Chapter 3 — Apocalyptic Grass Sprouts

In the dream, that tree grew into a forest. Every leaf is moving, every leaf is looking at her. The forest is huge, so big that you can't see the edge. The tree is very tall, so tall that the top cannot be seen. The leaves are very dense, so dense that you can't see the sky. In the middle of the forest there was a person standing with his back to her, wearing a black cloak. The cloak is very long, dragging on the ground, like a black puddle.

“Who are you?”

He didn't turn around.

“He sows seeds in you.”

“When was it sown?”

“The day you were bitten.”

To Van was stunned.

“Are you that zombie?”

He did not answer. His figure slowly faded, like fog dissolving. The black cloak is dissipating, the body is also dissipating, leaving only a faint outline.

"It's awake. Please feed it well."

He disappeared. To Van woke up. It's morning. The sunlight shone on her face, warm. She touched the back of her neck - three shy plants stuck close to her skin, leaves open, facing the sun. They are basking in the sun, the fuzz on the leaves stands up, sparkling in the light. To Van laughed. She touched their leaves.

“Don't rush. Just take your time.”

The leaves gently rubbed against her fingers. Day 420. The shy tree grew from three trees into thirty trees. No one noticed, because during the day they shrank and blended into the weeds at the foot of the city wall. The weeds are gray-green, and they are dark red, but when they shrink, you can't see the difference. Only at night do they open, and in the moonlight they look like a small patch of blood. Every night, To Van came to sit at the foot of the citadel wall. Not for playing. It's to feed the grass. She slit the tip of her finger and dripped blood onto the leaf. One drop. Two drops. Three drops. The leaves curl up, absorb the blood and then open up, the hairs standing up, as if smiling. She could feel it sucking, eating, growing. Her blood follows the roots into its body, turning into its nutrients. Her head became more and more dizzy, her eyes became increasingly dark. But she didn't stop. Not because it's useful. But because it's hers. In this world, it's the only one that belongs to you.

“Eat it. A little bigger. A little bigger.”

That night, it grew twenty more trees. That same night, Loi Ho came to cause trouble. He drank and trampled three trees with one foot. The back of To Van's neck hurt, blood oozed out.

“Rubbish of trash!”

Loi Ho laughed loudly. He drank a lot of wine, his face was as red as pig liver, and his mouth was full of the smell of alcohol. To Van looked at him. She squatted down and picked up the trampled trees. The leaves are crushed, the stems are broken, and the liquid flows all over the ground. But the roots are still there. The root was still connected to the back of her neck, a thin, still pulsing thread. She replanted it in the ground and watered it a little. Loi Ho stepped on it again.

“Waste is truly waste, if you feed it, you die!”

After stomping, he brushed off his shoes and left. To Van said nothing. She stood up, brushed off the dirt, and left. Day 450. The base ran out of food. There are more and more zombies, and fewer and fewer teams go out to find food and return. The base chief stood on the square, his face pale. His face was much thinner, his cheekbones were protruding, his eye sockets were deeply sunken.

"From today onwards, each person has a bowl of porridge every day. The elderly, weak, and disabled will be reduced by half."

To Van belongs to the "disabled" category. She doesn't have the strength to fight and doesn't deserve to be fed. She was at the end of the line. The person in front received the porridge and left. When it was her turn, there was only a little bit of the bottom left in the pot. Loi Tiger is in charge of dividing the porridge. He stood in front of the large pot, scooping each spoonful. When it was To Van's turn, he scooped a spoon and poured it into her bowl, only half the bowl was left. The spoon scraping the bottom of the pot made a harsh sound.

"What's the use of drinking porridge? Go back and wait."

To Van carried half a bowl of porridge and squatted at the foot of the citadel wall. The shy tree was looking at her. Thirty trees, leaves facing her, did not move. She could feel them looking at her. That feeling of being stared at spread from the back of my head to my back. She took a sip. The porridge is very thin, just like water, without many grains of rice. She drank half, then poured the rest onto the leaves. They roll up the porridge, absorb it all, not dropping a drop.

“Are you full?”

The leaves moved a bit, as if shaking their heads.

“So what should I do? I only have this much.”

The leaves wrapped around her finger, pulling her out. To Van stood up and followed the direction it pulled. Reaching the city wall, it stopped. The leaves of the trees pointed outside — in the wasteland there were zombies roaming, three or five of them in groups, staggering back and forth.

“You want to eat that?”

The leaves immediately expanded and their hairs stood up. It is saying yes. To Van looked at the zombies outside, then looked at the people lining up to receive porridge in the base. Those people were as thin as skeletons, with deeply sunken eye sockets and prominent cheekbones, just like her.

“Okay.” she said.

That night, To Van secretly climbed out of the city wall. The wall is very high, but she is thin and can crawl out of the drainage mouth. The drainage mouth is very small, only a thin person like her can fit through it. It was very dark outside, the wind was very strong, and in the distance there was the sound of zombies growling intermittently, like a wolf howling. She lay face down on the ground, slowly crawling. Crawling for a long time, she found a single zombie. It was very small, only half a person tall, skinny, probably starved to death. It lay on the ground without moving, its eyes wide open, its pupils gray. She used a rope to hang around its leg and pull it back.