Fifty-Seven: Two and a Half Madmen, Part Three

The curator wiped the cold water from his forehead and rubbed his bloodshot eyes, leaning close to the tablet to take a careful look. Then he shook his head. "I've been living here for almost a week. In and out, more than a dozen people. I've never seen anyone who looks like this."

"A week? That can't be right. Four days ago he sent out a distress message telling us to come to the museum."

"Four days ago? A distress signal? Oh... I remember. You might be talking about the madman."

"The madman?"

"Yeah. A fellow who keeps his face wrapped up tight all day, says it's to filter poison gas, muttering strange things all the time. Four days ago he somehow got hold of a satellite phone and called before the battery died. Said some immortal had ridden a multicolored flying saucer up from the center of the earth to save all living souls, then locked himself in the museum storeroom and refused to come out no matter what. That was about four days ago, I think... I've been drinking these past few days... my memory isn't very clear."

Just how the hell had these people survived to this day, defending themselves against zombies with a gate barely four feet high? Wang Chen muttered inwardly, while on his face he tried his best to keep a gentle expression. "Where is the storeroom? Can you take us there?"

"Sure, no problem." The curator swayed to his feet, pulled a stick from the fire to use as a torch, and kept rambling without pause. "Where are you all from? Can't say? That's fine. Can you take me with you? Don't look at me like this now. I'm still the museum curator, after all, and I know how to give tours and lectures and talk to people. If you take me with you, you definitely won't lose out."

Take you for what? To listen to museum tours every day? Wang Chen complained silently, and even Sheng Qingru could not bear it anymore. She cut him off. "Shut up! Just lead the way properly!"

Perhaps she thought she sounded too fierce, so Sheng Qingru changed the subject. "What if that Ren Wancheng really has gone insane? Is it too dangerous to bring him back...?"

"I once had an old friend who said a mad fit could be cured with two slaps. If a few more slaps don't wake him up, then we can only let him fend for himself. We can't risk the children, can we?"

Wang Chen stared at the drunk man's back and answered without hesitation. "Gathering civilians is part of our mission too. More people can mean more trouble, but they also mean more strength. Once we've confirmed that these two drunk... people are really all right, we'll take them back with us."

Sheng Qingru nodded in agreement. As museum curators go, there should not be much danger here. An adult doing what he could was hardly a difficult matter.

When they reached the museum basement, Wang Chen took out the little flashlight he carried with him and hung it beneath his rifle, twisting on the switch. A massive iron-gray vault door appeared before them. The curator rubbed his hangover-ridden head and muttered, "He locked himself in there. Good thing our vault door is just for show, with ventilation and constant temperature and humidity. Otherwise he would have suffocated for sure."

He skillfully turned the vault wheel and grasped the handle at the edge of the door, lifting it upward. It did not move at all. He smiled apologetically and tried again with more effort, but there was still no response. Wiping the cold sweat from his brow, he adjusted his glasses and guessed, "It seems... stuck. Why don't one of you two try?"

Wang Chen thought nothing of it. He slung his rifle properly and stood before the handle, pulling upward with force, but it still would not budge. He found it odd, and with the same motion pushed downward instead. With a sharp click, the door opened.

If he still did not realize there was something wrong with the curator, then he really would have to be stupid beyond saving. Besides, this was not the first time he had been caught off guard while opening a vault door. The instant Wang Chen pressed the handle downward, he had already let go and reached for his pistol. Pablo was no slower. The moment he saw Wang Chen reverse the handle to open the vault door, he knew something was wrong, and the muzzle of his rifle was instantly fixed on the back of the curator's head.

The vault door slid open slowly, and the stench of blood rushed out. At the same time, a hoarse, eerie voice rang out behind Wang Chen. "If you don't want this woman to die, drop your gun."

Wang Chen turned around. In the beam of the flashlight, a hunched body was crouched behind Sheng Qingru. It was the drunk man who had seemed dead to the world just moments ago. Clearly, he had not been too drunk to wake up; he had been waiting for the right moment to trap all three of them. The fruit knife in his hand was pressed across Sheng Qingru's throat, its point sinking against the pale skin and blue veins beneath. A little more force, and judging from the first-aid supplies and tools in the armored vehicle, Sheng Qingru would almost certainly be beyond saving.

"I understand. You are wrong. Smell of liquor, no stench. She dies, you die."

Pablo's English remained as troublesome as ever. What he said was even more infuriating: the two drunks smelled of alcohol, but there was no sour reek of drink on them, which made them suspicious.

Yes, Pablo had spent years dealing with alcoholics and drug traffickers, so he must have been very familiar with the smell of drunks. That was why he could finally make sense of the part that had seemed odd before. But why hadn't he figured it out sooner? The other side had already sprung their ambush and taken Sheng Qingru hostage. Wasn't it a little too late now, you brute?

Putting aside his urge to curse Pablo, Wang Chen stared at the knife at Sheng Qingru's throat, nearly spitting fire from his eyes. He had just enjoyed Sheng Qingru's attentive care, and then, in the next breath, to treat her life as nothing at all—Wang Chen could never do such a thing. Of course, he also did not want to hand over his own life so easily. The best choice now was to stall for time and hope Yang Xiaohua would hear the transmission in the earpiece and come to break the deadlock.

So Wang Chen steadied himself and lowered his pistol slightly before speaking. "You want guns? Ammunition? Or something else? We can talk about anything. To be honest, all you want is a safe place. Look, we mean you no harm. We're only here to find someone. If that person dies by your hands, then fine, we won't look anymore. We can part on good terms. What do you say?"

There was no helping it. In this world, there was no law to speak of and no principle to rely on. One could only weigh closeness and distance. To make Wang Chen sacrifice the friends at his side, or even himself, for a stranger he had never met—even if that stranger had once been a veteran who defended the nation—sorry, not negotiable.

The curator still had a gun pointed at his head, yet he smiled. "Barefoot people aren't afraid of those with shoes. If you think that woman's life isn't worth risking yours over, then by all means, shoot us both dead. But I guarantee my brother will slit the woman's throat before he dies. So? Two lives for one. A bargain, isn't it?"

"That's going too far. Can't we talk this through and choose a bloodless way?"

"Sure. Hand over your gun first. Otherwise, I'll count to three. Two lives for one! One!"

Damn it! He had run into two lunatics! Wang Chen did not want to put down his gun and hand over his life and Pablo's. Besides, Pablo might not even obey and surrender his own life to these two madmen. Yet he also could not bear to watch Sheng Qingru have her throat slit. Even if he killed these two afterward and buried them with her, what good would that do?

Why wasn't Yang Xiaohua here yet?

In his anxiety, Wang Chen forgot that there were not only two lunatics present.

There was also a half.

Sheng Qingru.