Chapter Two

As the security door began to splinter and break apart, a look of grim resolve settled on everyone’s faces. The soldiers bowed their heads to check their remaining ammunition; what little they had left did nothing to inspire confidence. One grizzled veteran, eyes bloodshot from relentless killing, raised his gun and rushed to the door.

He pressed the muzzle almost against the zombie’s skull and fired. The bullet, propelled by tremendous force, punched through the head of the zombie trying to squeeze through the broken door, carrying with it a mess of red and white tissue that tore into the eye socket of the next one behind. The spray of flesh and the thunder of gunfire only further enraged the horde. They tore at the door with renewed frenzy, several of them struggling to squeeze through the widening gap.

Point-blank shooting had its advantages — there was no need to aim, and one bullet could easily take down one or even two zombies. The old soldier quickly emptied his magazine, leaving a pile of corpses stacked haphazardly outside the door, which slowed the advance of those behind. He then drew his bayonet and affixed it to the muzzle of his Type 95 rifle, stabbing fiercely into the oncoming crowd.

Seeing the effectiveness of his method, the other soldiers drew their bayonets and followed suit.

Zhao Qiang was stunned by the gruesome scene before him. The spray of blood and viscera made his stomach churn once again, just as he’d started to recover. Before, they had fought from a distance with their rifles; now, it was cold steel and desperate, one-sided slaughter. His earlier vomiting had nearly emptied him out, and now the even bloodier spectacle left him retching with nothing left to bring up.

He set his gun down and stumbled up to the second floor, needing to distance himself from the carnage. A few elderly people wandered the stairwell, muttering anxiously, while others sat collapsed on the steps, clearly terrified.

Seeing Zhao Qiang, those pacing the corridor immediately crowded around, bombarding him with questions about the situation downstairs. He mumbled some vague reassurances — that the soldiers were doing their best, that things weren’t hopeless — but he didn’t try to comfort them further. He himself had no faith that they could hold out much longer.

It won’t be long before we’re finished, he thought in despair. How long can a handful of us last with bayonets? The zombies outside are endless, and our strength will soon fail. If I’d known it would come to this, I never would have come out!

A young soldier rushed up, panting as he shook Zhao Qiang, who was sitting on the floor, lost in regret. “Zhao, come on, we need you downstairs!” he gasped. “Old Wang and Old Li can’t hold out much longer — Wang says we have to take turns holding them off!” With that, the young man darted back down the stairs.

Damn it, those cursed zombies! Zhao Qiang swore under his breath, as much to steel his nerves as to curse their fate.

Outside, the ground was already littered with zombie corpses. After the soldiers dispatched them with bayonets, the bodies were quickly dragged away by the next wave, creating obstacles for the horde. For zombies who couldn’t coordinate their human bodies well, the uneven, yielding mass of corpses was a formidable barrier. Many stumbled and fell, or slipped in the slick blood, and the narrow corridor made it impossible for their overwhelming numbers to surround Zhao Qiang’s group.

So the battle settled into a stalemate. Though they could take turns resting, the ache in their arms from thrusting and stabbing with the Type 95s was nearly unbearable. What had once been a light rifle now felt heavier than a mountain in Zhao Qiang’s exhausted hands.

Finally, Zhao Qiang was rotated out and collapsed, tossing his life-saving rifle aside. His body was utterly spent, his nerves dulled to numbness by the endless repetition of violence. He slumped against the wall, eyes hollow, watching the others continue their desperate struggle. He knew that if any of them collapsed from exhaustion, they were all doomed.

Just as despair threatened to swallow him, the mass of zombies at the door suddenly thinned. From a distance came the roar of an engine and the rattle of machine gun fire. Most of the zombies at the entrance were distracted by the noise and turned to shuffle toward it. Only then did Zhao Qiang notice that it was a bank armored transport truck, and the gunfire came from its firing ports.

The truck pulled up steadily at the building entrance and honked twice. As Zhao Qiang and the soldiers prepared to dispatch the remaining zombies and join the truck, it suddenly sped away.

The truck circled the building twice at a measured pace, then turned and left the neighborhood. Watching their hope for survival drive off into the distance, followed by a horde of zombies, Zhao Qiang was plunged into hopelessness. He nearly ran outside in a frenzy, intent on chasing after the departing vehicle — and if not for Old Li’s restraining grip, he would have thrown himself straight into the zombie crowd. Tears streaked his blood-stained face as he struggled, thinking of his beloved wife in Changsha, his unreachable family. Was it all ending here?

