Dawn

A hazy light began to appear on the horizon, accompanied by a few clouds as soft as cotton, refracting a hint of warmth—like an electric heater just about to start warming up—declaring that the new day would once again be sweltering. Yet, the morning air was still pleasant, even a bit chilly, its moist coolness soaking into the skin and coursing through the body with every breath. The scent of fresh grass lingered, making the soul feel utterly at ease.

Han Li had not slept so well in ages. Ever since fleeing Harbin, she had been devoured by nightmare-ridden memories. With chronic sleep deprivation and relentless nightmares, she could no longer distinguish between waking and dreaming. So when she awoke with a satisfied moan, finding herself lying on a soft, green meadow beside a few gently blooming wildflowers, she felt no relaxation or relief. Instead, tension gripped her instantly, believing herself still trapped in a nightmare—expecting any moment for zombies to pounce upon her, heedless of her pleas, tearing at her flesh, ripping open her chest and abdomen, devouring her organs while she screamed in agony.

After a brief moment of anxiety, the familiar twists of the nightmare did not materialize. Han Li pinched herself twice, quietly. It hurt—a lot. Only then did she confirm she was not dreaming.

Wait, she thought, shouldn’t I be in the sanatorium? Where am I? What happened before I fell asleep? Han Li tried to recall, but her recent memories were muddled; no matter how hard she tried, she could not remember.

“Hey, you’re awake,” a slightly hoarse voice accompanied footsteps approaching her.

Han Li looked up; it was Wang Chen. Clearly, this companion had not rested all night. The dark circles under his eyes, bloodshot gaze, and the unpleasant odor of sweat all attested to a miserable night.

“What happened? Where are we? Why is my head injured... the sanatorium...” Han Li spoke as she rose, scanning her surroundings. Halfway through, she was stunned, covering her mouth in surprise. The hillside where the sanatorium had stood showed no trace of any buildings; in fact, a large section seemed missing. Wisps of smoke carried a faint, scorched scent—evidence of the sanatorium’s existence and its destruction.

“You see it yourself—the sanatorium is gone. After you fell unconscious last night, a flock of crazed birds attacked. Sparrows, pigeons, that sort. The three of us barely managed to escape with you. For some reason, the sanatorium exploded violently. The shockwave overturned our vehicle...” Wang Chen had meant to keep it brief, but once he started, he could not stop. The ordeal had been overwhelming, the whiplash between escaping death and falling into hell nearly drove the twenty-year-old mad. When he spoke of the SUV leaving the sanatorium, memories of the tragic scenes flashed before his eyes...

The moment of the explosion, Hu Chun realized something was wrong. He quickly adjusted the vehicle’s direction, slowed down, and tried to aim the rear toward the shockwave to lessen the damage. Sadly, he barely had time. He had just uttered, “Hold tight!” when the SUV was flung off the mountain road, careening downhill.

Hu Chun yanked the handbrake and stomped the brakes, but the momentum only slowed slightly; the vehicle still slid downward. He relied on the headlights and his reflexes to steer, dodging trees and shrubs as best he could, hoping to bring the SUV to a halt.

Luck ran out. The SUV crashed headlong into a leaning, dead pine. The impact nearly sent Wang Chen and Li Changhuai into the front seats. Wang Chen’s hands instinctively braced against the passenger seat, but his head struck his hands, leaving both aching—his head nearly knocked out.

When Wang Chen came to, darkness surrounded him. Even the SUV’s headlights were out. He fumbled to unfasten his seatbelt, but as he tried to rise, pain shot through his waist and abdomen. He felt around; the seatbelt had chafed him during the crash, breaking the skin, but his bones seemed intact. Cautiously, he shifted his posture, using the distant glow from the burning sanatorium to turn on the rear cabin light. As soon as the light came on, a shadow lunged at him in the back seat.

It was Li Changhuai.

Li Changhuai, now a zombie.

Because Li Changhuai had bound his mouth before turning, the zombified him could only claw at Wang Chen’s clothes, unable to bite flesh. Fortunately, Wang Chen, not as strong as Li Changhuai, managed to draw his army knife and plunge it into Li Changhuai’s temple, sending his old friend on his final journey.

Relieved, Wang Chen noticed another factor had prevented Li Changhuai from fully tackling him: a long tree branch had pierced the vehicle, impaling Li Changhuai’s abdomen.

