The work had been tough but fulfilling. For the first time in her life, Shiiko had felt content. She’d wished it could last forever.
Then, everything had fallen apart.
“I’ll be back with a bunch of stuff. Hang in there.”
It had happened about a week into the zombie apocalypse.
Shiiko, failing to escape in time because of her disability, had been left behind by everyone except Noriko.
The government had been of no use, and they had lost contact with Keith.
Although they’d had plenty of water, the food supply had started running low. Shiiko had been subsisting on nothing but her beloved chocolate for the past few days, and even that had nearly run out.
Noriko had told her that she would go out to procure food supplies. She had made her way down to the first floor using the stairs and the fire escape, gotten into her car, and driven off.
Shiiko had waited and waited and waited some more.
By the fifth day, she had finally come to terms with the fact that Noriko wasn’t coming back.
She’d felt betrayed at first. Then it had occurred to her that maybe Noriko really had only worked with her for the money. Maybe she had only ever been nice to Shiiko because Shiiko’s performance had impacted her own evaluations.
The company had fallen apart. Money had become meaningless. As a result, Noriko would’ve no longer had any reason to care.
Shiiko heaved a sigh.
She felt lost, confused.
It had taken a while, but even Noriko had managed to abandon work in the end. Shiiko, on the other hand, didn’t—no, couldn’t—stop the never-ending cycle of observing, analyzing, and hypothesizing.
It was all she had left, all she could do. It was pure torture.
A zombie appeared from the darkness and then disappeared once more.
They appear to be following a pattern, Shiiko noted.
Her mind bustled with countless possibilities, going through them one by one as though it were a fun little mental exercise.
What could it possibly be?
The fact that they were mimicking past behavioral patterns had been established by now, but Shiiko’s observations led her to believe that there was a missing variable.
Every zombie, without exception, exhibited periodic bouts of inactivity. Presumably, they were saving energy, but why? Why would a corpse seek to preserve itself? Could it be buying time? If so, to what end?
A corpse is a corpse. It’s going to rot away. It isn’t capable of engaging in rational thought. Even if we were to generously assume that its nervous system was partly intact, it wouldn’t matter much without a functioning cerebrum.
Actually, if we were to go back even further, both its cerebrum and cerebellum had to have suffered irreversible damage due to a lack of oxygen supply. Then why is it capable of high-level actions, such as walking or attacking living people?
Shiiko shelved her thoughts for the time being, spun her wheelchair around, and headed over to the table in the corner of the room.
A box of chocolate cookies rested on the table. Shiiko reached inside, almost subconsciously, but the familiar sensation refused to grace her fingertips.
The cookie she’d had right before her failed suicide attempt had turned out to be her last.
Although there was an extra box lying around in the other room, she couldn’t be bothered to go get it. She also didn’t feel like running into those two again.
They probably ate it anyway.
Shiiko sighed, then collected the remaining crumbs with her fingers and licked them off. The sugary, melt-in-your-mouth sensation lifted her spirits just a tiny bit.
“It’ll help you think,” Keith had said once, handing her one. There hadn’t been a single cookieless day since.
Noriko’s gone, and Keith’s not answering. Maybe they’re both... They’re both...
“You there, Shiiko?” Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, followed by the guy’s voice.
Hiroaki, was it? Hiroaki Dewa.
“Can I come in?”
“Knock yourself out,” Shiiko offhandedly answered.
Do I care? No, I don’t care about anything.