June 24, 2027
In the morning, Yu Molan stood in the entryway, flicking the main blade of his Swiss Army knife open and closed. Finally, he tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket, close to his chest. He patted his lower back, where a boning knife, wrapped in newspaper, was tucked into his waistband.
"I'll just check the Mei Yijia and the pharmacy nearby again," he said. "The owner was still selling things a couple of days ago. The big supermarkets are definitely empty. It'd be a waste of time to go there."
Lin Zhixi nodded. She didn't say "be careful," just handed him the old backpack. Tucked inside were two large black trash bags—for carrying things, and for deterring robbers.
Yu Molan grunted in acknowledgment. Before leaving, he checked the door lock one more time and left the spare key with Lin Zhixi. "Three long knocks, two short. That's me. If you hear anything else, don't open the door, no matter what."
Lin Zhixi pushed the door shut. The crisp click of the deadbolt cut off the last sliver of security, locking it inside.
The hallway was dark.
The floodwaters had receded, but they left behind a thick layer of sediment like black grease. With every step, the soles of his shoes registered a nauseating stickiness, as if treading on wet glue.
The beam of his flashlight danced across the walls. Large patches of paint had peeled away, revealing the dark gray concrete beneath. It was covered in a transparent film of fungus that glistened oilily in the light.
The glass doors of the ground-floor lobby were all shattered. Wind poured through the gaps, carrying a foul stench—a mixture of dead rats, rotting leaves, and the smell of sulfur.
He stepped over the scattered glass shards and pushed open the building's main door.
Outside, everything was a dead gray. The residential community was eerily silent. The doors of several private cars hung open, their windows smashed, their interiors gutted.
Beyond the community gates, the street was even emptier.
Rows of share bikes lay toppled on the roadside, all of them broken, their red and blue paint mottled and peeling. A few electric scooters were strewn across the middle of the road, their battery compartments empty, wires trailing on the ground like entrails.
A distinct smell of burning hung in the air. In the distance, a few figures seemed to be burning something, the smoke clinging low to the ground, refusing to disperse.
Yu Molan hugged the base of the walls, trying to stick to the higher, drier patches of ground. The black fungal mat had already spread onto the sidewalk; one careless step could send him slipping.
After a few minutes' walk, he reached the Mei Yijia convenience store.
The rolling shutter had been violently torn open, gaping like a harelip. Inside, shelves were overturned, and the floor was covered in footprints.
It had already been looted.
Yu Molan's heart sank, but he didn't leave. He remembered the small storeroom in the back.
He stepped over the wreckage and slipped through the small, half-open door at the back.
The storeroom was pitch-black. He didn't dare turn on his flashlight, just clutched his backpack to his chest and felt his way forward.
The shelves were mostly empty. He felt a cardboard box in the corner—empty. He felt another—also empty.
Just as he was about to give up, his foot kicked something hard.
It was a case of something, wedged in the gap beneath the bottom shelf.
He crouched down and fumbled to pull it out. The cardboard was damp and soft, tearing as he tugged. He reached inside and his fingers touched cold aluminum cans.
Beer.
He cursed inwardly, but it had calories and could be drunk like water. He quickly stuffed the half-case of beer into his bag.
As he was about to stand, his hand brushed against a plastic bag nearby. It felt soft. Inside was... sanitary pads?
Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed from the main shop floor.
*Crunch.*
The sound of glass being stepped on.
Someone was here.
Every muscle in Yu Molan's body tensed. He shrank back into the shadows of the storeroom, his right hand slowly reaching for the boning knife at his lower back.
The footsteps were light, but there were several of them. More than one person.
"Fuck, this place is cleaner than a dog's bowl," a man's voice growled, low and vicious.
"Check the back," another voice said.
A flashlight beam swept into the room, playing over the storeroom shelves.
Yu Molan held his breath, pressing himself flat against the corner. The beam swept past, inches from his feet, and stopped.
There lay an empty can he had crushed underfoot.
"Someone's been here," the voice said, suddenly alert. "And recently."
The two men didn't dare rush in. The beam darted around the storeroom.
"Friend," the man outside called out. "No need to hide. How about we have a chat?"
Yu Molan didn't make a sound. He had a feeling that "a chat" usually meant leaving your things behind. Or your life.
He saw an exhaust window to his left. It was high up, but a few empty boxes were stacked beneath it.
He didn't hesitate. The moment the beam swept to the other side, he scrambled onto the boxes and began to climb.
"There he is!"
The beam slammed onto his back.
Yu Molan shoved at the exhaust window. The old-fashioned bolt was rusted shut and shrieked in protest.
"Don't let him get away!"
Footsteps charged into the room.
Yu Molan didn't have time to think. He kicked the window open and slithered through like a fish.
*Thud!*
Something slammed against the window frame, shaking dust from the wall. A steel pipe.
He fell onto the wet mud of the back alley, his knee screaming in pain, but he didn't dare stop. He scrambled up and ran, the beer cans in his backpack clanging loudly.
He leaned against a wall, gasping for air. Each breath was a lungful of sulfurous air that made him want to gag.
On the way back, he passed the small pharmacy.
The pharmacy was in an even worse state. The glass door was shattered, and even the counter had been smashed. The floor was littered with crushed medicine boxes and pills, all mixed together.
Still, he went in to search, refusing to give up.
In a crack beneath the cash register, he found a half-full, crushed bottle of povidone-iodine, the cap still on. There was also a stomped-on box of amoxicillin; the foil blister pack was broken, but a few capsules inside were still intact.
It was enough. In a pinch, these few pills could save a life.
As he neared home, the sky grew darker.
A few men pushing bicycles passed him, the share-bike locks gone. Huge, woven plastic sacks, bulging with unknown contents, were tied to the back racks. He didn't look at them, and they didn't look at him. Yu Molan kept his head down, shrinking into himself, trying to look like some unlucky bastard who'd come back empty-handed.
Climbing the stairs, his legs felt like lead.
At every landing, he paused for a few seconds to listen. The stairwell was terrifyingly quiet, the only sound his own heartbeat. *Thump, thump.*
He reached his door and knocked.
Three long, two short.
The door opened almost instantly. Lin Zhixi's pale face appeared in the crack, a kitchen cleaver clutched tightly in her hand.
"Dad!" Xiaoyu threw herself at him, hugging his legs and pressing her face against his mud-caked trousers.
Yu Molan stepped inside, locking the door and sliding the security chain into place. He dropped the backpack on the floor with a heavy thud.
Lin Zhixi knelt and unzipped it.
A few cans of beer, a pack of sanitary pads, a half-bottle of iodine, and a few capsules.
No rice, no noodles, no canned food.
A shadow passed over her eyes, but she quickly hid it.
"We have medicine. That's what matters," she said, her voice trembling. "You're not hurt, are you?"
Yu Molan sat on the sofa and took off his shoes. The soles were caked with the black, sticky goo; he couldn't scrape it off. His socks were soaked through, and his toes were pale, wrinkled, and numb from the wet.
"Almost didn't make it back," he said, taking the half-cup of 'slick water' Lin Zhixi handed him and downing it in one gulp. "People are forming gangs out there. We can't go out during the day anymore."
Xiaoyu crouched nearby, curiously picking up a can of beer and shaking it.
"Dad, can I drink this?"
"Uh... yes," Yu Molan said, stroking his daughter's head. "A little bit will give you energy."
Outside, the rain began to fall again, making a greasy, scraping sound against the glass.
Yu Molan looked at the pathetic little pile of supplies. He knew in his heart: it wouldn't last them three days.
Proofreader: Peter Pan