Seeing the branch, Wang Chen felt a chill. He hurriedly kicked open his door, circled to the driver’s side to check on Hu Chun.

Hu Chun was gone.

The branch had pinned Hu Chun to the driver’s seat, piercing his stomach and exiting his back. Blood foamed from his mouth; he had no chance for last words. This thirty-something fitness coach, who had used his strength to lead his daughter and companions out of Harbin’s zombie hell, met his end in a car crash.

Using the faint cabin light, Wang Chen half-knelt beside Hu Chun. Hu Chun gripped Wang Chen’s shirt, eyes full of pleading and reluctance. Wang Chen understood, tears blurring his vision. He whispered, “I swear, Brother Hu, I’ll take care of your wife and Qianqian. Don’t worry.”

Hu Chun managed a faint smile, gave Wang Chen a look of relief, then lowered his head.

Confirming Hu Chun’s pulse was gone, Wang Chen wiped his tears, knowing there was one last thing to do. He drew his army knife and stabbed it into Hu Chun’s brainstem.

“...If anyone was lucky, it was you. When I dragged you from the car, your head was only scraped. Nothing else happened. It was too dark to see the way, so I didn’t dare carry you downhill. I found this meadow with a decent view and waited for dawn. I had no strength to bury Brother Hu and Changhuai...” Wang Chen’s voice grew quieter; he was utterly exhausted.

Han Li did not respond. She knew, in some sense, Hu Chun and Li Changhuai had died because of her. Without her burden, the three might have fled the sanatorium sooner, avoiding casualties. And the young man before her, even at the most critical moment, never thought of abandoning her. Otherwise, while she was unconscious, she would have been eaten alive by zombies or blown up in the explosion.

To encounter such a man, what else could a woman wish for?

To hell with love; she would give herself to him.

With this realization, Han Li hesitated no longer. Her almond eyes, once confused, now grew calm. She walked over and sat beside Wang Chen, boldly pulling his head to her chest, gently stroking his shoulder and back, saying nothing.

Wang Chen’s body stiffened at Han Li’s sudden intimacy, but under her soft embrace and gentle touch, he slowly relaxed. Suddenly, he hugged Han Li tightly, overcome with grief.

Wang Chen did not know exactly what fueled such intense sorrow—perhaps for his zombified mother, for his father who sacrificed himself to lure zombies away, for Li Changhuai who bound his own mouth to avoid harming others, or for Hu Chun, who died in the crash, unable to let go of his wife and child even in his final moments.

At that moment, dawn broke, the world rejoicing in a new day. But in a lively, verdant meadow, a man held a woman and wept bitterly.

Perhaps he was simply mourning this damned, inhuman world.

After the pain subsided, Wang Chen gradually drifted into sleep. Han Li did not move, only placed Wang Chen’s head in her lap and softly hummed lullabies like soothing a child. As the sun rose and dew dispersed, birds and insects began their chorus. The night’s nightmares seemed finally to recede. As for what the two should do next, Wang Chen said nothing, and Han Li did not ask.

Sadly, such tender moments are always brief. A low moan shattered the forest’s tranquility. Han Li gently moved Wang Chen’s head onto the grass, rose, and watched warily. A figure staggered toward her—a half-charred zombie, face barely recognizable. Han Li felt a vague familiarity, as if she had seen this zombie before.

Had Wang Chen been awake, he would have told Han Li: this is the one you met when you were delirious—Xu Dongsheng.

Apparently, the armored vehicle was too close to the explosion’s epicenter; it preserved Xu Dongsheng’s body but not his life.

Han Li, however, cared little for this zombified acquaintance. She was more concerned with the number of zombies. Fortunately, only Xu Dongsheng appeared nearby.

Seeing Wang Chen still asleep, Han Li gritted her teeth, drew the army knife from Wang Chen’s leg, and advanced to meet Xu Dongsheng.

This time, it was her turn to protect him.

Wang Chen’s sleep did not last long, barely an hour. The sun had yet to reach the treetops when he awoke in Han Li’s embrace. Perhaps in such circumstances, prolonged sleep would have been strange.

“You’re awake?”

“Yeah.”

Tears and shared sleep had drawn them closer, offering solace to their battered hearts. Wang Chen rolled upright, stretched, and found his limbs weak and his stomach rumbling loudly, making him blush. He had not eaten or drunk since last night; even a strong man could not endure.

