The end of days arrived, and a small delivery station became a stronghold for my colleague and me to survive.

Need we stockpile? No, because we have endless packages to open.

Down jackets, gas stoves, cooking oil, rice—every package is a surprise like a blind box.

Gathering drinking water, fending off zombies, and driving away intruders. In the apocalypse, we hunker down in our safe fortress, living a life with rice and meat.

Who would have thought that the greatest danger was the unpredictable nature of human hearts…

01

Another singles’ Day has come around, and every year at this time, the logistics station’s packages overflow.

At eight in the morning, after sorting through a batch of deliveries, several colleagues left on their electric tricycles to make deliveries.

Before I could even take a sip of water, I heard another logistics truck pull up outside.

The driver, Hans, got out grumbling: “Is anyone allowed to live? I’ve slept less than five hours in the past two days.”

I picked up my cup and said, “Go upstairs and rest a bit. The others just left to make deliveries and won’t be back for a while. We’ll unload the truck later.”

Hans looked at the packages piled high on the ground and said, “Sure, Ryan. You get started then, I’ll go up and catch some sleep.”

After saying this, he climbed up to the second floor.

The company had rented the first floor of this warehouse for the delivery station because it was cheap.

It had two levels, and to facilitate cargo handling, the landlord hadn’t installed stairs but instead put in a two-meter square lift in the northwest corner of the room.

When raised, it aligned perfectly with the ceiling of the first floor.

The second floor hadn’t been rented out.

Considering the recent severe overtime, we bought two used mattresses and placed them upstairs. If anyone didn’t want to go home after working late, they could crash there for the night.

During a break, I checked my phone.

Most of the videos were about livestream sales. In one video, the title read prominently:

[Over a dozen rabies patients admitted to the emergency department today at a certain hospital].

The video seemed to have been filmed secretly in the hospital. Pale-faced patients were tied to stretchers with sheets, struggling fiercely.

Veins bulged on their necks. Before I finished watching, the video was flagged as a violation and taken down. Could there be some secret that wasn’t supposed to be revealed?

I put down my phone and rubbed my eyes. Better not to overthink things.

I didn’t know when I’d finish today’s work.

I picked up an empty bucket and went next door to the large water station to refill it.

As soon as I stepped out, I saw a man walking strangely down the street, his head almost touching his chest, his legs moving stiffly forward, and his arms hanging limply.

I turned into the large water station and said to the boss sitting at the desk, “Hey, Alex, what’s going on with that guy outside?”

Alex didn’t answer. He was hunched over, his fingers making a creaking sound as he scratched the table.

I nudged his shoulder. “Alex, I’m talking to you. What are you doing, scratching the table like that?”

Alex slowly lifted his head. His face was greenish, a few black veins protruding from his neck, and his eyeballs were white.

Frightened, I took a few steps back and turned to run.

Alex jumped up suddenly.

Behind him, I heard the sound of a chair falling over.

I glanced back and saw him coming around the table after me.

I threw the empty bucket in my hand backward.

His head jerked to the side from the impact, but he didn’t seem to feel any pain; his steps didn’t falter.

I ran out the door and turned to close the double glass doors. Alex was already at the door, clawing at the glass and trying to force his way out.

Just then, a scream came from the street.

That oddly walking man had pounced on an elderly man and was biting his neck. People nearby scattered in panic.

The word ‘zombie’ sprang to mind.

There was no time to ponder.

I snatched a mop near the door, jammed the handle into the door handle, and sprinted toward the delivery station.

After running inside and shutting the glass door, I saw the old man who had been bitten staggering to his feet and walking forward.

I turned and shouted, “Hans, wake up! Something’s happened!”

Hans must have been exhausted. I called out several times before he descended, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

During this time, I watched through the glass door. The old man and the strange man bit four or five more people. Those bitten exhibited the same symptoms. Could they actually be zombies?

“Ryan, what are you looking at?” Hans asked, following my gaze. “Wow, are they filming something outside? A zombie movie?”

“Filming your head,” I slapped the back of his head. “It’s real.”

Hans looked at me in disbelief. “Bro, don’t scare me. Does this mean total chaos is breaking out outside?”

This reminded me. I quickly called my colleagues who were out delivering packages. I instructed them not to make any more deliveries and to go home as soon as possible. Two of them reported noticing similar situations, and the streets were already in turmoil.

After the calls, I looked at the distance and said to Hans, “Quick, while there are still few people about, bring the truck over to block the entrance.

Otherwise, our door won’t hold against the zombies.

“Ethan’s logistics vehicle was a box truck, more than five meters long, with a side door on the cargo area for easy unloading. I instructed Ethan, “Park the truck as close to the entrance as you can, minimizing the gap, and align the side door with the door.”

