Humanity's Greatest Enemy Is Fear

As soon as he stepped into the room, a nauseating stench of rot hit Leon's nose.

He swept his gaze across the room, spotting no moving figures. Most of the furniture was fairly tidy, but a large black drag mark stretched from the living room to the bedroom floor, with flies buzzing around it.

Damn, that stinks. Almost as bad as canned herring.

Leon's brow furrowed. As a doctor, he knew this was the residue of dried blood—something tragic had happened here.

Gripping his weapon tightly, he didn't advance further. Instead, he reached back, grabbed the door handle, and gently pulled the door shut. Caution never hurt—this way, no zombie could sneak up on him from behind.

It was early June, with outdoor temperatures hovering above 26°C. The slight heat carried a wave of rotting flesh stench from the bedroom.

Leon didn't rush into the bedroom. He rose quietly, checking the living room and kitchen first. Only after confirming no danger did he press against the wall and move to the bedroom doorway.

Following the blood trail, he peered inside.

The bedroom wasn't large. Beneath the window sat a white dressing table, and flanking the window were two single beds—one big, one small. The walls were painted pink, covered with popular cartoon stickers, giving the room a warm, cute feel.

A slender figure in a red dress sat motionless before the dressing table, like a statue.

Leon couldn't see her face. Her pale blonde hair had dark clumps matted in it, and the bare skin of her back showed an unhealthy pallor.

Damn, the silhouette's actually pretty—a kind of broken beauty.

Leon held no illusions. He held his breath, stepped lightly behind her, and raised his Wolf Tooth Club high.

As if sensing the movement behind her, the slender figure shifted her shoulders and slowly turned her face.

Crack, crack, crack!

With the sound of grinding bones, a terrifying, half-rotted female face came into view. On the white dressing table before her sat a child skeleton, picked clean.

Leon's heart skipped a beat in fright. Without a second thought, he put all his strength into swinging the club down at her head.

Thud!

It felt like hitting thick leather. The spikes on the club pierced through the skull, and a little foul-smelling pus splattered from the rotting scalp.

Gritting his teeth, Leon yanked the club free and smashed it down again on the dented part of her skull.

Squelch!

The female zombie shuddered, then slumped onto the chair, motionless.

Even after killing the enemy, Leon didn't let his guard down. He stepped back two paces, staring at the gruesome scene—something he'd never have seen in peacetime—and felt his heartbeat quicken.

Damn, that's terrifying. The gap between reality and games is huge.

But after crossing that hurdle, his fear of zombies faded considerably.

Next time, I can definitely do better.

After resting a few minutes, Leon closed the bedroom door and started gathering supplies. He was starving and urgently needed to replenish his energy.

Maybe this mother and daughter had died earlier, or maybe the single mother was more thrifty. Either way, Leon found a decent stash of food here: some Canned Meat, some flour, and several packs of Cup Noodles.

Unfortunately, the water and power were long gone. Besides the canned goods and flour, most of the vegetables and meat had rotted and were inedible.

With the food he'd found, Leon didn't stay. He crept back to his own apartment, changed out of his blood-stained clothes, and started preparing dinner.

Heh, good thing I've got strong nerves, or I wouldn't be able to eat at all!

As a fellow bachelor, Leon had developed decent cooking skills.

He didn't bother rationing. Instead, he used what he had, spending over half an hour to whip up a full table of food.

Beef Soup, Fried Meat Patty, Braised Beef Noodles—together, they weighed a good three or four pounds.

Who knew that on my first day crossing over, I'd become a bottomless pit.

Sipping some liquor and wolfing down the food, Leon felt his body send out signals of satisfaction. He finally had time to think about his plans for the future.

How was he supposed to survive in this world?

What should he do?

As a longtime fan of The Walking Dead, he remembered a lot of the plot, but many events happened by chance. If he meddled recklessly, he'd definitely cause a lot of unexpected trouble.

But if he didn't interfere, his advantage of foreknowledge would be wasted.

It was a real dilemma, and it bothered him.

It was June 9th. The disaster had been going on for a month. According to the timeline, the protagonist Rick would probably wake up in about another month.

Letting a whole month's advantage slip away would be a shame.

Leon ran the early plot of The Walking Dead through his mind several times.

What was the most important thing now? What could he do to gain a huge edge for the future?

After thinking for over ten minutes, a place name gradually surfaced in his mind.

The Atlanta CDC.

That was the institution with the deepest research on the Zombie Virus in the area. It had the most advanced equipment and top-tier talent. They held out for over two months before running out of power and being destroyed in an explosion.

By the time the main group arrived, only one researcher, Dr. Jenner, was still holding on. His wife—reportedly a scientific genius and the facility's director—had been infected by accident. Humanity had basically lost all hope of cracking the virus.

