016 Nowhere to Escape

After hastily reading the inquiry letter sent by the military district commander, Zhang Han’s face was so bitter it might as well have been dripping with gall. To think, here he was—a so-called forensic scientist, yet in reality a specialist in pharmaceutical interrogation techniques, assigned to a special department. When it came to pharmaceutical identification, he was absolutely confident in his expertise; after all, this was his bread and butter. Even forensic medicine he had dabbled in, since he carried that title. But when it came to viruses, bacteria, or genetic modification, that was frankly asking too much—it was, strictly speaking, an entirely different field. Still, when a commander gives an order, it cannot be refused. Explaining things in a way that was simple yet not misleading—so as to prevent any misjudgments that could affect future epidemic prevention work—was a serious challenge.

He sat there, lost in thought for a full ten minutes before finally organizing his thoughts and connecting to the commander's video call. As he had no military rank, he needed not salute. After a brief exchange, he spoke plainly: “You must have heard of genetic modification—transplanting the biological characteristics of one organism into another. For example, making cotton emit a scent repellent to pests, or growing apples that bear pear-like fruit. To achieve this, researchers must create a specific vector, which uses targeted DNA to replace the DNA in the recipient cells, so that the plant will grow as we desire. With animals, it’s the same principle, though the vectors are much more complex. Humans, put simply, are animals as well.”

“I understand that part. But the experts keep emphasizing that a universal vector could cause unpredictable disasters. What exactly does that mean?”

“The Americans’ analysis suggests that this DNA vector, similar to a retrovirus, is artificially created. Its universality is high—it was probably developed for manufacturing gene-altering drugs… Let me put it this way: if we want to build a house, we need trucks to carry away rubble, cement trucks, and trucks to transport steel. Each vehicle can only carry a specific kind of material, which is safe though inefficient, and limits mistakes. But suppose there’s a kind of vehicle that can do all three jobs, or even more. While that makes construction much more convenient, if such a universal vehicle were to deliver a truckload of explosives by mistake, the house built with explosives would eventually blow up.”

“So you’re saying this epidemic is like the transport vehicle carried the wrong materials?”

“That’s right, in simple terms! What’s more dangerous is that after the building is complete, the vehicles that helped construct it remain inside. If they’re specialized vehicles, it’s no issue—they’re useless without the right cargo. But a universal vehicle can carry all sorts of materials, which means it can transport something else again, further altering the structure, maybe even undermining the building’s very function.” Zhang Han spread his hands helplessly.

“I see,” the commander said, frowning. “The experts also said it’s hard to predict how the epidemic will develop, because no one knows what these universal vehicles might bring in.”

“Yes, exactly. More precisely, it’s about what new ‘materials’ these universal vehicles might transport inside, and what kind of house might be built as a result. According to the Academy of Sciences’ analysis, this pathogen—akin to a retrovirus—can probably only carry a limited number of DNA types, likely no more than six based on molecular interface analysis. But now it’s widespread in infected humans, and the variety of biological information these zombified people might be exposed to is simply incalculable. So what changes might occur is impossible to predict.”

“Could it change its mode of transmission, for instance, to become airborne?”

“Well, that… no one can say for certain—”

Before he could finish, the commander made a gesture to end the call, not saying another word, and cut the video feed, leaving Zhang Han alone in front of his computer.

“What’s going on? Has something happened?” Zhang Hai stared, utterly bewildered.

He had no way of knowing—something had indeed happened.

Something major.

Wang Chen moved with lightning speed, bringing the chair leg in his hand crashing down onto the temple of the zombie patrolman. The nail grazed the skewed helmet and punched into the patrolman’s head. The patrolman’s face, already a mangled mass of flesh and blood, froze for a split second, his single blood-red eye rolling back until only the whites showed. Then the eye was forced from its socket by the blood flooding his skull, and damaged brain tissue sprayed out with the gushing blood. Only then did the zombie patrolman collapse like a deflated ball, motionless.

