Robert Kirkman's The Walking Dead: Typhoon

by Chu, Wesley

  Elena froze. What was going on out there? Had a group of vultures moved onto the ranch? Had they accidentally stumbled across a river of jiāngshī? Of all the luck. She jumped when several silhouettes scattered in the field in front of the barn came alight, bathed in flame. One after another, people, by the fives and tens, became walking torches. The smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils. The fire spread, soon illuminating the entire field.

  No, those weren’t people. Jiāngshī. They were trapped in the pens with the gray mounds from earlier. Their groans were soon overwhelmed by the crackling roar of the fire as it spread from body to body. A figure walking the perimeter of the pen carrying a fuel canister was dousing the jiāngshī with some sort of fuel, presumably. Each of the dead burst into flame, one by one. Just outside the pen was a cluster of people, living people, standing in a row chanting loudly with their arms raised to the sky.

  “Heaven Monks. This must be what they do with all those jiāngshī they round up.” Bo tilted his head and listened more closely. “Some sort of cleansing ritual?”

  Relief flooded Elena. She had assumed they were dealing with vultures, which meant the two of them would have had to either flee in the middle of the night or stay hidden in the barn and try to wait them out. More plumes of flame and smoke shot into the air as several monks stepped up and tossed more gasoline into the pen. The jiāngshī, bodies burning like dozens of candles on a cake, lumbered forward until they bumped against the wooden fence, their hands grasping at the monks. A few fell, succumbing to the flames, but more took their place.

  The chanting grew louder. Several of the monks reached out as if trying to lock hands with the dead. The way the Heaven Monks treated the jiāngshī was respectful, even tender. Elena’s eyes brimmed with tears. The scene that was unfolding below here was oddly touching. She could tell they truly believed that they were putting tortured souls to rest. Sending spirits to heaven on columns of thick, acrid smoke. In a way, the singing and dancing, the waving of the arms… the ritual reminded Elena of her own church. She found herself swaying along with them.

  Bo peered at her. “You aren’t planning on joining these monks, are you, xiăomèi?”

  Elena answered him with a small smile. Of course she wasn’t. She couldn’t deny that there was a void in her soul that gatherings like this filled, but this wasn’t her religion. This wasn’t her congregation.

  The chanting faltered and the singing became fragmented. Elena turned her attention back to the ritual and saw what had happened. The wood at one section of the pen had caught fire and splintered. The chorus turned into screams.

  The burning jiāngshī poured through the gap and fanned out toward the monks, each a giant burning candle flickering wisps of smoke into the air. Everything they touched burst aflame. The sickening smell of cooked flesh and burnt wood soon wafted into Elena’s nostrils as the fire spread. Elena watched, horrified, as one jiāngshī wrapped his arms around a robed monk. The woman’s cries joined the chorus of screams as the flames jumped to her heavy robes and crawled up her arm. Her panicked wails turned to ones of agony as she futilely tried to bat at the jiāngshī holding on to her. Her struggles weakened and she collapsed to her knees as the jiāngshī bit into her chest.

  One monk punched a jiāngshī with a series of martial arts moves and managed to break its neck, but his close proximity to the burning dead set his own clothing on fire. As he tried to bat away the fire, two other jiāngshī pounced and sandwiched him together. One grabbed his arm and the other bit into his cheek. The three bodies seemed to melt into one as they succumbed to the flames. More, encumbered by their large bulky robes and unable to defend themselves, fell as the jiāngshī descended on them. Only a few of the monks were armed with long poles, but they were quickly overrun. It became a slaughter.

  Elena dashed to her duffel and returned to the window with her bow in hand. She tossed Bo the shotgun.

  Bo caught it but made no move to use it. “What are you doing?”

  “We need to help them.”

  “I don’t know if we should get involved,” said Bo. “Remember what we’re here to do. This is not our mission.”

  “It’ll be even more dangerous if the jiāngshī burn the barn down. Come on.” Elena kicked out the wooden vectors of the window and drew an arrow.

  She was about to let it fly when Bo put his hand on her wrist. “We might need your arrows later on.”

