Robert Kirkman's The Walking Dead: Typhoon

by Chu, Wesley

  Zhu ended up punching at Bo, trying to stave off drowning. His feet touched the muddy river floor and he pushed, then stood up. The water only came to his neck. Bo continued to struggle, grabbing at his arm and chest. Zhu finally got his friend’s attention with a quick slap across the face.

  “Ow,” Bo cried. “That’s not—”

  “Stand up,” Zhu ordered.

  Bo obeyed. The water came up only to his chest. “Oh.” He smiled sheepishly, and then enthusiastically embraced Zhu again. “Xiăodì, you’re alive! I was sure Elena was going crazy.”

  The embrace was bone-crushing, but Zhu felt the same way. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed his wind team until he saw Bo. “Where’s Elena? Is she at the garage?”

  “She’s scavenging while I lured the jiāngshī away,” Bo nodded. He smiled proudly. “I’m the distraction.”

  “You sure are. We need to talk about that tactic,” said Zhu. “Later though. Where are you supposed to meet?”

  “Back on the roof above the garage.”

  “All right, let’s go.”

  They continued wading upstream against the fast-moving currents back toward the center of the village. Along the way, they attracted a sizable following of jiāngshī, many who tried to wade in after them. Fortunately the dead were far clumsier in water than on land. Most at some point lost their footing and were swept away downstream. Zhu and Bo were able to easily pull away from the remaining sure-footed ones until they found a safe stretch of land.

  It took them another fifteen minutes to find a way back onto the rooftops. By the time they reached the rendezvous point, the wind had changed, growing chilly as it blew down from the mountains. Both were wretched, exhausted, and shivering in their damp clothes. Bo had lost his sledgehammer and was now wielding a thick branch.

  Zhu stared at the arrow on the roof piercing one of the tiles. He picked up the rope tied to it and followed it straight to the window where, after a short yank, he pulled up the duffel tied to the end of it. He poked his head through the window. The garage was dark. There were still a few jiāngshī inside, but most had wandered out into the lot.

  Bo stayed on the roof while Zhu used the rope to lower himself down. He sneaked up on the four jiāngshī on one side and dispatched them quickly. His heart stopped when he crouched in the corner where everything seemed to have fallen over. There was blood everywhere, on the metal shelves, soaked into the cardboard boxes, splattered against the walls. It was still fresh, still wet. This slaughter couldn’t have happened more than an hour ago, probably less.

  Zhu closed his eyes. He was too late. It had taken too long to find Bo and get back here. He had failed Elena again. By the looks of it, it had not been a painless death. A choked sob escaped his lips and he fell to his knees, his head buried in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he moaned.

  A tin clattered to the ground. Zhu jumped to his feet as a silhouette stumbled forward. Another jiāngshī, hidden in the corner. This one was covered in coagulated blood. Pieces of organs, sinew, and muscle were caked to its body. Its face was smeared red with dried flesh from its recent feast. Zhu curled his lips and raised his machete angrily, ready to take his grief out on this monster.

  The jiāngshī’s eyes popped open suddenly. There was an unusual spark in its blue eyes as it stared and reached for him. It opened its mouth and a small but familiar voice spoke to him. “Oh my god, Wenzhu, is that really you?”

  Zhu stared at Elena for several moments. The machete that he had almost buried into her skull slipped from his fingers. She was completely unrecognizable, covered in guts and entrails, looking akin to a sun-shriveled corpse. She smelled like one too.

  None of that mattered. He rushed into her arms and held her tightly, guts and all squishing between them. “I can’t believe it’s you. You’re okay. I was so worried.”

  “You’re the one worried?” Her voice was muffled, buried in his shirt. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

  The two probably would have kept standing there for another hour if a cough hadn’t interrupted them. Bo, head poking in through the window, waved. “Hi Elena. What happened to your clothes? You look like a mess. I’m glad to see you’re all right, but you two should get back up here before more jiāngshī find us. You two can finish your reunion later.”

