049 The Price of Sudden Wealth

Headlights—blinding, glaring headlights.

One must admit that military vehicles are not just synonymous with rugged endurance; many of their features far surpass those of civilian cars—like the horn, like the headlights. When three or five military trucks simultaneously switch on their high beams, the dazzling floodlights are enough to blind someone in an instant. Not just the civilians standing on level ground, even Wang Chen, who was hesitating on the steps of the mobile barracks, didn’t know whether to advance or retreat; he had to shield his eyes with a hand to withstand the glare.

Seizing the moment as the crowd was stunned by the lights, the PLA soldiers jumped from the trucks to maintain order. Using loudspeakers, they urged the civilians not to be incited or misled. The lights, after shining bright for about ten seconds, were suddenly switched off. By the time people’s vision recovered and they looked back toward the barracks, Wang Chen was gone!

The crowd erupted into chaos, abandoning the silence of moments before. Some cursed and demanded to speak to the soldiers for justice, others ran to fetch guns and weapons, some sought out vehicles, and some, mostly women, simply broke down and sobbed—venting the terror, resentment, and sorrow that had accumulated over the past days, now that hope had slipped away. The first three groups simply could not accept that the hope of immunity had so quietly slipped through their fingers.

The scene immediately descended into utter disorder.

No one noticed that behind the mobile barracks, two figures huddled together. One was changing clothes quickly—it was Wang Chen. He hadn’t actually vanished; how far could he get in ten seconds? At the instant the headlights blazed, Pablo had joined him, dragging him behind a wheel of the vehicle and thrusting a full set of PLA uniform into his hands, along with a radio earpiece.

As Wang Chen hurriedly changed, a weary voice came through the earpiece—it was Lieutenant Colonel Zhang: “Sorry, Special Agent Wang. We’re short-handed and can’t fully control the civilians. In an emergency like this, this is the best I can do to get you out quickly.”

“No, I understand. Thank you for your trouble, Colonel.”

“Enough with the formalities. Of the trucks that just turned on their lights, the farthest on the left is an Iveco I prepared for you. Your companions are already on board, disguised among the soldiers maintaining order. Once you’re on the Iveco, you’ll be safe.”

“Thank you. No need for more words.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s my oversight in management. If there’s a chance, let’s meet again.”

During this brief exchange, Wang Chen had already donned the uniform, cap, and mask, slung his modified Type 95, and, side by side with Pablo, strode toward the Iveco, passing as patrolling soldiers.

Thanks to the chaos and Pablo’s imposing frame as cover, the two made it across dozens of meters and boarded the Iveco. A quick scan revealed all their companions present—Ellie, Ma Tian, and the rest. Before Wang Chen could settle in, a commotion arose outside; shouts rang out as the crowd, realizing Wang Chen had been discovered, surged through the thin line of soldiers, rushing toward the military trucks.

Realizing their cover was blown, Fang Qiang shouted, “Hold on tight!” He slammed the gear into reverse, spun the wheel, and expertly maneuvered the Iveco backward a dozen meters, executing a sharp turn before speeding forward, hugging the edge of the barracks.

They had barely driven a hundred meters before several figures dashed from the side, intercepting the Iveco’s path. Here, the flaws of the civilian conscription system became apparent—military and civilians were intermingled throughout the camp. When civilians at the medical station relayed the news, Lieutenant Colonel Zhang could suppress his soldiers, but he had no power over the civilians. They would never let someone with immunity leave the camp.

This wasn’t mere selfishness. Soldiers fight for their country; civilians fight for their families. If soldiers can give their lives for the nation, civilians can risk everything for their loved ones.

Unfortunately, at this moment, Wang Chen and his group stood on the opposite side from the civilians, with no one to appeal to.

Fang Qiang wasn’t panicking. With Yang Xiaohua in the passenger seat, providing terrain guidance, and relying on his own experience, he maneuvered the Iveco through the camp, dodging obstacles and twice being forced back from the exit by blockades of civilians. The entire camp was surrounded by stainless steel fencing—solid and impassable for even the toughest vehicle. As long as the civilians formed a human wall at the only exit, there was nothing Wang Chen’s group could do—short of running people over, which they wouldn’t do.

The radio crackled again with Lieutenant Colonel Zhang’s voice. “Almost all the civilians are blocking your way. I can’t control the situation anymore. I’m sorry! There’s one option left—the exit facing the SH quarantine area isn’t blocked!”

What the hell?!

Head into the SH quarantine zone? That wasn’t escaping—it was suicide! The SH zone was ground zero for the virus, just like Harbin. Harbin’s seven districts and twelve counties covered 53,000 square kilometers with a population of twelve million; the urban population was nine million. SH? Nearly seven thousand square kilometers with twenty-five million people! That meant the zombie density in SH was fifteen times that of Harbin.

Mathematically, breaking out of the SH zone safely was fifteen times harder than from Harbin. No one but the most suicidal depressive would even consider it.

“Damn it! If turning you in wouldn’t make things worse, I’d stop the car right now!” Fang Qiang cursed as he swerved to avoid two idiots trying to leap onto the vehicle from a rooftop.

