by Chu, Wesley
He sucked in a large gasp of air and caught a quick glimpse of yellow out of the corner of his eye. He made his way toward it and clasped onto a rubber handle. Haihong had managed to keep ahold of the raft the entire time. Weizhen’s head broke the water’s surface a few seconds later. Hengyen scanned for the two engineers and caught sight of them downstream. Whiny was flailing his hands weakly while Lankui was slumped over a wooden board farther downstream.
Hengyen ordered his team to swim toward them, but everyone was mostly at the mercy of the currents. At one point, he realized he could not reach both men. Whiny was closer, and Lankui still hadn’t stirred. As much as he hated to make the decision, Hengyen did what he thought was right. He ordered his wind team to guide the raft to the young engineer.
It took most of his remaining energy to reach him. Already spent, the three windrunners kicked and paddled across the rapids toward the other side of the river. The water brimmed with large pieces of floating debris, some slamming into the raft and ping-ponging them around the rough waters. A tugboat narrowly missed running them over as it sliced past, its wake sending them back almost to where they started. Their arms burned, legs kicked, and chests heaved, but the river had other ideas.
They were almost within arm’s reach of Whiny when his head went under water and failed to come back up. For an instant, Hengyen considered letting him go as a loss. His sense of duty wouldn’t allow that, however. Gritting his teeth, Hengyen let go of the raft and dove after him, battling to dive against the currents that wanted to send him back to the surface. Hundreds of small fragments, several sharp and moving quickly, pelted his body, some slicing open his skin.
Hengyen finally got hold of the engineer’s sleeve and yanked him up. The two fortunately broke the water’s surface near the raft. He didn’t think he had enough energy left to drag them both much farther. Haihong and Weizhen pulled the engineer to the raft, and then together they rode it until it finally washed up against a boulder in the middle of the river, giving them a chance to right it.
By the time they did, everyone was exhausted. Haihong and Weizhen climbed in first, and then helped Whiny in. Hengyen rolled inside and fell onto his back, coughing and sputtering water. He closed his eyes to catch his breath, and then opened them to the gray skies that threatened to dump more water on them.
He turned his head to the engineer curled into a ball next to him. “Are you all right, son?”
Whiny, whimpering, began to cry. “Please just get me back to the settlement. I want to go home.”
Hengyen gnashed his teeth at those tears and sat up. He scanned farther downstream. Lankui’s body slowly disappeared from view. He had either sunk into the water or was now too far. The old man was gone.
Hengyen closed his eyes and muttered a blessing for another lost hero of the Living Revolution, then pushed that loss out of his mind.
He looked back at the bridge and was sharply disappointed to see it still standing. Part of the structure directly above where they had planted the explosives had collapsed, narrowing the jiāngshī’s path, but there was still space to cross. They were still streaming through. At best, all Hengyen’s team had managed to do was slow them down.
“Dàgē?” asked Haihong, in between deep gasps. “What do we do now?”
Hengyen looked to the setting sun and saw the dozens of jiāngshī on both sides of the shore staring at them. He shook his head. “Dry up. Rest and get some sleep. We set off for the Beacon at first light.”
11 INNOCENCE RECLAIMED
Zhu woke with a start. A shadow had passed through the cracks between the loosely fitted wooden beams. Momentarily disoriented, he pawed for his machete and found it outside his reach. Instinct took over, and he rolled ungracefully off the cot, landing hunched on all fours on the floor.
There was a soft rap on the wall next to the piece of cloth draped over the entrance. “Chen shūshu, are you awake? We were supposed to have the lesson this morning. I can come back.” Huangmang’s face popped under the flap. He froze when he saw Zhu crouched like a feral tiger waiting to pounce. “Chen shūshu, are you all right?”
It took a moment for Zhu to remember he was in a safe place. He blinked at the boy who had bruised his ribs a few days ago. A long breath loosed from his mouth as he relaxed.
“Of course.” He forced a smile on his face. “I overslept. Let’s go.”
Huangmang led Zhu to an open field where a bunch of eager youths and a few of the guards were waiting. Zhu had spent the past two days teaching them some of the techniques and tactics the wind teams employed. He taught them how best to fight the jiāngshī, and, more important, how best to avoid them entirely. None were old or large enough to scavenge on their own or take on a jiāngshī by themselves, but they could make an effective group if they worked together. Even more important was that when they finally did grow up, they would have the skills necessary to keep the village functioning.
That last thought left a sour taste in Zhu’s mouth. He had abandoned the village once already.
Zhu spent half the morning teaching his class of villagers, ranging in age from eleven to fifteen and from fifty to sixty-five, how to climb trees and poles using rope and homemade spurs. He spent the second half teaching them how to fight the dead as a group with spears, showing them the parts of the head a barely sharpened stick could pierce without requiring too much strength. The class had cut long poles and were practicing pinning him to a tree when the lunch gong sounded. Zhu watched the ragtag group drop their poles and wipe the sweat off their faces. They had been working hard all morning, eager to impress him, soaking in everything he told them.
“How did we do, Chen shīfù?” asked a boy Zhu could tell had once been quite heavyset, but had since lost substantial weight quickly and in an unhealthy manner.
