Ao Lubo woke up  on the sidewalk with a terrible headache. His skull felt like it was neatly cleaved.

He had been sleeping, it seemed, on a hunk of wood. Apparently the apocalypse had come early. Surely that hunk of wood was part of the falling debris caused by the world imploding.

He wondered how long he had been out cold. Perhaps an hour? Perhaps since the night before? Had he been drinking? He couldn’t remember.

He looked around, trying to focus his eyes. Everything seemed to be still intact. People were strolling past. An e-bike nearly clipped him as he staggered to his feet. A man hoarked and spat an inch from his head.

Zombies, he decided. He was the last human left in Shanghai. He looked down at the hunk of wood, shook his head sadly, trying to ignore the pounding between his temples, and got ready to start swinging.

Somebody had to get rid of the zombies.

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