The Post-Apocalyptic Survival Journey After Becoming a Beautiful Girl Chapter 15

"Medical-grade ethanol." Next to it, a symbol indicated 95% concentration, and the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall let me breathe a slight sigh of relief.

I grabbed the cart beside me, dashed over in a single stride, and hauled down three boxes of alcohol, setting them on the cart. Turning around, I wheeled it out, snagged a pack of medical cotton along the way, and placed the fire extinguisher within arm's reach.

At that moment, the iron door was still being pounded relentlessly. The frenzied roars of the zombies behind it sent a chill crawling down my spine!

Now... it was a race against time!

I sliced open every bottle of alcohol with a fruit knife and tore open the cotton...

"Boom!" The upper right corner of the iron door frame had already torn away from the wall, leaving a gap just big enough for a hand to slip through.

I glared at that gap and snarled viciously at the iron door.

"I'll burn you bastards to death!"

That's right... what I had in mind was to burn these zombies to death. There was no way I could take on over a dozen of them at once with my abilities—even two or three in this narrow hallway would force me to flee, let alone a dozen. That was enough numbers to tear me apart.

I hurriedly stuffed cotton into the mouths of each alcohol bottle. Three boxes, nearly ninety bottles in total. Except for one I kept in my hand and another I tied to a mop with a bandage, every single bottle was lit.

The cotton stuffed into the bottle necks was already soaked through, burning with blue flames.

The iron door's deformation grew worse. By the time I finished all this, both the left and right corners of the door had come loose from the wall, leaving only the middle section holding on. The mop, too, was starting to groan under the strain, emitting cracking sounds of breaking wood.

I retreated about ten meters, pulling the cart along with me. On it sat three full boxes of blazing alcohol bottles.

And under my watch, the iron door was gradually... bit by bit... being... smashed open!!

"Boom!!"

With a crash, the alcohol bottle hanging from the mop fell and shattered as the mop broke, followed by a sharp "Smack!" as the bottle burst. At the same time, a horde of clawing, snarling zombies forced the iron door open and surged in like a tidal wave!

"Shhh!" I lit the alcohol bottle in my hand, then kicked the cart in front of me with all my might!

"Squeak... clang!!"

The cart shot forward under my kick, sped a short distance, then lost balance and toppled to the ground. In that instant, all the zombies turned their gazes toward me!

But... the next second!

"Boom!!!"

A scorching flame erupted instantly, a wave of heat blasting toward me. I was forced back several meters by the sheer force before I could open my eyes. As for those zombies... they paid no heed to the wall of fire! They charged at me like mad!

"This is what I've been waiting for!!"

With a sharp shout, I timed it perfectly as the zombies rushed into the sea of flames and hurled the alcohol bottle in my hand straight at the ceiling!

Chapter 12: First Encounter with a Survivor

"Crack!!"

The burning bottle struck the ceiling, shattered, and a sheet of transparent liquid splattered down onto the horde of zombies about to charge through!

The next second!

"Boom!!"

Every zombie charging toward me burst into flames. The alcohol amplified the fire's fury, and though the zombies, now ablaze from head to toe, still tried to push forward, their resistance to the heat seemed weak. By the time they stumbled out of the inferno—flames nearly three or four meters high, licking the ceiling—they could no longer let out those disgusting sounds.

"Gaa... gaa..."

This was probably the only sound they could make.

Soon, this group of zombies was burned to charcoal, each one collapsing to the ground, twitching their bodies weakly for a moment, then falling still.

"Boom boom boom~"

At the same time, some zombies stumbled onto unbroken alcohol bottles, and the flames surged higher again, the temperature growing fiercer.

After burning for nearly a minute, the fire showed no sign of shrinking. Faintly, part of the ceiling had caught fire. I grabbed the fire extinguisher beside me, and after confirming no zombies were still moving, I pulled the safety pin and sprayed directly at the alcohol-fueled flames!

"Hiss hiss hiss~~~"

I pressed the trigger and sprayed hard. By the time the flames were almost completely extinguished, the dozen or so zombies had turned into roasted corpses, their bodies reeking of burnt, rotten meat—nauseating.

Pinching my nose, I took my fruit knife and inspected them carefully. When I saw one still "groaning," I stepped forward and finished it off with a stab.

Then I checked again, and only after confirming there were no more moving zombies did I let out a long breath.

"Whew... scared me to death. Good thing I ran fast, or I'd be someone's... some corpse's meal by now."

I patted my chest, but suddenly felt an astonishing bounce under my hand. Twitching the corner of my mouth, I awkwardly lowered my hand...

"Better... make a couple more Molotov cocktails. Looks like zombies don't have much resistance to high heat."

Saying it, I did it.

I searched the warehouse carefully, grabbed a roll of bandages and some medical cotton, then made two Molotov cocktails with bottles of alcohol. After finishing, I left this floor and continued downstairs.

That last chaos had sent me straight back to the ninth floor. Should be all cleared out now, right?

But... why were the zombies gathered on the sixth floor?

Was there something inside attracting them?

My head was full of questions.

When I reached the sixth floor, I found something surprising: at the corner of the fire escape stairwell, there were three zombie corpses. Clearly, they hadn't died naturally—though I didn't know if zombies could die naturally...

But these three corpses were interesting.

Two were obviously very old, their skin a duller, grayer color. The other one... wasn't a zombie at all!

"Could this be... a survivor who made it through a wave of disaster?"

I stepped forward and examined him closely.

He was a strong man in his prime, holding two guns. Most importantly, he was wearing protective gear—bulletproof, by the look of it, like SWAT. His whole body was torn to pieces by zombies, but the fatal wound was on his head.

From the small hole in his right temple and the spray of dried blood on the wall to his left, it seemed this man had shot himself with his right hand, then had parts of his body eaten by zombies afterward.

I checked him over. Both his right-hand pistol and the shotgun slung on his body were out of ammo. I couldn't deduce the exact situation, but the most logical explanation was...

"This guy charged in from outside... then ran out of ammo, and rather than turn into one of those monsters, he killed himself. But why..."

I looked up at the iron door behind the corpse.

"Why didn't he enter the sixth floor? If he had gone in, would there have been a sliver of hope?"

Something was off... This man was leaning against the door. It clearly wasn't because he didn't want to enter—it was more like...

"He was protecting someone?"

Rubbing my chin, now completely smooth of stubble, I sketched out a scene in my mind.

A group—or a few people—had been forced to charge into the hospital for some special reason, but along the way, they ran out of ammo due to the massive horde of zombies. Underestimating the undead, they could neither escape nor push upward any further. And just then, for reasons unknown, this man acted as bait, used his last bullet to end himself, and lay down here.

Pulling back from that mental image, I fell silent for a moment. The desire to see a living person still drove me to reach for the iron door on the sixth floor.

"Creak... creak..."

"Something's blocking the door from the other side?" Frowning, I didn't keep pushing. Instead, I stepped forward and moved the corpse that was sitting and leaning against the iron door to the side. Though the stench made me hold my breath, I still respectfully laid it flat.

This man... he'd rather die than become one of those things. He was a real man. Respect should be given where it's due.