Volunteer 027

With the fierce barrage of heavy machine-gun fire as a backdrop, how could these two dare utter a single superfluous word? They did their best to put on harmless expressions, crouched behind the railing and shook their heads at the soldiers, looking for all the world like pitiable puppies trapped in a cage.

The soldier had no mind to banter with these two clowns. He continued shouting, "Go report to the command center yourselves! And take off those wire masks! We've already cleared the hundred meters or so of road—if you run fast, you'll be fine! Hey, does your shotgun have ammo? I'm talking to you!"

Ma Tian, still staring blankly at the lines of orange tracer fire, was jolted by Yang Xiaohua's elbow and hastily shouted, "It's loaded with beanbag rounds!"

The soldier shook his head, and before leaving, he took the shell pouch from his body and tossed it up to the second floor. "These are lethal rounds—use them with care!" Having been given both a way out and ammunition, it would have been foolish to hesitate. The two seized the opportunity, left the grocery store, and dashed for the entrance to the Special Operations Battalion's command center.

The command center, now repurposed from the timber mill's entrance, had only a meter-wide gap open—yet for the two, this was a lifeline, the very hope of survival! On either side of the entrance, Special Operations soldiers with light machine guns didn't bother to check them, simply waved them through. Seeing how easy their passage was, Ma Tian felt somewhat disgruntled—so it was a matter of face recognition after all. It seemed his old man had indeed made arrangements. So much for all those years of being told that even as a paramilitary police officer, he had to rely on his own efforts and not expect anything from his father, the regimental commander. Please, for twenty years he’d never expected anything! Not even when he nearly died of pneumonia did his father come home, but now he wanted to make up for lost affection? And if he really wanted to make amends, he shouldn’t have sent his own son to the epidemic frontlines!

Carrying his resentment against his father, Ma Tian led Yang Xiaohua into the command center. Just as they snapped to attention and announced themselves, a fit, dark-skinned man—whose complexion could only be described as pitch-black—turned around and walked over. Ma Tian, sharp-eyed, saw the rank insignia and recognized him as the Battalion Commander. No doubt his father had made his presence known; otherwise, why would a Battalion Commander bother with a paramilitary sergeant?

Proper decorum was due when someone of such rank approached personally. Ma Tian remained at attention, ready to report his name, rank, and position loudly, when the dark-faced commander spoke first: "You're Yang Xiaohua?"

Ma Tian almost choked, stifling a cough in his throat.

Commander Sun glanced at the paramilitary sergeant who’d followed Yang Xiaohua in, wondering what was wrong with him, but quickly shifted his focus back to Yang Xiaohua. "I'm Commander Sun of the Special Ops Battalion. Director Zhang recognized you on the drone feed. He said you have a communications background—is that correct?" After receiving affirmation, Commander Sun exhaled in relief and pointed to a nearby spot. "Three of our communications soldiers have been killed, and we’re critically understaffed. You used to work at the rescue center—can you fill in?"

"No problem!" Yang Xiaohua answered without hesitation, sat where told, and immediately began working.

Meanwhile, Ma Tian’s attention was captured by several familiar faces resting in a corner—survivors from the rescue center, no less, among whom he recognized a few. Against all odds, seeing acquaintances survive was a welcome surprise.

Commander Sun, for his part, paid no more attention to Ma Tian, his focus entirely on Yang Xiaohua. Seeing her deft hands and rapid competence, he finally relaxed. After the outbreak, the command center was immediately sealed off. Commander Sun had ruthlessly purged all infected soldiers and the unknown cannibal rats that had emerged, ensuring no threat remained before deploying armed drones to rescue stranded survivors.

In fact, the drone had spotted those two upstairs in the grocery store early on, but since they didn’t seem in immediate danger, no drone was dispatched. Only when Zhang Fu, guided by the drone, made it safely to the command center and confirmed that the female soldier was a communications specialist—precisely what the command center desperately needed—did Commander Sun have his men bring them in while the off-road vehicle dealt with the zombies at the rescue center.

So really, Ma Tian was overthinking matters. In Commander Sun’s eyes, a paramilitary with a shotgun—no matter if his father was a regimental commander—was worth little in this situation, certainly far less than a communications expert.

Why? Who relays the first reports when an armored vehicle is in trouble? Who consolidates and reports incidents from subordinates? When high command issues an urgent order, who determines its importance and passes it on to the commander or political officer? The communications soldiers, of course! Without them to organize and distribute information, the entire command center would be deaf and mute.