Seeing the patrolman dispatched, Wang Chen and Hu Chun both breathed sighs of relief and turned to look at Li Changhai, who still held the pistol, his face full of embarrassment. “I… I didn’t mean to… the gun went off by accident…”

Hu Chun tossed the pistol and spare magazine to Wang Chen, already reaching for Li Changhai’s pistol, about to chide him for not knowing how to use a gun and suggesting he stick to chair legs for everyone’s safety. But before he could finish, a series of low, guttural growls began to echo down the corridor.

The gunshots had drawn the zombies.

So much for even getting a chance to speak.

Wang Chen and Hu Chun, working together seamlessly, pushed open the stairwell door, one looking up, the other down, and nearly simultaneously slammed it shut again.

No way through.

“We can’t go this way, let’s try our luck at the other stairwell,” Hu Chun said, quickly pulling down the zombie patrolman’s belt to tie the door shut.

“We should go back for Han Li. If we leave now, the chances of returning are slim,” Wang Chen suggested.

Given the situation—either corpses or zombies throughout the building—leaving Han Li behind was as good as sentencing her to death.

They weren’t the type to abandon a companion. If they were, they wouldn’t have made it this far as a group. Without wasting words, they dashed back to the room, hoisted Han Li up, and ran for it. By then, the door tied with the belt had already been forced open by the zombie horde, and several zombies were spilling into the corridor and nearby rooms.

Wang Chen, pistol in hand, rushed to the end of the other corridor, threw open the door, and let Li Changhai and Hu Chun head downstairs first. He glanced around and saw a fire extinguisher with a handle of suitable width, hooked it over the door handle to act as a lock, and hurried after his companions down the stairs. How long the fire extinguisher would hold against the zombies, he didn’t bother to consider.

Every second counts!

Reaching the ground floor, the three of them gasped in horror at the sight of dozens of shambling figures scattered across the playground. As for the clusters of zombies tearing at fresh flesh, they had no time to count. Instinctively, all three crouched low, their eyes darting about, momentarily out of ideas.

“The main gate is locked. We’ll need to get to the control room to open it,” Hu Chun said urgently.

“What if we ram it with a car?” Wang Chen glanced at the seven or eight zombies hovering near the guardhouse, his tone uncertain.

“I’ve seen doors like that before. At least two centimeters thick, heavy as a rock, and it’s on tracks. Not happening,” Li Changhai, a construction expert, shot down the idea.

“Then we drive a car to the guardhouse to open the door. The keys should be with Cao Baoquan,” Hu Chun amended the plan.

A thudding noise came from the building entrance—something had obviously fallen down the stairwell. There was no more time to hesitate. Wang Chen gritted his teeth: “Fine. Live or die, let’s take a gamble!”

Using guns now would be suicide, and carrying Han Li made them less mobile. In close combat, Wang Chen was the weakest, so he simply hoisted Han Li onto his back, freeing up Li Changhai. With a chair leg in each hand, Li Changhai protected Wang Chen, while the strongest, Hu Chun, wielded a fire extinguisher as a sledgehammer, using flowerbeds and bushes for cover as they made their way toward the office in the annex.

Night had fallen and visibility was poor. The zombies, driven by instinct, relied more on smell and hearing to detect prey. The stench of blood and the reek of fresh human entrails were so overwhelming they drew the zombies’ attention away from the three, a small mercy.

Unexpectedly, just as they were sneaking across the square, still twenty or thirty meters from the annex, a barely audible retching came from the opposite side. Clearly, another survivor was trying to escape this hell on earth, but unlike them, couldn’t suppress the urge to vomit at the unbearable stench, thus giving themselves away.

The wandering zombies, unable to find a target, all turned as one toward the source of the sound. Realizing their mistake, the vomiting survivor must have fallen or collided with something in their panic, for another noise was immediately followed by a scream of terror.

Now even the gorging zombies were disturbed.

Seeing the horde moving toward the far side of the square, the three seized their chance and dashed for the southeast entrance of the annex. They weren’t being cold-blooded—rescue was only possible if they themselves survived. To play the hero with Han Li as a burden would be suicidal; abandoning her to charge into the fray would only mean running out of bullets and being devoured.