  Zhu reluctantly let Elena go and led her to the rope. It took some effort to get her to the safety of the roof. The jiāngshī were still wandering around on the other end of the garage and just outside. Her hands and body were slick with blood, so she couldn’t climb the rope. She was so exhausted that he wasn’t sure if she would have been able to regardless. They ended up tying the rope around her waist for Bo to haul her up while Zhu kept watch on the ground level.

  After everyone was safe, they hurried back to Zhu’s family’s old apartment, which was where Elena and Bo had set up camp. Then they spent the next hour cleaning up. Bo found some leftover laundry detergent while Zhu risked sneaking to the back alley to load a bucket of sand to scrub off all the stubborn dried gunk that had caked onto their bodies. Afterward, Zhu and Bo broke down a couch and bed for tinder for a small fire in the living room. All three were wet and exhausted, but relieved and happy to find each other again.

  “How did you survive the jiāngshī?” Zhu asked Elena as he wrapped his arm around her waist and held her tightly. She hadn’t stopped shivering until just a few minutes earlier.

  She shrugged. “There was one on top of me. I literally tore the thing apart with my bare hands, and all its guts just splattered on me. After I killed it, I thought its friends would pounce on me. I was still trying to catch my breath when the next one appeared. It stared at me and then walked right past, as if it couldn’t see me at all. That’s when I got the idea to smear myself with more jiāngshī guts. As long as I didn’t make any sudden movements, I became completely invisible to them.”

  “Why did you stay in the garage?” asked Bo.

  “By that time, you had stopped banging the pan,” she replied. “I was too tired to try to climb back onto the roof, and I wasn’t sure if this disgusting camouflage actually worked in a crowd of them. Wasn’t too excited to find out, so I stayed put.” She turned to Zhu, squeezing his hand. “What about you? Where have you been?”

  Zhu should have expected this. He should have been ready for these questions. For some stupid reason, he wasn’t. “A couple of vultures robbed me and left me for dead. I managed to find shelter in one of the houses.”

  “Why didn’t you head back to the Beacon, xiăodì?” asked Bo.

  His hesitation was brief. “They smashed my head pretty bad. It took me a while before I could think clearly. After I recovered from the concussion, my head was groggy and I needed to recuperate.” Zhu touched his forehead gingerly, reacting with exaggerated pain when he grazed the lump from the villager’s club.

  It was a lame excuse, but Bo appeared to accept it. “But you’re ready to come home now?”

  Elena shifted her weight away and stared at him pointedly. There was a glint in her eye. “You are coming back with us, right?”

  He had always expected he’d return to the Beacon. Just not this soon. His mind immediately flashed back to the village, to his students who were expecting him, to Meili. Fongyuan was not only his home but also his identity. It was as much a part of him as his mind, his hands, his voice. The few survivors here were his community, his neighbors. His people. He had thought all of this was lost, but here they were, waiting for him, asking him to not turn his back on them again. He really could help the village. Be the difference between their survival in reaching the Precipitous Pillars and succumbing to the outbreak. Fongyuan needed its son now, more than ever.

  It wasn’t just Meili and his students, it was Ahui as well. She was alive! As far as he knew, his sister was his only living relative. Could he live with himself again if he abandoned her a second time? Staying with the village could be his only chance to see her again.

  But then there
were Bo and Elena, his dearest friend and his lover, who had risked their lives alongside him, saving his life countless times. He wouldn’t be breathing now if it weren’t for them. Could he abandon them? And what about everyone at the Beacon of Light and the Living Revolution?

  If Zhu was being honest with himself, even with the recent discovery of his village, he wasn’t sure if he should stay. In order to protect the village, to hide their existence, he had to return with Elena and Bo to the Beacon of Light. In order to aid the Living Revolution, he had to return to the Beacon. His heart may selfishly have wanted to stay, but his truth and his honor demanded otherwise. As much as his heart begged him to choose one path, it was his mind who forced him to choose the right one.

  Zhu swallowed a sigh and nodded. “Of course. I can’t wait to go back to the Beacon.”