Han Li smiled, “You slept so deeply. I didn’t dare leave you here alone, so I didn’t go for food. Hang in there.”

“No problem, I feel much better. I’ll treat starvation like dieting.” Wang Chen perked up, noticing the corpse nearby. “Did you take care of that?”

“Why, don’t you believe me?” Han Li, toughened by ordeal, replied lightly.

“Oh, of course not, of course not.”

“I can’t keep—dragging you down.” She awkwardly swallowed the last syllable, drew the army knife and idly flipped it in her hand. “Don’t think just because I’m a woman that I can’t do anything.”

Watching Han Li clumsily twirl the gleaming knife, Wang Chen smiled, nodded, and walked over to the corpse. Seeing Xu Dongsheng’s wide-open eyes, he sighed and began searching the body.

Despite his youth, Wang Chen understood human nature enough to bet that someone as selfish as Xu Dongsheng would keep his survival essentials close.

He guessed right.

Xu Dongsheng wore a waist pouch containing cash, three 100ml tubes of medical saline, and military chocolate. It was impressive he’d obtained these in the sanatorium.

Saline and chocolate made a strange combination, but for two starving survivors, it was the best energy supplement.

No sooner had they shared Xu Dongsheng’s “legacy” than the faint sound of an engine reached their ears. Without hesitation, Wang Chen dragged Han Li into the undergrowth. Han Li was surprised but made no unnecessary move; they remained hidden until the drone left their field of vision.

Picking leaves off himself, Wang Chen explained quietly, “Earlier, we used a satellite phone to call for help, but the rescue center told us to wait at the sanatorium. If Brother Hu and I hadn’t sensed something was wrong and escaped, we’d have been blown to bits. Until we know how the authorities view survivors like us, best to hide our identities.”

Surprise flickered across Han Li’s face, then she nodded gravely. After so many brushes with death, and having just killed a zombie herself, her mental resilience had grown without her realizing it.

Having fled the sanatorium, there were traces aplenty—the bodies in the SUV and zombies in the woods. The PLA would eventually discover and confirm survivors. Not daring to linger, the two made a quick plan: head toward the town, try to slip in, and see if they could obtain false identities.

Their reasons were twofold. First, Hu Chun’s wife and child were likely still in town; he owed them a visit, both emotionally and morally. Second, Wang Chen felt wandering the wilderness was unsafe; joining the “main group” would boost survival chances. He could not be sure if the bird attack was isolated or widespread.

Others felt uneasy about the sanatorium’s bird attack as well—namely Chen Hanxin and Tu Hongye, both authorities in virology. Even without the military handing over biological samples from around the sanatorium, their analysis of satellite video and real-time surveillance from the bird attack to the bombing had already yielded substantial reasoning about the outbreak’s cause.

The result was not as bad as feared.

The bird attack was unlikely caused by improper waste disposal at the sanatorium spreading pathogens. Birds are not mammals, and even if the pathogen mutated again, the expected transmission pattern would be primates—mammals—warm-blooded animals. No matter how terrifying the pathogen, it cannot defy the constraints of biological law.

Similarly, the attack could not be viewed as an isolated incident; it might have been orchestrated. Zombies, absent external stimuli, only exhibit Brownian motion. Even if the birds became zombie birds, their concentrated assault on the sanatorium could not be explained by sound attraction alone—it was too far-fetched.

After briefing central leaders and military district commanders, Chen Hanxin wiped sweat from his brow, blinking his small eyes and slumped into his seat, forcing a smile: “I feel like the two of us are harbingers of doom—never any good news between us.”

“Hey, that’s you, not me.” Tu Hongye shook his head neurotically, glanced at the clock, pulled two bottles of medicine from his pocket, took two pills from each, and swallowed them with a sniff of distilled water.

Chen Hanxin pretended not to notice Tu Hongye’s pill-taking, though worry lingered on his face. Tu Hongye saw it and explained carelessly, “Relax. As long as I take my meds on time and in the right dose, my illness won’t flare up, and my IQ won’t be affected.”

“What’s next...?”

“The institute is on three-day holiday.”

“What? A holiday now?”