He slid helplessly to the floor, curling up like a child. The distraction of the truck had drawn most of the zombies away from the entrance, giving them a brief respite. But when the horde returned, everyone inside the building would be finished. The soldiers, too, seized the chance to rest, bracing themselves for the final assault, uncertain when it would come.

Ten minutes passed; none of the zombies seemed to recall the survivors in the stairwell. The silence was absolute. After fighting from dawn till dusk, no one had the strength to speak. Only Old Li kept watch at the door, while the others dozed off where they sat.

A screech of tires jolted everyone awake. The armored truck, which had driven away, returned. Having lured away most of the horde, the truck now sped back into the compound, spun around, and positioned its rear door directly in front of the building entrance.

They were saved! Everyone scrambled to their feet, energy flooding back into their exhausted bodies. Cheers broke out, but only Old Li remembered the elderly upstairs.

At last, when they all crammed into the airtight compartment of the armored truck, Zhao Qiang, safe for the moment, began to murmur thanks to every deity he could remember. No zombie could ever catch them now. But who was their mysterious savior? No one had seen the driver. With so many people, it was impossible to fit everyone in the cab, and the rear door was unlocked as the first zombies reached the truck’s front. Everyone scrambled inside. Old Li, covering their retreat, dispatched one last zombie with a precise shot and shut the door.

They were packed like sardines, the truck rocking as it drove. To escape such a hopeless situation was cause for nothing short of elation.

After a short drive, the truck stopped. The driver knocked on the window, signaling it was safe to exit.

As the doors opened, Zhao Qiang saw they were in a walled compound with a single entry, now closed. At the gate stood a young man, wary and vigilant. He watched them carefully as they disembarked. Old Li, ever the seasoned soldier, saw the suspicion in their rescuer’s eyes and handed his gun to a young comrade before jumping down.

“My name is Li Hao. I’m with the People’s Liberation Army,” he said, reaching out in greeting.

The young man stepped back, raising his Type 81 rifle and aiming at Old Li.

“Don’t be nervous,” Old Li said calmly, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “We’re soldiers, not monsters.”

“I know who you are,” the man replied, his rifle unwavering. “Stay where you are!”

“Is anyone injured?” he asked, eyes scanning the group, gun barrel shifting from person to person.

“I understand your concerns, brother,” Li Hao answered carefully. “No one here has been bitten.”

After checking everyone, the young man finally lowered his guard.

In the conversation that followed, Zhao Qiang learned what had happened. The man’s name was Wei Tao, twenty-eight years old, a member of Changsha’s special police unit who had come to Yueyang on assignment. When disaster struck, he happened to be near an armored bank truck; its crew had apparently gone to help with rescue efforts. Realizing something was wrong, Wei Tao took out two zombified military police officers, grabbed their weapons, and took refuge in the armored truck. While hiding from zombies in the city, he discovered Zhao Qiang’s group under siege. At first, he thought the shooting had stopped because the defenders had been overrun, but after circling the area and seeing the zombies still massed outside, he realized there were survivors. He then drove in, signaled to those inside, lured away most of the zombies, and rescued everyone.

After that, he brought them to the place he knew best in Yueyang: the local armed police garrison.

“What will you do next?” Zhao Qiang asked, offering Wei Tao a cigarette.

“I plan to get back to Changsha,” Wei Tao replied, lighting up and exhaling a stream of smoke. “My family’s there. I have to return to them.”

“Can I go with you? My wife — my family — they’re there too.” Zhao Qiang suddenly realized he had found the perfect driver and vehicle.

Hearing the conversation, Li Hao joined them. “You two want to go out there? Are you mad? The place is crawling with monsters!”

Wei Tao glanced at him, offering a cigarette. “Li, I know it’s as good as suicide. But my family’s in Changsha. I have to try to find them.”

Li Hao turned to persuade Zhao Qiang, but Zhao Qiang refused with the same reason. In his heart, as long as he wasn’t in immediate danger, nothing would stop him from returning to his wife and protecting her.

Zhao Qiang and Wei Tao discussed their plans at length. Many of the soldiers who had fought alongside Zhao Qiang tried to persuade them to stay, since survival chances were higher together, but both Zhao and Wei were resolute.

The chill of December was biting, even here in central China’s Yueyang. The garrison, usually bustling, was empty now — all the armed police had gone out on rescue missions and had not returned. The only ones left were the ten or so survivors sheltering in the silent compound.