  He was probably right, but Elena wasn’t going to just stand there while people got slaughtered. With a hiss of disgust, she drew her short spear and headed to the ground floor. She was pleased but not too surprised to find Bo a few steps behind her. As much as he might disagree with her actions, he was dependable. She hoped it didn’t get him killed.

  The Heaven Monks were startled to see a wind team charge into the fracas, but quickly accepted their help. Bo smashed the chest of the nearest jiāngshī, and Elena headed toward an older woman holding a giant ax known as a pŭdāo that was nearly as tall as she was. The woman swung the ax expertly, using the momentum of her swings to lop approaching jiāngshī in half.

  Fighting next to her was a tall, imposing young man who was ineffectually trying to beat away two jiāngshī with a broomstick. If anything, he was helping put out their fires. He yelled and fell back when his weapon caught fire, leaving the old woman alone and dangerously surrounded.

  Elena fought her way to the old woman’s side, watching her back but staying away from the ax’s looping swings. Her caution didn’t seem necessary. The old woman looked as if she were dancing, spinning and lopping off jiāngshī heads left and right. Elena almost wanted to just stand there and admire the woman’s work, but three burning jiāngshī were bearing down on her.

  She slashed the nearest one across the chest with the point of her spear, barely slowing it down. The skin of this one, a relatively fresh jiāngshī by the looks of it, was bubbling and melting off its body, exposing its rib cage and cooked intestines, some of which were trailing along the ground. It was times like this Elena wished she had a longer weapon. The short spear was easier and lighter for someone like her to use, but it forced her to fight up close, and the heat from the jiāngshī was too intense to make it an easy thing. The smoke stung her eyes and nostrils.

  Fortunately, the old woman solved Elena’s problems. She came up behind the three jiāngshī and decapitated two with one swing, then plunged the sharpened edge of the pŭdāo clean through the back of the last one, carving away half of its rib cage. The old woman eyed Elena with almost an amused squint before she moved on to the next jiāngshī. In a matter of minutes, the Heaven Monks managed to rally enough to kill the remaining dead that had escaped the pens. The purifying fire finished off the rest.

  Elena found a small patch of clean grass under a fir tree and rested her weary body. Bo sat next to her and pulled out his handkerchief to clean his sledgehammer. A little while later, the leader of the Heaven Monks, the same white-haired man with the flowing beard who had greeted her a few days before, approached them. He laced his hands together and bowed. “Thank you for your assistance. I am Master Jiang Ping. I lead this sect.”

  Elena returned the bow. “Glad to be of help. How are your people?”

  “We have many injured, and we’ll bury a few of our brothers and sisters today,” he replied, “but at least they will be sent directly to heaven and not trapped in an earthly shell. What brings you to this place?”

  “We were just staying here for the night.”

  Jiang Ping studied them more closely. “You are members of Chen Wenzhu’s team. But young Wenzhu is not here?”

  Elena nodded. She appreciated being recognized, although it wasn’t that hard. There were only two Caucasians on the wind teams, and Darragh O’Brien was old, bald, and a real mean jackass.

  Jiang Ping reached his own conclusion. “I’m sorry for your loss. He was a good man. I hope he finds his way to heaven.”

  “He’s not dead. We’re searching for him right now. Can you
help us?” she continued quickly. “We were separated in Fongyuan village two days west. He was alive at his last known location. He may be injured.”

  The look of pity Jiang Ping gave her was the same as Hengyen’s. “I’m sorry, but we cannot return the aid you have given us. This is a cruel world we live in now. I wish you the best but advise you to make your peace.”

  Elena bit back her retort. The Heaven Monk was trying to be kind. He was probably right, and this was a fool’s errand, one that put both Bo and her at risk and wasted resources.