  13 THE LINE DRAWN

  Only Hengyen and François made it back to the Beacon of Light. Hengyen had finally bothered to learn Whiny’s name this morning, but only because his other two windrunners had died and it felt awkward not knowing what to call his last remaining companion. In hindsight, he’d have much preferred to keep the nickname.

  François had insisted he be called by his English name even though Hengyen was pretty sure it wasn’t “English” at all. The last few hundred meters through the dead-infested Charred Fields nearly finished them off. By then, after five days of barely any food and little water, Hengyen was scarcely more alive than the jiāngshī around them. If it weren’t for the Beacon sending a contingent of guards to meet them at the eastern edge of the Fields, he doubted they would have survived that last leg.

  He glanced to François—who had been nothing but a hindrance this entire mission—and resisted the urge to stick a knife through the boy’s throat, if anything just to shut him up. It was a terrible injustice that good people died while this sniveling coward still breathed.

  The moment the two stepped through the small gates leading into the container crate forming the base of the wall, François collapsed to his knees. Hengyen honestly felt like doing the same, but they were surrounded by guards, and a cluster of people had formed just inside the entrance. Apparently, word had spread quickly that he was returning. As touching as it was to know that people cared, he personally would have preferred they all continued about their work.

  “Did the main body of the team return?” he asked.

  “Yes, dàgē,” replied the guard.

  Relief lifted Hengyen’s spirits. “All of them?”

  “Most.” The guard furrowed his brow and revised his assessment. “Maybe half?”

  Half wasn’t a good number.

  Hengyen entered the Beacon amid cheers and scattered cries of “Dàgē!” He ignored them as he scanned the crowd, then turned to the nearest guard. “Get François checked out at the medical tent. Take me to the secretary immediately.” He turned to the crowd. “Know this. Ling Weizhen, Wang Lankui, and Tian Haihong are heroes of the Living Revolution. Their names should be remembered for a thousand years.” The crowd cheered three times in unison respectfully.

  Hengyen looked away. There was nothing glorious or heroic about their deaths. Haihong was killed the first night after the bridge job, when François, while searching for firewood, led the dead straight back to camp, arms waving and screaming and making so much noise he likely attracted all the rest of the jiāngshī in the area. Weizhen perished the next day while they were trying to cross one of the jiāngshī-infested roads. The young windrunner was already weakened and running a high fever from that infected scratch on his arm. The three had nearly made it across the four-lane highway when he stumbled. Hengyen went back to help him, but that delay proved costly when a group of jiāngshī appeared and cut off their escape. That was when Weizhen had sacrificed himself by throwing his body at that group, buying Hengyen and François time to escape to the other side.

  In any case, the Living Revolution needed their heroes. They needed to be inspired and keep their hopes alive.

  “Do you want to rest first, sir?” asked the guard. “You must be hungry.”

  He was actually starving, but there were more pressing things on his mind. He caught one last glimpse of François being led away. He hoped he would never have to see the boy again. The guards escorting him to the administration building were unnecessary. The crowds parted before him as if he were an emperor, some even going as far as to bow deeply and bring their hands together in thanks and blessing. Hengyen would have stopped this foolishness if he weren’t so tired.

  “The rumors were that you had perished,” the guard closest to him explained. “Some of the people held a vigil for your safe return. We were starting to lose hope.”

  Hengyen grunted. “We shouldn’t be wasting candles.”

  To his surprise, instead of being escorted directly to the administration building, he was taken to the showers. “Secretary Guo’s orders,” said the guard as one of the cleaners brought him a fresh set of clothes. “He’s asked to see that you’re well tended to before your meeting.”

  More likely the secretary didn’t want his nice furniture soiled, but Hengyen wasn’t going to complain. He looked in a mirror before he stepped into the shower and didn’t recognize the face staring back at him. His short hair was matted and ruddy from dried blood. The mirror displayed more dirt than face, and his sunken eyes made him look skeletal. He tugged at his shirt and found it sticking to his body like a second skin.