“No problem, Ryan. I’ve got this.” Ethan quickly parked the truck, and indeed, the cargo area was almost touching the glass door. I opened the glass door and said, “Ethan, quickly get out from the passenger side and crawl under the truck to come inside.”

After Ethan crawled in, I immediately pulled down the roller shutter and closed the glass door.

After all that, I flopped into a chair and realized my palms were slick with sweat from nerves.

02

I took out my phone, and online, all over the place were reports about “zombie bites,” with outbreaks both domestically and internationally.

I quickly called my parents at home and advised them to stock up on food and stay indoors with the doors and windows locked.

My parents managed several acres of orchards on a mountain near our hometown, where there were few people, and there hadn’t been any incidents of people biting each other yet.

“Son, do you have enough to eat? We have plenty of radishes and cabbages stored in our cellar at home, along with a few hundred kilos of wheat, so we won’t go hungry. But how are you managing up there with limited food and water?”

Glancing around at the room full of packages, I said, “Mom, don’t worry. I have enough food here.

There’s a cave on the back mountain with a small entrance but a spacious interior. If it gets dangerous, you should take your food and hide there. Remember, don’t open the door for anyone. The world is likely to become chaotic.”

With relief, I hung up the phone after hearing my parents agree. “Ethan, aren’t you going to call your family?” I asked.

“I don’t have much family left. My parents divorced when I was young and lost contact after that. I was raised by my grandmother, who passed away last year. So now, I’m all alone.”

I patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll stick together here for now; we can’t go outside anytime soon.”

The delivery station used to serve as a warehouse, and the landlord had only left two half-meter-wide windows on the wall near the roof of the second floor, fearing responsibility for leaks.

Those windows were usually closed. There were no windows on the first floor, and once the roller shutter was pulled down, the indoor lighting had to rely entirely on artificial light.

After resting for a while, I said to Ethan, “We don’t know what’s happening outside, but we can’t just sit around. Let’s unload the cargo from the truck first. If the situation outside isn’t controlled, these goods may become our lifeline.”

“Okay, Ryan, I’ll follow your lead.” Ethan was still in shock but wasted no time in action. I reopened the roller shutter, opened the side door of the cargo area, and climbed aboard, working together with Ethan to unload all the packages.

By the time we finished, it was already noon. I checked my phone again, and this time, it was an official message encouraging everyone to store supplies, stay indoors, and advising that the government was fully committed to controlling and isolating infected individuals for treatment.

Once I relaxed, I began to consider our survival needs. The only entrance was now blocked, ensuring some safety, as zombies probably didn’t have the strength to move the truck. But I wasn’t sure when the chaos outside would be brought under control. Given the virus’s transmission speed, we needed to prepare for the long term.

At that moment, a grumbling sound broke the quiet. Ethan touched his stomach and said, somewhat embarrassed, “Got any food? Haven’t eaten since this morning, and I’m starving now.”

I got up and went behind the desk, taking out two packets of instant noodles and throwing them to Ethan. “That’s all we have.”

Ethan started eating.

While Ethan was eating, I gathered all the food from the cabinet: half a box of instant noodles, a case of mineral water, and six apples.

“This is all the food we have. We’ll eat two packets of noodles and two apples per day. We should be able to last three days.”

Ethan nodded. “Ryan, do you think things will be under control in three days?”

“It’s hard to say; we need to prepare for the worst.” If things aren’t controlled in three days, the situation will likely worsen.

“For safety, we should stay on the second floor from now on and bring all the food up there.”

We loaded our things onto the lift platform.

There were electrical switches for the lift on both the first and second floors. In case of a power outage, there was also a mechanical hand lever on the second floor to prevent people from being trapped upstairs.

Ethan stood on the platform, and after I turned on the switch, I quickly jumped onto the platform. It slowly rose, sealing off the only entrance to the second floor.

03

On the second day, we moved everything from the first floor up to the second floor.

On the third day, every household had their doors tightly shut, and not a soul was on the streets, and the number of wandering zombies had increased several times over.

The internet was intermittent, mostly filled with news about zombie outbreaks across various regions. Some individuals were still calling for an end-of-the-world party, seeking attention by preparing to fight the zombies.

Official announcements continued to urge everyone to lock their doors and windows and stay indoors.

They were deploying armed forces to prioritize controlling hospitals, malls, and other densely populated areas where the outbreak was severe.

All I could do was observe the outside situation from the window each day.

That evening, after the last packet of instant noodles, I said to Ethan, “From now on, we’ll have to get our food from these packages.”

Hans rubbed his hands together, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Is it finally our turn to open some packages?”