Now, having stabilized the situation, Commander Sun waited patiently for updates from the patrol vehicles. No word had come from the companies stationed on the town’s outskirts, nor from Political Officer Dong, who had gone out to gather gas masks and was now missing—likely lost. Commander Sun estimated that perhaps less than half the battalion’s personnel had survived.

These were the elite of the elite, and yet so many had been lost in and around this little town! What could be more heart-rending?

"Commander! The Warrior vehicle has sent a report!"

"Patch it through!"

"Commander! There’s a truck burning at the warehouse entrance where the gas masks are stored! The entire entrance is blocked! Drone footage shows Political Officer Dong’s military Iveco at the southeast corner of the warehouse, surrounded by more than a dozen zombies. We plan to find a weak spot in the wall, ram through with the vehicle, and rescue them!"

"No! Hold your positions!"

"Commander!"

"I said, hold your positions! Wait for reinforcements!"

"Yes, sir!"

After ending the call, Commander Sun frowned, his face so dark it seemed to drip oil. He knew full well that it was too dangerous for the three soldiers in the Warrior to rush into the warehouse alone; piecemeal tactics were unacceptable—best to amass enough force to resolve the situation in one go.

But then, reports from the other Warrior vehicles put Commander Sun in a bind.

Two buses loaded with relocated civilians had overturned into a ditch. Survivors—over fifty in number—were holed up in a highway maintenance shed, awaiting rescue. One Warrior couldn’t evacuate them all, and zombies had already appeared nearby. Leaving civilians to find larger vehicles would likely doom them all.

The entire third company in the town’s southwest had been wiped out—no survivors. As special forces, their speed, strength, and reflexes far surpassed ordinary men. Now, infected and zombified, these soldiers would pose an even greater threat than regular zombies. If not swiftly dealt with, the devastation would be unimaginable.

To the north, a fire had broken out at the highway rest area, cause unknown, and had ignited the gas station. If the blaze wasn’t contained, the highway would be destroyed—by explosion or by fire—either outcome would severely impact the troops constructing the quarantine line to the north. Tanks and armored vehicles could manage rough roads, but supply trucks couldn’t crawl along provincial or county roads.

Admittedly, sending special forces to fight fires and rescue civilians was an odd fit, but who could have foreseen that a battalion meant to be resting in the second line—occasionally helping the security checkpoint hunt spies—would face a new, more devastating outbreak within days?

His mind racing, Commander Sun made his decision: save the civilians first.

Perhaps, in this time and place, such a choice might seem outdated, even laughable to some. But not to Commander Sun. He understood his duty and the necessity of this decision—because he was a soldier, a soldier of the People’s Liberation Army.

And the people had always come before the army.

So, civilians first!

The order was given, and three six-wheeled armored vehicles rolled out of the command center. Still tense, Commander Sun could only pray that his old comrade Political Officer Dong could hold out until rescue arrived. He knew, however, that Dong had left before the outbreak with only a few men to collect gas masks, lightly armed at best. By choosing to save the civilians first, Commander Sun had nearly sentenced Dong to death.

"I need volunteers! Listen up—volunteers who know how to shoot and aren’t afraid to risk their lives against zombies!" Zhang Fu’s unhurried voice echoed through the now cavernous command center. He still looked the bureaucrat, but the bloodstains and heavy reek of gore clinging to him ensured no one dared show disrespect.

That was a man who had fought his way out of the rescue center alone, saving seven others, the blood on him all from zombies. Who would dare cross such a "petty official"?

More frightening: Zhang Fu had never once fired a gun.

He’d only used a knife.

A fruit knife, at that.

"I’ll go!" Ma Tian was first to stand. He’d already heard from comrades about Director Zhang’s exploits; to see such a legend in action was an opportunity this overgrown kid wouldn’t miss. As for the risk—under Director Zhang’s lead, what was there to fear?

Two more paramilitary police followed Ma Tian. The remaining civilians stayed seated—not out of cowardice, but simple practicality. None of them knew how to handle firearms. Following along would be pointless; accidental discharges were a risk, and what would they do—stand by and cheer?

Zhang Fu nodded and turned to Commander Sun. "The armored vehicle outside—the one with the grenade launcher—I’m taking it. Don’t worry, if Political Officer Dong is alive, I’ll bring him back whole."