Wang Chen didn’t argue. He simply looked at his companions.

Ma Tian, Yang Xiaohua, and Sheng Qingru had no complaints; for them, sticking together was the only choice. Only Joanna, after hearing Sheng Qingru’s translation, hesitated, biting her lip. Jumping from the frying pan into the fire was no choice at all. But Ellie had just escaped death, and if Wang Chen left, the civilians—believing Ellie, too, was immune—might not let her or Pablo go, no matter how hard she tried to explain or comply with blood tests.

With a silent sigh, Joanna had to admit there was no leaving Wang Chen’s “sinking ship” now. Having escaped the cartel under his name, in a foreign, unfamiliar land where even communication was a struggle, splitting up was simply impossible.

Seeing Joanna’s eventual nod, Wang Chen said nothing, just nodded to everyone.

Fang Qiang, seeing this in the rearview mirror, kept his hands busy and chattered, “Don’t worry! Lieutenant Colonel Zhang loaded our van with enough firepower for us to blast our way out of the zone!”

With no real choice, they could only follow Yang Xiaohua’s directions. Fang Qiang drove the Iveco through the roadblocks made of stretchers, turning toward the SH quarantine zone’s entrance before the civilians realized their recklessness. The guards, following the colonel’s orders, hit the buttons—three hydraulic gates opened in succession, and the Iveco shot through, leaving behind a crowd of masked, shouting civilians who had just missed them.

“Whoa! We made it out!” Fang Qiang, finally free of the camp, pounded the steering wheel and laughed. Dawn was breaking on the horizon, as if in encouragement—they had a vehicle, guns, and supplies. Nothing more to fear.

“Fang, could you pull over up ahead?” Wang Chen’s mood was far less carefree. Whether it was overthinking for a man his age or just being forced into maturity by circumstance, the decision to plunge into the SH quarantine zone weighed on him like a mountain.

Better to stop while still within the PLA’s support range and come up with a real plan than recklessly charge deeper into the zone.

The electronic maps from a month ago were already unreliable, but they were still within the camp’s wireless network. With special agent privileges, they could access live satellite imagery—not perfect, since clouds obscured much, but still useful.

“Let’s rule out heading deeper into SH. I think we should reach the coast as fast as possible, find a usable speedboat, and escape by sea,” Fang Qiang proposed. Compared to traveling by road, the sea was safer, and with Pablo—the car-theft genius—vehicles were the least of their worries.

“A speedboat can only carry so much. Without someone familiar with the local marinas, we might not find enough yachts. Inshore fishing boats or barges are our best bet; they can even take the Iveco,” Sheng Qingru offered, having grown up by the sea.

Yang Xiaohua glanced at Wang Chen, who nodded. She typed rapidly on her laptop. “Not bad luck—the cloud cover isn’t too thick. Multispectral imaging still gives us a ground view, though zombies won’t show up unless it’s clear. From our position, there are six routes; two head deeper into the quarantine area, but both are blocked. Four lead to the coast: the longest one goes to a high-end community with a beach and only small boats visible. The other three… blocked, and oddly, still burning…”

“Burning?” Wang Chen asked her to zoom in. Fang Qiang shook his head. “No way the car gets through that fire.”

“Right, just checking. You two decide the route.” Wang Chen sat aside, lost in thought.

Yang Xiaohua and Fang Qiang didn’t question him. They focused on the map. “Fang, see here: follow the fence south, turn east at Pudong Development Bank, across a square, then along the coastal highway, past the QD campus—there are a lot of fishing boats and barges. With their size, we won’t have to abandon the Iveco,” she explained.

“Let me see… got it.” Fang Qiang, the veteran driver, memorized the route and started the engine.

While Wang Chen drifted into thought, the others busied themselves distributing the weapons and gear Lieutenant Colonel Zhang had provided—perhaps because leaving them behind would be a waste. Besides their own firearms, they now had six crates of rifle ammunition—nine thousand rounds—plus ten Type 03 rifles, six Type 972 shotguns, two Type 95 light machine guns, two Type 88 sniper rifles, an 87 grenade launcher with grenades, and a stash of hand grenades—over 250 kilograms in all.

Only a vehicle like the Iveco could carry such a load.

They were now armed to the teeth. The 87 grenade launcher, though its 35mm grenades were smaller than foreign models, was still a grenade launcher; with armor-piercing rounds, it could drive off attack helicopters within 600 meters, let alone obliterate unarmored zombies.

While Joanna and the others examined the launcher as Ma Tian explained its use, Pablo focused entirely on his new Type 03 rifle. Years in the cartel’s drug labs had left him attached to his battered AK-47; the bullpup Type 95 just felt awkward. Now, with a new, kindred small-caliber “AK,” his spirits soared—he almost hoped for a horde of zombies to test it out.

Soon enough, Pablo’s attention shifted to the view outside, and even Fang Qiang called out, “Look at the sea! Sunrise is coming!”

