Chapter 20: Zhao Qiang
The family compound was north of the hospital—two streets away.
It was an old residential area built in the 1990s: three buildings in total, mostly housing retired workers.
Building 2, Unit 3, Room 201, belonged to Zhang Shouyi and his wife.
Zhang Shouyi was sixty-two, a retired fitter from a military factory. He’d spent his whole life working on firearm repairs. His hearing was a bit poor, but his eyesight was excellent.
His wife, Liu Guilan, was sixty. Before retirement, she’d worked as a doctor at the community health service station.
Across the hall lived a family of three: a husband surnamed Wang, his wife, and their seven-year-old son. After the virus outbreak, zombies broke into their home, smashed through the door, and they fled into Zhang Shouyi’s house.
Five people crowded into the two-bedroom, one-living-room apartment. They’d stored enough rice, flour, and cooking oil to last for a while, and by rationing they’d managed to hold out until now.
Zhang Shouyi had an old-style radio. It had no chips inside, so the particle storm couldn’t affect it.
Yesterday afternoon, he’d found the emergency broadcast frequency and listened to ’s entire speech.
The old couple cried right then. They knew the country wasn’t in chaos—there were still people in charge.
They immediately told the other surviving households in the building, warning everyone not to run around. The troops were to the south, and they’d come sooner or later.
When the gunfire sounded, Zhang Shouyi was hunched over the dining table, using a pencil to mark positions on a map of the old city.
The gunfire rolled in from the south. He looked up at once, listened intently for a few seconds, then grabbed the radio and turned the volume up.
The broadcast was still looping, echoing the gunfire from a distance.
“They’re coming from the south.”
Zhang Shouyi picked up a magnifying glass and measured the scale on the map.
“Judging by the distance, they should be at the northern suburb intersection. It’s less than two kilometers from here as the crow flies.”
“That fast?” Liu Guilan came over with a cup of water, unable to hide her joy.
“Does that mean… they can reach the hospital before dark?”
“Hard to say.” Zhang Shouyi shook his head, pointing at the hospital on the map.
“The hospital is a heavily affected area, with a high density of corpses. It’ll take them a while to fight through. But as long as the troops are advancing… there’s hope.”
He set down the magnifying glass, then went to the balcony to get a bamboo pole.
“Find the red flag we made earlier and hang it outside the balcony. Also find a white bedsheet—write ‘Five people here’ in red paint, and hang it on the drainpipe outside the building.”
Liu Guilan nodded and went to look for the fabric, muttering under her breath as she searched.
“We need to tell Xiao Wang and his family across the hall. Have them hang one too. And Old Li in Building 3—yesterday he was still shouting about rushing out. Now it’s settled. There’s definite news.”
“I’ll go knock on doors,” Zhang Shouyi said.
“Everyone stay calm. Don’t yell or shout, and don’t attract the zombies up here.”
While the two of them were busy, the seven-year-old boy leaned over the balcony railing and suddenly shouted.
“Grandpa Zhang! Look down! Why are those monsters going back?”
Zhang Shouyi’s heart tightened. He hurried to the balcony and leaned over to look.
On the road outside the residential area, the zombies that had been wandering around were now moving in groups toward the hospital to the south.
It wasn’t the chaotic crowding you’d get from being drawn in by gunfire. They were moving in an orderly fashion—toward the same direction.
Zhang Shouyi’s brow furrowed.
Something was wrong. Ordinary zombies didn’t have swarm consciousness. They were only attracted by sound and smell, and they clustered chaotically.
But the ones below looked as if they’d received some kind of order—contracting uniformly toward the hospital.
“Old man… what’s wrong?” Liu Guilan saw his expression and asked quietly.