When the phone screen lit up, I was squatting in the corner of the rental house, using the last half of a bottle of mineral water to rinse a bag of instant noodles that had been chewed for three days.
On the seventh day of the apocalypse, the running water stopped and the shelves of the convenience store downstairs had long been robbed. My fifteen-square-meter rental house is now a living coffin. A low roar came from the window, which was the standard background sound of zombies wandering on the streets. I haven't heard anything other than roaring for three days. My throat is as dry as sandpaper, my hair is stuck to my scalp, and my whole face is as oily as cooking.
The phone vibrated, making my hands shake. I thought it was another spam push of "Apocalyptic Survival Guide", but when I lowered my head and saw the pop-up window on the screen, I almost threw my phone away.
"The Doomsday Food Delivery App has been forcibly bound successfully."
I was stunned for five seconds, and my mind went around - I have never downloaded this thing.
A light blue interface popped up on the screen, which was frighteningly simple. In the middle is the time at this moment, with a line of words hanging below: "Remaining until the first order is delivered: 1 hour and 59 minutes."
Then the order information pops up:
Delivery address: Limin convenience store at the intersection of Pingan Road and Jianshe Road
Order contents: One serving of Master Kong braised beef noodles
Delivery rewards: random rewards
Time remaining: 1 hour and 58 minutes
I stared at the "random reward" and suddenly wanted to laugh. Seven days ago, the zombie virus broke out, the entire country was cut off from internet and power, and all apps were disabled. Now you tell me that there is a food delivery app that still works, and can you still give me rewards?
But the countdown is running.