The sky was growing light as the Iveco sped along the coastal highway. On the inland side, ruins and wandering zombies; on the seaward side, the waves shimmered, a line of gold glinting between steel-gray ocean and rolling clouds—a clear sign that sunrise was near. Even if the clouds would soon block the sun, a new day was about to begin.

Sheng Qingru, accustomed to life by the sea like the three South Americans, had seen many sunrises, but after all the tragedy and trauma, the sight of the rising sun now filled her numb heart with unexpected warmth. She glanced at the man who, when she’d sunk into despair, had given her a jacket full of warmth and safety, and sighed quietly.

She had thought, once her bruises faded, she might use her looks and figure to “warm Wang Chen’s bed”—if he didn’t mind her past. After all, in this broken world, living another day was a blessing. But knowing Wang Chen’s unique immunity, that idea was hopeless. Even if she was willing to take risks, his character would never allow it—if he were the type to risk comrades' lives for lust, he wouldn’t have comforted her before.

Lost in these thoughts, she noticed Wang Chen deep in thought, staring at a box of smoke grenades. She couldn’t help but nudge him. “What are you thinking?”

Wang Chen snapped out of it with a sheepish smile. “Maybe I’m just paranoid, but I feel things aren’t so simple.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, probably just overthinking. By the way, where’s the gear we got from the credit union?”

“Over there, in the box by the rear hatch. Just non-lethal stuff—stun guns, tranquilizer darts. Why do you ask?”

“Might come in handy,” Wang Chen replied, moving over to rummage through the box without further explanation.

Sheng Qingru shrugged and turned back to the window. So beautiful—why had it never moved her before? Was it really true, as all those inspirational quotes said, that people only cherish something once it’s lost?

The beautiful moment didn’t last long. As the sky brightened, the Iveco turned onto another road, running alongside the QD campus wall. Just as they reached the main entrance, a bus overturned at the roadside suddenly exploded in flames! To Wang Chen, this explosion was nothing—hardly worth a paragraph in a web novel. He’d been through missile strikes. Still, the blast and heat were intense and well-timed; even through the half-open window, the heat was palpable.

Had Fang Qiang not been through his share of “big scenes,” his hands might have shaken and sent the Iveco into a ditch. But now, he calmly stepped on the clutch and brake, shifted into reverse, and backed away from the flames.

A second explosion, equally “well-timed,” cut off their retreat, trapping them between the roadside buildings and the QD campus wall.

No explanation needed—several figures vaulted the school wall, assault rifles at the ready, closing in on the Iveco!

Almost simultaneously, several smoke grenades were tossed from the vehicle’s windows, enveloping the area in thick, blinding smoke. The attackers, losing sight of their targets, could only grope around, kicking the grenades downwind and feeling their way to the van’s doors to subdue the occupants.

But the van was empty.

A sea breeze stirred the smoke. As the frustrated leader urged his men to search, a faint click sounded from above.

Startled, the leader tried to shout a warning, but a sudden pain in his shoulder was followed by a paralyzing jolt that left him sprawled, limp, unable even to pull the trigger—let alone cry out.

That’s the advantage of a stun gun over a suppressed firearm—if you hit, your target can’t even scream, let alone warn others. By the time the attackers realized the assault was coming from the rooftop and roadside, four of their group were down, and three more had guns pressed to their heads.

The leader received special treatment. Not only did he have an NP22 pressed to his head, he was wearing a tactical vest stuffed with five or six grenades, their pins tied to a string clutched in Wang Chen’s hand.

“All right, now we can have a proper talk, Lieutenant Colonel Zhang Kaifeng,” Wang Chen said coldly. Pablo stood by, holding the 87 grenade launcher. The gaping muzzle made the others pale and tremble, for firing a grenade launcher at such close range was sheer madness.

With a gun to his head and grenades on his chest, Zhang Kaifeng didn’t dare remove his gas mask, and could only reply, his voice muffled, “Yes, it’s me. Don’t call me Colonel; here, I don’t represent the PLA. Call me Kaifeng.”

“Cut the crap. Have your people drop their weapons!” Wang Chen wasn’t about to make the classic mistake of wasting time and getting double-crossed. He shoved Zhang Kaifeng forward, making his attitude clear.

Zhang Kaifeng looked at the terrified civilians, then sighed. Forced to use these people against a special agent, even a half-baked one, was a mistake. He had lost the initiative; resistance would only cause more casualties.

“Drop your weapons—we surrender,” Zhang Kaifeng said, tossing his gun aside. “Actually, I need your help.”

Before Wang Chen could answer, Fang Qiang, ever the talker, cut in, “Help? Seriously, Colonel Zhang? First you drive us into the SH zone, then ambush us with a bunch of civilians, and now you ask for help after failing?”

“Enough, Fang. Let’s get into the campus and hide first. We’ll talk later! You get the van; we’ll force our way through the gate,” Wang Chen snapped, seeing more figures approaching.

“No need for that. If you’re willing to listen, everything can be explained.” Zhang Kaifeng raised his hands to show he meant no harm, pressed his earpiece, and spoke slowly, “Open the gate. Everyone drop your weapons. We’re coming in.”