by Chu, Wesley
Of course Hengyen would never do such a thing. He knew this. Guo as well. It still stung. However, duty before pride. “Very well then. So, what is our plan, Defensemaster Wangfa?”
His former lieutenant nodded and gestured to the large map on the wall. For the first time, Hengyen noticed the markings spread around the settlement. New trenches, wooden stakes at the perimeter, choke points behind the walls… it was well-conceived and carefully laid out.
It was also a complete fairy tale.
“So you plan to defend against the typhoon,” he shook his head. “This won’t work, Secretary. It might hold off the jiāngshī for a few hours, perhaps a day, but they’ll break through. Even if they don’t, they’ll simply starve us out. The jiāngshī have eternal patience.”
Wangfa crossed his arms defensively. “It can work. We have a few weeks to set up these defenses. We will put the entire base to work.”
Hengyen pointed out the window. “There are hundreds of thousands of dead out there. More jiāngshī than there are clumps of dirt in the Charred Fields. We have what, three thousand souls? And most can’t fight. And this!” He gestured dismissively at the fortifications marked on the map. “How do you even plan to build this fantasy? Even if you enlist every person in the Beacon to dig these trenches and put up these fortifications, it will take months. The jiāngshī will be at our doorstep in three weeks.”
“That is your job to figure out,” Wangfa shot back. “Your wind teams will need to enlist those in the wilderness to aid the Beacon. We need hundreds more for construction and for the front line if this is to work.”
“It won’t work whether you have fifty or five hundred more bodies.”
“Then draft a thousand!” snapped Wangfa. “Grab every breathing body from here to Chongqing if you must.”
“Draft…?” Hengyen was taken aback. He ticked off his fingers. “Let me get this straight. You want to capture vultures, integrate them into the Beacon, and then simultaneously leverage their labor to build up our defenses? How are you going to get them to cooperate after we enslave them? Where do we house these people? How will we feed them? Who will watch over them? How are you going to deal with these vultures when they rebel? Because they will unless we keep them chained. On top of that, how will our existing wind teams—already stretched thin—find the time to capture all these vultures while also keeping the settlement fed? For that matter, where will we get all the raw supplies we’ll need to build all these lofty fortifications? Have you thought any of this through?”
Wangfa gritted his teeth. “We’re still working on the details.”
“Working on the details?” Hengyen rarely let his temper get the best of him, but this was more than he had been prepared for. He roared and shook his finger at Wangfa. “This is sheer idiocy. This is suicide. You have no plan! Our only chance is if we pack everything and get out of the typhoon’s path!”
The secretary slapped the table. “Enough. We are not abandoning the Beacon. This is our home. It is the symbol of our defiance of the dead. We are also not abandoning the water purifier. It’s the only reason we’ve been able to keep this many people alive. We will hold firm until the People’s Army arrives to relieve us. That was their orders. This very spot is where we will draw the line. We will obey the party and the military, or we will die defending the Living Revolution. You two will work together like brothers of the Living Revolution. If not, I will send you both to work the Charred Fields for the rest of your days. Is that clear?”
The two men glared at each other for a long moment.
“Yes, Secretary,” both replied.
Guo fixed them with his own steely gaze before the fire finally left his eyes. He took on a more measured tone. “The day those alive begin killing each other is the day the Living Revolution is truly dead. You both have your responsibilities. Work harmoniously to see them through. You’ve both failed me once. Do not fail me again. Now get out of my sight.”
14 THE RETURN
Zhu didn’t know why he was nervous when the wind team returned to the Beacon two days later. He watched the cable transport with growing apprehension as it clanged to a stop on the platform. Maybe it was because he wasn’t sure how he would be received after being considered missing. Maybe it was because Elena pointed out the loose gears rattling as the gas engine wheezed to pull the transport in. Or maybe it was just because he couldn’t quite bring himself to look Elena in the eye every time she pressed further about what had happened to him.
