

It was five o'clock in the morning, and the sky was still dark.

Since the nuclear explosion, Horace had adopted the healthy habit of going to bed early and rising with the sun. He knew that sticking to a scientific sleep schedule was essential for living a healthy life in these times.

He abruptly sat up and flicked on his flashlight. The beam revealed his son Frank's peaceful, sleeping face, so sweet that he yearned to plant a kiss on his cheek but restrained himself.