002 Murder? Run!

One strike! Two strikes! Three strikes!

By the time Wang Chen was pulled up by Wang Yefei, the boy before him—at most fifteen or sixteen, half-grown—was already nothing more than a corpse. His legs twitched occasionally, but a sizable section of his skull had been caved in, and he no longer breathed.

Wang Chen gasped for air, his gaze fixed on the boy’s wide, lifeless eyes. Blood oozed slowly from the corners of his eyes, his nose, and mouth. The boy’s shorts grew damp with a yellow-brown stain that carried a pungent, repulsive stench.

Is this really something a person would do? Not a single zombie killed, but already someone’s dead by my hand!

At least it counted as self-defense, didn’t it?

Noticing the vacant look in Wang Chen’s eyes, Wang Yefei, whose own right hand still trembled, masked his own unease and feigned nonchalance. He slapped Wang Chen on the back. “Son, you alright? Everything okay?”

Wang Chen shuddered violently as though struck by electricity, then slumped to the ground. Even after witnessing his own mother turn into a zombie, killing a person was still too much for him. Only when Wang Yefei yanked him upright like a dead dog did Wang Chen slowly regain his senses.

“Dad, what about that woman? Did you see where she went?”

“Huh? No, I didn’t notice.”

Strange, could she have run off? Wang Chen, still dizzy, found it unlikely. He thought back over what had happened, strode to the edge of the rooftop, and peered down.

Below, four or five zombies feasted contentedly on fresh flesh. He could just make out the remains in their hands, torn from some hapless victim. Three other zombies crouched over something, tearing into it. Blood dyed a wide swath of ground a glaring red in the bright sunlight and blue sky. Whether the victim was the same woman who’d vanished moments before, possibly from a fatal fall, Wang Chen couldn’t be sure—but most likely, it was her...

“Enough, don’t look. That commotion wasn’t small—no telling if more zombies from the stairwell might show up. Come help me,” Wang Yefei called.

At his father’s urging, Wang Chen pushed images of mother and child from his mind, grabbed the kitchen cleaver, and hurried over to help.

Wang Yefei, an ex-soldier, was adept at opening military supply crates. Despite the box’s size, it was mostly packed with shock-absorbing foam—there wasn’t much inside. The contents had been jostled in landing and were a bit disordered. The two of them quickly sorted through: several packs of compressed rations, a small bag of first aid supplies, a large, instruction-laden satellite phone, a set of camping tools, a backpack, two military vests, two pairs of gloves, and two military knives.

It was a hodgepodge of military and civilian gear, clearly assembled in haste. In Wang Yefei’s eyes, the only real asset was the satellite phone or perhaps military radio.

“That’s it?” Wang Chen muttered, dissatisfied. He wiped away sweat trickling toward his eyes and, in frustration, yanked off the rice cooker liner he’d been using as a helmet. The duct tape pulled out clumps of hair, and the exposed scalp stung fiercely from the sweat.

“Be patient, son. The good stuff’s at the bottom,” Wang Yefei said, mood brightening with the supplies. He removed the foam inserts, revealing a false bottom. Father and son both breathed faster as they pried it open.

Two Type 54 pistols, over a dozen fully loaded magazines, seven or eight boxes of ammunition, a flare gun, and a box of flares!

Nearly twenty years had passed since Wang Yefei last handled a firearm, but his muscle memory remained. Three years of military service had left an indelible mark. He beat Wang Chen to the pistols, gripping the cool, blue-brown handle and quickly reacquainting himself with its feel. Without hesitation, he checked the chamber, loaded a magazine, racked the slide, cocked the hammer, released the safety, and ejected the magazine in a smooth, practiced sequence.

Watching his father handle the pistol with such skill, Wang Chen suddenly felt a surge of power through his body. What man doesn’t like guns?

But there was no time for admiration. An unusual sound caught their attention—several dozen meters away, the barred gate was pushed open. One by one, staggering figures emerged onto the rooftop.

Zombies!

They’d drawn the horde after all!

One glance was enough for Wang Yefei to know trouble was coming. He swiftly reloaded the pistol, took aim, and fired at the approaching zombies.

Damn it! Missed!