Zhu couldn’t help but smile every time one of them called him master. “Very, very well. You’ll be ready to kill jiāngshī very shortly.”
“Could we join your wind team then?”
“Absolutely,” he lied. These kids wouldn’t make it through their first night in the field with the jiāngshī. Then again, most people couldn’t until they actually did. In this day, everyone had to grow up quickly or join the enemy.
He was walking with his class toward lunch when something lurched out of the shadows. He was caught unawares as a pair of hands clapped his back. If he had been out in the field, or the Beacon for that matter, he would be dead. It had been a long time since Zhu had been able to let his guard down, so much so that feeling safe was no longer his default. In the field, one either slept lightly or ended up dead. In sanctuaries, the threat of vultures was constant. Even at the Beacon, there were occasionally bullies and thugs who dishonored themselves by trying to steal others’ food and meager belongings.
The people at the village, however, felt like a real family, a tight-knit community that trusted and looked out for one another. They weren’t trying to find ways to take advantage of the situation. There was no need for points or incentives to work, and they certainly weren’t forced to labor for some revolutionary cause. These were people who had known each other their entire lives, and now that things had gotten bad, were taking care of each other. Zhu badly missed this comradery in his life.
“Hey.” Meili grinned, bounding alongside him. “How’s the kung-fu school coming along?”
“They’ll be ready to help the village.” He lowered his voice. “One day.”
He waved goodbye to his students and joined Meili at one of the lunch tables. Several of the villagers waved. Even Hong, the grumpy bald elder who had initially wanted to beat his skull in, gave him a friendly nod as he passed. His work over the past two days had earned him the goodwill of the villagers. To Zhu, it was payment and gratitude for the kindness, food, and shelter they’d given him. It felt much more like a penance; one he gladly paid.
Lunch was a bowl of rice with string beans, egg-drop soup, and a tiny helping of duck. The village was blessed with fields of wil
d rice that had continued to prosper even while everything else fell apart. The old woman who served Zhu the bowl of soup even smiled, which was a stark turnaround from earlier. The first day he had joined the line, she had threatened him with her wooden ladle, scowling and muttering under her breath as she slapped half the amount of slop on his plate she gave everyone else. He didn’t complain.
He spent some hours with Meili, peppering her with questions about the village, trying to fill in the gaps of lost time from the years he had been away from his family, his friends, his community. Would things have been different if he had stayed? Probably not, but maybe he could have helped carry his năinai to safety. Maybe he could have made the difference for fighting off the jiāngshī and saving the village. Instead, he had been hundreds of kilometers away, spending the money he was supposed to send home trying to impress a woman he knew would eventually return to her rich and comfortable life in America. A woman who was now waiting for him at the Beacon.
Zhu and Meili sat on a tree stump at the edge of the dining area. He was still uncomfortable with the many sideways glances the villagers threw at him.
“Everyone is talking about you.” Meili sounded amused.
“I wish they would stop,” he replied, burying his face in his bowl.
“You know how villages are. Everyone gossips. Especially now that they all know you’re Ahui’s brother. They’re curious.”
An elderly couple approached them. The woman, with gray thinning hair and wrinkles etched into her entire body, stared at him with intense eyes. The man, completely hairless and hunched over, was the opposite, his skin stretched across his thin body, making him look almost skeletal. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze off the ground.
“Excuse me, xiànshēn,” the man bowed deeply, using the most formal term for “mister,” and avoiding his gaze. “Are you from the Beacon?”
Zhu was embarrassed that the elderly were treating him with such respect. He stood up and bowed quickly. “Yes, lăo xiànshēn, I am. What can I do for you?”
“I was,” he stuttered. “Well, my wife and me…” The old man choked, seemingly having a hard time getting the words out.
“We were wondering if you saw our children,” the woman said quickly. “We have a son and daughter: Xingjian and Yangyi. They were taken to the Beacon of Light to work. They are twenty-seven and twenty-five. Xingjian is tall, like you. He has a strong jaw but a very large forehead. He’s not very bright but very sweet. Yangyi is strong for a girl, but short and fair.” They continued rambling off details that only parents would know but Zhu would never have noticed. Their talk became more desperate, and then they began to argue about conflicting details.
Zhu listened patiently, letting the elderly couple have their release. When they finally took a moment to catch their breath, he spoke gently. “I’m sorry, I haven’t seen them. I assure you, if they are still there, I will keep an eye out for them when I go back.” Meili glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
The couple’s reaction was of both disappointment and hope. He hated to feed them false hope, but he wasn’t sure if it was a kindness to tell the truth. The attrition from the Beacon’s construction was terribly high. Zhu knew of maybe two dozen who were still there. It did seem to encourage the old couple, however. The man finally met his eye, and the woman rubbed his arm up and down with her calloused hand, thanking him profusely for being so noble.
No sooner had the elderly couple left than a middle-aged man searching for his nephew, his last surviving relative, took their place. Immediately after, three children looking for their older brother. A woman looking for her husband. Even a little girl searching for her dog. The list went on. Zhu gave them all the same story: he wasn’t aware of this person, but he would ask around and keep an eye out when he returned.
