"Xue Fang! What's wrong with you?!"
The shout tore through the uneasy silence like a whip.
Just as several people were hesitating, uncertain what to do after Chen Ran's warning not to touch the two second-level zombies, Zheng Shuqiu suddenly cried out, his voice shrill with panic.
Everyone turned sharply toward him.
He wasn't looking at them. His wide eyes were fixed on Xue Fang.
And then they saw it too.
The back of Xue Fang's shoulder. His jacket had torn open, fabric hanging in jagged threads. Beneath it, pale flesh was exposed, marred by a gash that wasn't deep but was steadily oozing blood.
The blood was wrong.
It was too dark, thick, sluggish, tinged with a faint greenish hue. And worse, a foul, fishy stench clung to it.
Seasoned survivors didn't need anyone to explain. After all these years of apocalypse, they knew exactly what it meant.
"You… you've been scratched?!" Zheng Shuqiu's voice cracked. He recoiled a step without thinking.