After all, he hadn’t fired a gun in nearly twenty years, and marksmanship had never been his specialty as a military driver. The Type 54 wasn’t known for accuracy, and at thirty meters, hitting every shot would’ve been a miracle.

“Pack up quickly! I’ll draw them away!” Wang Yefei saw more and more zombies pouring out, knew a pistol wouldn’t be enough, grabbed five or six magazines, and ran toward the zombies. If his shooting wasn’t accurate, he’d have to make up for it with proximity.

Wang Chen agreed, his hands flying as he packed. In just moments, two more rooftop exits began spilling out zombies!

To give Wang Chen a chance, Wang Yefei didn’t waste time searching for an escape for himself. He closed in on the zombie horde, firing shot after shot—some nearly point-blank into their skulls. The gunshots thundered, brain matter and bone splattering everywhere.

Wang Chen, now frantic, mimicked his father’s actions with the other Type 54, fumbling with trembling hands to load the magazine. He raised the gun and pulled the trigger—nothing happened. Damn, forgot to chamber a round. As he racked the slide, his finger slipped, squeezing the trigger—bang! The gun fired unexpectedly, nearly shooting a hole in his own foot.

“Run! Now! Don’t worry about me—your old man isn’t dying today!” Wang Yefei shouted as he tangled with the zombies, his eyes on his son. He knew Wang Chen’s stubbornness rivaled his mother’s; as long as he was surrounded, his foolish son would never run. With a decisive move, Wang Yefei dove into a stairwell exit, drawing more zombies after him.

To ensure Wang Chen’s escape, Wang Yefei fired two more shots into the stairwell, luring the zombies after him.

Seeing his father disappear into the stairwell, leading away at least ten zombies, Wang Chen intended to follow and try to regroup. Unfortunately, not all the zombies had been drawn away—seven or eight noticed him and began to lurch forward.

Wang Chen raised the pistol, then lowered it. Shooting wildly would only waste bullets. Escape was the best option. He dashed to the nearest rooftop exit, but its gate was blocked with debris; even breaking the lock, he couldn’t push it open. The second exit was clear of debris, but a heavy chain declared it impassable. By the time Wang Chen ran toward the third, the zombies were closing in.

What to do? What to do! Wang Chen panicked completely. As the zombies drew near, he slapped himself hard twice, filling his mouth with the taste of blood. But it worked—he forced himself to calm down, his breathing fast and shallow as he assessed the situation.

About seven or eight zombies had been drawn away; the rest clustered together, feasting on what was probably the boy from earlier. These seven or eight, denied their share, were still too much for him to handle unarmed. Judging by their speed, there wasn’t time to study the pistol. The urgent task was to find a way out.

Resolved, Wang Chen jogged around the edge of the rooftop, peering over the wall for possible escape routes. If he couldn’t avoid the zombies, he’d have to risk the fire escape.

In Harbin, most old buildings had fire escapes on the windowless side—about two meters off the ground, made from bent rebar set into the wall, with no guardrails. Crude, but sturdy; even after decades, they could still bear a person’s weight.

Seeing there was no way to avoid the zombies, Wang Chen had no other option. He hurried to the fire escape, glanced at the zombies still twenty or thirty meters away, then gritted his teeth and climbed over the wall.

Damn it! Eighth floor!

His legs went numb, his body drenched in sweat.

Wang Chen had no idea how he made it down. Below, over the side street, a plastic canopy jutted out from a ground-floor shop, supported by the second-floor ledge. It was close enough to the fire escape for him to land on. As he climbed down, he made some noise, attracting two zombies who staggered over, waving their arms as if to embrace him like long-lost friends.

Wang Chen knew all too well what that “embrace” would mean. He tested the blue canopy with care—it was solid, likely built to withstand Harbin’s heavy winter snows. After a couple of firm stomps, he was satisfied it could hold his weight. He dropped his backpack, treated a bleeding wound on his wrist with military spray, then slumped inside the canopy, ignoring the two zombies below as they waved their arms.

No, I can’t relax yet—I have to find Dad! He’ll be alright, he has to be!

But why is everything so blurry? Why can’t I stop crying?

