Day 234 – Tuesday, 3:00 PM
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We moved silently, our eyes wide open, every step cautious. The sun blazed above, but we saved energy by pacing ourselves through shaded paths and broken roads. By noon, we finally reached Lumut Jetty.
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But what awaited us there… we weren’t prepared for.
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The once-bustling harbor was now a graveyard. Most of the boats, ferries, and jet skis were either destroyed or half-sunken. Rust and blood marked the edges of metal railings. And worst of all—the place was crawling with Rottens. Not just dozens. Hundreds.
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We spotted seven Bulks, towering in the distance. Their mutated frames moved slower than the others, but with terrifying strength. One wrong sound, one misstep, and we’d be spotted.
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We ducked low, crawling through a side alley leading to an abandoned cabin house near the edge of the docks. Inside, we found temporary shelter. It smelled of mold and oil, but it was dry, and for now—safe.
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That’s when we met them.
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At first, we thought they were a threat. Footsteps approached with discipline, and weapons pointed directly at us. But their clothes weren’t like any gang we’d seen before. They wore matching black uniforms with glowing red stripes—handmade, stitched from military and school uniforms. Each of them carried custom weapons—axes with iron plates, spears reinforced with bike shocks, and even shields made from old satellite dishes.
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They called themselves The Zhaiis.
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Their leader, a tall Malay girl with short hair and a sharp stare, stepped forward.
“We saw you from the watchtower,” she said. “You’re lucky we didn’t think you were Rottens in disguise.”
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Mr. Amar stepped up with calm authority. “We’re survivors. Heading to Melaka. We need your help.”
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They took us to their hideout—a secondary school turned fortress. Barbed wires lined the gates. Inside, classrooms were converted into living quarters, labs, and weapon storage. Around 25 of them lived here. Teenagers. Young adults. Survivors, just like us.
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That night, after we shared food and stories, one of them whispered a name:
Professor Joe.
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“He was one of the scientists working on a cure. He stayed back to protect us… got injured during a mission. His team left to complete the work, but we haven’t heard from them since,” one of The Zhaiis explained.
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Professor Joe was kept in the biology lab, now converted into a mini-clinic. His hand was bandaged, and he looked weak—but his mind was sharp. “The virus… it’s changing,” he muttered. “Some of them… are mutating faster now. Time is running out.”
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The Zhaiis had something we didn’t—a zombie-attracting bomb. A crude but effective gadget made using pheromones from captured Rottens. They used it to create diversions during supply missions. But using it came with a huge risk—it attracted not just regular Rottens, but sometimes the Bulks too.
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We shared our plan—to repair two remaining motorboats and leave for Melaka through the river and open waters.
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The leader of The Zhaiis frowned.
“The boats… we tried. They need parts, fuel… and more hands to push them out of the dock. If we help you, some of us have to go too.”
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There was a silence. The weight of risk settled in the air. But then, a Zhaii said:
“Let’s do it. For our country. For all of us.”
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and then Add to home screen.