July 25, 2027. 4:00 a.m.
Day 38 of the disaster.
The rain had stopped for a while in the middle of the night, but by dawn, it had returned as a sticky drizzle. A layer of water had collected on the plastic sheet roof. A gust of wind sent it slanting in through a gap, landing on Lin Zhixi's neck. She flinched, her hand instinctively reaching for Xiaoyu beside her.
Xiaoyu hadn't coughed all night.
Lin Zhixi pressed the back of her fingers to the child's forehead, then brought her hand back to feel her own carotid artery. There wasn't much difference in temperature, none of that searing, hopeless heat. She stared at the gap in the roof the wind had pried open and let out a breath. She didn't sit up, just kept whispering, "It's okay," as if for her own benefit.
Xiaoyu shifted her legs, a small, raspy sound escaping her throat. "Mama, hungry."
"Have some congee." Lin Zhixi rolled over and sat up, her elbow digging a hollow into the damp cardboard mat.
Only the dregs remained in the aluminum pot. Lin Zhixi scraped it noisily with a wooden spoon, scooping out a final half-bowl. The congee had gone cold, a whitish skin forming on its surface. Xiaoyu held the bowl and slurped it down, mouthful by mouthful.
"More." Xiaoyu handed the empty bowl back.
Lin Zhixi paused for half a second, then smiled and added another half-spoonful to the bowl. It was her own portion.
After finishing, Xiaoyu put on her own shoes and got down. She took two steps, leaning on a pole of the shelter, and grinned at Lin Zhixi. It was a weak smile, but at least there was a spark of light in her eyes. Lin Zhixi folded the blister pack of anti-inflammatories three times and tucked it into a seam at the very bottom of her backpack.
Full daylight arrived. Yu Molan was squatting at the entrance of the shelter, the axe in his hands resting across his knees.
He didn't move, just stared at the blade's edge. There were two nicks in it, from splitting rotten wood the day before yesterday. He ran his thumb along the edge, the coarse feeling of rust grazing the pad of his finger.
Across the schoolyard, Xiaoyu was chasing another child. She wasn't fast, stopping every couple of steps to catch her breath, hands on her knees, before starting to chase again. Her legs were still a bit weak, her steps unsteady, but her laughter was loud. The sound was so distinct in this place, so clear it made you want to look twice.
Yu Molan sighed.
Last night's meeting had been quick.
In an empty classroom on the first floor of the school building, Lao Lian had lit a homemade oil lamp. The wick was burnt down, sending a plume of black smoke straight to the ceiling.
"There's no food left." Lao Lian stubbed out his cigarette butt, his eyes clouded. "We have to go into the city."
No one spoke. Everyone knew what going into the city meant.
"The logistics park on the outskirts of Linjiang City." Lao Lian looked at Yu Molan.
No one asked why there, and no one asked if they should go. The only question left was who.
Yu Molan lit a cigarette. He knew the place. Back when he'd just started working, before the disaster, he did city distribution. Warehouse No. 3 at the logistics park was where he unloaded his truck every day. The side door on the east side of the warehouse was never locked, and the ramp behind it led straight to the bonded warehouse.
"Same crew as usual." Lao Lian slapped a map on the lectern. "Yu Molan drives. Lao Zhou brings the noise. Xiao Wu and Lao Zhao bring the tools. Lao Zhao, how's your leg?"
Lao Zhao was squatting by the door, a crowbar cradled in his arms. He'd taken a fall a couple of days ago, and his knee was swollen and purple. He glanced down at his leg and said in a muffled voice, "I can walk."
They had pushed it out of a courtyard. The previous Volkswagen was too small to carry supplies, so they'd siphoned its fuel into this one. Yu Molan sat in the driver's seat. The steering wheel was sticky, making it hard to get a good grip. Lao Zhou sat in the passenger seat with the shotgun slung over his back. Xiao Wu and Lao Zhao were huddled in the back.
"Give it a push!" Yu Molan yelled.
The wheels, stuck in a mud pit, spun with a grating screech. Black smoke billowed out. Xiao Wu and a few other men were pushing hard from behind. Lao Zhao's foot slipped, and he had to haul himself up by the van's frame, nearly losing a shoe to the mud's grip.
The side door slid open, and fog crept in, clinging to the ground like a living thing.
Xiaoyu ran to the window, her small, thin hands gripping the frame. "Come back soon."
"Yeah." Yu Molan didn't look at her, his eyes fixed on the fog ahead. "I'll bring you back some candy."
Lin Zhixi pressed a cloth bundle into his hand. Inside were a few flatbreads wrapped in scraps of fabric.
