At 7:30 a.m., the alarm on his phone jolted Alaric awake. After getting up, he walked to the living room and followed his usual routine of taking inventory of remaining supplies. The cabbage he'd desperately harvested from the neighboring yard five days ago still remained mostly uneaten, there were about six pounds of rice left, and the cigarettes had run out yesterday. The cravings were truly unbearable.

  Forget it - this might be the perfect opportunity to quit smoking anyway. A healthy body was fundamental for resisting the infected outside. This world no longer allowed Alaric to sustain injuries or fall ill.

  Bang! The iron gate on the first floor shuddered from an impact.

  The zombies outside had been relentlessly battering the door since five days ago. Fortunately, the wrought-iron gate held firm, but their insatiable hunger for flesh kept them perpetually guarding his doorstep.

  Alaric couldn't help marveling at their impressive memory. Letting them keep ramming the door wasn't sustainable - it would prevent him from venturing out for supplies and eventually trap him inside to die. Therefore, his immediate task was eliminating those infected bastards at his entrance.

  A faint stench of decay lingered in the house, undoubtedly from the rotting corpse of the zombie he'd killed at the gate. Alaric had grown accustomed to it. Sometimes he subconsciously believed this foul odor was normal now, while the civilized life from before gradually faded from memory, leaving only primal survival instincts.

  Entering the kitchen, he turned on the induction cooker to reheat yesterday's leftover boiled cabbage along with a packet of instant noodles. He'd eat half now, half later.

  After breakfast, Alaric walked to the computer room window as usual, observing the zombies below while devising strategies. At the road's end stretched a gloomy gray sky - it seemed ages since they'd had clear weather.

  He desperately wished to see a military convoy appear at that distant horizon. Imposing government troops wielding flamethrowers, efficiently purging the city of rampaging infected, then greeting him warmly: "Hey friend, you're safe now!"

  But fantasies remained fantasies. The zombies still roamed everywhere, and Alaric still needed to worry about food and survival. Returning to the living room, he began his daily physical training. Undoubtedly, staying alive required desperately improving physical capabilities - even marginal gains mattered now.

  After completing push-ups and sledgehammer swings, Alaric wiped sweat from his face and sat on the sofa contemplating how to deal with the six zombies outside. His shield had been lost beyond the gate, making direct combat suicidal. From previous encounters, he knew their intelligence was low - they required tactical solutions.

  The house's iron gate opened outward, preventing him from securing it from inside. The only feasible plan was opening a narrow gap while anchoring the door, then using pole weapons to stab the zombies one by one through the opening.

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  His father's old fishing spear from camping trips proved easy to find. The solid wooden shaft remained sturdy, though the spearhead showed rust and dullness. This didn't deter Alaric - he smashed a ceramic plate and used the shards to sharpen the spearhead repeatedly. Soon the weapon regained its lethal edge.

  Next, he had to figure out how to secure the iron door - an extremely challenging problem that was crucial to dealing with the zombies. If the door couldn't be fixed in place after opening, all four zombies would inevitably charge into the house, leaving him no option but certain death.

  Frustrated by his inability to devise a solution, Alaric clawed anxiously at his hair before staring blankly at the landline phone. He hadn't paid the phone bill for months. The pretty girl who handled payments at the service center had probably turned into a zombie too, he thought grimly. Maybe she'd met a worse fate - torn apart and devoured alive by the undead.

  He sighed heavily, his gaze following the telephone cord toward the window.

  Suddenly, inspiration struck! The telephone cord could serve as a rope! If he used a rope to fasten the iron door from inside, he wouldn't have to worry about zombies breaking through when opening it!

  Of course, the telephone cord alone wouldn't be sturdy enough. Alaric immediately began frantically searching his home for sufficiently strong rope, but ultimately found none.

  Instead, he discovered something even better: an iron chain.

  Perfect! With this chain, even ten zombies working together couldn't force the door open!

  After securely fastening the chain between the door handle and stair railings, repeatedly checking its stability, Alaric gripped his spear and stood before the door. For a moment, he even fancied himself a superhero saving the world - powerful and majestic.

  The instant he opened the door, his heroic demeanor vanished. He clutched his nose in disgust, tears springing to his eyes from the overwhelming stench.

  The rotting zombie he'd killed days earlier lay decomposing outside. The sudden influx of putrid air nearly overwhelmed him.

  Finding no masks, Alaric wrapped a wool scarf around his face, sprinkling perfume on it for slight relief.

  When he reopened the door, a blackened zombie claw immediately shot toward his face through the crack. Its owner strained desperately to squeeze through the opening. Prepared this time, Alaric calmly observed the creature - the desiccated, ashen flesh on its claw-like hand had shriveled to reveal skeletal joints, sharp talons capable of easily tearing through human chests.

  The zombie frantically tried forcing its head through the gap. Its mummified face scraped against the iron door, sunken eye sockets and protruding cheekbones grinding against the metal as if trying to sharpen its skull into a drilling tool.

  Gripping his spear with both hands, Alaric thrust violently at the zombie's eyes. His initial strikes were clumsy, driven solely by the primal urge to destroy the monstrosity. After multiple stabs, the first zombie lay dead at his doorstep. Excitement surged through him - the primal urge to kill buried deep in his genes was fully awakened. Suddenly, all zombies seemed beatable. With the right methods, even alone, he could eliminate them all.

  Two more claws immediately shot through the doorway. Reacting swiftly, Alaric counterattacked with his spear. The spearhead plunged into a zombie's eye socket, dark viscous blood oozing from the new void as the creature collapsed onto its predecessor.

  "Two left," he muttered, refusing to look at the growing pile of corpses.

  Using the same crude stabbing technique, he dispatched the remaining two zombies, finally resolving the immediate threat.

  The four corpses blocking the doorway forced Alaric to laboriously drag them further away. He dared not venture too far - the risk of encountering new zombies mid-task was too great.