Chapter Seven

The armored cash transport drove into a quiet residential community. This was the family compound of a certain machinery factory—Wei Tao’s parents’ home was here. The apartment buildings bore the marks of time, and the saplings planted years ago for landscaping had grown into towering trees. Normally peaceful and serene, the community now seemed haunted and ominous under the swirling snow and biting wind, the shadows of wandering figures adding to its sense of dread.

The cold did little to hinder the zombies’ activities. Spawned from the depths of hell, they cared nothing for the harsh weather—the only thing that mattered was fresh flesh and blood. No sooner had the armored car entered the complex than the roving undead noticed it. Without hesitation, they turned and shambled toward the vehicle, and in moments, hundreds of grotesque figures were trailing behind.

All the way, Wei Tao’s brow remained furrowed. The closer they drew to home, the graver his expression became. Longing and worry for his parents intensified with every block, growing sharper with proximity. As soon as the car rolled into the community, Wei Tao anxiously scanned the wandering zombies.

Leading the horde, the armored car once again exited the neighborhood. There was no need to ask why—Zhao Qiang knew Wei Tao’s plan. Three days ago, during a rescue mission, Wei Tao had done the very same thing.

When the armored car returned to the complex, the swarm of zombies was gone; the lurking shadows dispersed. The vehicle came to a steady halt before a residential building. Wei Tao drew his sidearm, checked its condition, signaled for Zhao Qiang and Li Zihan to stay in the car, and stepped out of the driver’s seat.

“You don’t think Wei will run into trouble, do you?” Li Zihan asked anxiously, watching Wei Tao’s retreating figure.

“Don’t worry, the guy’s got skills,” Zhao Qiang replied, not particularly worried for Wei Tao’s safety—but when it came to Wei Tao’s family, Zhao Qiang had no such confidence. He chambered a round and kept a wary eye on the entrance. “It’s his parents I’m concerned about.”

“Yeah, let’s hope heaven looks after them. Wei’s a good man—his parents must be, too. Please, let nothing happen to them,” Li Zihan whispered, her gaze never leaving the spot where Wei Tao disappeared.

Let’s hope so, Zhao Qiang thought silently. Please let my wife be safe, too. God, protect her.

The stairwell was silent. Wei Tao heard nothing amiss as he swiftly climbed to their apartment, stopping only when he reached the door. He stood there for a moment, then knocked softly—only to find the door ajar.

A surge of anxiety gripped him. He tightened his hold on the gun, entered in a combat stance, and rushed inside. The apartment was small; from the entrance, he could see the entire living room. Everything was neat, every object in its familiar place, untouched but for a thin layer of dust. No zombies, no signs of struggle. Yet his heart would not settle, for his eyes fell on the tightly closed bedroom door—a door, in his memory, that had never once been shut.

Opening it, Wei Tao fell to his knees. “Father, Mother! Your son is unfilial. I’ve come too late.” His choked voice could move even the most stone-hearted.

The two elderly figures lay side by side on the bed, hands entwined. Their clothes were meticulously arranged, hair tidy—no sign of fear, no despair, only serene composure on their faces. On the nightstand, a neatly written letter lay beneath a pen.

After his transfer, Wei Tao had been assigned to the Special Police Unit in Changsha. The demanding job meant he rarely returned to care for his parents. For ten years, his father had looked after his stroke-stricken, bedridden wife. When disaster struck, the old man refused to abandon her or seek escape. On the second day, water, electricity, and communication had all failed. Zombies prowled outside. Leaving a final letter for his son, the old man shared the last of their food with his wife, then lay quietly beside her, waiting for death.

After reading the letter, Wei Tao found a sheet and gently covered his parents’ bodies. Kneeling once more by the window, he knocked his head to the floor three times. “Father, Mother, your son will live well. I promise, I’ll fulfill my duty as a police officer and protect everyone I can.”

He closed the bedroom door softly, afraid even the slightest noise would disturb them. The sharp shriek of a siren came from below—the signal arranged with Zhao Qiang. If the horde returned, Zhao Qiang would warn him immediately. Wei Tao rubbed his face hard, steeling his features once more.

Descending the stairs, seeing the zombies still at a distance, Wei Tao did not hurry to the car. He walked to Zhao Qiang and gestured for him to roll down the window.

“Give me your rifle,” Wei Tao said, indicating Zhao Qiang’s Type 81, his voice cold as ice.

“What are you doing?” Zhao Qiang eyed him warily; he had come down alone. “Your parents—what happened?” He guessed the outcome.

Wei Tao’s expression remained cold. He ignored the question. “Give me your gun.”

“You’re crazy! That’s suicide!” Zhao Qiang roared. He didn’t want to see the man who’d once saved his life throw it away. “Maybe you just missed your parents—they could’ve been rescued by someone else!”

“Shut up!” Wei Tao’s fury exploded. “This is my business—I’ll handle it.”

Knowing he couldn’t dissuade Wei Tao, Zhao Qiang could only shake his head and hand over the rifle and magazines, patting Wei Tao’s shoulder in silent understanding.

“I’ll return it,” Wei Tao said coldly, then turned and strode toward the zombies now crowding through the main gate.

Wei Tao’s marksmanship could only be called artistry—the art of death. Crisp shots rang out in rapid succession. In Zhao Qiang and Li Zihan’s stunned silence, Wei Tao began his one-sided slaughter. He barely seemed to aim—each bullet felling at least two zombies. Constantly changing position, he fired from impossible angles, each shot a fatal head wound. Not a single one of the hundred-odd zombies got near him; as soon as one fell, another bullet found its mark. When the 30-round magazine was spent, he swapped in a new one without pause.