“What, indeed! Sharpening the axe doesn’t delay the job. Don’t you know that? We’re the top research institute, but there are other labs working on vaccines. Don’t take yourself too seriously. If a few of our staff collapse, you’d be sad, sure, but when work gets busy, we’ll lack manpower. Go on, announce the holiday!”

For a few seconds, Chen Hanxin thought Tu Hongye was joking, but then realized his senior was absolutely serious, and his reasoning was impeccable. He rose to leave, turned in the hallway, and came back, calling Xiao Wu to relay the holiday order. Then he strode to Tu Hongye, face solemn. “Senior, you must have a plan, right? Giving everyone a break is one thing, but you don’t want too many people knowing what you’ll do in these three days, correct?”

“Exactly. You’re no longer just an academic hermit glued to the lab; you’re thinking broader. We’re about to collaborate with the military on vaccine development, so we need something substantial to show.”

“...Senior, what do you intend?”

“Simple. Manufacture the zombie pathogen.”

“...” Had Chen Hanxin not known Tu Hongye’s penchant for shocking statements, he would have sent the scientist straight back to the mental hospital.

Tu Hongye watched Chen Hanxin, curious to see if he’d react with shock, but after a while, both faces remained unchanged, the air nearly solidifying.

“Boring... You’re the director, but you have no authority. Aside from reporting, your courage has only shrunk. I thought you’d argue with me!” Tu Hongye lowered his eyes, fiddling with the beaker, muttering.

Chen Hanxin was amused by his senior’s childlike behavior. If not for his usual demeanor, he’d suspect this was an imposter from the asylum. “What do I need authority for? This is an academic institute. As for reporting, we have no choice—hundreds of staff! Human life is paramount, and hundreds of samples—nothing left, not even a hair. No mutated samples for comparison, no physiological evolution data from carriers. If we produce a vaccine, will it be effective? Who wouldn’t worry? Anyway, you really did scare me just now, but then I realized your logic...”

“Oh? What did you figure out?”

“To trace origins, you use either reverse engineering or reconstruction. Since reverse engineering hit a sample shortage, you’re using reconstruction—starting with the couple you knew well, reconstructing the zombie pathogen from scratch, right?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“No leader would approve, and if the staff found out, they’d report up. So you simply gave everyone a holiday to prevent gossip, correct? But three days isn’t enough to produce a physical sample.”

“Three days for a real specimen? We’re not gods. I mean the retrovirus used for making transgenic drugs before the zombie pathogen appeared. Not a physical specimen, but simulating its molecular structure with the computer, based on existing data and my recollection of experimental steps. If we can simulate part of it and confirm the virtual retrovirus works, we can use the model to simulate viral evolution...”

“In that case, with a reference, vaccine production will be much simplified, and subsequent virus evolution can be mapped!”

“Exactly, you’ve grasped my idea.”

“Computer requirements must be high. What do you need? I’ll arrange it.”

“Not too outrageous, but after four years in the hospital, I’m a bit rusty with cloud computing and server clusters...”

As they spoke, Chen Hanxin’s phone rang. The call was from the MSS director—this time, MSS delivered as promised, investigating the car accident thoroughly within twelve hours. For example, apart from the couple’s Honda, no other vehicle was found at the crash site. The Honda’s fall and subsequent burning were highly unusual—not like in the movies, and in real life, cars rarely explode. The couple’s bodies, charred beyond recognition, were identified by dental comparison only, not DNA. A new DNA test showed the bodies buried were from a medical college’s anatomy lab—not the couple.

Thus, the anatomy lab’s theft coinciding with the couple’s disappearance had been merged into a single terror case, now the top priority. This investigation was beyond MSS’s remit. Under US law, if a theft or disappearance case makes progress, even without proof, only suspected targets, the US would pursue it relentlessly.

It must be noted that, per capita, the US suffered the highest casualties from the zombie pathogen outbreak, with epicenters across the most prosperous states. If not for the Second Amendment boosting civilian self-defense, and a calm president avoiding nuclear retaliation, nuclear war might have broken out before the pathogen swept the globe.

Of course, this news would soon be revealed by US media to boost public morale. As for the source: MSS, CIA, FBI, NSA—all would say, “No comment.”

In any case, as the news broadcast put it: “The identity of the pathogen’s creator is basically confirmed—a major step in fighting the zombie epidemic. With the trail in hand, the dawn of victory lies ahead.”