Old friends rejoice at their reunion

In a world that has already entered the information age—a world where every second sees the birth, exchange, alteration, and dissipation of vast amounts of data—if certain regions were to be infected by a zombie pathogen, and every nation, organization, and individual sought to uncover the origin of this pathogen, how long could such a secret truly be kept before it was discovered?

The answer: twenty-eight days.

The breakthrough came when China’s Ministry of State Security obtained inside information implicating two of the world’s leading experts in genetic modification and virology. It was confirmed that these two scholars had staged a fake fatal car accident to cover their tracks—suspicious behavior indeed.

With concrete targets identified, everything else became straightforward. For one of the rare times, the criminal investigation and intelligence agencies of various countries joined forces, launching a comprehensive search for the two individuals and delving into their activities before and after their feigned deaths. Although backstabbing and scheming inevitably occurred among the agencies, the intertwining of the pair’s post-mortem trajectories with the timeline of the zombie pathogen’s outbreak eventually clarified the entire sequence of events.

In truth, the origins of any incident are never without trace; it’s just that tracing them back can lead to such distant and unexpected places. Ultimately, the emergence and outbreak of this zombie pathogen can be traced back to the drug wars of South America in the 1980s, which inevitably brings up one name: Pablo Escobar Gaviria.

Escobar’s infamy endured long after his death, and his demise triggered even greater transformations in South American drug production. The once rampant actions of drug cartels—assassinating opponents from the military, political, police, and legal spheres, or openly building processing bases in the rainforest—were gradually replaced by the more clandestine practice of manufacturing drugs on oil tankers in international waters, driven by Escobar’s death and the ever-intensifying anti-drug campaigns of South American governments and the international community.

The advantage of this approach was clear: the high seas are vast, and a two- or three-hundred-meter-long oil tanker with low, flat sides was even less conspicuous than a whale spouting a column of water several stories high. No matter how many satellites nations launched, it would take a tremendous human and material effort to scrutinize all the video footage transmitted back in search of suspicious vessels. By the time anti-drug ships arrived in the area, heaven only knew where the tanker might have sailed to. This mode of production on the open sea greatly reduced the legal constraints and the risk of hotheaded upstarts launching violent attacks, making drug export even more convenient. The world’s top five drug-consuming nations, including the United States, all possess long, difficult-to-defend coastlines, allowing drugs to be transported with ease by small submarines, offshore yachts, helicopters, or seaplanes. As a result, oil tanker-based drug production became the favored method for cartels from the 1990s into the early twenty-first century.

Originally, this method could have lasted another decade at least, and international anti-drug organizations were at a loss to counter it. The change, however, arose from the cartels themselves. New drugs became easier to obtain, manufacturing equipment grew ever cheaper, techniques became simpler, and years of anti-drug propaganda led the new generation to resist “old-fashioned” narcotics with increasing determination. A flood of new, easily manufactured, and ambiguously defined “cocktail” drugs began to circulate globally—think of crystal meth or bath salts. Thus, the cartels were forced to transform, turning their attention, while developing new drugs, toward a related, more high-tech, hard-to-imitate, and equally profitable industry.

Illicit, experimental, and customized pharmaceuticals.

Illicit drugs mostly refer to steroids, stimulants, psychotropics, and painkillers that are effective but condemned by the global sports, bodybuilding, and psychiatric communities. Behind the world of bodybuilding, such drugs have never disappeared; some enthusiasts even openly boast of long-term use. Some psychiatric patients or addicts, after exhausting their prescriptions, will find ways to obtain similar drugs for continued use. Surely these illicit drugs don’t just appear out of thin air or spring from the ground? On the surface, they come from the street corner dealer. Dig deeper, and their source lies in the countries of South America or Africa where such substances are not banned. The reality is self-evident.

As for experimental drugs, here’s a simple example: you’re an ordinary member of the middle class, and one day, a beloved family member is diagnosed with cancer and given only a short time to live. The doctor, with a look of sympathy and a gentle voice, tells you, “Take them home, let them eat whatever they want.”

Can you bear to watch your loved one die in pain without trying everything? If there’s even a sliver of hope, wouldn’t you seize it?

