Chapter 2 — Apocalyptic Grass Sprouts

After taking three steps, the stick on the back of her neck moved slightly. Very light, like someone blew a breath on her neck. She could feel its roots moving in the soil. A thin root extended from the back of her neck outward, burrowing into the soil, like a snake slithering through the ground. She didn't turn around and continued walking. After walking more than ten steps, Loi Ho's voice was heard cursing from behind:

“Who stole my water?!”

His bowl was empty. Not a drop left. The bottom of the bowl was clean, as if someone had licked it. He looked around, saw no one. He lowered his head to look at the bowl, then raised his head to look around, then lowered his head to look at the bowl again. The bowl is still intact, no holes. Newly scooped water cannot evaporate that quickly. But the water just disappeared. To Van squatted in the corner of the wall, bowed her head, her shoulders trembling slightly. The tree on the back of her neck rubbed against her neck, the leaves gently moving. It's like saying: No need to thank me. She laughed. Since the apocalypse began, this was the first time she smiled. That night, To Van huddled at the foot of the city wall, unable to sleep. The wound on the back of my neck still hurts, intermittently, like something is moving inside. She reached out to touch it - the shy tree was still there, the leaves had shrunk, but the trunk was a little bigger than during the day. During the day it was as thin as a toothpick, but now it is as big as a chopstick. The leaves also get larger, from the size of a fingernail to the size of a coin. She stared at it. Under the moonlight, on the leaves there is a thin layer of fluff, glistening, as if covered with dew. The edge of the leaf has a light red ring, like blood. Then she saw. Its roots. A thin root extended from the wound on the back of her neck, burrowing into the soil. Not falling to the ground, but actively burrowing in, like a snake, slowly crawling underground. She could see the ground moving, being pushed out little by little by the tree roots. To Van was stunned. She tried pulling it out. Painful. The roots are deeply embedded, connected to the flesh, and cannot be pulled out. She could feel the roots branching out in the soil, like blood vessels spreading out. It went very deep, very deep, so deep that she could no longer feel it. She let go and let it slide down. It crawled for a long time. It took so long that she thought it was about to reach the center of the Earth. Then it stopped. To Van felt it - it touched something in the ground. Not rocks, not roots, but living things. Has temperature, is moving. It's a zombie. Outside the city wall, there is a zombie wandering. The tree's roots shyly touched the soles of its feet. Then the roots enter. She felt the zombie stiffen, stop, and look down at her feet. It has no visible roots. The roots are in the soil, thin, transparent, like water. But it's smoking. The zombie's blood, the zombie's flesh, the things in the zombie's bones, flowed up from the roots, flowing into the back of her neck, flowing into that shy tree. She could feel the liquid flowing in the roots, warm, sticky, carrying a sweet, rotting smell. The leaves shyly open. Not shrinking, but opening up. The hairs on the leaves stand straight up, like needles. It is eating. The leaf color is changing, from young green to dark green, from dark green to dark red. The tree trunk is also growing bigger, from the size of a chopstick to the size of a little finger. To Van sat at the foot of the city wall, her whole body was cold. She could feel the zombie thinning, drying out, turning into a layer of skin. It wanted to run, but its feet were pinned to the ground by the roots, unable to move. It struggled, its claws scratched the ground, but the roots became tighter and tighter. Three minutes. It doesn't move anymore. The tree roots shyly withdrew from the zombie's body, retreated into the soil, and retreated to the back of her neck. She could feel the roots shrinking piece by piece, like a snake swallowing its prey. To Van lowered her head to look at that shy tree. It's changed. The leaves turn from young green to dark green, the stem from as thin as a toothpick to as big as chopsticks. Next to it, two small sprouts grew, one left and one right, coming out from the back of her neck and hanging down on both shoulders. Three trees. Lying next to each other. Leaves turned towards her. Under the moonlight, they are moving. It's not because the wind blows, it's because it moves on its own. The leaves gently moved, as if they were looking at her. To Van reached out to touch it. The middle leaf does not shrink. It wrapped around her fingers, gently and warmly. The fuzz on the leaves rubbed against her skin, itching and itching. The nature of the shy tree is to shrink. But this tree actively touched her. She was stunned on the spot, her heart beating faster. It recognized her. Far away, on the city wall, the night watchman changed shifts. The torchlight shook, illuminating her body. To Van quickly bowed her head and tucked the stick behind her head into her collar. No one saw. The three buds pressed close to her skin, warm, like three small hands. She could feel them breathing, beat by beat, at the same rhythm as her heart. She stood up and snuggled deeper into the base of the city wall. Behind him, the zombie fell to the ground, dry as a piece of paper, with only a layer of skin covering its bones. No one found out. That night, To Van dreamed.