Taking a quick look at them both, Mark continued, "Since you asked, here's the difference, but I must warn you, my source is just some movies and novels that I've read, so don't take it too seriously."
Lein nodded and waved a hand for him to continue, much to Mark's delight.
"Infected are… hmm." He stroked his non-existent beard. "They're like enhanced humans, but with more violence and less thinking. Husks of their former selves, only living through killing and whatnot.
Oftentimes, based on my sources, some can retain their minds or at least a bit of their conscientiousness. For how that works, I don't know, so don't ask me.
The key point is, they're usually driven by some biological agent. A fungus, parasite or something like that… and that something, feeds on life.
They attack humans, animals, basically anything with a strong enough life force, killing becomes a way for them to grow stronger or simply keep living."
Lein frowned. So if it's a parasite… we just basically kill the hosts' body, or find a way to kill the invader inside it. He clicked his tongue in frustration. And how exactly am I supposed to do that? I can't even name five medicinal plants around the area.
His mind worked through one troubling thought after another.
The woman's ears perked slightly, though she kept her gaze lowered while a frown appeared on her face.
The other guy listened from the side, having just wedged half a broken chair and smaller chunks of concrete Infront of the door.
It was better than nothing.
"Now zombies," Mark went on, "They are usually just dead people with animated corpses. They'll rot and die, if you wait long enough that is. It's guaranteed they'll eventually fall apart. Months, maybe years. It usually depends on the weather and environment. Fresh, or newly turned ones might retain bits of learned behavior, like opening doors or following familiar paths, but that also depends on the writer, I guess."
He paused dramatically to add a bit more tension.
"As for the undead… this one's a little trickier. They're a mix of the two, and usually behaves like some infected or zombie for that matter, and unfortunately for us they're more stronger and crazier too. Usually tied to something unnatural, dark forces, demons, or curses maybe. Or sometimes advanced technology if the setting's too sci-fi enough. In game terms, if zombies are level one to five, infected are somewhere from one to ten… then undead can reach level twenty if they gather enough negative energy."
A chill passed through them briefly.
It sounded ridiculous. Fantasy-level type of ridiculous.
But what if it wasn't?
What difference did it make whether they died now or later? If those things broke in, it would all end the same.
Still… from what he described, 'Maybe we don't need to worry too much, the creatures outside seem closer to zombies than anything else…' Somehow, that was the only comforting thought they could have.
Mark cleared his throat.
"That's just a general overview. They were fiction… until now, at least." He gave a small helpless shrug. "Honestly, the terms don't really matter. It all depends on where you get your information from. There's no single correct version. Some might be exactly like I said, others could be completely different. The names are interchangeable half the time, depending on the franchise at least."
"So their zombies then..." The woman muttered softly, just enough for them to hear it.
Mark blinked, then spread his hands with a faint grin.
"So… any questions?" he asked, almost eagerly, scanning the room as if expecting someone to raise a hand in a classroom.
"Yeah." The guy who was listening from the side said, though he didn't bother raising his arm.
"Forget the names, how do we kill them?"
The woman slowly lifted her head and looked at Mark who was wearing a dumb grin, "Do they hear better than they see?"
She thought of her experience from earlier.
...
Earlier, when she went missing, she had been searching desperately for a way down. The door was about to be broken, despite the three guys holding it; or at least, that's what she thought.
She could help them hold it… maybe half a minute? Five minutes? A dozen? Their combined strength could only last so long. Then what? They'd just wait and die?
She felt a pang of guilt for not helping, but the truth was harsher: she was too afraid to die without even trying to escape this hopeless situation.
So, she searched for hope, her eyes scanned the edges frantically, searching for a route safe enough to use. Finally, she spotted a ventilation duct, a narrow shaft that led down, though only to a thin ledge one floor below. It seemed safe enough.
Relief surged through her, it was a chance, a chance for survival at last. She was about to call to the others.
"Hey, I—"
RAAAGH—!!!
A bloodied hand shot through the gap in the door, freezing her mid-breath.
"Fuck… fuck… fuck…" she muttered, eyes darting around in panic. Her heart thudded like a hammer against her ribs. She could help them, they could survive. But… no. If she intervened, she knew that she'd die too.
Looking at them struggling to hold the door, she released a deep breath in helplessness then strapped her wooden sword to her back, she glanced at them one last time.
"Sorry…" Lyra whispered, the word tasting bitter in her throat. She knew that she couldn't help them. Calling to them would only draw their attention, they might make a run for it towards her, and with no one holding the door, it would be broken instantly.
They might make it down… maybe. But when those creatures descended upon them in a rain? None would survive.
Her body moved on instinct. Trained in calisthenics, she was clinging on the metallic shaft as she descended the shaft in seconds, each motion precise and controlled in order to not fall. She landed lightly on the ledge of the third floor.
For a fleeting moment, escape seemed possible. Then she looked down at the pathway below. A few pale zombies sprinted like predators chasing their prey, their bloody hands reaching forward, their eyes hollow yet burning with visible hunger. The thought of descending into such madness made her stomach twist. So the idea was immediately abandoned.
