by Chu, Wesley
Bo built a small fire at the hearth, and they settled in for the night. The two ate the last of their food in silence, sharing one small flask of potable water. They had barely spoken the entire day, both feeling Zhu’s absence acutely.
Elena tried to keep their minds off him. “Hey, Bo, you always say you’re from up north. Where exactly?”
“Liaoning Province,” he replied, chewing what little food they were having for dinner slowly. “Near the North Korea border.”
“How did you end up in Hunan?” she asked.
He shrugged. “The job took me there. I was supposed to be a shift manager, but refused to bribe the right supervisor, so I ended up on the assembly line next to Zhu.”
“What did you guys make?”
“Whatever they told us to. The last thing we built was knockoff headphones. It was Zhu’s and my job to laminate the letters. That was when he got the idea to study English so he could make more money. Maybe even go to America to do business one day.” He beamed a grin. “You could say that I’m the one that hooked you two up, since I was the one who encouraged him to find a tutor, xiăomèi.”
Elena smiled back, but it was a little forced. If Bo took the credit for her and Zhu dating, then Bo should have to take some responsibility for her being trapped here in China right now. No, that wasn’t fair to either of them. What happened to her was a consequence of her decisions, her responsibilities, her fault.
The conversation was short-lived. Elena soon found herself fighting sleep, feeling her exhaustion weighing down her consciousness. She didn’t even know why she was resisting the rest. She unrolled the sleeping bag she usually shared with Zhu. She knelt before it, pausing a moment before getting in. It looked particularly lonely.
Before she crawled inside, she decided to pray. She hadn’t been deeply religious since high school, but end times like this had made her a little spiritually needy. Elena sat on her knees and pressed her palms together.
“Dear Lord, hey, just checking in. We haven’t chatted as much as I would have liked, but as you know, things have been crazy. I’m still here though. I’m still fighting, and I have you to thank for that.
“I really need your help right now. Zhu’s lost out there somewhere, missing, maybe hurt, maybe worse. You probably have your hands full right now, but I’d really appreciate it if you could do this one favor and look out for him. He’s not a believer, but he’s a really good guy.” She paused, and choked. “He might be all I have left in this world. I don’t know what I would do if I lost him.”
She clasped her hands even tighter and dug her nails into her flesh. “If you can also take care of Mom and Dad and Robbie, that would mean everything to me. Like, I don’t know how Mom can deal with all this. She’s such a clean freak and this whole world is such a mess now. I hope she doesn’t drive Dad crazy.” Her chuckle fell apart into a sob. “And you know Dad feels like he always has to fix things. I hope in your wisdom you keep him safe and don’t let him try to do too much. Just survive. And Robbie, just take care of that dummy. Don’t let him take stupid risks. He’s still a kid. We’ll all get through this and be together again soon. Thank you. In Jesus’s name, amen.” Elena looked off to the side. “One more thing. I’m piling on favors, but please look out for Bo too. He’s got a good heart, and he’s already lost so much.”
The last of her prayers lingered in the air a few moments before fading like wisps into the ether. Elena loosed a long breath and let the silence settle back over the room. It was so dark she couldn’t even see the ceiling. Elena had hoped to feel uplifted. The prayer was spoken in earnest, but she somehow still felt hollow. She still felt empty inside. As much as she desperately wanted to believe again, and tried her damnedest to open her heart to God, the dead rising and killing everyone in sight really didn’t help matters. Still, it couldn’t hurt to try, and she needed all the help she could get not just to stay alive but also to not let her soul fall into despair.
The worn sack was usually snug like a cocoon, even a little claustrophobic. Now, there was too much room and it made Elena miss Zhu more. She tossed and turned for a while and was still awake well after Bo had finally stopped reading his book. They had stayed up too late and were going to suffer for it in the morning. She stared at the ceiling, listening to water lapping against the stilts below. Something, possibly a boat or a plank, was butting up against the wooden beams below the building with a rhythmic thunk. Elena turned for the tenth time and did her best to push away the thoughts of this reality she was trapped in. Stuck in a foreign land. Thousands of miles from home. Surrounded by death and decay.
She tried to keep her spirits up, turning her thoughts to things that made her happy: sunbathing on her daddy’s boat, helping Mama set the table, playing the drums in the church band, working at Camp Longhorn in the summer, and going to high school football games on Friday nights. She was camping again, wading in Knaus Spring, dove hunting with Dad and Robbie. She would always have to snap the doves’ necks for Robbie if he didn’t make a kill shot. All these happy thoughts helped keep her sane and grounded, kept her from falling into despair.
The last thing she remembered before her consciousness faded into oblivion was Zhu sitting across the table from her at their favorite restaurant in Changsha about a month before the outbreak. They had been leaning forward over the table and holding hands, both on the verge of tears. Then, in a moment of impulsive inspiration and love, Elena took out her plane ticket and tore it up.
She next spoke those fateful words that even in sleep brought forth a spike of anger, guilt, and regret. “I’ll rebook the flight. I can stay until the end of the summer.”
But now, in this little wooden house over a death-filled lake, every ounce of her wished she had made a different choice.
