Chapter Seventy: Escaping Alive

On the watchtower of Changsha Prison, two soldiers armed with modified Type 95 rifles were idly chatting. Inside the prison, a scene of bustling activity unfolded—there weren’t many hands, but everyone was busy building up this not-quite-perfect haven. All the mess and clutter in the cell blocks had been tossed out in a collective effort, and the prison’s clothing factory had started up again. Though there were only a few workers, at least now everyone had fresh clothes to change into.

Outside the prison, the zombies still rampaged, but no matter how many of them swarmed, those within the high walls remained unscathed. The job on the watchtower was easy; unless the intelligent ones launched an organized assault, there was little reason to worry about the chaos at the gates. A few days ago, the armored cash transport truck Zhao Qiang had driven out finally returned, stirring the crowd into excitement for half a day. When it became clear Zhao Qiang himself hadn’t come back, there was some disappointment, but with a few new arrivals, the place was livelier than ever. The soldiers spent their days craning their necks, hoping to spot new survivors out there.

“Hey, it’s been days—how come we haven’t seen a single survivor?” Soldier A, cigarette dangling from his lips, asked with casual ease.

Soldier B, cleaning his rifle, teased his comrade, “Are you really thinking about survivors? I know you—you’ve got your eye on those two women who arrived the other day, haven’t you?” He kept his head down, focused on his gun. The tasks were light, but Wei Tao had repeatedly ordered everyone to stay ready for combat at all times, especially to keep their weapons in perfect condition.

Soldier A grinned. “Like I’d stand a chance. They’re college girls—they’d never give a rough guy like me a second look.”

Their conversation drifted along, but in the distance, an armored train gradually rolled into view of the watchtower. The two soldiers snapped to combat readiness at once.

The armored train had carved its way through the zombie horde, breaking through layer after layer. Three heavy machine guns spat fire relentlessly. Zombies on the road weren’t as densely packed as in the tunnels, but they still gathered in dark, teeming masses; bullets would only mow down a small patch at a time.

Meng Longwei was anxious. Reports from the gunners had come in—their remaining ammo for the heavy machine guns was running low. To conserve bullets, many soldiers had switched to using the Type 95 for lighter suppression fire. The armored train’s progress was painfully slow.

Communication with the prison had been established through Morse code flashed from a flashlight. Wei Tao personally led a squad of a dozen young soldiers, firing constantly from the watchtower, finally carving a path through the zombies at the prison gate. Only then did the armored train slowly enter the prison yard.

Meng Longwei could finally breathe easy. On this journey, the number of zombies they’d faced exceeded all previous encounters combined. Yet, at last, they were safe, free from threats looming overhead. The harrowing journey and sleepless nights were finally over; the burdens he’d carried could finally be set down.

Passengers poured out of the train cars. Seeing they’d arrived at a prison, no one complained; instead, under the soldiers’ guidance, they dispersed amiably. Wei Tao carried the unconscious Zhao Qiang out of the carriage himself. Mei Qiu and Li Zihan ran after him, while Zou Lin trailed behind, head lowered, afraid to get too close.

A thorough examination revealed that Zhao Qiang had suffered only a concussion from the blast—nothing serious. Zou Lin sat at his bedside, gazing at the once more unconscious Zhao Qiang, tears streaming down her face. This was the second time in two days he had been carried back by Bayonet. The first time, he’d collapsed from killing an intelligent one and being invaded by a surge of zombie toxin; he’d barely survived that ordeal. Now, he’d been caught in an explosion. Two consecutive unconscious spells pained Zou Lin deeply.

Bayonet had told her that, to defeat that terrifying sandworm, Zhao Qiang had charged forward alone with a machine gun and explosives. Zou Lin couldn’t even imagine how he’d managed to face such a monstrous beast by himself. Her hands gently caressed Zhao Qiang’s face, wiping away the soot, revealing features both soft and well-defined.

Wei Tao knew about Zou Lin; Huang Jianguo and the others had told him about her. Steady old Huang had said nothing ill, but the two women had spoken of her with nothing but malice, calling her all manner of names. At first, Wei Tao suspected she was not as simple as she appeared. Yet, after observing her for some time, he saw that she wasn’t as those gossips described—her innocent face was etched with helplessness, and her concern for Zhao Qiang was genuine and unfeigned.

Seeing that Zhao Qiang’s injuries weren’t serious, Wei Tao left the infirmary. Zhao Qiang had been through countless dangers before and always pulled through; Wei Tao was long accustomed to it. Now, what troubled him was how to settle the more than a hundred new arrivals. The prison was spacious enough to accommodate thousands more, but figuring out how to house these people was still a headache.

Fortunately, Meng Longwei had already brought order among the survivors back at Orange Isle. Everyone was delighted with the conditions here—finally, they could leave behind days of constant fear and enjoy ample food supplies. No one had the slightest complaint about living in the cell blocks.

Bayonet once again hid himself away in a quiet corner of the prison. His long habit of seeking solitude made him prefer darkness and silence. He was still reliving the battle between Zhao Qiang and the sandworm. What would I have done in his place? he kept asking himself. He’d thought that, at best, two men risking everything might lure the sandworm far away—never imagining Zhao Qiang would recklessly challenge the creature alone. More astonishing still, this uneven duel had ended with Zhao Qiang’s pyrrhic victory. After a thunderous explosion, it rained blood from the sky—red flesh and the sandworm’s fluids scattered everywhere.

Zhao Qiang had been brushed lightly by the sandworm’s massive body—just a glancing blow, yet it sent him flying a dozen meters like a severed kite. By that stroke of luck, he’d escaped the core of the blast and clung to life.

This man was truly an enigma. Bayonet polished his sniper rifle, a weapon that had felled countless zombies in recent days, but which had been useless against the sandworm’s bulk. His philosophy had always been to protect himself first, then deal with zombies; protecting others was merely incidental. Zhao Qiang was the opposite—risking his life time and again for the sake of people he barely knew. If it weren’t for his uncanny luck, no number of lives would be enough for him to squander.