At this point in time, maybe there was still hope.

That was a good place.

At the thought, the time that had once seemed plentiful suddenly felt pressing.

After eating his fill, Mr. Leon rested for another hour. Energy circulated continuously within him, restoring his weakened body to normal levels.

He didn't bother clearing the leftover dishes from the table. Picking up the Wolf Tooth Club and grabbing his car keys, he left his apartment.

After today, he figured he'd never return here again.

Stepping out the door, he walked straight down the hallway for ten meters until he stopped before a tightly shut door.

This was also Mr. Leon's neighbor—Nick, a bank clerk in his thirties. The original owner had been fairly familiar with him. In Mr. Leon's memory, this guy was a climbing enthusiast, and in the wardrobe of his bedroom, he kept a climbing rope several dozen meters long.

The original Mr. Leon had once thought about getting that rope to escape from here, but the locked door and his frail body had put a stop to that idea.

Pulling the Browning pistol from his belt, Mr. Leon aimed the muzzle at the door's lock cylinder, a sense of awe washing over him.

Times have changed, kid. The rules of civilized society don't apply anymore.

Bang!

The deafening gunshot drilled into his ears. The brass lock cylinder was instantly blown open with a hole.

Smelling the gunpowder in the air, Mr. Leon didn't dare waste a second. He yanked the door open and strode inside.

No sooner had he entered than, before he could even take in the room, he spotted a vaguely familiar figure wobbling as it tried to get up from the floor.

Getting up from the floor—that had to be a Zombie transformation.

Without a second thought, Mr. Leon hurried closer. When he was about a meter away, he raised his hand, aimed at the top of the head that had already twisted into a savage expression, and pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The corpse crumpled to the ground, yellow and white matter oozing from its chin.

No time to deal with that. He stepped over the body in long strides and headed straight for the open bedroom door.

Once inside the bedroom, Mr. Leon yanked open the wardrobe door. As he'd expected, a set of red-and-yellow climbing gear took up half the closet.

A full set—boots, hat, rope, jacket. He even found a nearly new Climbing Pick.

Time was tight. Mr. Leon had no chance to organize. He had to leave before the Zombies caught up.

Scooping up the gear, he sprinted back to his apartment as fast as he could.

He'd barely shut the door for a minute when heavy footsteps and snarling echoed from the hallway outside. The Zombies seemed to have lost their target; they bumped into each other in frustration, then gradually drifted back into aimless wandering.

Mr. Leon listened for a while. Detecting nothing unusual, he tiptoed back to the sofa, stripped off his jeans and boots, and changed into the Climbing Boots, Climbing Pants, and Climbing Gloves.

Compared to everyday clothes, this climbing gear was tougher and more wear-resistant. In some situations, it could even block a Zombie's attack.

Sure, it would be hotter to wear, but compared to staying alive, what did that matter?

With his gear on and everything ready, Mr. Leon tied one end of the Climbing Rope tightly around the living room's stone pillar and tossed the other end out the living room window.

He lived on the sixth floor of the apartment building, about twenty meters above the road below. The rope was long enough.

There were no Zombies near the road. As long as he got back to street level, he could drive away.

Mr. Leon let out a sigh. He walked to the window, grabbed the Climbing Rope, flipped over, and climbed out.

This wasn't easy.

Having lived two lives, he'd never learned to climb, never used a climbing rope. Of course, he'd also never tried smashing a Zombie's head with a Wolf Tooth Club or shooting a target's skull with a pistol.

Everything has a first time. Today, he'd done a lot of things he'd never done before.

Maybe that's just how life is—a lot of things don't give you time to prepare.

When they come, you have to grit your teeth, steel your nerves, and push through.

Mr. Leon recalled scenes from movies. He gripped the Climbing Rope tightly with both hands, wrapped it around one foot and then the other to form a makeshift brake, and tried to slide down slowly.

After a few attempts, he felt he'd gotten the hang of it. It took another two minutes of coordinating his hands and feet, but he finally managed to control his descent speed.

Slowly, past the fifth floor, the fourth, the third, the second. Mr. Leon's feet touched the ground. He was truly back on solid earth.

Phew. Good thing I lived in the countryside as a kid—climbed trees, stole bird eggs. Otherwise, this wouldn't have been so easy.

He glanced back at his apartment, then didn't linger. Turning around, he walked across the street, found the sky-blue Chevrolet sports car, inserted the key, and slipped inside.

A dozen seconds later.

Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!

With the roar of the sports car, Mr. Leon made a sharp U-turn and sped off toward the police station.

It was already past two in the afternoon. If he didn't get something done before the sun went down, everything would get much harder once darkness fell.

(A little newbie begging for collections and recommendations.)