Lucky, the word often needs to be understood from different angles, for example, a high fever turned me into a zombie, which seems unfortunate, but from another point of view, I am lucky, because I have neither been crushed in the first episode of the head and hung up, nor have I eaten other people's flesh, and I have not hurt my own relatives, which is even more fortunate in misfortune.

Afterwards, I think this should be attributed to the weak body with a high fever for three days, and thanks to the pickle jar at our house, at the first time I mutated, my mother quickly hugged my waist from behind, and my father quickly picked up the jar that was originally prepared to pick up the pickles and put it on my head.

The pottery jar has good sealing performance, especially the size of the altar mouth and my head 'coincide', and the smell of most of the flesh and blood that has been isolated makes me gradually calm down, and even the whispers of my parents comforting each other can occasionally reach my ears, and the most repeated is nothing more than saying that the government will definitely develop a special drug, and their daughter will recover sooner or later.

Unfortunately, three days later, they had to move with the other survivors to a safe camp on the outskirts, the city was full of man-eating monsters who had lost their minds, and the community had been cut off from water and electricity, and they had to evacuate quickly while they were protected by the military.

Before parting, they told me through the door panel that they would always love me and that they would come back to pick me up as soon as there was a cure.

My brain was only able to receive, not process this information, let alone respond to them, and I was so tormented by a deep craving that I couldn't wait to smash through the door and rush out to eat a meal of flesh and blood, and I cared about anything else.

The familiar door panel became an insurmountable chasm, and no matter how much I slapped it, it was still a barrier between me and the delicious food, and of course, my virus-controlled body was far from being as crazy as it was in the movies, and I bumped into it when I encountered obstacles.

Looking back now, if I had to describe my state, I felt a bit like a helpless prisoner in a dark room.

It wasn't until the crowd was gone that I quieted down from my anxiety and entered a blank standby state, my eyes could not see anything as early as the first day of zombieization, but my sense of hearing and smell became unusually sensitive, and unfortunately I had a jar over my head, which greatly weakened the use of these new skills.

I could faintly hear the roaring of my new friends a street away, and I could hear the screams of the food, and after about half a month, luck struck again.

A new partner came to our neighborhood, and when he went door-to-door to collect supplies, he came to my door, and he saw that the gate was locked, and there was a note on the door, which was written by my mother, saying that there was no food in the house, and there were no zombies.

It was this note that made my companion, who just wanted to find a clean room to spend the night, take a fancy to my house, and he opened the door with 'magic' and stayed in my parents' room for one night.

The next morning, he opened the door of my bedroom, talked to me for a while, and left me half a bowl of blood, which was his blood, the same as me, the blood of zombies, and the smell of my new companion never aroused my appetite, so I didn't even treat the bowl of warm blood as a dish, and he didn't want me to drink it, so he relocked the door and left.

Those who have never tasted hunger do not experience this torture-like torture, and before my endurance reaches its limit, the half bowl of unattractive blood has long since been turned into a delicacy, and the strange aroma penetrates into the nostrils, it is a wonderful taste to the extreme, although it has dried up, it seems to me that it is only the difference between liquid cream and solid cream, and those with a sweet tooth must be able to understand my feelings.

Instinct told me that two mouthfuls of blood were not enough to stuff my teeth, but God knows, I had been hungry for too long, and when his blood dried up, there was a unique aroma, and I knew it would fill my stomach, and that was enough.

I rolled around the room against the jar, and accidentally hit the windowsill, and the jar finally cracked and broke off, revealing half of my face, and I licked all the dried blood at the bottom of the bowl, and I was full, and at the same time there was a warm stream of heat swimming all over my body.

I was no longer anxious, I was no longer irritable, I drank his blood, my mind cleared up day by day, my mind was running again, and I sorted out everything that had happened before and after.