The next morning, Hans and I picked out a few cardboard boxes to open. The first one contained a pair of women’s leather boots. Hans shook his head in disappointment, put the boots back in the box, and stacked them in the corner.

“Open this one,” I said, weighing the cardboard box. It was heavy, and I hoped it contained something useful.

Hans came over and swiftly opened the box with a knife. Inside were three bags of vacuum-packed rice. “Rice! Good, but how are we going to cook it? We don’t even have a pot.”
Hans didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

I took the rice out and placed it on an empty patch of ground. “Let’s keep it, for now. Who knows, maybe we’ll find a pot.”

Then, I tore off the Penny label and wrote: [Three bags of five-kilogram rice]. Looking at Hans’s puzzled expression, I patted him on the shoulder. “If things ever get under control, we still need to deliver these packages to their recipients. We’re borrowing these items, so we should keep records to compensate people later.”
Hans nodded.

We both hoped that day would come, even if it meant making reparations. Though the prospect seemed dim, we held onto that hope, longing for a return to our former peaceful and busy lives, rather than being trapped in this small space where the biggest problem each day was finding food.

The third package was also a heavy box. Hans eagerly opened it, and his eyes lit up. “Over ten bottles of cola.”

“Here, catch.” I caught the cola he threw to me and took several sips. The long-lost taste was sweet and refresh.

“So good,” Hans said with a grin after draining his cola. “Ryan, you gotta admit, it’s just like opening mystery boxes. It’s really exciting.”

I smiled without comment. This was the most relaxed we had been since the outbreak.
In the following boxes, we found a set of knives, a tent, a box of tissues, a box of bread, a box of oranges, and a quilt. After making the necessary records, Hans and I each ate a piece of bread for breakfast.

With the recent sharp drop in temperature, we desperately needed warm clothes. Hans brought over a few large packages. Picking one up, he said, “I bet there’s a down jacket in here.”

Opening the bag, it indeed contained a women’s down jacket. I placed the jacket next to the pair of boots, hoping we could someday reunite it with its owner.

While Hans was deciding which package to open next, I studied the labels on the bags. Most only had two lines of addresses, but a few had notes about the item sizes.

I picked up a parcel marked with “black XXL” and opened it. Inside was a black down jacket.
“Hans, try this on.” I handed it to him.

Hans tried it on and said happily, “Ryan, it fits perfectly.”

I smiled in agreement and continued searching.

With a clear target, we opened several more packages, all containing men’s clothing: two sets of thermal underwear, one sweater, one set of fleece pajamas, and one blanket.

Wearing the thermal underwear and the fleece pajamas on top, even without the down jacket, I felt much warmer. That night, I slept well for the first time in a while.

04

One week had passed since the first zombie outbreak, and the situation remained grim.

Near dusk, I finally managed to call my parents. They had moved into a cave on the mountain, where they had leased an orchard.

Although conditions were harsh, basic necessities like a vegetable cellar and a well were available, ensuring their survival. Moreover, the area was remote and relatively safe.

As night fell, I climbed the ladder by the window and observed outside. A few streetlights flickered dimly, but no one, not even zombies, could be seen.

Do zombies become less active at night? I quickly scrolled through news articles on my phone, trying to find information about zombie behavior.

A highly upvoted comment caught my attention:

[Zombies have little to no vision, relying mainly on sound and smell to navigate. They move slowly at night, and you must shoot them in the head to kill them. With too many zombies, the situation is hard to control, and utilities like internet, water, and electricity will likely be cut off. In the end times, we must save ourselves.]

Considering what had happened recently, I believed this comment was credible. Regardless, securing essential supplies was the top priority.

After coming up with a preliminary plan, Hans and I decided:

First, we would fill new courier packages with water for daily use.

Second, we needed to find a way to bring over the large water barrels from the neighboring water station, or we would face difficulty obtaining drinking water.

I found some tape and gave it to Hans. “Once the courier packages are full of water, we should seal them with tape. That way, we can fill them more fully.”

By the end of the day, we had sealed more than a hundred packages with water, temporarily solving our daily water needs.

The remaining challenge was how to get drinking water. There were probably over a hundred large barrels of water next door, and figuring out how to transport them without attracting the zombies was a tough problem.

I discussed it with Hans, “Since we need to move the water, the truck can’t block the entrance. I think we should drive the truck to the water station’s door, load the water into it first, and then drive back to our entrance to unload it slowly.”

Hans slapped his thigh in agreement. “Good idea! But shouldn’t we have some weapons for self-defense? What if zombies show up and we don’t have time to run?”

Indeed, we needed to prepare for self-defense. Hans picked up a few glass liquor bottles from a corner. “Bro, would these be useful?” our colleague had been sleeping at the delivery station recently and had accumulated quite a few empty bottles after drinking every night.

