Post-Apocalyptic Survival

Chapter 1 Post-Apocalyptic Survival

Under the crimson glow of the setting sun, all that came into view was ruins. The once towering buildings and wide, bustling streets were long gone, replaced by collapsed structures, shattered vehicles, and slowly moving corpses.

The world is like a lawn after a camping party; now, all that's left is a mess.

The sky was filled with thick dust and smog, as well as countless parasitic spores invisible to the naked eye.

None of this affected the busy figure in the room.

"We still have 12 bottles of 250ml unopened water, so we're not short on supplies for now. But we only have 200g of wheat flour left. As long as we conserve our strength, that'll only last us two days. If we really run out of supplies, we don't even know if we can find any more on the last floor."

As Ian sorted and categorized the supplies, he sighed in despair.

Since he inexplicably transmigrated to this parallel world a week ago, aside from the initial panic and disbelief, he resigned himself to the fact that it had happened, since transmigration happens every year.

The reflection in the broken glass window in front of him was that of a teenager of about fourteen or fifteen years old, wearing a tattered white shirt and with messy black hair.

With impeccable facial features, ebony-black pupils, a high-bridged nose, and slightly pale lips, he looked like an ethereal yet handsome, sunny, and cheerful boy next door.

However, what is most striking is his complex and profound mature temperament, with a gentle and handsome face that exudes a maturity beyond his years.

But the contradiction between temperament and appearance was perfectly and cleverly combined at this moment.

From the original owner's memories, I learned that the child's name was Ian Titus, a 14-year-old Western boy raised in a single-parent family. The outbreak of the apocalypse caused him to lose his last family member a few months ago.

It was only because he understood the meaning expressed in his mother's last eyes, "Live well," that this teenager was able to hold on for so long. However, under the dual pressure of mental and material stress, he still passed away last week.

"From the day she left, you have been accompanied by loneliness, only hoping that you will eventually meet in heaven and continue your kinship. As for the rest, I will fulfill her last wishes in your stead. I will strive to live on, to live as Ian Titus."

Looking at the reflection of his youthful body, Ian sighed.

……

"Finding supplies is the top priority, but forget about downstairs; it's full of zombies and animals infested with fungus. It seems we have no choice but to go upstairs to search; it's our last hope."

Ian pondered his next move, then looked at the blood-stained fire axe beside him.

Through his existing memories and the fragmented information he had gathered during this time, he discovered that this was not a traditional zombie apocalypse as depicted in novels, but a more bizarre world eroded and parasitized by an unknown fungus.

A year ago, an unknown fungus suddenly broke out, filling the air with countless parasitic spores, which then frantically parasitized all life—humans, animals, birds, plants, insects, marine life, and so on, none were spared.

Fortunately, insects have evolved over hundreds of millions of years and have gradually developed antibodies after their first round of parasitism; otherwise, there would truly be no life in this world under the indiscriminate attacks of insects.

The most important thing is the parasite's tenacious vitality. Because it is a fungus, it cannot be killed by a headshot as in the movies. Even if you are cut in half or chopped into pieces, the fungus will still glue the host back together and repair it after a certain period of time. It just takes a long time.

This has made the human situation even more difficult, and Ian has no idea how many humans are left today.

However, he felt that the situation was not optimistic. After all, there used to be some human settlements that broadcast daily through simple radio stations, but now most radio stations have been discontinued for a long time, and there are very few that are still struggling to keep going.

"What does it have to do with me? When poor, one should cultivate one's own virtue; when successful, one should benefit all under heaven. Right now, I just want to survive, one day at a time. This 12-story office building only has two unknown floors left. We can't delay any longer. Sitting and waiting to die is just like drinking poison to quench thirst. The longer we delay, the more trouble we'll get."

……

Nothing happened that night. At dawn the next day, driven by the primal survival instinct of humankind, Ian felt his body regain the few remaining strength it possessed.

Wearing old Doc Martens, wrapping thick sheets of printing paper around his left arm as a makeshift shield for emergencies, and picking up a fire axe and the essential "treasure chest opening" tools—three hacksaw blades—he began his search.

