"Mushrooms, mushrooms, mushrooms! That’s all I’ve been eating for days, and even those ran out..."
The man banged his head against the wooden counter. The petri dishes clattered following the impact. Strains of mold could be seen staining the dishes, but the man didn’t seem to care about those.
Dr. Eliot Voss was one of the few who got trapped inside UCSD’s research wing when things went to hell.
Twelve days of isolation had taken their toll on him. Patches of his hair were missing, probably scattered all over the room.
"I should have listened to my parents," he grumbled, banging his head on the counter again. "This place is dangerous, even without the zombies. Fucking thieves are everywhere!"
He was once held to be a brilliant mycologist. Some of his work included working with lion’s mane mushrooms and their medicinal properties.
The same mushrooms he had been surviving on. Since they were grown for research purposes, the quantity wasn’t huge. Just enough to feed him once a day.
But the problem with that was... the mushrooms took anywhere from six to eight weeks to grow, even under favorable lab conditions.
Now that nothing worked in the lab, growing them was even difficult. By the time they grow, he’d turn into compost for them to feed on.
To make things worse, other than the lion’s mane, nothing in the lab was edible. It left Voss with no other choice. He had to venture outside to scavenge.
However, for a scaredy cat like him, it was a death sentence. Especially since he was severely malnourished.
"No. I can’t stay here forever!"
A sudden surge of courage forced him to his feet. He scanned the lab for anything he could use to defend himself.
"Scalpels, surgical scissors... and a bunch of flasks and test tubes."
Things weren’t looking great, but he wasn’t completely hopeless.
Voss tore his lab coat into small strips with the help of scissors. Then, used those to tie the scalpel to the tongs, creating a small stabbing device.
He pocketed the scissors to use them in close combat. After that, it was the turn for the chemicals.
Unlike the tools, the chemicals were his primary defense. After all, using them didn’t require strength but intelligence.
He grabbed everything of use and began filling various test tubes with them. Although it wasn’t much, it was better than nothing.
"You can do this... It’s just some zombies."
With a deep breath, Voss crept to the door to peek out of the glass panel.
Everything outside was calm. Other than the blood stains, obviously.
From the corner he could see someone’s feet. It was probably the corpse of an unfortunate researcher or intern.
Whatever it was, Voss had no intention of finding out.
"It’s not like anyone treated me well here," Voss said.
Just a month ago, his superiors had claimed the credit for his research with cordyceps. He had managed to use the fungi to recreate an insect’s lost limbs without it killing the creature.
In the world of science, it was a breakthrough. There were talks of his research being used to find a one-time drug to use against cancer and even AIDS.
However, all that was taken away when his superiors credited him with executing the experiments, not for the research.
"It’s a good thing they died before things went to trial—Argh!"
A rotting, drenched in blood face slammed against the glass panel out of nowhere.
Scared shitless, Voss stumbled backwards and fell. Everything in his pockets spilled out. Test tubes and flasks broke apart, their contents mixed before he could even react.
Voss could only watch as the chemicals began bubbling, releasing a greenish gas. Within seconds, a burning sensation overwhelmed his eyes and nose.
Without wasting any time, he covered his face with his shirt. However, that wasn’t enough.
By protecting his face, he left his torso unprotected. It didn’t take long before small boils and rashes appeared all over his skin.
Forget about the zombies, he was going to die from the chemicals.
I have to get out of here.
With no time to prepare like before, Voss grabbed the scalpel-spear in one hand and the scissors in the other before charging towards the door.
The door burst open, slamming the undead in the face. The creature was flung sideways, but Voss didn’t care about it and ran for his life.
After all the ruckus he created, it was impossible that the zombies didn’t hear him.
He knew they were already on his ass, but he underestimated how quick they were. Within seconds he heard their growling sounds getting closer.
"Not ! Please, not !"
Unfortunately for him, luck wasn’t done screwing him over.
With adrenaline overflowing in his blood, Voss’s legs were moving faster than he could control them.
He tried to make a sharp turn and climb the stairs, only to skid and fall next to a shoe rack.
Boots and heels of all sizes filled the stand. That went to show how many people had been present in the facility before the apocalypse.
Voss didn’t have any time to spare. The footsteps were getting closer, forcing him to slide under the stand.
He lay there as still as a log, hoping the musty smell of footwear would cover his scent. It was a far stretch, but it was all he could bet on.
Voss almost let out a gasp as the thunderous footsteps passed by. Dozens of undead were chasing him. If he had fallen somewhere else, it would have been over for him.
He waited for the footsteps to fade away before daring to peek. There were no zombies in sight, so he quickly slipped out from under the shelf.
After a last look, he tiptoed towards the director’s office.
Not long ago, he had heard the gossip that the paranoid director kept some food stashed in his office.
Desperate to eat, Voss headed two floors up. Strangely enough, there weren’t many zombies around there. It almost felt like they were dealing with something else. Perhaps another survivor.
"Whatever it is, just keep them busy till I get to the office."