The ledge stretched along a long corridor with open windows. One misstep, one lunging zombie from the corridor's side, and it would be all over. Forward or backward along the ledge guaranteed death if spotted. She couldn't go down, sideways, or into the corridor; since six zombies twisted and lurched, blocking any safe passage in the corridor path.
Through an open window, she caught a glimpse at the staircase leading to the rooftop. At least a dozen zombies shuffled there, some stumbling down now and then.
Her wooden sword felt reassuring against her hand, but Lyra knew it was nearly useless, she could take down one, maybe two of them, but not enough to protect herself from the rest of the group of creatures.
Nervous sweat slicked her forehead. Panic clawed at her chest and limbs, a wildfire of negativity she couldn't contain.
Then a shout pierced the tension from the rooftop:
"Where the hell is that woman!?"
Her eyes flicked upward, irritation sparking unconsciously. The sky stretched above, and to the right, a metallic ventilation shaft clung to the building's side, the one she used to get to this ledge.
Raugh—!!
"Hm?" The zombies on the stairwell became frenzied, making her wonder what made them angry.
Then, a crazy idea ignited in her mind. She exhaled, forcing her panic down. Lyra then steadied her body, her sword tucked safely on her side, she slowly moved toward the ventilation shaft.
A moment later, her face near an open window, she took a deep breath like a wolf from a certain story then screamed at the top of her lungs— then bolted, upward.
Her hands and feet clung to the cold metal as she began to climb. Behind her, loud bloody groans erupted.
Due to how loud the scream was, a couple of zombies leapt out of the open windows, crashing straight onto the path below. Another misjudged and successfully stumbled onto the ledge she'd just left.
Lyra, seeing this, didn't dare stop since her survival demanded speed. One can only hope to survive this stupid ordeal.
"Fuck me sideways!" she muttered, scrambling, her heart hammering.
The zombie on the ledge quickly locked onto her moving figure. It lunged and tried to grab her leg as she climb.
"Damn physics, why can't I climb faster?!" Her brain felt hotwired, panic spitting nonsense from her lips as she wriggled like a desperate caterpillar.
The zombie that was about to grab her, stepped on thin air and slipped comically to the bushes below.
She didn't have time to laugh though.
Halfway through the climb, more zombies tumbled out of the corridor windows scaring her, their stumbling forms scraping against the edges.
Good thing she was as flat as a chopping board, or she might have been caught against some sharp edges of some random metal sheet.
"God… coming down was so easy," Lyra muttered through gritted teeth, muscles trembling. "But climbing up… this… this is hell."
Lyra's arms struggled, her palms raw against the shaft. Sweat and grime slicked her grip making her slide off a few centimeters if she wasn't careful, but she pressed on. Every movement was carefully done. Each glance down revealed more of the chaos she was lucky enough to survive from.
She kept on for a full minute with a few breaks in between till she was finally able to fully climb up.
Then the rest was history.
...
"Forget the names, how do we kill them?" The other guy asked, his voice raised slightly as he remembered one of them tearing the face of one of his classmate with it's teeth. He shivered in fright.
Mark leaned back slightly, letting the question hang in the air, a slow grin spreading across his face. "They're actually quite easy to kill," he said casually, almost too casually. "You just have to bash their heads in."
A flicker of hope ignited in the other guy's eyes, like a small candle struggling against a gust of wind. "Then..." he trailed off, voice barely above a whisper, as if imagining it was actually possible to end this disaster.
Mark's grin widened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Unfortunately," he said, tilting his head slightly, "staying alive is the hard part."
The light in the other guy's eyes dimmed instantly. You could see the shift, their momentary hope crumpled under the weight of his words. And, somehow, seeing that, Mark felt a strange sort of satisfaction. Not malicious, at least, not exactly— but a kind of… twisted fulfillment, as if his 'kind' and 'loving' heart thrived on their raw emotion.
Lyra's voice cut through the moment. "Do they hear better than they see?" she calmly asked, though she already knew the answer. Still, her gaze can't help but look at the couple of lines in Marks' face caused by her sword from earlier.
'It's surprisingly symmetrical.' Lyra thought.
Mark's grin faltered. His eyes darted toward the three of them, a flick of measuring and calculatiin passed by. For a second, the confident swagger of his evaporated, replaced by the faintest crease of uncertainty.
The three watched him, confusion etched across their brows. Then, as if sensing the same tension, their expressions hardened, seriousness creeping in to replace their earlier expression.
"Actually…" Mark started, a hint of reluctance in his voice.
"...I don't know," he finished quietly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth for some reason.
"Oh." The three of them said in unison, their look of seriousness was snuffed out, replaced by a hollow disinterest.
Mark blinked. "Eh? What reaction is that??" he exclaimed in disbelief and frustration. His voice carried a little tremor now, an unfamiliar emotion creeping into the cracks of his composure.
The three simply stared at him for a moment in silence, their earlier excitement or fear was replaced with a cold, measured detachment.
Then, wordlessly, they turned around, leaving Mark with the unsettling awareness of their indifference.
---