When the rifle was empty, Wei Tao tossed aside the nearly perfect weapon and drew his sidearm for another flawless round of shooting. Though not as powerful as the rifle, in Wei Tao’s hands the pistol became a reaper’s blade, ruthlessly mowing down the undead. When all his ammunition was gone, about ten zombies still charged undeterred.

Drawing his combat knife, Wei Tao began his final act. The fight ended quickly—he alone remained standing. Corpses lay scattered in grotesque heaps, red, white, and black mingling in a nightmarish tableau.

Li Zihan buried her face in her knees, unable to bear the bloody scene. Zhao Qiang, hardened by previous battles, was more composed. Is this guy even human? he thought, watching Wei Tao begin to clear the field. Not a drop of blood had touched him—thank goodness he wasn’t an enemy.

Wei Tao gave the battlefield a once-over out of habit. Except for those finished with his knife, every zombie had been killed with a single shot. Their thickening blood meant his own clothes remained pristine.

He returned to the armored car, leaving black-red footprints as evidence of his deadly work. He handed the rifle and magazines back to a still-dazed Zhao Qiang.

“You—you did all that yourself?” Zhao Qiang stammered, voice trembling.

Li Zihan stared as well. Wei Tao had always been cold, but this time, she felt a touch of fear.

Wei Tao said nothing. He put on his sunglasses and started the engine.

“Where’s your home?” After leaving the community, he checked his watch—2:35—and asked coldly.

“It’s off East Second Ring, not far from your Special Police base,” Zhao Qiang replied.

There was nothing more to say. The armored car accelerated and sped away.

This time, Zhao Qiang went up alone. Without Wei Tao’s formidable skills, he could only climb the stairs cautiously, gun at the ready. Before Zhao Qiang left, Wei Tao checked over the weapon for him, giving him a bit more confidence.

Please, let nothing have happened, Zhao Qiang prayed as he climbed. The stairwell had no windows, so snow and icy wind swirled around his collar. He shivered, gripping his gun tighter.

Zhao Qiang’s apartment was on the top floor. The door stood wide open, swinging in the wind.

At the sight, Zhao Qiang’s legs nearly gave out. Didn’t I tell her to keep the doors and windows locked? Didn’t I say not to open the door for anyone? Why is it like this? Why? he screamed inside, his knuckles whitening around the grip.

He returned to the car, dejected, holding a slip of paper, his face grim and speechless. Li Zihan reached for the note and read it quickly.

“Zhao, your wife was rescued—you should be happy!” Li Zihan handed the note back.

“I told her not to open the door. She never listens to me—never,” Zhao Qiang muttered, slamming a fist on the dashboard.

“She had time to leave you a note—she’ll be fine,” Wei Tao said, his tone still icy.

“I know, but where do I begin looking? All communication’s down—radio and walkie-talkies are useless,” Zhao Qiang complained.

“As long as she’s safe, isn’t that enough? You were always worried about her, weren’t you? Now, even if you haven’t found her, you’ll be reunited someday—so long as she’s alive,” Li Zihan tried to comfort him. This big, caring man had looked after her these past days—seeing him sad made her heart ache.

Glancing at the monitor, Wei Tao saw zombie shadows behind them. “We should go,” he said, starting the engine.

Yes, as long as she’s alive, there’s hope! Zhao Qiang clung to that thought, staring blankly at the receding world. Where are you now, my darling?

Not far away, in a tall building, a soldier with binoculars saluted an officer. “Report!”

“What is it?” the officer asked, waving a hand.

“Three survivors spotted in the neighboring complex. Two men, one woman, driving an armored cash transport. The man who left the car is armed—the other two, unknown.”

The officer’s interest was piqued. He took the binoculars and, following the soldier’s direction, spotted the armored car.

Parked there? Could that be the girl’s husband? Impressive, kid—you actually made it back alive from so far away. Seeing the license plate, the officer confirmed their identity. Watching Zhao Qiang descend with his gun, disappointed, a smile crept over the officer’s face. “That kid almost looks like a soldier now,” he murmured.

“Is radio back online?” the officer asked a busy operator.

“Not yet, sir,” the soldier replied, shaking his head. Since the disaster, all communications had failed. Though the equipment worked, some unknown signal in the air disrupted everything.

“Signalman, have Sergeant Wang fire a flare,” the officer ordered. He had little choice. It had cost three soldiers’ lives to secure the entrance—they were nearly out of ammunition now. “And call that girl, Peng Sha, here,” he added. She was the survivor they’d rescued the day before—her husband had now returned.

Following the officer’s direction, Peng Sha saw her husband through the binoculars. You’re alive! You really came back for me! You kept your promise! Tears streamed down her face. “You’ve lost weight,” she whispered.

Suddenly she turned to the officer. “Please, bring my husband here—please.”

The officer shook his head helplessly. Zombies filled the ground below; they’d barely managed to secure the lobby at great cost, and their ammunition was almost gone. The flare arced down, but the three in the armored car did not react.

“We can’t reach them. If we open fire, we’ll draw more monsters and endanger everyone,” the officer said, sighing.

“But we can’t just do nothing!” Peng Sha protested.

“They’re armed. Your husband isn’t alone—I’m sure one of our people is with him. He’ll be fine.” The officer spoke with certainty. From Peng Sha, he’d learned Zhao Qiang’s background—someone with no military training who had survived so far must have had help, likely the driver.

“As long as he’s alive, there’s hope,” the officer said, patting her shoulder as he watched the armored car pull away.

Sitting in the armored car, Zhao Qiang never imagined his wife was so close, watching him from afar. But in his frustration, and as Wei Tao tried to comfort him, they missed the flare that could have reunited them.

History is made of countless coincidences. This time, fate dealt its hand—Zhao Qiang missed his chance to be reunited with his wife, and their meeting faded into the distant future.