By midday, the blazing sunlight pierced the thinning clouds, shining down on the old residential street. Wang Chen, furiously wiping his tears, not even knowing who he was angry at, finally sat up, pulled out his pistol, and stared blankly at the two zombies. He raised the gun several times, only to lower it again, forcing himself to stay calm. Instead, he practiced with the Type 54, recalling his father’s motions—loading, chambering, cocking the hammer, clearing the chamber. As for shooting, he wasn’t foolish—gunfire would only attract more zombies.

After reloading all the magazines, Wang Chen moved to the last patch of shade, put away the pistol, and pulled out the iron-gray satellite phone. According to the manual, it was a civilian satellite phone using the domestic satellite system—he skimmed the details, flipping straight to the usage guide. Following the instructions, he installed the battery and SIM card. This time, he was careful, plugging in the headset so the phone wouldn’t make any extra noise. Only then did he dial the handwritten number on the back.

After a faint beep, the call connected. A woman’s voice, hoarse as a drake, answered, “Hello, this is the Rescue Center. I am Operator 3148.”

Wang Chen, who thought he was beyond being moved, froze in place. Mouth agape, eyes wide, joy, excitement, tension, and countless other emotions crashed over him. He was speechless.

“Hello? Are you still there? Are you hurt? I’m locating your phone now,” the woman said. “Survivor detected, low-orbit satellite image locating…”

The word “locating” jolted Wang Chen back to his senses. His face was wet—only then did he realize he’d been crying. He quickly wiped his cheeks. “I’m not hurt. I’m hiding above the entrance of a restaurant on Ankang Street. I’m fine, but my dad is trapped in the building next door! Can you help him?”

“Alright, calm down, don’t shout. I’ve already pinpointed your location via satellite… Okay, I see you. Can you look up at the sky? And tell me your name.”

Look at the sky? What does that mean? Still, Wang Chen obeyed, lifting his head and giving his name.

“Good, identity confirmed. Now listen closely. The city is crawling with zombies. The epidemic control troops can’t enter soon. You should find a safe place and wait for rescue. However, Harbin Wanggang Airport is still under military control. If you can reach it, you’ll be safe. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes! But my father is still inside!”

“With the situation as it is, I can’t recommend a rescue attempt. Do you understand, student?”

“No!” Wang Chen nearly shouted, barely holding back. His lowered voice was hoarse, carrying an unmistakable note of anguish.

“Student, I can’t stop you from trying to save your father, but on your own, it’s unlikely to succeed. I suggest you reach the nearest shelter and meet up with other survivors. If you can find volunteers, you might have a chance to go back for him.”

“No! That’ll be too late! Can’t you do something? I’m begging you!” Wang Chen pleaded.

“I’m sorry, student. You must remain calm.”

“Calm my ass! It’s not your father who’s trapped!” Wang Chen finally snapped, cursing aloud.

The operator clearly had dealt with such cases before and waited patiently for him to finish, then said gently, “Regardless, please stay calm. Don’t waste the chance your father gave you to escape.”

The chance your father gave you to escape.

Those ten words broke Wang Chen’s composure, and tears streamed down his face.

Emotionally, he refused to admit that his father’s survival was unlikely. Rationally, he knew that if his father had survived in the stairwell, he’d have come looking for him by now, or at least shouted from a window to let him know he was safe.

The operator was right. His father had saved his life twice—he couldn’t waste it so easily.

After Wang Chen apologized, Operator 3148 assured him she didn’t mind. She continued, “I’ve found the nearest shelter to you: the Aijian Terminal of the Harbin Public Transportation Company. Civilians are already gathering there. If you can reach it, you’ll have help—more people, better chance of saving others, and better chance of finding a vehicle to reach the airport. Do you understand?”

“I understand! I know that place!”

“Good. Now, organize your supplies. I’ll hang up for now and call back to guide you to the shelter. Understood?”

“Yes, thank you very mu—”

Before Wang Chen could finish, Operator 3148 hung up, leaned back in her chair, exhaled deeply, and gulped down some water. Her looks were much better than her raspy voice—short hair, arched brows, almond eyes, slightly thick lips, a rounded nose, and dusky skin, all set off by olive-green camouflage uniform. She had a certain sunny, energetic beauty—though her chest was rather flat, perhaps not even an A-cup.

