June 21, 2027, 3:47 PM.
Yu Molan stood in the entryway, pulling the last loop of duct tape tight around his left wrist.
The edge of the tape dug into his flesh, cutting off some circulation and making his palm feel numb. But he didn't loosen it. Instead, he wound several more strips around the cuffs of his pants and the tops of his shoes. He wore a thick denim jacket with the collar popped, a mask, and a pair of goggles—leftovers from a past renovation.
Lin Zhixi stood at the bedroom door, a damp towel clutched in her hand.
"I'm heading out," Yu Molan's voice came out muffled through his mask. "The community loudspeaker mentioned 'emergency medical kits.' Xiaoyu has been running a low-grade fever, and we only have two antipyretics left. That's not enough to get us through."
Lin Zhixi nodded. "I'll bolt the door behind you. Knock three long, two short. I won't open if you don't use the signal."
Yu Molan nodded, tightened his grip on the stainless steel rolling pin hidden up his sleeve, and pushed the door open.
The hallway was as black as a coal pit, and the sour, rotting smell in the air was ten times stronger than inside the apartment. With every floor he descended, he could hear suppressed coughs and whispers from behind closed doors. The iron door that the 'rotten-faced man' had slammed against yesterday was shut tight, its handle wrapped in a loop of bloody gauze. The image of an ominous seal flashed through Yu Molan's mind.
Outside the building entrance, the rain had temporarily stopped.
A long line had already formed by the fountain in the residential community's central courtyard.
This was not a normal line.
Over two hundred people, all spaced far apart. Each person was like a startled rat, fur on end, warily eyeing everyone around them. Some wore gas masks, others had plastic bags over their heads, but most, like Yu Molan, were bundled up tightly.
Although yesterday's horrifying attack had been localized, the fear it spawned had spread like a plague, seeping up through the sewers to lap at everyone's ankles.
At the head of the line, behind a few rust-stained folding tables, sat Director Wang from the Neighborhood Committee. Her portly body was huddled inside an oversized raincoat, her face ashen. The bureaucratic smile that was usually plastered on her face was now completely gone.
There were no familiar faces beside her, like Xiao Zhang from property management—word was he'd gone to shut off the main switch the day before yesterday and never returned. In his place was a young, unfamiliar security guard, clutching a still-dripping baton, his eyes darting about nervously.
The supplies were piled behind them.
A pathetic amount. A dozen or so cases of mineral water, a few dozen five-kilogram bags of old rice, and a small cardboard box marked with a red cross.
Seeing that red cross, Yu Molan's heart pounded.
The line crawled forward.
In front of Yu Molan was a young woman holding a child. The child, maybe two or three years old, was flushed with fever and lay limply over her shoulder. The woman's back was splattered with mud, a clear sign she had taken a fall.
She turned, and her frightened eyes glanced at the heavily bundled Yu Molan. She instinctively hugged her child tighter and shrank away from him.
A fit of coughing erupted from behind.
"Cough, cough, cough—retch—"
It was a middle-aged man in glasses, coughing and dry heaving.
"Stop coughing! Did you get caught in the rain?! You're turning into a zombie!" someone shrieked.
"No... no... it's just pharyngitis..." the man stammered, wiping froth from the corner of his mouth. The folding fan in his hand trembled violently. "It's an old problem... Really, it's not..."
No one believed him. The breeze from his fan seemed to carry poison, forcing the people behind him to retreat even further.
"Quiet down!" Director Wang yelled into a megaphone, her voice hoarse and grating. "Distribution is by household! Five kilograms of rice and one bottle of water per household! Medicine is only for severe cases, and you need a hospital certificate!"
"A hospital certificate?" someone in the crowd exploded. "What hospital is even open now? The phone lines are all down!"
"Then there's nothing to be done! Rules are rules!" the young security guard shouted, waving his baton in a weak show of force.
That shout was the spark that ignited the powder keg of fear and desperation.
"So you just don't want to give it to us, is that it?"
A young man with dyed blond hair pushed his way out from the side. He wasn't wearing a mask. A scorpion tattoo coiled around his neck, and he was holding half a brick.