He half expected guards to be waiting after they disembarked from the transport. Dereliction of duty was a serious offense at the Beacon, whether for a truant windrunner, a guard who fell asleep while on watch, or for a garbage man who skipped a day of pickups. The last one was especially egregious. Apparently nothing made a society fall apart faster than improper waste disposal.
Thankfully, none of the guards paid him a second glance as he climbed down to ground level. The few civilians who recognized him waved and greeted him as if nothing had happened. Even other windrunners didn’t realize he had been gone for the better part of two weeks. The Beacon didn’t miss a beat at all.
The one person who did miss him terribly, unfortunately, was Quotamaster Ming. He saw Zhu approaching his tent from far down the block. He stopped the salvage line, stood up, and planted his fists on his hips. “Well,” his voice carried all the way across the field. “If it isn’t the prodigal windrunner. Nice of you to finally join us. Everyone step aside. Let Chen Wenzhu through. We shall see what the young prince has brought us.”
Fifty pairs of eyes tracked them as Zhu, face crimson, cut to the front of the line. Elena and Bo tried to shield him by stepping up to Ming first and presenting their scavenge. At two duffels, it was a handsome haul with several important and necessary components. Ming barely took his glare off Zhu the entire time he was sorting the inventory. The quotamaster was going to make an example of him.
Ming made a show of adding up the points. He shook his head. “Not bad, but not good enough. This doesn’t meet quota for three people, especially considering the supplies allocated to your team, Elena Anderson, and the fact that Windrunner Wenzhu took an extended leave.”
Bo gaped while Elena scowled. She planted her hands on her hips and hissed. “Zhu was injured and needed help. Windmaster Hengyen personally allocated these supplies—”
“Hengyen is only in charge of the wind teams now. I own the quota,” Ming snapped. “Fifty—”
“My team was the one who got this scavenge,” Zhu cut in. “They shouldn’t be punished for their sacrifice, and I shouldn’t be rewarded for their contributions to the Living Revolution.” He pointed at the supplies scattered across Ming’s table. “The points belong to them.”
“Zhu, no!” Elena pleaded.
“We’re a team,” added Bo stubbornly. “We share our scavenge.”
Zhu was adamant, however. His wind team had risked everything to find him. He would take a bullet for them. Or, in this case, throw himself at the mercy of Ming the Terrible.
Ming’s expression turned shrewd. “Is that so? Look at you, Chen Wenzhu, so very righteous. Very well, then,” he waved Elena and Bo off. “You two can go. Seventy-eight points apiece. As for Wenzhu, you not only stole time from the Living Revolution, you inconvenienced your comrades. They had to risk their lives to rescue you. How dare you make your brothers and sisters shoulder the extra burden! Have you no shame? For that, you will pay the penance of a full week in the Charred Fields. Report to the field master at dawn. Of all the selfish…”
While Ming berated him in front of the wind teams, Zhu kept his eyes downcast and studied the muddy ground, letting the abuse wash over him. At this point, the quotamaster was simply putting on a show, humiliating him not only as a lesson but as a display of power, and an assertion of Hengyen’s waning influence.
Zhu did his best to take accountability for his actions. He had been delinquent. He did put his wind team and his comrades in a dangerous position. H
e deserved all of this. However, things felt different now. As much as he tried to accept his punishment, he was already mentally checked out, not only from Ming’s dressing down but also from the Living Revolution.
The difference was knowing that Ahui, Meili, and those in the village had survived. Before Fongyuan, Zhu was a loyal revolutionary, a true believer in the living’s cause to retake the land from the jiāngshī. Now… now all he could think about was wondering what Meili and the rest of the hidden villagers were doing. Were his students disappointed when they found out he wasn’t there to teach class? He had only stayed with them a few days, but he hoped his presence had made a small difference with their survival. He hoped they understood why he had left them, that he hadn’t had a choice. At the very least he hoped Meili would tell Ahui that her brother was still alive.