  Elena and Bo spent the rest of the night helping the Heaven Monks clean up the mess. Elena tended to the wounded while Bo helped carry the bodies to a funeral pyre. By dawn she felt like she had been up for a straight week, but they had to set out. Daylight was precious and they could not afford to lose an entire day. The sect was good enough to share food and supplies. They even gave Bo a book, much to his delight. Jiang Ping found them again as they were setting off to offer them a small basket of fruits. Elena’s mouth salivated. That was worth its weight in gold to her. The monk looked thoughtful as he spoke. “I may have something that could aid your search for Wenzhu. There is a small enclave living near Fongyuan, survivors from the village hiding in a nearby valley. We trade with them regularly.”

  Elena perked up. Of course. That could explain how he had just disappeared without a trace. “Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?” she demanded.

  “They wish to stay hidden for good reason, especially from those at the Beacon,” he replied. “I warn you, they do not view strangers kindly. Tread lightly when you go. I wish you luck.”

  As Elena and Bo headed away from the ranch, Elena mulled over what the monk had said. It made the most sense that Zhu was with the village. That, or dead, and he couldn’t be dead. “Come on, Bo,” she finally announced. “Let’s go straight to the village.”

  “What about the other sanctuaries?” he asked.

  “No use in trying to find needles in a haystack.”

  He frowned as he tried to parse out a meaning. “But aren’t sewing supplies worth extra points?”

  “Never mind.”

  10 STOPPING THE TYPHOON

  Fifty windrunners from ten teams.

  Thirty guards from the Beacon’s walls.

  Twelve engineers from the treatment plant.

  Nearly a hundred souls putting their lives in Hengyen’s hands. Not since the fall of Changsha had Hengyen led this many people into battle. He had to be careful. There was no way the Beacon could recover from losing more than half the wind teams.

  Secretary Guo had likened this war to the legendary and heroic Long March during the Chinese Civil War, when the Red Army had retreated northwest to recover and regain their strength in the fight against Chiang Kai-shek’s nationalist forces.

  “The jiāngshī threaten our homeland like the Kuomintang did,” he had declared to the assembled group before they departed. “It is our duty and unity of purpose to follow in our ancestors’ courageous footsteps in routing these invaders so that the seeds of our rebirth can thrive.”

  It was a rousing speech, one that got the troops to their feet. Hengyen, being an actual student of military history, had raised an eyebrow at the comparison. If the Beacon had actually been anything like the Long March, they would have been heeding his recommendation and packing up the settlement this very moment. But then that was why the secretary was the politician and leader and Hengyen was the military man: he knew how to use rhetoric to get the people to act against their best interests.

  In any case, the decision had been made. The secretary went with Wangfa’s recommendation, so it was now Hengyen’s role to try to stop the tide from washing over them.

  Hengyen watched as his lead teams fanned out along the narrow passage in the ridge as they fought their way toward the Yuanjiang. They had to clear out the hundreds of jiāngshī that had fallen in from his last foray, but they had no other choice. It was almost always the wrong tactic to attempt to subdue the jiāngshī with large numbers of troops. Time, however, wasn’t on their side. The main body of the typhoon was less than ten kilometers away from the Beacon. Five weeks, maybe less if something urged them on.

  Wangfa came up from the rear. “The wagons are having trouble keeping up.”

  On top of all these people he had to take care of, there were also several tons of explosives loaded up across three wagons. It was a mixture of military-grade explosives, grenades, C-4, and dynamite. Anything the engineers could get their hands on.

  “Tell the engineers that if the wagons can’t keep up, they should distribute it evenly among everyone else. I’ll carry the first portion.”

  Wangfa did not look enthused about carrying explosives in his pack, but he nodded and shuffled away. No one looked pleased, for that matter. But to Hengyen’s grim satisfaction, the efforts in keeping the wagons rolling were redoubled and they were soon maintaining a steady pace.

  Progress was slow. Individual wind teams had the luxury of sneaking past some jiāngshī and killing only when necessary. They were fortunate that they were moving along a well-worn path, one that had been cleared many times before. Anywhere else, they would have been faring far worse. Their parade was still forced to stop every time they encountered a group of jiāngshī that numbered greater than ten, which basically meant they were stopping every hundred meters.