If you’re in a certain “Rabbit Country,” you’ll find a slew of exaggerated hospital advertisements on your local search engine, and in your desperation, may be easily duped and exploited. In other countries, where the search engines are a bit more conscientious, you won’t see such ads, but you will find information about experimental drugs—some proven effective but not yet approved for market due to stringent regulations. You might apply for your family member to join a drug trial, and if that fails, you could try to mail-order those experimental medicines said to be legally produced elsewhere. Thanks to online marketplaces, you can even check reviews from previous users, increasing your confidence.

Next comes the payment—large sums spent in hopes of extending life. Whether the money ultimately lines the pockets of a legitimate pharmaceutical factory or the bank accounts of a cartel’s new pharmaceutical tanker, that’s not your concern.

The key is, if the drug works and prolongs your loved one’s life, isn’t it worth it?

Of course, for the cartel-controlled pharmaceutical tankers, the greatest profits come from developing special drugs for the wealthy, or even the super-rich. Perhaps these magnates scoff at little blue pills but want maximum function without side effects, or to look ten years younger, or simply to cure baldness like Trump. The cartels can provide whatever elite drug they seek, at exorbitant prices and with guaranteed results.

Naturally, manufacturing experimental and cutting-edge drugs requires top-tier talent. Regardless of their motives, the fact that the couple in question had contact with the upper echelons of the cartels before their staged deaths clarified the entire chain of events.

Evidence? Such things are always hard to come by. But intelligence agencies aren’t courts of law—they don’t need evidence. Coherent logic, clear cause and effect—that’s what matters.

Whether these two top scholars developed the zombie pathogen intentionally, or whether, in the process of creating a universal genetic-modification virus for drug manufacturing, the virus was produced for convenience, one thing is certain: restricted by the conditions of research and storage on tankers, this genetically modified virus contaminated the hormone-based and psychotropic drugs produced on the same vessel during storage or transport. Perhaps some insider deliberately enabled the contamination. In any case, as a result, the virus, carrying specific genetic fragments, quickly entered recipients’ bodies, sparking the zombie outbreak. The fact that initial outbreaks were concentrated in coastal areas and international trade ports thus finds a reasonable explanation.

Of course, there’s more than one cartel and more than one drug-manufacturing tanker. The two scholars were confirmed to have had contact with Los Zetas, the world’s largest cartel, immediately narrowing the list of suspect tankers.

At this stage, the heads of the world’s criminal investigation and intelligence agencies could finally breathe a sigh of relief. They now had an answer for their superiors. What happened next would be a matter of national-level negotiations—no longer their concern.

“Given that it’s now Pacific hurricane season and tropical cyclones could form at any time where the tanker is located, we must board the vessel as quickly as possible, thoroughly investigate its interior, and do everything in our power to obtain the precursor genetically modified virus to the zombie pathogen. Only then can we develop a universal vaccine,” declared one of the nation’s highest-ranking, most confidential officials—one frequently seen occupying five minutes of the thirty-minute evening news broadcast, every single day.

He needed no introduction; his presence alone left the audience breathless, making no sound. None expected that, after the Ministry of Public Security’s scholars had briefed him on the history of narcotics, he would personally sit at his desk and, via video conference, outline the task’s background and importance for fifteen minutes.

This alone demonstrated the gravity of the matter.

For newcomers like Ma Tian and Yang Xiaohua, the moment still felt dreamlike. As for Wang Chen and Liu Shuhuan, the two test subjects encased in the highest-grade protective suits, their expressions were hidden, but Liu Shuhuan’s trembling legs betrayed his nerves. Who could have ever imagined that a former street hustler who hadn’t even finished middle school, and a convict on death row just a month prior, would now find themselves face-to-face with a national leader?

Fortunately, these “students” retained some composure. When the leader personally encouraged each of them, they remembered to nod and smile in response. Only after the big boss cut the connection did the group finally relax enough to confront the challenges ahead.

The plan was to take a military transport directly to the Nansha airport, transfer to a long-range helicopter flying low to evade foreign radar, reach the offshore research vessel, refuel, then proceed to the waters where the tanker drifted, board it, and gather virus data and, if possible, samples of the genetically modified virus.