Zhu closed his eyes and imagined his sister’s reaction. He couldn’t envision her doing all those things the villagers said she did. Chen Ahui, a leader and fierce warrior? Leading a team to find the village a new home? He couldn’t even imagine what she looked like now. The only picture he had in his head of her was the one from the photograph of her and Meili as teenagers. That faded photo was the last thing he had taken from his family’s place before they set out for the Beacon.
“Wenzhu!”
He snapped back to the present, finding Ming standing centimeters from his face, yelling and shooting spittle. The quotamaster had worked himself into a special kind of frenzy when he realized Zhu was no longer paying attention. Zhu swallowed the sigh climbing up his throat. “Yes, Quotamaster?”
“You’ve already wasted everyone’s time. Get out of my sight. If I hear that you are even a minute late tomorrow, I’ll feed you to the dead myself.”
Zhu bowed low and beat a hasty retreat, hoping that a little show of humility would soften Ming’s anger, but also because he didn’t want the quotamaster to see his eyes roll. He hurried away to wash off two weeks of wilderness. It was too late for a meal, but the showers never closed, and the pond bath he had taken at the village hadn’t done much for him.
After the shower, he returned to his pod. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept here. It certainly didn’t feel like home anymore. Now that he thought about it, had it ever? His cage on the top level halfway down the length of the container was just a place he slept between scavenges. He felt like a dog in his kennel, waiting for the next time he would be let out to hunt.
His cagemates offered small waves and nods as he passed. Most here were older men without families, or at least men who no longer had families, so they kept to themselves. This particular pod housed several of the purification plant engineers, which made them a little less rowdy than the crates that housed guards and laborers. There were pods reserved for windrunners, but Zhu found them disquieting. Half of the cages were always empty, and there were strangers moving in nearly every day. A danger of the occupation.
Zhu stopped by the charging station. He pulled out his camera and was about to plug it in when he hesitated. It had only been a few days, but the urge to go over the photos he had saved was overwhelming. He slid to the floor next to the small table and began to scroll through the photos of Meili: the funny face, the peace sign, the comedic attempt at a smoldering look.
It wasn’t Meili specifically he was looking at, although she took up the entire screen and he admitted to himself she was pretty. It was the idea of being in a place that felt like home instead of what surrounded him now. The ribbed metal ceiling and the matching ugly rusted walls. The men next to him like animals in pens. The sweat and stink of the enclosed space. Their hopelessness pervasive. This place was a tomb. The entire base was a graveyard.
“Hey, you.”
Zhu looked up and saw the reason he had come back. Elena had also showered and was wearing a dress. He hadn’t seen her wear one since before the outbreak. She must have spent her points on it. He rose to his feet and pulled her in for an embrace. “You look amazing.”
“What were you looking at?” she asked. “Did you get a new video?”
“Oh, nothing.” Zhu hastily stuffed the camera into his pocket. “What are you doing here?”
Her eyes lingered on his pocket, and then she shot him a playful, pointed smile. “Are you busy tonight?”
Her question went over his head, as many of the things Elena said often did. Zhu wondered if he had forgotten something or whether there was some place he needed to be. He had his penance tomorrow; he couldn’t miss that. There was also the matter of Windmaster Hengyen wanting to speak with him. Elena had told him about that on their way back, although she seemed reluctant to tell him why.
She offered a hand. “Come with me.”
Zhu desperately needed sleep. “Can it wait?” He stopped himself. After all that she had done for him. Selfish fool. “Of course. Where to?”
“You’ll see.”
Elena led him out of the pod and guided him to the north edge of the Beacon, away from most of the residential areas. Dusk had fallen, so Zhu stayed alert. Crime wasn’t a common problem at the Beacon, since valuable possessions didn’t really exist anymore, but one couldn’t be too careful after dark.
She led him to the dead end of an alley flanked by the doors of three container crates meeting at the corners, and spun to face him. She smirked. “You owe me, Chen Wenzhu.”