5 THE WELCOME
Zhu’s eyes fluttered open. A series of moans escaped his lips. The first one because his senses had returned to him, and he suddenly felt as if someone had hammered an iron spike directly into his brain. The second groan was because he opened his mouth to voice his discomfort and the act of moving his jaw had caused a fresh ripple of pain to wash over him.
Zhu squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on his lips as he waited for the waves of agony to subside, and then assessed his situation. His head pounded and his jaw ached, but nothing felt broken, although he might have a loose tooth. His entire left side was numb and wet. His wrists were raw and bound together behind his back. Other than that, he was really thirsty. Hungry too. How long had he been out?
Zhu cracked open one eye again and blinked. He was facedown but on his side, with one cheek half-submerged in a shallow puddle. His entire line of sight consisted of mud and the trunk of an old tree. He craned his head toward the sky. It was night. He appeared to be in a field of short weeds, mostly trampled. Panic gripped him. Being out in the open like this at night with the dead all around was basically a death sentence.
Then he remembered what had happened. The two cloaked figures. Survivors! The club. They hit him… but why had they left him alive? His blood ran cold as the answer came to him.
Vultures. That was the name for people who refused to join the Living Revolution, who insisted on surviving independently from the Beacon.
Rumors of cannibalism among the vultures were rampant. They must have kept him for their larder.
Fresh fear coiled around Zhu’s guts. The potential of death by jiāngshī—and the possibility of becoming one—was a reality he had long come to terms with. However, the thought of being eaten by other people, of becoming food, was magnitudes worse. The jiāngshī were mindless beings, forces of nature like a wildfire or an earthquake. People who willfully ate the flesh of others… they were monsters.
Zhu had to escape. He rolled onto his back and sat up. He was in a camp of some sort. A small fire burned just outside his line of sight. He could see the glow and a thin trail of smoke rising into the air. His captors were foolish for setting up camp in the open like this, easy prey for the dea
d.
He began working on his bonds and was surprised to find it wasn’t rope that bound his wrists, but cloth. The knot was tied well. The harder he pulled, the more it cut into his wrists. It didn’t take him long to realize his attempts were futile. He searched the ground for something sharp: a rock, a stick, anything. Then he decided to just flee. He preferred to take his chances running into jiāngshī with his hands tied behind his back than stay there as a captive to cannibals.
Zhu got his knees underneath him and scrambled to his feet. He took off, making it about five steps before he heard the sound of chains jingling. Something yanked at Zhu’s wrists, nearly dislocating his shoulders as he flew violently back to the ground. He gasped like a fish on land.
There was rustling from behind. Footsteps. Was it cannibals, or jiāngshī? Zhu couldn’t tell, not that it would have made any difference. Both boded poorly for his survival. He closed his eyes and stayed still.
He heard two voices, young by the sound of them. They were discussing being hungry. The voices fell to a hush as they approached him.
“Do you think he’s a monster?” one of them said.
“Nah. He’s skinny like one, but he doesn’t look dead.”
The footsteps came closer.
“What are you doing?” the first voice said, alarmed. “Bà said don’t talk to him. Just put the plate down and go.”
A memory flashed into Zhu’s head. He was seven or eight; he had wrapped his legs and arms around his yéye’s leg as his yéye dragged him into the kitchen with his hands around a white hen’s feet. Zhu was wailing and pleading, his screams echoing throughout the farm house.
“What did I tell you about giving them names?” his father had growled, shaking Zhu loose.
“Pick another one,” young Zhu had wailed. “Báibái is my favorite.”
“They’re all your favorite. Now stand still and watch.”
Young Zhu had felt the ripples of horror pass through him as his yéye pinned the chicken’s neck to the cutting board and raised the butcher knife. The worst was afterward, after Báibái’s head had been severed from her body, when the blood had made his yéye’s hand slippery and the body had slid from his grasp and begun to run headless around the kitchen, spraying blood in its wake. That image was seared into Zhu’s brain.
Back on the forest floor, something sharp poked into his back. Zhu held still.
“What are you doing?” the voice said.
“I think he’s dead,” the second replied. A boy.
He poked Zhu again. The second time, Zhu rolled toward the voice and kicked his feet out, sweeping the boy’s legs from underneath him. He was a teenager, skinny, probably fifteen or so. The other boy was obviously his brother; twelve, if that. The older one fell next to Zhu with a startled cry, and Zhu climbed on top of him, pressing one knee onto the boy’s chest and the other on his neck.
He turned to the younger one. “Cut me loose. Let me go or I’ll break his neck.” The younger boy backed away and looked like he was getting ready to run. “If you go, your brother will be dead by the time you return,” said Zhu.
The younger boy drew a small knife. His hands shook. “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.”
“Probably,” replied Zhu. “But not before I kill your brother. Free me, and everyone walks away. I promise.”
“Don’t do it, Huangyi,” the one under Zhu’s neck gurgled. “Run, get help!”
“You leave and your brother dies.” Zhu paused, and then glanced at the two brothers. Old memories jogged his head. Now that he thought about it, they looked familiar. He frowned. “Wait a minute. Your names are Huangyi and Huangmang? Do you have a sister?”