In less than a hundred words, the task could be summed up with four: a perilous mission.

“This, this, this…” Liu Shuhuan tried several times but couldn’t produce a complete sentence. Thankfully, after Xi’s stern lectures, he knew better than to blurt out his fear and just barely managed to keep his composure.

Liu Shuhuan was truly terrified; after all, he was just a small-time loan shark and street thug. To be assigned a task bordering on saving all humanity—no wonder he hadn’t wet himself on the spot; his mental fortitude was impressive.

Among those present, aside from the young Wang Chen, Liu Shuhuan, Yang Xiaohua, and Ma Tian, all were seasoned veterans. Even Fang Qiang, the least experienced, had spent more than a decade in society and had an eye for people.

To the observant, Liu Shuhuan’s reaction earned him the label of unreliable.

The big boss, busy and pressed for time, couldn’t linger. The next to appear was someone Yang Xiaohua remembered well, especially for his sharp, monkey-like features—it was always him who took the stage in formal settings: Academician Chen Hanxin from the Academy of Sciences.

Compared to the imposing leader, Chen Hanxin’s address was far more concise: “The tanker may be saturated with high concentrations of the zombie pathogen. As we have yet to develop a fully effective vaccine, I can only provide you with relatively effective, preemptive vaccines tailored to different virus strains, as well as rapid virus type test strips, to help you identify infections at their source…”

As Chen Hanxin spoke, Ma Tian couldn’t help but whisper to Zhang Fu beside him, “Director Zhang, all we did was report that the zombie body fluids could become airborne after evaporation, so why have we been summoned back to Langfang for such an important mission?”

“What, are you scared?”

“Scared? Not really. It’s been nearly a month since this all began. I’ve never been on a tanker, but I know how awful it is on an unconditioned ferry. If this floating tin can loses power and drifts at sea without air conditioning, it’ll be an oven. Even if it’s crawling with zombies, they’ll probably have dried out. I doubt the undead are perpetual motion machines—they won’t be moving in a mummified state. So, this mission seems dangerous, but it’s not much different from tomb raiding. By the way, those two in full protective gear whose faces we haven’t seen yet—what’s their story? One of them seemed awfully nervous during the leader’s speech.”

Zhang Fu glanced at Ma Tian, still exuding a rakish air, and thought to himself that the young man saw things clearly—like father, like son. He muttered, “Quit the chatter and listen up. The security chief will brief you soon.”

After Chen Hanxin finished his lengthy explanation and ended the video conference, the participants still couldn’t leave. Now came the detailed planning of the operation. The man standing before them was no ordinary figure; the sweep of his eyes across the room left everyone feeling pinned in place. His appearance was striking—Asian features with a hooked nose, thick lips reminiscent of an African, a face that, though hard to describe when you looked away, was unforgettable up close.

In a crowd, he’d blend in completely; alone, he was impossible to ignore.

“How did he end up here,” Zhang Fu muttered, rubbing his wrist.

The man took the floor and announced, “Hello, everyone. My name is Zhang Fu.”

Except for the old hands, who were unfazed, Ma Tian and the others all turned to the Zhang Fu sitting among them. Was it a coincidence?

The man on stage noticed the odd reaction, cleared his throat, and said, “Well, just call me Zheng Fan.”

So, the name could change at will? Security always had its quirks.

Ma Tian silently complained, but Yang Xiaohua, ever the computer expert, caught on. Zhang Fu, Zheng Fan—same pinyin initials: ZF. And what does ZF stand for? Government. Clearly, these security personnel avoided using their real names and followed a particular naming convention.

“First, everyone relax. While this mission is complex, it’s not exceedingly dangerous—the casualty rate will be low. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have chosen a mix of informed personnel and specialists. Besides the experienced security agents, there are several civilians who have just been upgraded to higher security clearance. In any case, thank you for participating.”

As the real person in charge, Zheng Fan’s words put even the most anxious, trembling Liu Shuhuan at ease. If this truly were a do-or-die mission, would a deputy central leader spend fifteen minutes addressing them via video? The leader would have come in person, and there’s no way civilians would be mixed with special agents—except for immune carriers like Wang Chen and Liu Shuhuan, who were indispensable.