After all, after the initial parasitic outbreak, almost all surviving humans are immune to the fungus, and what needs to be done now is to avoid physical attacks from the parasite.

"Control the distance. The parasite's maximum sensing range is 5 meters. As long as it doesn't detect you, they are relatively quiet. But once detected, it's a fight to the death..."

The information he had learned about parasites from a radio broadcast resurfaced in his mind.

"What a mild yet despairing apocalypse. There are no zombie hordes, no mad bloodlust, only this overwhelming force that crushes, splits, reproduces, and parasitizes." Ian thought with a touch of melancholy.

Stepping out of the door, you are greeted by a dimly lit and quiet corridor. After a short walk of about ten seconds, you arrive at the fire escape leading to the upper floor.

As for elevators and such, don't even think about it. A year is enough to paralyze the vast majority of industrial facilities in the world, with the power supply bearing the brunt.

Even if there were still power, anyone with a brain wouldn't choose to take it, since no one knows what will greet them when the elevator doors open.

In about fifteen minutes, Ian also successfully reached the 11th floor. Looking at the office area in front of him, although it was messy, fortunately there were no obvious human parasites.

After a cautious exploration, Ian had to confirm that he was somewhat lucky; this floor was empty. This was quite normal, since the upper-level office areas were almost always occupied by the company's management, and the staffing wouldn't be very large.

Unfortunately, he didn't get much supplies. Ian looked at the three bags of potato chips, two obviously rotten butter burgers, three unopened bottles of red wine, a whole box of cigars, and two cans of caviar with disappointment.

"It's better than nothing, though it's a drop in the ocean, it's solved the immediate problem, especially the potato chips and canned food, which can effectively replenish salt. These foods should last for about another week, after which I have to go to the top floor."

As Ian sorted through the supplies he had gathered, he pondered to himself.

He was always somewhat resistant to searching the top floor because the infected bird parasites have three-dimensional perception capabilities, unlike humans and other mammals which only have two-dimensional perception. This means that all the space within a five-meter radius of the parasite is within its perception range.

Moreover, they don't fly 24 hours a day after being parasitized; most of the time they live nearby on tree trunks, rooftops, or unbroken utility poles.

Therefore, top-level exploration is very likely to provoke them.

"Forget it, live in the moment. Thinking too much will only cause more trouble. These things will at least last me a week."

After a short rest, Ian turned into a hamster and began to sort and pack all kinds of usable supplies, then carried them downstairs bit by bit.

Settling into his small hideout, he used burning solid wood furniture as fuel, and three steel bars, each about the thickness of a chopstick, twisted together to form a makeshift stand, before skillfully setting up the pot.

It's called a pot, but it's actually just a large 304 stainless steel cup. I put in a little flour, potato chips, and caviar, then poured in half a bottle of mineral water to make a paste. I just waited for the water inside to boil. This was Ian's lunch for today.

As the wood burned, the campfire crackled and popped, and wisps of smoke rose from the pot, carrying the sweet aroma of wheat.

Ian stared blankly at the flickering flames while unconsciously fiddling with the toy in his hand.

While searching for supplies, I found a 13-inch wand in a desk drawer, but its unusual shape makes it look somewhat different from the one described in the original Harry Potter books.

In his previous life, Ian was a true Harry Potter fan. He had read countless books and numerous Harry Potter fanfictions.

A man is a boy until he dies. Since he found this toy, he packed it up and took it along with other supplies when he had nothing else to do. Besides, this magic wand is neither heavy nor takes up much space, so he just did it on a whim.

Judging from the appearance, the material is an iron core wrapped in a layer of dark resin, and the shape is not any familiar wand.

"Expelliarmus!" Ian instinctively waved his wand, unleashing a weapon-removing spell, chanting the incantation as he played along, finding amusement in the situation. It was just a casual attempt to add some spice to the game, but the wand actually did something special; in an instant, the tip of the wand flashed red light, then quickly enveloped him.

New book, please add to your favorites! Please add to your favorites! Please add to your favorites! Thank you to all the readers!

(End of this chapter)