059: Each Has Its Pros and Cons, Part 2

As for any long-term plan, to expect a man in his early twenties, whose entire life had already been soaked through with collective living, who followed the group almost by instinct, who had grown up in military housing compounds and eaten in army mess halls, to sit down and seriously think about that was asking too much.

It would be more realistic to have him think about how to maintain weapons and ammunition, improve his marksmanship, or work better with his comrades in combat.

Of course, Matian would not blurt out random opinions. His emotional intelligence was not that poor, and in fact he felt somewhat relieved that he had not fought for the position of captain of Team Eight. Given his family background, so long as this bloody overseas ordeal, this near-death experience at the very front line, was officially acknowledged, and so long as the powers that be did not change once the situation settled down, his future would be almost limitless. Saying he would shoot up like a rocket would not be an exaggeration at all. There was no need to compete for anything.

So Matian was rather absent-minded during the discussion of domestic trifles. If Xiaohua Yang had not shown such interest and kept taking part in the conversation, he would have long since found an excuse to slip away.

He did not want to yawn and spoil the mood, so he used the excuse that his wound itched and got up to move about on the terrace. In his ears still drifted the others' talk: that the hydroelectric station was too difficult to put to use, whether they should consider another energy source instead, that they had to find a way to store gasoline in a safe place, or at the very least hide a tanker somewhere. And so on.

Ah, if only he could have a cigarette. Matian stood at the edge of the terrace and patted his pockets, only to find them empty. Xiaohua Yang had forbidden him to smoke, claiming it would be bad for the wound. Did that count as the price of love?

Thinking of love, his gaze could not help drifting to Xiaohua Yang. Her features were perhaps not especially refined, her skin a little dark, her voice a little rough; at best, she was like a country-girl version of Angelababy. Yet for some reason Matian could not quite explain, whenever her smile fell into his eyes, he simply liked it. He always felt that as long as Xiaohua Yang kept smiling at him now and then, no matter how hard life became, he could endure it. No matter how bitter the days, they would still be sweet.

In the slanting western sunlight, his gaze suddenly passed over Xiaohua Yang and fell on the hillside not far away. It was a swiftly moving black dot. Matian frowned, looked for a few seconds, then relaxed. It was that black dog devoted to its master, perhaps bringing some small creature back to its dead owner again.

The thought had barely passed when barking came. For an ordinary person like Matian, who had never kept a dog, there was no way to tell what the barking meant; at most he could distinguish loud from soft. But Wang Chen was different. That bark was exactly the same as the guard dog at the auto repair shop when customers came in and started arguing. He almost sprang to his feet at once.

Something had happened!

The big black dog slipped into the yard through the drainage ditch. When it saw Wang Chen approaching head-on, it neither dodged nor backed away, apparently knowing he would not harm it. Instead, it came forward and bit down on Wang Chen's trouser leg, whimpering continuously. It was plainly trying to lead him somewhere.

Wang Chen had always had a good impression of the big black dog. He patted its fur and turned to instruct them, "Matian, Brother Ren, the three of you stay here and watch the house. Brother Fang, take your gun and come with me."

"I'll go too!" Sheng Qingru came running out of the house a moment later, carrying a medical bag. "I brought the walkie-talkie. Xiaohua has to handle communications. If anyone needs emergency treatment, I know some first aid. Actually, I studied veterinary medicine."

Since it was his woman speaking, Wang Chen naturally would not object. He looked at Sheng Qingru deeply, fully aware that he did not know the woman beside him nearly well enough. He had never even asked what she used to do or what she was good at. He would have to make up for that lesson in his spare time.

After sorting out their gear and belongings, the three of them followed the big black dog at a run toward the back mountain. They covered a little more than a kilometer, perhaps. Wang Chen, that homemade version of a national-level second-class athlete, did not feel tired yet, but Fang Qiang and Sheng Qingru behind him were already breathing hard.

After circling around the hill, they came to a river bend. On the far bank, taking advantage of the hill's elevation, stood a small hydroelectric station. A crude cable bridge had been built over the dam to connect the two sides. The dam was only a partial barrier across the river, with a drop of at most six or seven meters. The power house was made of stone blocks and mortar. Its exterior looked quite old, though its sturdiness was probably even greater than that of a substation. It was likely an old plant from the era when every village was first being electrified in the nineteen-seventies and nineteen-eighties, built purely to supply household power to the surrounding villages. With the completion of Tang River Reservoir, it was probably already out of service long ago.

The big black dog did not slow in the slightest. It ran across the cable bridge and straight toward the power house. Wang Chen and the others kept close behind with their guns in hand.

If someone had chosen this place as a refuge, they had certainly had some judgment. The stairway into the power house was only a little over two meters wide, with iron bars enclosing both the upper and lower ends. To the left of the stairs was the vertical wall of the power house, impossible to climb. To the right was the rocky riverbank, slick as grease and without even a handrail. Not to mention zombies; even ordinary people trying to force their way into the power house from here would have no chance. All they would need to do was place a few bamboo poles at the top of the steps and poke however many came into the river. If they did not want to shove people into the water, they only had to lock the gate. The entire station's slightly outward-leaning wall offered no leverage at all against the riverbank, and no one would be able to climb up. No one was getting in.

The three of them stood before the iron gate, staring at the padlock in bewilderment, still trying to figure out what to do, when the big black dog had already come running back out of the power house with a key in its mouth.

That dog had become a spirit, hadn't it?

Wang Chen took the wet, sticky key, inwardly sighing that it was fortunate he had no obsession with cleanliness. He reached through the iron bars, opened the padlock, and the three of them followed the big black dog into the power house and up to the second floor.

The bedroom was more than ten square meters, and the air inside was somewhat stifling. An old man lay on the bed, while in the corner there was a half-grown boy who looked to be fifteen or sixteen, curled up tightly.

Wang Chen signaled for Sheng Qingru and Fang Fang to wait outside. Holding his pistol, he walked into the room alone, touched the old man on the bed, and found him hot with a weak pulse. He seemed to be ill, and from the looks of it he was breathing more out than in, with not many days left. Confirming there was no immediate danger, Wang Chen asked Sheng Qingru to examine the old man.

He then walked over to the boy. Seeing that the child was staring fixedly at the floor, he waved a hand in front of his eyes and asked softly, "Are you all right? We are... well, sort of the police. Is the old man on the bed your grandfather?"

When the boy gave no response, Wang Chen patiently repeated himself several times. After a long while, the boy finally came back from his daze. His gaze slowly focused on Wang Chen, and he nodded. "Yes. That's my grandpa. He's sick, and I don't know what to do."

Wang Chen sighed and stood to return to Sheng Qingru's side. In a low voice, he asked, "Is there any hope?"

Shaking her head, Sheng Qingru replied, "From the old man's condition, he matches the epidemic description sent from above. He should be in the second stage now. What a pity. If we'd come two days earlier, with the vancomycin we have, maybe we could have saved him."

Vancomycin... could have saved him...