Zhu had the fleeting impression that he was about to get robbed. “How do I repay you?”
Elena grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him toward her, placing her mouth over his. Zhu lost his balance and nearly sent them both tumbling into the mud. “I bought permission from the administrators for a night. I even paid extra for a suite,” she drawled suggestively, waving a long rusted key lazily in the air. “I thought we could use it today.”
Ten seconds ago, Zhu was tired and unsteady on his feet. A surge shot through his body and he quivered, suddenly wide-awake.
There were a few love suites at the Beacon, but most people couldn’t afford them. Not only was the privacy alluring, there was a real bed inside the container, much more substantial than the thin foam padding that they used in the cages. His wide eyes must have been enough of a signal for Elena. She turned and inserted the key into the padlock and twisted it with a satisfying click. The latch unlocked with a hollow ring, and then the door creaked open.
Elena turned back to Zhu, attempting a not-quite-successful sultry look. Not that he cared at this moment. It was the thought that counted. She beckoned suggestively with a finger. “Come on—”
He had already lifted Elena off her feet, cradling her as if they were newlyweds going into a honeymoon suite. The inside of the container was plain, just a bed barely large enough for two. On one side were a nightstand and a candle, the only source of light. Zhu laid Elena gently down on the bed and lit the candle.
A yellow glow illuminated the dim interior, giving the room almost a romantic feel. The bed—a real bed with cushions—cradled a shadowy Elena. He was about to join her when she pointed a toe in the air. Zhu looked backward and hurried to close the door behind them.
It was as if they had completely cut themselves off from reality. All outside sounds became muffled. The whooshing rush of the purification generators was missing. The barking dogs and the calls of the night watch disappeared. The constant low buzzing of the jiāngshī was gone. There were no loudspeakers blaring revolutionary slogans, no prying eyes from the next cage.
Zhu pawed at the door, just to make sure it was locked. They were finally alone, just the two of them. No jiāngshī, no vultures, no neighbors or comrades. A charged silence followed. Elena stood, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on the front of her dress until it split open down to her navel. Zhu froze; he was nervous, as if it were their first night together. It had been months since the two had last been intimate. Between being mentally drained from sorting through the horrors of this world and the sheer physical exhaustion of trying to stay alive, there had been little time for tenderne
ss.
The dress slipped off Elena’s shoulders. She breathed in, her chest rising slowly. It all came back to Zhu in a rush as he nudged her toward the bed, kissing and pulling and stumbling. She squawked lightly as they tumbled onto the mattress in a tangle and clawed their way toward the headboard. Zhu tore himself away and yanked awkwardly at his shirt, popping the buttons off. Elena, eyes intent with desire, went for Zhu’s pants, alternating pulling both sides down until they loosened off his hips. That was when he lost his balance and fell on top of her. Their mouths met. She smelled of soap and rain water, and hope, if there were such a scent.
A small, breathless sound escaped her lips as she lightly raked her nails across his chest, tracing her fingers along his many scars. The one on his shoulder from a pack of wild dogs. The gash on his neck from when a vulture had gotten the jump on them. The ugly starburst on his side from an arrow—friendly fire during the search of an abandoned house. Elena had been outside. Two arrows struck the jiāngshī, and it was only because Zhu was squirming as he tussled with the monster that the third nicked him instead.
They became a tangle of limbs rolling across the bed, knocking off pillows, bunching up blankets, and accidentally sweeping the candle off the side table. Darkness curtained the room.
Elena looked alarmed as she craned her head. “Is the candle okay?”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Zhu replied in a muffled voice as his tongue worked his way up the base of her neck.
She laughed and pushed him off. “They’ll never let us use the suites again if we burn the place down.”
The timing couldn’t have been any worse, but Zhu obliged. He rolled off her and crawled to the edge to make sure they weren’t setting the room on fire. The floor was of course metal, like the rest of the container. He stretched out to pick up the candle and place it back on the table where it belonged.