Better to seize this chance to find the military vehicle keys—maybe, just maybe, the unlucky one could hold out until they made their escape.

The energy-saving lamp at the entrance cast a soft white glow. Where the patrolman had been stationed, there was now no sign of life. Hu Chun, hefting the heavy fire extinguisher, charged inside and ran smack into a swaying young zombie. Without hesitation, he swung the extinguisher down onto the zombie’s head.

A direct hit.

At the same time, Li Changhai sidestepped the first zombie and raised his chair leg high, bringing it down hard on the second zombie’s temple.

With Hu Chun’s strength, the blow was devastating, caving in the zombie’s forehead and popping its eyes out. The second zombie, blocked from view by its companion, didn’t react in time and was easily dispatched by Li Changhai. Both fell almost simultaneously, like felled logs.

Wang Chen, last inside, crouched to set Han Li down and closed the aluminum door behind them, peering out at the square. “No movement outside,” he whispered.

“Go!”

Cao Baoquan’s temporary office was on the first floor of the annex, originally the duty room for the sanatorium’s doctors, right next to the infirmary for convenience. That saved them the risk of climbing stairs. The few garlic bulbs in the corridor were no match for Hu Chun and Li Changhai’s now bloodthirsty resolve. If the corridor had been filled with zombies, even with pistols, all three would have had no choice but to flee for their lives.

With no standing threats in the corridor, Hu Chun led the way in short, cautious steps, not out of cowardice, but from experience. In his thirties and seasoned by life, he knew the value of vigilance in such moments. Sprinting might be faster, but it made it harder to control one’s center of gravity, and if a zombie lunged from behind a door, it would be nearly impossible to react in time. Short steps allowed for instant response in any direction, greatly increasing their safety.

Sometimes, caution pays off.

As Hu Chun edged past the infirmary doorway, the door suddenly swung open.

Wang Chen, nerves taut, reacted instantly, kicking at the door, hoping to slam it shut regardless of who or what was behind it. Hu Chun also responded swiftly, halting, twisting, and swinging the fire extinguisher.

A kick and a swing, perfectly coordinated—the half-open door slammed shut with a dull thud.

Glass shattered, but Wang Chen, unconcerned if Han Li was scratched by the shards, dropped the still-unconscious Han Li and lunged forward to help Li Changhai brace the door.

Given the noise, Hu Chun no longer worried about gunshots. With his comrades holding the door, he dropped the extinguisher, chambered a bullet, and aimed at the now-glass-pierced window, ready to send a “peanut” through the head of any groaning, howling creature that appeared.

The corridor fell silent. After a few seconds, a strange voice sounded from within the infirmary. “Ple–please… still inside…”

Although the words were garbled, it was clear someone was speaking. The three relaxed slightly, but remained cautious. Hu Chun focused on the gun, Wang Chen stepped back, dragging Han Li aside, and drew his own pistol, ready for anything.

“You can come out now,” Wang Chen said.

The door opened again and a figure in a hospital gown cautiously extended his hands to show he was unarmed, then shuffled out.

Wang Chen could barely look at the man’s face—it was a mess of blood, both eyes bruised, a front tooth missing, and his nose flattened against his face, obviously a comminuted fracture. Without expert surgery, it would heal crooked for sure. No wonder his voice sounded so odd. Overall, his face wasn’t entirely ruined, but more than halfway there.

“We… we just met,” the man managed, each word twisting his face in pain.

Met before? Just now? On closer inspection, the three recognized him—it was Xu Dongsheng, who had come over after a basketball game to chat up a girl, only to be pummeled by a tough young woman and sent to the infirmary by the patrolmen. No wonder his nose was still bleeding—this must be the price for opening the door without warning.

Ironically, the superficial injuries from the earlier beating were probably less severe than the damage he’d just received from their combined efforts to slam the door shut.

But Xu Dongsheng’s desire to live was stronger than his pain. Or perhaps he knew that survival was more likely in numbers. He forced a twisted smile onto his battered face, hoping to ingratiate himself and be taken along.