"Everyone, look sharp! With so little stuff, the people at the back won't get anything!" Blondie pointed at the pile of supplies, spittle flying. "The officials are keeping it for themselves! I saw them moving supplies into the basement!"
"Bullshit!" Director Wang shot to her feet.
"Take it! If we don't, we'll starve to death anyway!"
Someone shouted it from the crowd.
The cry was like a starting pistol.
The crowd, once kept apart by fear, was now crushed together by a more primitive survival instinct. Neighbors who had been wary of each other moments before now turned into ravenous beasts.
"Don't push! There's a child here!" the woman in front of Yu Molan screamed.
A massive shove came from behind. Yu Molan staggered, a sharp pain shooting through his ribs. He instinctively reached out with his left hand, grabbing the woman who was about to be trampled. He used his duct-taped forearm to brace her, his back holding firm against the surging tide of people.
"Get to the side! Go!" he growled.
Her face streaked with tears, the woman used his support to scramble and crawl out of the vortex with her child. Without a word of thanks, she ran towards the building entrance, one of her feet bare.
The central area instantly became a battlefield.
Blondie smashed his brick against the young guard's helmet, and the guard crumpled to the ground. The tables were overturned, spilling pristine white rice into the black mud.
They'd gone crazy. All of them.
Some people knelt in the muddy water, desperately scooping the mud-caked grains into their pockets. Others, fighting for a single bottle of water, sank their teeth into someone's wrist.
"Aaaah! He's biting people! He's biting people! He's a zombie!"
"Fucking hell, you're the fucking zombie!"
The screams made Yu Molan's scalp crawl. He saw an old man get pushed down, his dentures flying out. He saw Director Wang pinned against a corner, her megaphone letting out a piercing shriek before a foot stomped it to pieces. Read the latest chapters at novelping(.)com.
There was no "medical kit" to be found. The small red-cross box had been torn open, spilling its contents: just a few boxes of ordinary adhesive bandages and some herbal cold remedies.
There were no antibiotics, and no antipyretics.
Yu Molan's heart sank. It was all a sham, a show put on to placate the masses, and it had backfired spectacularly.
He didn't rush forward. Instead, he used the chaos as cover to retreat, backing up against a planter, his hand tightening on the steel rod hidden in his sleeve. He saw the coughing man in glasses being trampled underfoot, his spectacles shattered, one hand still feebly clawing at the air.
The Black Rain began to fall again.
A fine, greasy drizzle fell on every crazed person, on every grain of rice scattered in the mud.
Yu Molan took one last look at the tableau, then turned and dashed into the curtain of rain.
By the time he got home, he was shaking all over.
The peephole was blocked; no light came through.
Three long knocks, two short.
The door opened. Lin Zhixi stood there, a kitchen cleaver in her hand. Her eyes dimmed for a moment when she saw him return empty-handed, but she quickly let out a sigh of relief.
"No medicine," Yu Molan gasped, tearing off the mud-caked duct tape. "It was a lie. It's chaos down there. There was bloodshed."
He didn't dare mention the biting.
Lin Zhixi said nothing. She silently took the jacket he removed and tossed it into a quarantine bag in the entryway.
From the bedroom came Xiaoyu's faint, feverish murmurs.
Yu Molan went into the bedroom and knelt by the bed. Xiaoyu's face was flushed red, her forehead slick with cold sweat. She was clutching her stuffed rabbit tightly.
"Daddy," she mumbled, her eyes fluttering open. Her voice was as faint as the buzz of a mosquito. "It's so noisy downstairs... It sounds like a lot of wild dogs barking."
Yu Molan's hand, reaching to touch her forehead, froze in mid-air.
Wild dogs.
Those creatures, tumbling, biting, and fighting in the mud of the courtyard, could hardly be called "neighbors" anymore.
He pulled his hand back, tucked in the corners of his daughter's blanket, then walked to the window and sealed the remaining crack completely.
Outside, a roll of thunder passed over, drowning out the piercing screams from below.
Proofreader: Peter Pan