Perhaps we could do something with them. As I picked up a bottle and pondered, I remembered the cooking oil we unloaded last night. It hadn’t come in a cardboard box but was wrapped in plastic film, making it particularly memorable.

I found a barrel of oil, removed the Penny label and the plastic wrap, opened the barrel, and poured half a bottle of oil into the glass bottle. Then, I twisted the plastic wrap into a wick and inserted it into the bottle, leaving ten centimeters sticking out of the mouth. That way, a Molotov cocktail was ready.

After making three of these, I took a lighter from a drawer and told Hans, “If you see a zombie coming from a distance, light one of these and throw it. If the zombies fear fire, they won’t approach. Even if they’re not afraid of fire, it will buy us a few minutes.”

Hans marveled and gave me a thumbs up. “Bro, you really can.”

I smiled, picked up the label on the ground, wrote “One barrel of six liters of cooking oil” on it, and put it in the drawer. To be safe, Hans also found a mop handle and attached a fruit knife from one of the packages to it. We were all set for the night.

05

At eleven o’clock that evening, I looked out the window and saw almost no zombies wandering about.

I put on my windbreaker, pulled on the hat, zipped up to the top, and fastened the buttons. The windbreaker was standard company workwear, double-layered and warm, made of sturdy fabric. With the hat on, it could protect my neck and head, giving me some defense even if attacked by a zombie.

Grabbing the beer bottles and the mop handle, I opened the rolling shutter door. Hans crawled out from under the car, opened the driver’s door, and entered the cabin; I jumped into the cargo area.

Hans skillfully started the engine, backed up, and parked in front of the water station. We didn’t rush to get out; instead, I shone a flashlight inside carefully and, finding no danger, gave Hans a signal. He climbed onto the roof of the cab, and I handed him the beer bottles and mop handle. He kept watch while I did the lifting.

I dragged a small cart through the doorway cautiously. The cart could carry up to six barrels at a time, and after seven or eight trips, I was panting with exhaustion. Hans jumped down from the roof to take over, and I climbed up to keep watch.

The dark street was now eerily quiet. I had no idea where the zombies that roamed during the day had gone. I didn’t dare relax for a moment.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from behind a tree, and my heart sank as I gripped the bottle tightly. A shadow darted out from under the streetlamp, and I saw it was just a cat.

“Whew, you gave me a scare.” I patted my chest, about to sit down, when I heard rustling from behind the tree followed by heavy footsteps. A zombie staggered into view, moving faster than any zombie I’d seen before despite its odd gait.

“No good, get in the truck!” I yelled to Hans.

Hans was about to transfer the water from the cart to the truck. Hearing my shout, he didn’t want to give up the water he was so close to getting and sped up: “Bro, hold him off, I’ll be done in a minute!”

The zombie was twenty meters away, then fifteen, then ten, closing in rapidly. I quickly pulled out my lighter, lit the plastic wick, and threw the bottle with all my might. With a bang, the bottle exploded at the zombie’s feet, and the cooking oil burst into flames. The fire temporarily stopped the zombie, who hesitated, not daring to move forward. But I knew that once the flames died down, the zombie would charge forward again.

“Bro, let’s go!” Hans shouted as he closed the side door of the truck. To hold off the zombie, I threw two more ignited beer bottles before jumping from the truck. Hans was already in the driver’s seat starting the car, and I ran back to the delivery station.

We stopped and turned off the engine.

Because there was only a ten-centimeter gap between the side of the truck and the store door, the truck’s hood was too close to the wall to open the driver’s door.

Hans opened the passenger door and jumped out, preparing to crawl under the truck to enter.

“Bang, bang!”

The zombie had caught up and was also attempting to crawl under the truck, imitating Hans.

I inwardly cursed and grabbed the mop handle, lowering myself to jab at the zombie’s head.

But the zombie couldn’t feel pain and kept crawling forward. I had no choice but to press the mop handle against its shoulder to prevent it from moving.

Fortunately, Hans was nimble and quickly emerged from under the truck, entering the store.

“Quickly drag the cabinet next to us and jam it under the truck!”

I shouted over my shoulder. Hans immediately dragged the cabinet over, and I released the mop handle.

Together, we pushed the cabinet under the truck and quickly pulled down the roller shutter door.

The zombie outside kept slamming into the cabinet, while Hans and I sat on the ground, drenched in sweat, our backs soaked.

We didn’t dare move, sitting quietly on the ground, holding our breath as we listened. The banging gradually grew quieter.

Only when we could no longer hear any sounds did we tiptoe onto the platform and ascend to the second floor.

I climbed up the ladder to look down. The zombie was gone, leaving only a long trail of blood on the ground, likely dripping from its head.