"Thank you," Commander Sun replied, wasting no words.

The four volunteers were about to head out when a civilian survivor stood and hesitantly offered, "My name is Fang Qiang. I was an Army Aviation pilot in the Thirty-Ninth Group before I left the service—flown helicopters, got an A1 license, driven heavy loaders…"

Everyone turned to look. He appeared about thirty-six or thirty-seven, with a big head, broad forehead, flat nose, and a pronounced underbite. His face was ghostly pale, with dark circles under his eyes like a panda—a real oddity. And he claimed to have flown helicopters? Was he bluffing?

Zhang Fu, ever the investigator, asked, "Buddy, you look far too pale for someone who’s always on the road."

"After leaving the army, I drove for a transport company, made some money, then partnered with my old comrades in a logistics firm and spent years at a desk. No sun—turned pale again."

"Alright, you’ll drive," Zhang Fu decided.

"No problem, you can count on me!"

No one thought less of Fang Qiang for making his decision at the last minute—risking their lives was no small matter. As Ma Tian left, he even had the presence of mind to wink at Yang Xiaohua. She was, however, completely absorbed in her work and didn’t notice her would-be suitor’s bravado. Ma Tian didn’t mind her indifference—he’d already resolved to pursue her relentlessly, come what may.

Fang Qiang’s driving skills proved flawless—an old hand with heavy trucks, he handled the armored vehicle with ease. Though the ride was bumpy at first, it soon smoothed out. Halfway there, Zhang Fu received good news: the thunderclouds had dispersed, the satellite had shifted into position, and from now on, the command center could provide real-time battlefield information from satellite imagery in addition to drone surveillance.

During the drive, Ma Tian and the two other paramilitary officers kept busy as well. Following Zhang Fu’s orders, each took turns at the roof hatch, firing shotguns or rifles at the zombies pursuing the armored vehicle—if nothing else, at least drawing blood.

By the time they reached the warehouse, each had taken down at least seven or eight zombies. The frequent shooting revealed a few patterns: though the new zombies were fast and agile, they remained mindless animated corpses. Whether running or climbing, they moved in straight lines—charging the armored vehicle directly, adjusting their course only as the vehicle moved, with no concept of flanking, ambush, or lying in wait. As long as firepower was sufficient, these fearsome, high-speed zombies were actually easy to deal with.

The three soldiers received the message and, before the armored vehicle had fully stopped, exited their vehicle. Zhang Fu wasted no time. "Which of you shoots best?"

One stepped forward. "Second-class marksman."

"Good enough. There’s an 88 sniper on the vehicle—take one man as spotter. See that five-story building by the warehouse? I want you on the roof, covering the entire perimeter. Any suspicious targets—shoot on sight!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Don’t go through the building—use the fire escape. You don’t want to be caught from behind by a zombie lurking inside. Once on the roof, block off all entrances. Understood?"

"Understood!"

With the rear secured, Zhang Fu wasted not a second. Using the armored vehicle as cover, he had Ma Tian stay and fire the grenade launcher at the still-burning truck, clearing the way. There was no need to drive into the warehouse; zombies, drawn by the fire, were already charging straight for the armored vehicle.

A bloodbath ensued.

Special forces soldiers made excellent snipers. The two paramilitary officers, now used to the zombies’ running style, wasted few shots with their rifles. As for Ma Tian, aside from getting his fill with the grenade launcher, his shotgun’s lethal rounds had a range of less than a hundred meters—there was little for him to do.

Once the visible zombies had been dispatched and the snipers reached their positions, Fang Qiang drove the armored vehicle over the still-smoldering wreckage and into the warehouse.

According to satellite images, the warehouse complex included five large steel structures and a three-story office building. After a thorough sweep, no more zombies were seen outside. The armored vehicle rolled in, its engine echoing among the buildings, but all was silent. As they neared the military Iveco, a sense of foreboding grew. If Political Officer Dong had survived, he should have appeared by now; his absence spoke volumes.

The armored vehicle stopped beside the Iveco. Zhang Fu told Ma Tian and the others to keep watch, then approached the vehicle, carefully examined the interior, then reversed his rifle and smashed open the driver’s side window. Entering the cabin, he found Political Officer Dong seated in the second-to-last row, his pistol empty, his thigh shredded, and a bullet wound atop his head. His upper body was soaked in blood. Beside him sat a special forces soldier, a clear bite wound on his shoulder, a bullet hole in his temple. From the scene, it was clear: attacked by zombies, Dong and the soldier had retreated to the Iveco, where Dong used his last two bullets to kill his comrade and then himself.