  Hengyen took his time showering, letting his horror and exhaustion wash away. He hung his head and was mesmerized by the layers of grime and blood swirling into the drain. The lukewarm water pelted the crud on his body, struggling to dislodge the gunk that almost felt like a part of him. A small chunk of flesh fell, splattering a ring of red. He stared at it, wondering what body part it was and who it had come from. How many people’s remains were on him? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Was he washing away the very last of their existence in this world?

  When he finally felt too guilty for wasting warm water, he stepped out of the wash tent, dressed in some clean clothes provided by the guard, and was escorted to the administration building.

  He was hit with a blast of cool air as he entered the secretary’s office, which chilled him to the core. Hengyen saluted the secretary sitting behind his desk. Guo was scowling. Hengyen turned to find Wangfa, who rose from the couch off to the side.

  The two men clasped arms. “Wangfa, I’m glad to see you,” he said.

  “We thought we had lost you, sir,” his second in command replied.

  “Are our objectives still standing?”

  “The explosives were insufficient to destroy the bridge, and we were not able to fight through to cause the cave-in on the highway. You?”

  “We managed to only blow part of it.” All three objectives failing was worse than he had anticipated. “How many losses?”

  “The bridge team lost one-third. I lost half.”

  Hengyen grimaced. This was nearly the worst-case scenario. He turned back to Guo, who was coming around the desk. “We have failed. Please accept my deepest apologies.”

  “The apology is not accepted,” replied Guo. “The Living Revolution is the struggle of our generation. It was not meant to be easy. If my best must atone every time we fail, then that is a failure of leadership and trust.”

  “Thank you,” bowed Hengyen, humbled.

  “However,” the secretary continued, rather dramatically as he stared at both Hengyen and Wangfa. He focused more on Hengyen. “It is our duty to ensure that these errors are never to be repeated. The plan to deflect the typhoon away from the Beacon was flawed. Mistakes were made. Wangfa wanted to destroy the main bridge along the highway. Perhaps if we had focused only on that, the mission would have succeeded.”

  “Destroying that one bridge would have done nothing, secretary,” Hengyen protested. “It would have at best slowed the typhoon down, maybe bought us a few days.”

  “And now we have destroyed nothing and bought no time at al
l,” Guo shot back sternly. “However, that is all in the past. We must move on to our next course of action.”

  Hengyen nodded and began speaking briskly. He had spent many hours during his long trek devising a plan. “We need to begin preparations to evacuate the Beacon. If we follow the Yuanjiang River, we can protect our rear. Wind teams can move ahead to carve…” He stopped. Guo and Wangfa had exchanged sideways glances and were looking at him expectantly.

  Guo’s words came slowly and carefully. “I reviewed our organizational structure while you were away. Too many things lately have been falling through the cracks. Ming says our stores aren’t keeping up with our burn rate, and the wind teams are not operating at optimal levels. The tension between the windrunners and guards have steadily worsened. I realized that we have been burdening you with too much responsibility. You’re stretched too thin, Hengyen. No one man can handle everything on your plate.”

  Hengyen stood at attention. “I do not disagree, secretary. As you are well aware, casualties among my wind teams are high. It has been a priority to—”

  Guo interrupted him abruptly. “I have promoted Wangfa to the Beacon’s head of defense. We have been discussing our next step.”

  Hengyen stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he involuntarily clenched his fists. He maintained his composure, if barely. “If the secretary has lost faith in my abilities, or believes I have failed the Living Revolution, I will tender my resignation.”

  “No, no,” said Guo hastily, waving his hands. “Your resignation is not accepted. You are still vitally important to the revolution.”

  “Yet you have deemed it fit to strip me of my rank, lower my standing among those under my command, and plan the defenses of the Beacon of Light while I was away.”

  The secretary’s voice softened. “Do not think of it as a demotion, comrade. The Beacon of Light needs her windmaster to be fully committed and focused on leading our wind teams. The Living Revolution still requires your services, Ying Hengyen. Would you actually abandon her in our most dire moment of need?”