The rolling shutter door of the supermarket collapsed halfway, and wind rushed in through the gap, carrying a thick stream of blood.
Around dawn, Lu Chen stood in the sunlight outside the door – he didn’t tell anyone, just stood still and waited for the light to slowly rise up to his palm.
In that instant, the pain in his ribs was pushed down by half a notch, like someone had inserted a warm support into the gap of a broken bone.
He took a breath before entering the door.
Inside, everything was in chaos.
Last night, a group of disorganized people broke in to loot, followed by the zombies.
Old Feng led his men to stand behind the shelves, losing one life – a young man in his twenties, the gash on his neck was too deep, and he didn’t make it until dawn.
Shen Wanqing knelt in the “infirmary” section separated by the shelves, sewing up someone.
Lu Chen handed over the medicine box, and she only glanced at him – that glance paused for half a second on his ribs, said nothing, took the medicine, cut the thread, and inserted the needle.
“Two buckets of water.” She said, “Boil them.”
Lu Chen poured the spirit water from the pouch into the pot.
Three days ago, she still regarded him as a “well-informed local”, but now, while pulling the thread, she said, “Give me another bucket.
This person needs it to hold out until tomorrow.”
The people surrounding watched in suspense.
Just then, Shen Wanqing’s hand stopped.
The man in front of her had a long and flat gash on his chest, with neat edges – not teeth.
It was a knife.
Someone slashed from between his shoulder blades, from behind.
She turned around, lowering her voice and asking Lu Chen, “Where did he come in yesterday?”