Papa aimed the gun with a trembling hand and fired, but Sister Jane only jerked in response to the force of the projectile that pierced her heart. Still, it didn't slow her uneven shuffle towards Papa.

Instinctively, I raised my gun and aimed for her head. When my projectile pierced her skull, she collapsed to the floor, stopping at Papa's feet.

Nneka, my fourteen-year-old sister, tightened her grip on my shirt and was the first to break the silence.

"What is happening? I'm scared!"

Who could explain why Aunt Jane, who had died a few hours ago and was about to be conveyed to the mortuary, woke up and bit Papa's hand? She refused to die even after being shot several times.

Papa asked the same question I was about to ask, but in Igbo, "What is happening?"

We all jolted at the sound of a knock, heavy as though someone used the base of a closed fist to knock rather than their knuckles.

We looked at each other, all wondering the same thing, but the voice behind the door provided an answer. "Open, please. It's Victor. Where is my sister?" Heavy knocks followed each word. "Dan!" He called my father's first name. "Where is my sister?"

Uncle Victor impatiently turned the knob, realizing it was open. His gaze first fell on his sister and the pool of blood around her, and then he noticed the guns in Papa's and my hands.

"What is happening?" His brows furrowed as they tried to meet in the middle.

We explained how she died and how she woke up hours later while we waited for him and bit Papa's forearm.

Uncle Victor took cautious steps towards his sister's lifeless body, which lay on her face. We gathered around him as he slowly reached out to turn her over, but the power went out, swallowing everything in darkness.

Nneka succumbed to panic in the oppressive darkness and screamed because even the curtains were drawn, shielding the moonlight that would have filtered through.

I thought the lights came back on, but it was only the flash from Nneka's Itel S23+. At that time, I had more battery on my phone, but mine died before hers.

I received a call from my girlfriend, who told me to check the news.

Everybody arched behind me and experienced the lag on my phone. Navigating through X was hectic as each click stalled for longer than needed.

“Here,” Nneka said and stole everyone's attention. Her fingers glided on the 6,78 Amoled curved screen and navigated X seamlessly, showing videos of patients in hospitals biting nurses and doctors. But there were only a handful of the videos.

Instructions displayed on every news channel were to remain indoors and lock all doors. In case of a bite from a sick person, call 0098 or 00998. And PLEASE, CITIZENS ARE ADVISED to conserve power. The message looped.

I called the provided number, and a kind woman asked us to remain calm, assuring us they were on their way to our location.

The skyrocketing price of fuel kept us away from a filling station. The option of a generator was out of reach, so we were left with just my 10000mAh power bank.

Nneka would later tell me that her Itel S23+ had a 5000mAh battery and charged at the speed of light. And could last days on a power saver. Its dynamic bar allowed one to glide through needed apps, consuming less battery and it had a sixteen-gig RAM, never hanging like my phone, so charging her phone would be more productive. After a while, she added, "In a zombie situation, the phone you want to be handling is the ItelS23plus."

But now, Papa groaned in a way that drew our attention away from Sister Jane's lifeless body. He shielded his eyes from the flash with his bitten hand, its reddish outline sending shivers down my spine.

We thought the same thing, but Nneka spoke to her phone, referring to it as Aivana, "What should we do after a zombie bite?"

"Hello," the phone replied. "You must be writing an interesting book..."

Nneka interjected, "I am not writing a book! Just answer the question!"

"In the case of a zombie bite, clean the wound and apply first aid. After that, isolate the person and watch for symptoms... but remember, zombie bites are fictional."

It felt strange following the instructions of an inbuilt AI, but my brain was unable to function.

After cleaning the wound with alcohol and isolating Papa in his room, Uncle Victor finally turned Aunty Jane's corpse over, staring at it.

Nneka opened her 50-megapixel rear camera that could zoom without losing quality and saw it was damaged from the initial running and falling. It would have captured the details without Nneka going too close. Though the AMOLED screen and the 32mega pixel front camera were still intact.

After videoing with the 32mega pixel front camera, clear as dstv, and posting on X, we covered Aunt Jane with a white duvet, and proceeded to the dining, audibly breathing, waiting for symptoms as the AI had said.

Just then, sleeping gas (the help the woman had spoken about) infiltrated through the windows, and before I knew it, smoke clouded everything, and I slipped into slumber.

I had a feeling that if I opened my eyes, I would be in my bed, and it would be morning, and in the afternoon, while checking my sluggish device, I wouldn't remember my dream.