Still, youth shows. If he’d reacted with outrage or even lashed out, Wang Chen and the others might have apologized and accepted him more readily—after all, any real man would be angry after such an injury. But his forced smile only made them look down on him.

Of course, it could be said Xu Dongsheng was afraid they might shoot him out of anger, so he swallowed his pride and feigned meekness. But with Han Li lying unconscious beside them, clearly these three weren’t the ruthless, narrow-minded sort. In any case, Xu Dongsheng revealed his cowardly, self-serving nature, unlikely to be reliable in a crisis.

Wang Chen hesitated, glancing at Hu Chun, who also doubted Xu Dongsheng’s dependability, but didn’t want to push him into causing a scene and making things worse. Instead, he opted for the usual shallow politeness, putting away his gun and saying, “Ah, Brother Xu, sorry, really sorry. How bad is it? I know a bit about bandaging, let me take a look?”

“It’s fine, let’s just get out first.” Xu Dongsheng relaxed, grateful to be accepted. At the brink of life and death, one’s mind works fast. He turned to rummage through the infirmary.

As he did, Wang Chen gave Hu Chun a look of annoyance and distaste. Hu Chun could only shrug helplessly, mouthing, “Be careful.” Only Li Changhai was left in the dark, but at least he knew better than to speak up—nodding his understanding and keeping quiet.

By the time they finished their silent exchange, Xu Dongsheng had found a medical kit and patted it. “All prepped—emergency supplies.”

“Thanks, Brother Xu. Try not to talk too much with your injuries,” Hu Chun said politely, though he kept his gun ready, pointing it briefly at the patrol office next door. “Since the trouble started, have you heard anything from the patrol office?”

Xu Dongsheng shook his head. “Alarm sounded, everyone ran out.”

Leaving Li Changhai to keep watch in the corridor, Wang Chen and Hu Chun crept into the patrol office. The makeshift workspace was nothing special—a suite with bunk beds and a small bathroom, a computer desk serving as a workspace, and a row of chargers along the wall with radios plugged in.

They searched the place top to bottom, but found only a satellite phone. No weapons, no keys.

Their disappointment was real. But you couldn’t blame them for their mistake—they were civilians, rarely setting foot in police stations, and even Hu Chun, who knew some police officers, wouldn’t have known that military and police facilities always had dedicated armories. Even if he’d thought of it, with zombies roaming everywhere, where could they hope to find the equipment storage?

Clutching the satellite phone as if it were a lifeline, Wang Chen wondered whether the emergency number he’d used before still worked. Rather than blundering into the horde and getting eaten, better to call for help—maybe satellite imaging could guide them to safety.

The ringing seemed endless.

When a hoarse, slightly broken, but familiar voice identified herself as Operator 3148, not only Wang Chen but also Hu Chun, leaning in, felt their eyes sting with tears.

The news of the sanatorium’s loss of contact must have reached the rescue center immediately. Satellite tracking would take time, so all they could do was mobilize troops and epidemic teams to seal off the town’s roads and wait. When Operator 3148 unexpectedly received Wang Chen’s call, learning there were survivors, her excitement was palpable.

Naturally, their conversation was instantly broadcast to the rescue center’s public channel, and displayed on the commander’s computer. If not for concerns over the civilians’ fragile mental state, it wouldn’t have been Operator 3148 on the line, but the commander himself.

“…From what we observed, all those strange birds are dead. We’re in Captain Cao’s office, but can’t find him—probably no one alive in the sanatorium except the five of us,” Wang Chen reported, his words a bit jumbled. You could hardly blame him. Having survived the massacre in Harbin, his nerves were steeled enough to speak coherently—any ordinary person in his place might not even manage a complete sentence.

“Satellite will be in position in fifteen minutes. Your top priority is to ensure your own safety, understood?” Operator 3148 relayed the team leader’s instructions, puzzled. The satellite had already shifted orbit and could provide guidance at any time—why tell the survivors to wait another fifteen minutes? Every extra minute was another risk!

Neither Operator 3148 nor the survivors knew: at that very moment, the commander was facing a decision on which their lives depended.