“…The two immune individuals will be divided into two teams as scouts. Wang Chen, you’ll join Zhang Fu’s team; Liu Shuhuan, you’ll be with Zhou Feng’s team. Any objections?”

This was one of the many uses of the two, as Tu Hongye had said.

Inside a tanker potentially teeming with high concentrations of the pathogen, the agents, even after being vaccinated with an unproven formula, had to suit up in fully air-conditioned protective gear. Even with the visors replaced by transparent ones, their hearing and sense of air movement were dulled, and the bulkiness of the suits slowed their response. That fraction of a second lost could mean life or death.

Having an immune companion in ordinary clothing, unafraid of being bitten, meant that the team could be warned even a second earlier—potentially tipping the odds of survival in their favor.

Since no one objected, Zheng Fan continued, “Good. That settles the personnel. Now, a crucial point: many pharmaceutical devices on the tanker can’t be used, since they require perfect stability. We doubt the cartels would install complex stabilizing systems on a ship. So, even if you don’t recover any virus samples, gather all possible information related to the tanker’s route. We suspect there’s a high-end pharmaceutical plant hidden at one of its resupply ports or islands. You’ll receive information about these devices on your tablets—study them carefully to avoid accidents. Any questions?”

“We’re operating on the high seas. Do other countries know about the tanker? If two thieves reach into the same pocket, what then?” Ma Tian asked, stating the obvious.

“We’ve considered that,” Zheng Fan replied calmly. “Our field teams have manipulated the intelligence at key points, so other countries are still searching for the tanker in the Atlantic. A few are focused on vessels drifting in the South Atlantic. As long as we move quickly, we should be able to act and withdraw before they catch on.”

His tone was calm, but his next words stung a bit. “Any more questions like that, discuss them privately. No need to bring them up in the meeting. Anyone else?”

Silence.

“Good. Departure at 0800 sharp. Meeting adjourned. You’re free until then. Zhang Fu, Zhou Feng, a word please.”

After the leaders left, the special agents wasted no time. Across from Ma Tian, a few agents stood to greet them. A middle-aged man with a lean, energetic build, particularly long arms, and a wide smile came over and gave “Old Dog” a hearty hug. “How did you get mixed up in this?”

“Don’t ask. I just followed the boss on a simple mission and ended up running into North Korean border jumpers.” Old Dog gave a quick summary and introduced the others, emphasizing that the man’s nickname was Ramen, an excellent sniper and knife fighter.

Ramen looked over the three newcomers and smiled. “Your boss never changes—always unorthodox in his choices. Oh, and did you know? Old Dog used to be a police dog handler before joining the special forces.”

“Enough about my old stories. How did you get involved?”

“Same as you. We went to Ulaanbaatar to investigate an outbreak. Saved some herders, but they insisted on burying their relatives who’d been mauled to bits. Buried them, then got infected themselves. We reported and got sent to Langfang.” Ramen nodded toward Wang Chen and Liu Shuhuan. “Shouldn’t you two introduce yourselves? We’ll be working together tomorrow.”

“I wonder how the epidemic control team found these two gems—immune to the pathogen, yet their blood can’t be used to make a vaccine,” Old Dog muttered. He walked over to them, held out his hand, and said politely, “I’m with the security unit—call sign Old Dog. Which of you is Wang Chen?”

“Oh, that’s me!” Wang Chen quickly stood and shook Old Dog’s hand. “Sorry, the pathogen I carry is infectious to ordinary people, so I can only meet you through this suit.”

“Understandable. But when we get to the tanker, we’ll be the ones in suits. We’ll rely on you.”

“You’re too kind, I—” Before Wang Chen could finish, Yang Xiaohua, unable to contain herself, shrieked, “Do you know an operator with the code 3148?”

“3148?” The voice jogged Wang Chen’s memory, but when the code was mentioned, it all came back. Delighted, he exclaimed, “Oh, it’s you! 3148! That’s right, it’s me—Wang Chen!”

Before the words were out, Yang Xiaohua flung herself at him and hugged him tightly.