“Another civilian?” her colleague, Operator 3794, asked casually.

Their workspace was less a room than a vast hall. Over a hundred military operators fielded rescue calls and processed satellite imagery, all just for Harbin city. Counting other epidemic zones, there were likely thousands. The speed with which the military organized airdrops, set up a massive rescue center, and deployed satellites for real-time monitoring within twenty-four hours of the outbreak spoke to both their competence and the seriousness of the crisis.

“Yeah, F-level, student—wants to save his dad. I’ll guide him to the shelter, but his father’s probably not going to make it.”

“Don’t take it too hard, or you’ll end up in counseling,” her Sichuanese colleague joked. His family was outside the danger zone. Like her, he’d passed emergency psychology training before joining the rescue center.

“Counseling’s fine—better than 3713.” She referred to Operator 3713, who had just been rushed to the infirmary after a breakdown and suicide attempt, following a failed rescue coordination for a couple.

3794, a bit proud, was about to brag about his recent call, then checked himself—no point boasting. “A teaching assistant from the Institute of Technology, materials science, C-level.”

3148 just blinked, sipped her water, put on her headset, and started typing, mapping out an escape route for Wang Chen.

By the time she called back, Wang Chen had packed his bag, donned his gloves, tightened his vest, and secured his magazines, pistol, and cleaver.

He pressed “answer”—and despite his composure, 3148’s raspy voice made him nervous all over again.

“Listen. Latest test results show that after infection and death, zombies’ heart function drops sharply. Their movement is driven mainly by mutated nerve tissue. So: destroy the brain, cerebellum, medulla, or cervical vertebrae to kill them completely. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Infected tissue releases enough energy to keep them moving, but muscular strength and bone durability will gradually decline. The outbreak is less than forty-eight hours old—the average zombie can jog as fast as a human, but some can sprint. A few are very fast. All are as sensitive to light and sound as normal people. Gunshots are loud, the Type 54 has heavy recoil, and you lack training—accuracy will be low. Fire only as a last resort. Up close, use a tool—stab through the eye socket, temple, or mouth. That’s the most direct way to take them down.” She rattled off her instructions in a commanding tone.

“Got it.” Wang Chen was impatient; he wanted escape directions.

3148 sensed his urgency. “Don’t rush. There’s plenty of daylight. I suggest you use the camping knife, attach it to the extension rod, and practice on the two zombies below the canopy.”

Desperate for help, Wang Chen obeyed without question. Following her instructions, he screwed the knife onto the extension rod and crept to the canopy’s edge to gauge the distance.

Below stood a male and female zombie. The woman was young and slender; the virus had left her face pale and bluish, eyes bloodshot. In life, she’d been attractive, but now her mouth, torn wide, was a grotesque gash. Wang Chen forced himself not to notice her still-appealing figure. He brushed aside her twitching hands with the knife, then seized an opening and stabbed deep into her gaping mouth, still smeared with lipstick.

With a crunch, the sharp blade pierced straight through, destroying the brain. The female zombie went rigid, then collapsed like a sack of mud.

The male zombie, oblivious, stepped over her body and reached for Wang Chen. Without hesitation, Wang Chen withdrew the blade and stabbed into the man’s eye socket. The zombie dropped soundlessly atop his companion.

Having already killed a person, Wang Chen didn’t feel much killing two zombies. He wiped the blade on the canopy’s edge and said, “Are you still there? The zombies are gone.”

“Good. Now listen: facing the street, there’s a wrecked vehicle at the left intersection—at least a dozen zombies nearby. It’s too risky. To the right, past the crashed Iveco van, there’s an electric scooter by the roadside. The nearest wandering zombie is thirty meters away. If it has power, ride it straight ahead, turn right at the fork, and head down the main road. Stay in the center—it’ll take you to the Aijian Terminal. As long as you don’t crash directly into zombies, you should make it.”

“What if the scooter’s out of power?”

3148 paused, then replied bluntly, “Then run for it. I’ll track you the whole way. Good luck.”