Once the last of them was gone, he deflated back onto the stump. There was something draining about lying. He studied the soggy grass intently. “I didn’t know the Beacon took so many people.”
Meili’s voice was low. “The soldiers conscripted all nine of Lan Biying’s grandchildren. None returned.”
“Who’s that?”
“The egg-drop-soup lady.”
Zhu looked up toward the food line where the old woman with the wooden ladle continued to serve hungry villagers. He couldn’t even fathom that number. She must have sensed him because she looked his way. A smile appeared on her face, but there was nothing joyous about it.
The two sat in silence for several moments. Zhu stirred the dregs of his soup. “No wonder everyone hated me,” he muttered.
“Are you really going to go back to the Beacon of Light?” Meili finally asked. Her hand touched his shoulder. “You don’t have to, you know. You’ve been gone for years, but you’re still part of the village. If you prove to the rest of the village that you belong and can help us, I’m sure they’ll consider letting you stay.”
It was true. These were his people, his community, his family. This was a chance to absolve some of the guilt that had festered in him ever since the beginning of the outbreak. He couldn’t fix everything, but he could make things better. He could try. The village needed him now, more than ever.
Zhu shook his head. “My heart wants that badly, but I can’t stay. I have to go back to the Beacon. The Living Revolution needs me. Someone has to stop the jiāngshī. We can’t allow the dead to take over the country. It’s our duty to protect our lands. It’s our duty to the living and to the ones we have lost.”
There was also someone else living he had to go back to. It wasn’t just because he loved Elena. Some debts could never be repaid. He had abandoned people he cared about once. What did it say of him if he did so again? Especially someone whose choices, made for him, had cost everything.
“What about Ahui?” asked Meili.
Zhu had no answer for that. He had abandoned her too. He loved Elena, but Ahui was family. His heart and mind teetered. As he watched three young children playing in the adjacent field, his thoughts drifted to memories of his mostly happy childhood. Long hours playing xiàngqí with his yéye, his năinai making soy milk, Ahui and Meili chasing him through the narrow alleys between buildings. Dreams of better and more peaceful days. No jiāngshī, no destroyed villages, no living in cages, risking his life for points and the privilege to do it over and over again.
“I have something for you.” Meili pulled out his camera and machete wrapped in a paper bag, and held it out.
Zhu thanked her, collected the items, and turned his camera on. It was still at approximately the same power level, which meant they hadn’t rummaged through it. They had confiscated it the day he was captured and were shocked to discover that it had power. As far as he knew, there had been no electricity in the village since the day it fell.
His mind wandered back to the picture he had found on Ahui’s desk back in their room. Now he regretted not taking it with him. He would have to make a special trip to retrieve it. On a whim, he wrapped his arm around Meili’s shoulder and pulled her in close for a picture.
Meili made a startled, wide-eyed face when he snapped it, her crooked mouth midgape. “Wait, I wasn’t ready. Delete it and take another.”
They ended up taking six more until she was satisfied. Zhu was loath to delete anything these days unless absolutely necessary, so he kept them all. The two were horsing around and snapping several more photos when Guan Jincai and Lu Shenyang ran up to them. They were two of the few healthy young adults in the village. The pair had managed to hide in the forest with a few others their age when the Beacon’s soldiers came.
“Meili,” Shenyang said breathlessly. “Some people have entered the old village.” Shenyang was the lookout. It was her job to warn the village if any vultures, scavengers, or traders came to Fongyuan. She was the one who he caught a glimpse of that first day in the village, and was the one who had tracked him all the way to the rice field.
Meili immediately took charge. “Vultures?”
Jincai shook
his head. “I don’t think so. They look organized and well-armed. I think they’re from the Beacon.” He was the tall, strapping man who, Zhu had learned, was the one who had clubbed him across the face and cracked his tooth at the rice paddy.
“Did they see you?” asked Zhu.
“Of course not.” Shenyang bristled.
She actually wasn’t as good at sneaking as she thought she was, but Zhu could bring that up another time. For now, they had a problem on their hands.
“Where are they now?” asked Meili.
“At a garage near the center of town,” said Jincai. They spent half the morning working their way there. They’re trying to clear it now, but I think they’ve run into some trouble. They’re making a lot of noise and attracting a lot of jiāngshī toward the garage. I think they’re trapped now.”
That was probably a wind team all right. He was heartened by the news. He had been worried about Elena and Bo ever since they got separated. They must have made it home safely with enough scavenge for the Beacon to send another team. Still, whoever was there now were still his comrades, and if they needed help, it was his duty and moral obligation to do what he could. He pulled his machete from his pack and strapped it around his waist. “Lead me to them.”
“Absolutely not,” said Meili. “You’ll expose the village.”
Zhu was torn. The villagers, for obvious reasons, wished to remain hidden from the Beacon of Light. Zhu, on the other hand, still considered himself a proud member of the Living Revolution and had mixed loyalties. “We don’t need their blood on our hands,” he replied.
She crossed her arms. “Every time the village has dealt with the Beacon, they have killed and stolen from us. If they want to scavenge the village, we won’t stop them, but we won’t help them either.”