The van pulled away from the stronghold. The road was torn up as if it had been plowed. Overturned cars and scorched metal frames were everywhere. The air carried a foul, sweet stench, like rotten fruit mixed with dead rats.
As they neared the logistics park, the fog thinned slightly.
The iron gate was locked tight. Lao Zhao got out with his crowbar and slammed it against the lock a few times. The sound carried far in the silent park.
Yu Molan got out, his eyes scanning the ground. There were fresh drag marks in the mud, as if something heavy had been pulled along.
"Let's be quick. Grab the stuff and get out," he said.
Most of the shelves inside the park had toppled over, their cardboard boxes soaked and rotten from the rain. Relying on memory, Yu Molan led the others around leaning heavy-duty shelves, heading for the back of the bonded warehouse.
A row of green crates was stacked there, their seals still intact. Food.
"Lend a hand," Xiao Wu said in a low voice.
The four men began to move the crates. They were heavy, and the sound of them dragging across the concrete floor was jarring enough to set one's teeth on edge.
Just then, a figure shuffled into view on the second-floor platform of Warehouse No. 3.
It was a man in a security guard's uniform, or what was left of one. It moved slowly, arms hanging stiffly at its sides like a puppet. It would pause for several seconds with every step, a sound like a slow leak coming from its throat.
"Ignore it," Yu Molan said without looking up. "That thing can't run."
The words had barely left his mouth when several more figures shuffled out from the shadows in the back of the warehouse.
They weren't fast, it was true. They took tiny steps, their feet dragging on the floor with a rustling, scraping sound. But they were slowly closing in from three directions, their movements sluggish but utterly determined.
BOOM!
Lao Zhou fired. The shotgun blast was deafening in the enclosed warehouse. The Infected in the lead, the one in a tattered blue shirt, had its head snapped to the side as a hole blew open in its chest.
"Fall back! To the van!" Yu Molan roared.
The men grabbed two crates of canned goods and ran for the exit.
Lao Zhao was at the rear, limping heavily as he weaved through the gaps between the shelves.
Just as he was nearing the door, an Infected hidden beneath an overturned container reached out a hand. Half of its rotted body was pinned under the metal frame, and it clawed forward with excruciating slowness. Visit NovelPing for the full chapter.
Lao Zhao didn't see the wire on the ground and tripped.
That was all it took.
Lao Zhao pitched forward, his bad knee slamming hard onto the concrete. The shadow pinned under the container seized the opportunity, its hand clamping onto his ankle. The hand was withered like an old tree root, its nails digging straight into his flesh.
The thing opened its mouth, full of black fluid, and bit down on Lao Zhao's calf.
Lao Zhao didn't scream. He just sucked in a sharp breath, swinging his crowbar. The blow went wide, striking the side of the thing's face.
"Lao Zhao!" Xiao Wu turned back to pull him.
Yu Molan and Lao Zhou rushed over. Lao Zhou brought his gunstock down on the thing's spine. It was a heavy blow; the sound of bone shattering was sickeningly clear.
"Get in the van!"
The three of them dragged Lao Zhao and shoved him into the Jinbei.
Lao Zhao's pant leg was torn to shreds, blood trickling down his ankle. He leaned against the side of the van, silent.
Yu Molan started the engine, and the van charged out of the logistics park, pushing through the fog. In the rearview mirror, the gray figures were still moving slowly, mechanically, toward the gate.
The journey back felt longer than the one there.
They had tied a strip of cloth tightly around Lao Zhao's calf, but the blood still soaked through, turning the fabric black. He leaned against the wall of the van, staring intently at the desolate landscape rushing past the window.
After a while, his breathing evened out. No one thought it would be so fast.
By the time the van pulled into the Liu Village stronghold, night had fallen completely. Lao Lian and the others crowded around.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on the wooden crates being unloaded. The crates were opened to reveal tin cans. No labels, but they were heavy.
"Unload the supplies first," Lao Lian said with a wave of his hand.
Lao Zhao was carried out by Xiao Wu and Lao Zhou. He was no longer moving, his body curled into a ball.
Intermittent sobs could be heard coming from his shelter.
That night, shredded meat from the cans was added to the stronghold's congee.
The flavor was strong, masking the musty taste of the cornmeal. Everyone sat around the edge of the schoolyard, holding their bowls. Some gulped it down, heads bowed. Others took a sip, paused, and glanced toward the shelter where Lao Zhao's family lived.
Lao Zhao's body, covered with a plastic sheet, had been placed outside the shelter, not yet buried. When the wind blew, the plastic sheet would billow up, then collapse again.
It started to rain. The drops hit the plastic sheet, one by one, slow and heavy, until dawn.