  They reached the first night’s campsite shortly after sundown. It took a little longer than Hengyen had planned, but considering the dozens of small battles they had waged to get here, he was pleased with their pace, especially considering they only suffered one injury along the way, which happened to have come from one of the guards accidentally slicing another on the arm with a pike. The injury wasn’t life threatening, and there was no jiāngshī taint, and so even Hengyen allowed himself to smile along with the rest of the retinue’s laughter. When order returned, he sent the woman home with the guard who had inflicted the injury as an escort.

  The Beacon group cleared out a tiny one-street village and commandeered several small boats to cross the chest-deep shallows. Their destination was a small island nestled in the middle of the Yuanjiang. Perhaps island was a bit charitable; it was barely more than a lump of rock, sand, and tall resilient weeds, with no resources or shade. But it afforded the column a protective buffer against the migrating jiāngshī that dotted both shores. It had never been inhabited, except recently by a small group of refugees that had fled here to survive the outbreak. Now all that remained were the ruins of their camp and their jiāngshī wandering aimlessly across the sand. These were dispatched easily enough.

  The guards quickly set up a perimeter while the rest of the expedition got to work setting up camp. Hengyen walked the breadth and width of the small island, parsing out orders setting up a watch rotation. He eyed a group of jiāngshī staring back at him on the other side of the river. The guards on watch should have plenty of time to deal with any jiāngshī trying to cross over.

  After he was satisfied with their defenses, he returned to the heart of the camp and huddled near a campfire while a windrunner brought him lukewarm tea in a tin. He sipped it slowly and gestured for Wangfa and Qingwei, the head engineer, to join him as they went over last-minute instructions.

  The initial plan had been to destroy three bridges and four roads, which would completely sever the flow of jiāngshī from Changde to the Beacon. They realized right away that controlled explosions at many locations were impossible. They barely had enough explosives and manpower for three, so their target was now two bridges and one road. Hopefully the rising Yuanjiang would do the rest of the work.

  “Did you notice any unexpected difficulties when we passed under the bridge earlier?” he asked Qingwei as he drew a large X in the sand, which marked the bridge spanning across the ravine.

  The head engineer shook his head. “It’s a little farther from the camp than I thought, and there are a lot more jiāngshī than I anticipated, but as long as your windrunners are
watching my back, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Hengyen turned to Wangfa and drew two lines, a wavy one indicating the river and a straight one running parallel to it. He circled several points of interest in between them. “There are a few small settlements here, here, and here that weren’t on our map. We don’t know what’s there, but it may be better to follow the river up to here, before cutting back inland to reach the main road connecting to the primary highway that runs directly to the Beacon.”

  Wangfa frowned. “That’s a big detour for this many men. It’ll add half a day to our travel time.” He poked at the main road leading to the highway. “I think the best thing to do is lead my team straight up the gut on the main road, clear away all the jiāngshī, and then head back the same way we came.”

  Hengyen didn’t love that idea, but Wangfa’s thoughts weren’t without merit. While it was an uphill climb and battle up that road, Wangfa was leading the largest team, which meant they were the best equipped, but it also meant they would have the most difficulty trying to sneak past any large groups of jiāngshī.

  “What about you, Windmaster?” asked Wangfa. “Any changes to your plan?”

  Hengyen glanced at the river. “The rapids don’t seem as hazardous as I feared. I’m not going to wait until morning. My team will head out tonight over water.”

  Qingwei frowned. “Is that wise? Travel is extremely dangerous at night.”

  “We’ll need those extra six hours if we hope to return to the island by tomorrow evening and head back to the Beacon with everyone else.”

  Hengyen was leading the smallest team with the most dangerous job of blowing up the bridge farther down the Yuanjiang. Hengyen hoped that every team would be able to complete their part of the mission and return to the island by tomorrow evening, so they could all head back to the Beacon the next day. Mainly this was for Hengyen’s team’s benefit. The journey back to the Beacon would be much safer if they traveled in large numbers. Because their objective was the farthest away, his team needed as much time as possible to complete their mission. In the event any of the teams were wiped out, everyone else had standing orders to wait until the morning after and then head directly back.