Chapter Fifty-Four: Even Zombies Go Bungee Jumping

Colonel Meng Longwei’s unit had been shattered by the zombie horde. Of the several hundred men he once commanded, fewer than fifty now remained. This outcome left Meng Longwei devastated and helpless. These were soldiers of the people’s army; even knowing their adversaries were now mindless zombies, the men could not bring themselves to pull the trigger. Their rifles seemed impossibly heavy in their hands.

“Commander, take the villagers and retreat! I’ll hold them off—go, now!” Meng Longwei could still remember the look on that last lieutenant’s face. Was it the resolve of a man prepared to die? He didn’t know. He only remembered watching as none of his comrades could fire upon zombies that looked, outwardly, so human. He watched, powerless, as, one by one, his comrades were torn apart. Who could understand the torment of that moment?

Closing his eyes, Meng Longwei was transported back to that bleak and terrifying day. For survival, for the sake of saving more survivors, the soldiers had taken up arms and fought against the unknown. But the number of zombies only increased, wave after endless wave. The men fought and retreated, covering the escape of others, and many gave their young, precious lives in that struggle.

They had finally managed to withdraw to Orange Isle, where the remnants of the force found a temporary haven. Bridges were blown up, defenses reinforced, fighting continued; soldiers and civilians stood as one, and together they managed to withstand the relentless assaults, building a makeshift but passable defensive position.

“Meng, have a drink,” Zhao Qiang’s voice drew Meng Longwei from his reverie, as a large enamel mug clinked against his own.

“Drink!” Meng Longwei snapped back to the present, the pungent alcohol making his head spin. He remembered now—it was he who’d invited this newcomer to drink with him.

Life on Orange Isle was far from easy. Originally just a city park for evening strolls, it had almost no facilities for food or entertainment. Luckily, the subway construction crew had left behind a kitchen with a store of rice and potatoes. Otherwise, all these mouths to feed would have starved long ago.

On the little table before Meng Longwei and Zhao Qiang sat several bottles of ordinary Red Star Erguotou liquor, and a small plate of steamed buns. Zou Lin sat beside them, pouring drinks for the two men.

“Brother, life here isn’t easy and I have nothing good to offer you. Tonight, you and I won’t leave until we’re drunk,” Meng Longwei declared. Having downed several bottles, his steps grew unsteady and his long-suppressed emotions surged forth. He didn’t care that he’d only just met Zhao Qiang—over drinks, they called each other brother without reserve.

“Meng, look what I have,” Zhao Qiang said, unconcerned by their lack of familiarity. If you called him brother, he’d call you the same—soldiers didn’t stand on ceremony. He put down his cup, rummaged through his pack, and after sorting through bottles and cans, tossed a tin box into Meng Longwei’s lap.

Meng Longwei blinked, tipsy, and stared at the tin, his eyes lighting up as he recognized it. “Canned luncheon meat! You rascal, keeping the good stuff hidden. Show me what else you’ve got!”

Zhao Qiang laughed and dumped a pile of canned meat and jerky onto the table. “It’s all here. If you need it, Meng, it’s yours.”

Meng Longwei stroked the can for a long moment before, unable to bring himself to open it, he said, “Since you’re so generous, I won’t stand on ceremony.” He placed the can on the table and called out, “Orderly!”

A young, fresh-faced soldier ran in from outside. As soon as he entered, Meng Longwei instructed him to take the pile of meat away. The young soldier’s eyes went wide with delight at the sight of so much meat—something he hadn’t seen in days.

“Wait,” Meng Longwei called, stopping the orderly as he turned to leave. “Take it and share it with the villagers.”

“But…” The orderly swallowed, eyes fixed longingly on the meat, words faltering.

Meng Longwei laughed, picked out a can of luncheon meat, and stuffed it into the boy’s arms. “You rascal, of course there’s some for you. No need to hesitate—get moving and deliver it.”

The young soldier, beaming, hurried out with his treasure. At last, some meat! He’d take the can to Old Zhang in the kitchen and have him make a big pot of soup; tonight, he and his comrades would feast.

With steamed buns and fiery Erguotou, Meng Longwei and Zhao Qiang drank heartily, but suddenly a shrill alarm sounded outside.

“Something’s wrong!” Meng Longwei, half-drunk and nearly under the table, snapped upright and grabbed his rifle, running outside with no sign of inebriation.

“Give me my gun!” Zhao Qiang snatched up his jacket and ran after him. Without looking back, Meng Longwei drew Zhao Qiang’s pistol from his belt and tossed it behind him.

Still running, Zhao Qiang caught his gun and asked, “What’s happening?”

Meng Longwei slammed a magazine into his Type 95 rifle. “Long story. Zombies have broken in—come on!” He sprinted toward the bridge.

Meng Longwei had no words for his frustration. The Xiangjiang First Bridge spanned the river, arching directly over the heart of Orange Isle. In summer, the floods turned the river into a sea; in winter, the dry bed could be crossed on foot. By working together, they had built a solid wall around the island with concrete, so ground attacks were no longer a threat. But that bridge overhead—they could do nothing about it.

The bridge must have been seven or eight stories high. For an ordinary person, jumping would mean certain death or at least crippling injury. People with a fear of heights wouldn’t even look over the railing. But the zombies didn’t fear death or pain. If they couldn’t get through the front gate, they’d gather on the bridge until, inevitably, a few were pushed over the edge. Zombies, being herd creatures, would follow. One fell, and the others would jump after, heedless of how they landed. Some hit head-first, bursting open like watermelons—red and white spraying across the concrete. The luckier ones merely lost a limb. The zombies didn’t care, shrugging off shattered arms and legs as if they were nothing, then lurching toward any humans in sight.

This happened every few days. At first, they lost many men to it, but later they posted guards in the area. At the first sign of zombies jumping from the bridge, the alarm sounded. Over time, it became routine—civilians would take shelter, soldiers would rush out, and things generally stayed under control. But the thick groves on the island meant that if the soldiers moved even a little too slowly, zombies could disappear into the trees, making things much more dangerous.

“Even zombies go bungee jumping, eh?” Reaching the bridge, Zhao Qiang stared up in amazement as the zombies rained down like dumplings.

“They’re suicidal!” Meng Longwei dragged Zhao Qiang back, away from the densest cluster. “This is no joke—most of these zombies can still fight. It’s dangerous to get too close!”

Zhao Qiang only smiled and fell back a few steps without protest.

“What’s your plan?” He crossed his arms. Five minutes had passed, yet the zombies on the bridge showed no sign of stopping. “Are you just going to stand here and watch them jump?”

A shadow crossed Meng Longwei’s face. Usually, the zombie “bungee jump” lasted three or five minutes at most, but now it had gone nearly ten, only now beginning to slow.

This was trouble. Meng Longwei gripped his rifle tight. They were nearly out of ammunition. With so many zombies, if they couldn’t hold them back… the people behind them would be doomed.

“Report!” A sergeant ran up and saluted.

“Speak!” Meng Longwei’s eyes never left the struggling horde.

“All personnel are in position, ready to attack,” the sergeant responded, his gaze uneasy. “Commander, we’re nearly out of ammo. I’m afraid this time…”

“If we run out of bullets, fix bayonets! We are soldiers—defenders of our homeland. The battlefield is before us, our families behind. Pass my order: everyone, fix bayonets and prepare to charge! Not a single zombie is to be spared!”

“Yes, sir!” The sergeant saluted again and ran off, his eyes resolute. He knew this battle could well be his last, yet he showed no hesitation. As he ran, the cold steel of his bayonet gleamed at his rifle’s muzzle.