Huangmang, the older one with his neck under Zhu’s knees, scowled. “How do you know my jiĕ?”
A sigh escaped his lips. “I’m Chen Wenzhu. My family ran the convenience store. We had the chicken farm in the back.”
Huangyi, the younger one, looked unsure. “Gē, what should I do?”
“I left the village over five years ago to work in the city. Huangyi might be too young to remember. I remember he barely came up to my waist.” Zhu slowly moved his knee off the boy’s neck and lightened the pressure on his chest. “Huangmang, you used to deliver packages of noodles to our store, remember?”
“Yes, the convenience store. I remember it, shūshu,” said Huangmang, recognition finally dawning. He squirmed out from under Zhu and scrambled to his feet, backing away a bit. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s all right,” Zhu tried to look unthreatening. “It’s dangerous out there these days. Can you cut me free?”
“Yes, shūshu.”
Zhu stood and turned to offer his binds. “Are there others from the village here?”
The first blow across the back of his head staggered him. The second made his legs go limp. He crashed to the ground face first, his head ringing. He rolled onto his back to face the two and tried to speak. No words escaped his lips.
“Huangyi, go get jiĕ and the elders,” said the older boy.
“What happened? Didn’t you say you know him? What did he say his name was again?”
Huangmang shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m not taking any chances.”
“I—” Zhu began.
“Shut up, húndàn!” Huangmang kicked him in the ribs, doubling him over. “You threaten my little brother? I’ll beat you to death!”
Zhu decided to spare himself more injury and stayed silent. Huangyi returned a few minutes later. He brought with him several adults, each of them wielding assorted farming tools. One, however, held a hunting rifle. They dragged him to his feet. A boot to his backside sent him stumbling forward.
The group paraded him through a lightly thicketed area with tall grass dotted by occasional trees. It was a cloudy, moonless, and starless night. The only light shining their way was a small torch the lead man carried. A jiāngshī could step out of the darkness and be upon them before anyone could react. This suggested they were in a secure area. Zhu craned his head around. The group did appear relaxed. They had to think they were safe, but how was that possible? Even a veritable fortress like the Beacon was surrounded by walls. His investigative glance was rewarded with a sharp rap across the back of the head.
They entered a large clearing lined with rows of tents and makeshift wooden sheds. A bonfire was dying in the middle of what looked like a public sitting area. A pen on one side kept several dozen hogs, geese, and a lone, bony cow. There was an expansive garden on the other that looked well tended.
Several people sitting near the fire and at the table stood up, their gazes following him as he was led deeper into the camp. The crowd grew until they reached a large tent adjacent to the dining area. Two men and a woman were waiting, probably the village elders. All three looked as if they had just been awoken, and none seemed pleased about it. Zhu was shoved roughly into one of the chairs.
The elder on his left, a scrawny bald man with a lumpy head, yawned and spoke irritably. “I thought we were going to decide the intruder’s fate in the morning.”
“We were,” the man in the center replied. Unlike his associate, he had a full head of long white hair and a beard to match. “He attacked two of our boys when they went to feed him.”
“That makes our decision easy,” the bald one remarked. “Just put a spike through his head and be done with it.”
“Why did Jincai bring him into the grove anyway?”
“He drove a truck right up to the entrance. Jincai didn’t know what to do with him.”
“We’re not killers,” said the woman for the first time. She was the oldest, with a bent back and thinning gray hair tied in a bun. She also looked the most alert of the three. “One of the boys says this man claims to be from the village.”
The hairy old man squinted. “I don’t recognize him.”
“I left for Changsha five years ago,” Zhu said quickly. “I’m old Chen’s son.”
The three studied him dispassionately. The bald one
crossed his arms and turned to the others. “Did Chen have a boy? I thought he had two girls.”
“You’re thinking of Chen the butcher. He had three girls,” said the woman. “There was also Chen who ran the store.”
The three began to squabble as if they were playing a game of mahjong.
“Wasn’t Chen the one who ran the gambling ring?”
“No, that was Jiurang.”
“Who is Chen then?”
The bald one shrugged. “Does it matter if he’s from the village or not? Jincai says he’s from the Beacon. If we let him go, he will lead soldiers back to us.”
All three seemed to agree on that. They were still contemplating his fate when someone new nearly took the decision out of their hands. A young woman dragging one of the boys by the wrist stormed into the tent. There was murder in her eyes as she shook a finger at him. “Huangyi, is he the one?”
The younger boy, eyes wide like a startled rabbit, only nodded dumbly.
Before Zhu could open his mouth, the woman lunged at him. He stiffened when the cold tip of a blade pressed against the soft part of his throat, breaking skin. “You threaten to hurt my brother? I’ll kill you.” She was about to plunge it deeper and solve all their troubles when her eyes flared. “Wait, I know you.”
It took a moment in the dim light for everything to click into place in Zhu’s head. The large eyes, the slightly crooked mouth, the thin oval face. His jaw dropped, and he found himself at a loss for words, even though his life depended on what he said next. He finally managed one.
“Meili?”
