It was morning again. This time, Alan didn't wait to wake up naturally. He was extremely anxious because today, his brother was supposed to contact him.
As soon as he woke up, he ran to the radio and turned it on, setting it to the same frequency he had been using to communicate with his brother, and waited.
Suddenly, his mind cleared, and he rushed to the kitchen and turned on the faucet. Water came out, but there was a strange smell. Knowing what could happen, Alan assumed the water wasn't safe to drink.
This is a problem.
Alan had originally wanted to simply die a natural death and finally rest, but after tossing and turning in bed last night, he realized it was unfair to think that way, especially when so many people had died because of him.
He realized he had been a fool to want to die when there were still people out there willing to live. If he didn't do something to help them, he wouldn't just lose his brother—he would also lose his humanity.
"Zz… This is Alpha One, do you copy? Over."
Alan ran to the radio, grabbed it, and said, "This is Bravo One, I read you loud and clear."
"Little brother…"
"Steven?" Alan immediately felt that something wasn't right with the call.
"He can go now, soldier…" Steven seemed to have been helped by a soldier, which gave Alan a bad feeling. "Over the past few days, we discovered that we can't stop the infection. Everyone is dying, Alan…"
"Where are you?! Tell me, I'll come get you right now." Alan, who had always believed his brother could take care of himself, felt a heavy emptiness in his chest as he realized that no matter how strong you are, you can still die.
"It's too late… One of them bit me. The virus is probably already in my blood. But that's why I'm calling you: you need to get away from the city as soon as possible. The army is going to use napalm missiles to contain the infection in the cities. There's no control, Alan…"
"Can you amputate the infected area?!" Alan imagined a thousand ways his brother might survive.
"Alan, the infection spreads faster than you can imagine… At best, you have five minutes before you become one of them." Steven's voice was getting weaker, but he was determined to make sure his brother lived. "Zz… Little brother, promise me you'll survive."
"It doesn't make any sense…"
"Captain!" Steven shouted with force and said, "I'm asking you as your brother and a soldier—please don't give up. I know you can still do a lot of good in the world, even in this state. I believe in you, so promise me you'll live."
Alan clenched his teeth, tears spilling from his eyes, and murmured, "I promise… But make sure you don't become one of them."
"Well done, little brother…"
Bang!
When Alan heard that gunshot, the frequency cut off. There was a long silence before he could move. He didn't cry.
Rather, he couldn't cry—no tears came out.
But he felt a crushing pain in his chest, something he couldn't explain in words. What he did do was scream silently and swear he would do whatever it took to carry his brother with him in his heart.
If he died now, Steven would die with him—and that was something he couldn't allow.
The more Alan thought about it, the less he wanted to die without doing something first. Once he broke free from that ostrich-like mindset, he began planning for the future. First, he needed water. There was water in the rooftop tank and in the restaurant downstairs.
Alan was, in truth, a man of unbreakable resolve, resilient in the face of adversity, and highly intelligent. He would have time to grieve his brother later—right now, he had to move.
That's why, as he walked toward the trunk where he kept his weapons and military gear, he thought about what he needed most. The answer was clear: water.
He had to find water, or it would be too late—it would become contaminated, and he would die. As he loaded the magazines of his assault rifle and pistol, his resolve was set.
He put on his not-so-old military uniform, then his boots, and strapped on a bulletproof vest. He knew he needed to protect his limbs, so he wore a long-sleeved shirt and gloves.
Alan, with his muscular, athletic, and well-proportioned build, looked nothing like the disheveled man he had been before. Standing at 1.88 meters tall, he had everything he needed not to feel inferior if he had to face the infected.
Next, he wrapped tape around his arms and legs to prevent scratches, bites, or combat injuries. Finally, he looked at his Full-Face Tactical Mask at the bottom of the trunk and decided to take it.
Covering his face was critical, especially because of the gases and any contact with infected fluids that could transmit the virus.
After several practice runs at home, he finally struck a balance between not being too heavy and staying as protected as possible. Alan made a decision: he left his apartment holding his modified AR-15 rifle, designed to be quieter.
Alan's home was in an old building without an elevator and with a very narrow hallway. He knew he couldn't make noise, so he would only use his weapon in a desperate situation.
"Listen…" Alan whispered to himself as he carefully listened for sounds in the hallway, then walked toward the stairs leading to the rooftop.
Strange noises could be heard coming from some rooms, which clearly meant one thing. But as long as they weren't in the hallway, Alan marked the door with a yellow marker.
When he reached the iron door to the rooftop, he unlocked it with tools he always kept at home and forced the door open. As he expected, there was an infected person on the roof.
It had only been about a week, but some people had already started preparing to survive longer. The infected person in front of Alan appeared to have been growing vegetables on the rooftop but was now dead.
Alan had stayed out of all this from the start because he was retired. It was obvious the army didn't want a soldier with issues giving orders.
Why? It was simple—Alan wouldn't kill civilians without knowing if they were infected, something the military was doing before losing total control.
As if it sensed him, the infected turned and charged toward Alan the moment the door opened.
Alan had wanted to use his weapons, but in such a quiet area, he knew making noise would alert the other infected still inside their apartments. So instead of firing, he drew a long knife from its sheath.
He set aside his backpack and rifle and, before moving, made sure the door behind him was shut.
"It's not that hard…" Alan thought of how his brother had been infected, and a rage burst from his chest.
Argh!
The infected, who looked like a baby to Alan's eyes, charged at him without any sense of danger. This made things easier for Alan, who grabbed its jaw with his right hand and stabbed its forehead clean through with his long knife.
His brother had shared the weak points of the infected, so with prior knowledge of their vulnerabilities, Alan took down the infected without much trouble.
"Damn plague…" Alan dragged the body and threw it off the roof. These days, people might confuse things, but the one thing they must never do is consider the infected as human.
He could rush out now and try to change things, but it wouldn't help much—not yet. He knew he couldn't stop more people from dying by charging into battle.
For now, he needed water, to return home quickly, and to pray for his brother. Otherwise, he had no chance of survival.
After killing the infected, Alan walked to the rooftop water tank. Upon inspection, the water looked relatively clear, so he filled all his containers and even carried down two large barrels of water.
Then, after resting at home and organizing his thoughts, he opened the door and blocked the staircase leading to the ground floor with sofas, cabinets, and other items.
His idea was that if he ever needed to clear the infected from upstairs, he wouldn't have to worry about more infected coming up from outside.
All afternoon, Alan carefully moved between the rooftop and his home, carrying water and some vegetables he found in the rooftop garden.
Though footsteps from infected could be heard in various apartments, Alan discovered through experimentation that they couldn't get out.
As he watched the clear water return home trip after trip, Alan kept thoughts of his brother from flooding his mind.
By 7 p.m., when the hallway was completely dark and visibility was gone, Alan finally ended his daily struggle.
He collapsed onto his bed and prayed for his brother, who had died in battle. In the end, both of them had known they would die fighting. In some way, as soldiers, they had accepted the fact that they could die at any moment.
That's why, after the yearly ceremony for their parents, they always said goodbye. Perhaps that saved Alan from doing anything reckless today.
After finishing his rest, he recounted the items he had brought back. There were four large barrels of water, round containers...