Zhang Fu slowly closed Dong’s eyes, sighed, and picked up the bloodied pistol. Suddenly, he flipped his wrist, pressing the muzzle against the back of a trembling survivor in the last row.

"Stand up, slowly." Zhang Fu’s voice was icy, each word sharp as broken glass.

Whatever the circumstances, this survivor hiding in the back row was tied to Political Officer Dong's death. Even if this wasn’t the time for questions, Commander Sun would interrogate him thoroughly back at the command center.

When the figure stood, Zhang Fu rolled his eyes—it was a half-grown boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, face streaked with snot, tears, and acne, shirtless and filthy, his tattered pants reeking of urine and feces. He wasn’t so much looking at Zhang Fu as staring fixedly at the gun.

Zhang Fu, no fool, skipped over how the ragged youth had gotten here. "How many came with you to take things?"

Indeed, the authorities had been hurrying the evacuation of civilians for several reasons. Besides the strain on resources from feeding everyone, the absence of civilians created a buffer zone that attracted drifters and vagrants. These would loot and destroy property, sometimes using trucks to haul away valuables. Getting caught meant bad luck; if not, it was a windfall. Some even set fires to draw the army’s attention, making theft and escape easier.

"About… a few hundred, I think… I really don’t know… I came with my boss… Then the army arrived and we scattered. Then it rained, the rats started biting people, and then people turned into zombies… Then the army started rescuing people… I followed them onto the truck…" The boy’s words tumbled out, but the gist was clear.

Zhang Fu had no time to check him for wounds. He simply pulled a nylon zip-tie from his pocket to secure the boy, then fitted a wire mask to his face—no chances taken.

With the prisoner secured, Zhang Fu pressed his earpiece. "Prepare to withdraw. Someone come help move the bodies of our comrades. Everyone back to the armored vehicle. Sniper team, take the fire escape down—we’ll cover you from below."

"Sniper team, copy! Wait—report: zombie horde approaching from the southwest, six hundred meters!"

"Understood. Move quickly!"

"Copy!"

The armored vehicle dashed out of the warehouse and halted by a residential building, waiting for the sniper team to regroup. Had they brought rappelling ropes, the snipers could have descended faster; as it was, they had to use the fire escape, giving the zombies a slim chance to approach. Through the scope, Ma Tian could clearly see froth at the corners of the zombies’ mouths. Without hesitation, he braced the grenade launcher and fired into the horde.

Fifteen grenades emptied in moments, erupting the zombie horde in a cloud of blood mist. Lethal rounds against these mindless creatures were devastating—over half fell instantly. The rest, missing limbs, slowed considerably and were easily picked off by shooters inside the vehicle. With little else to do, Ma Tian—his upper body exposed for the best vantage—grabbed a Type-95 and began picking off moving targets.

As the last zombie dropped two hundred meters away, the sniper team rejoined them through the rear door. Zhang Fu rapped on the cabin, signaling Fang Qiang to drive.

Ma Tian was just about to duck back inside and close the roof hatch when he noticed a dark shape flash across his peripheral vision. Looking up, he saw a figure crash straight down on the armored vehicle’s windshield!

Visibility lost, Fang Qiang instinctively slammed the brakes. The cabin was thrown into chaos, but with half his body out of the hatch, Ma Tian managed to keep his balance. He had no time to curse Fang Qiang’s heavy foot, for the creature that had landed on the vehicle was clearly a zombie—a fast one, legs broken from the fall but still able to lunge forward with its arms.

Ma Tian’s first instinct was to retreat and close the hatch, but then he reconsidered—crammed with people, the vehicle offered little room for maneuver. If he was slow and let the zombie in, they’d all be at risk.

In that instant, Ma Tian set aside his fear. Instead of retreating, he braced himself and lunged at the zombie.

Today, he would fight to the end!

Just then, Fang Qiang, realizing there was a zombie atop the vehicle, floored the accelerator, hoping to shake it off.

The zombie was indeed thrown off, but as Ma Tian grabbed its arm to toss it, he too was hurled from the vehicle…