I wandered around, avoiding five groups of zombies, and finally found an intact green mailbox at the street corner.

When there's no power or signal, traditional mailboxes have become our tool for transmitting information.

I took out the master key and opened the mailbox, inside of which lay a piece of paper.

"There are five more days until the end of the zombie wave."

I put the note back and sneaked in the opposite direction of home.

If I don't go back, I wonder if those two people in the basement can survive?

Should one of them stay alive, or should they die together?

As soon as I turned the corner, I bumped into something. I rolled to the ground and hid behind a trash can.

There was a little zombie across from me. I knocked him down, and he was clutching his butt, grimacing in pain.

He looked around, didn't see me, and then pretended to bare his teeth in various directions.

What's up with this little zombie?

"Kid, you're not a zombie?"

"Who's there?"

When he looked towards the trash can in response to my voice, a long-lost beam of sunlight pierced through the thick clouds and shone on the necklace on his chest.

Instinctively, I shielded my eyes from the sudden glare, and the pendant from the previous zombie's necklace on my wrist dangled in the air.

"How do you have my dad's necklace?" he asked, staring at me warily.

I opened the necklace, pointed at the man in the photo, and confirmed once again.

"This is your dad?"

He nodded, seeming to realize that he shouldn't have told me so easily, and then shook his head.

This child looks to be only six or seven years old. Why is he out here all alone?

"I'm not a bad person. I've seen your dad. Why are you wandering outside by yourself? It's dangerous to encounter zombies."

"My mom is sick. Where's my dad now? Why hasn't he come back?"

He tilted his little face up, seeking answers from me.

"He was chosen to be a hero and went to fight the zombies."

The child wanted to ask more, but I diverted the topic by tugging at his zombie-like face.

"Who did your makeup? It looks so much like one."

"My mom. Oh no, she's still waiting for me to bring back something to eat."

Just as we walked out of the alley, we encountered a few low-intelligence zombies.

I grabbed his hand and tried to run back, but the child shook off my hand and bared his teeth at the zombies.

"Get lost."

What happened next left me dumbfounded.

Those zombies sniffed the air, and unbelievably, they turned around and walked away.

"Why do they listen to you?"

"Because I'm a zombie that can speak human language."

Is it that simple?

Could it be that the zombie horde is differentiated by their ability to speak human language?

I can't understand.

If that's really the case, then couldn't I just put on some makeup and lead a few zombies back to scare those two people in the basement?

"Let's go back quickly to find your mom and have her do a zombie makeup for me too."