Chapter Ten: Penicillin (Part One)

Doctor? Zhao Qiang and Wei Tao looked at each other in confusion—where would a doctor come from here?

Li Yun, anxious, called out a couple more times. One hand kept moving from her son's forehead to her own, her worry like an ant on a hot pan. "Why are you just standing there? Go find a doctor already!" she cried, gripping her husband in desperation.

Zhang Yongming, helpless, turned pleading eyes to Zhao Qiang, his own heart consumed with worry. Their son had been fine just yesterday, but today he had suddenly fallen ill with a high fever.

"Let me take a look, if I may?" Li Zihan, who had been quietly standing aside, finally spoke up. "I graduated from a nursing program at a medical school."

"My son needs a doctor, not a nurse!" As a mother, Li Yun couldn't bear the thought of handing her child over to a young girl who had merely graduated from a medical school.

Seeing Zhang Yongming's embarrassed expression, Zhao Qiang shook his head and pulled Li Zihan over. He said to Li Yun, "Sister-in-law, look around. Aside from your family, it's just the three of us here. It's not that we don't want to find you a doctor, but you know the situation. I know nothing about medicine. Brother Wei is a police officer—maybe he knows some first aid, but as you said, your son needs a doctor. Li Zihan may not be a doctor, but at least she’s professionally trained, and she's a responsible girl. Could you let her try?"

Grateful for Zhao Qiang's words, Li Zihan nodded at him. After graduation, she had met with failure after failure searching for a job, which made her doubt her own profession. In the end, she had only managed to get a position at a gas station through family connections. This was the first time anyone had acknowledged her training.

Li Yun lowered her head, silent for a while, before finally agreeing to let Li Zihan examine her son.

After a careful examination, Li Zihan reached her conclusion: the boy had acute pneumonia.

"He needs IV fluids, his tonsils show signs of inflammation, and I need antipyretics, penicillin, and other medications. Brother Wei, is there a medical office here?" At that moment, Li Zihan was as calm as any doctor.

Soon, Zhang Yongming carried the boy to the infirmary. After searching through cabinets for a long time, Li Zihan, looking dejected, pulled Wei Tao aside. She glanced at the anxious Li Yun, then whispered, "Brother Wei, there's no penicillin here. I can try to bring down his fever, but without antibiotics, I’m afraid the boy won’t make it."

Wei Tao nodded, replying quietly, "I’ll handle the medicine. You focus on lowering the fever." He exchanged a glance with Zhao Qiang and turned to leave. Zhao Qiang understood and followed him out of the infirmary without a word.

"What’s the situation?" Zhao Qiang quietly asked as he closed the door behind them.

"I need to go out. Take care of them," Wei Tao said, his usually cold voice tinged with urgency.

"Go out?" Zhao Qiang was puzzled. "There are zombies everywhere. Why go out?"

"I'm going to get medicine. Li said we don’t have enough," Wei Tao replied, as if the zombies outside were no concern of his.

Zhao Qiang sighed, glanced at the tightly shut infirmary, and said, "I’ll go with you. Two people can watch out for each other. Brother Zhang is here; it’ll be fine."

At the armory, Wei Tao took out two silenced submachine guns, handing one to Zhao Qiang. "We need to move quickly. There’s a community clinic not far from here." Zhao Qiang looked at the gun in his hand. The silenced submachine gun looked like a shrunken version of the Type 95 rifle, and its operation was similar. He nodded and followed Wei Tao out.

The snowfall had stopped. A dozen zombies roamed the courtyard, as if searching for a way to invade the compound. Spotting Zhao Qiang and Wei Tao, the zombies began to converge, shoving their bodies through the iron bars and growling from their throats.

Ignoring the zombies deforming themselves against the railings, Wei Tao and Zhao Qiang jogged away from the SWAT compound. Soon, they arrived at a nearby community clinic. As the zombies trailed after them, Wei Tao shoved Zhao Qiang toward the entrance. "You get the medicine. I’ll cover you."

The clinic had two floors: the first was for diagnosis and dispensing medicine, the second for administering IV fluids. Even though it was daytime, the infirmary was pitch dark.

Switching on the flashlight mounted on his gun, Zhao Qiang began his search. Gunfire from outside signaled that Wei Tao was engaging the zombies, the muffled shots reminding Zhao Qiang to hurry.

Suddenly, in the flashlight’s beam, Zhao Qiang spotted someone in a white coat slumped behind the counter, head bowed, face obscured.

Damn it, there’s a dead guy here? Still lying here! Zhao Qiang cursed inwardly, stepping gingerly over the corpse, careful not to touch it.

Penicillin… penicillin… He fumbled through the shelves, setting his submachine gun aside to use as a light source. In the dim glow, he couldn’t find penicillin. Forget it. He’d just grab a bag and take all the medicine back—let Li Zihan sort through it herself.

Suddenly, Zhao Qiang remembered there was a backpack beside the corpse he’d stepped over earlier. He turned toward it—only to see that the corpse, at some point while he’d been searching, had stood up. Its head still hung low, and it made no sound as it approached him from behind.

As Zhao Qiang turned, he found himself face-to-face with the zombie. Before he could react, it lifted its lifeless eyes and glared at him, hands shooting out to grasp his shoulders like lightning. Its mouth gaped wide, reeking, lunging for his neck.

Shocked, Zhao Qiang threw up his hands to block the hideous maw. The zombie’s sudden strength forced him backward, slamming him down. My gun! Pinned under the zombie, his gun was trapped on the counter. With one hand he desperately held the zombie’s jaw at bay, while the other fumbled blindly across the countertop.

Perhaps from panic, his hand swept the submachine gun off the counter. He clawed helplessly at the floor for it, the sound of the gun hitting the ground making his heart leap to his throat. The foul mouth drew closer; his hand, bracing the zombie’s jaw, began to tremble from strain.

With a sudden motion, Zhao Qiang drew his knife from his belt and stabbed it into the zombie’s body, twisting viciously. The police-issue blade was solid, and soon he had torn open a huge gash in the zombie’s belly. Cold, viscous blood and globs of sticky matter slid down his hand.

Any human would be incapacitated by such a wound. But Zhao Qiang was fighting a creature that felt no pain. His shoulder, gripped by the zombie, began to go numb. His collarbone was pinned; blood flow was cut off, making his vision darken and his knife hand falter, unable to strike a killing blow.

At last, the counter behind him gave way under their combined weight, collapsing with a crash. Taking advantage, Zhao Qiang broke free from the zombie’s grip and shoved the now-unbalanced monster away. Without pausing for breath, he spotted the submachine gun’s light nearby.

Scrambling toward the light, Zhao Qiang thought of nothing but recovering his gun before the zombie could attack again. Without time to aim, he fired from the floor in a swift, practiced motion. The gun spat fire, and thirty rounds hammered into the zombie in an instant, like a hailstorm.

After a convulsive death dance, the zombie finally collapsed again. Zhao Qiang, having emptied the magazine, gasped for breath as he climbed to his feet, tossed aside the empty gun, and picked up his fallen knife. Staring at the still-twitching creature, Zhao Qiang flexed his shoulder, which was slowly regaining feeling, and strode toward it, his face twisted with grim resolve.