Even lunchtime offered no peace.

"Please take another look at these photographs. Do you recognize any of these people?" Cao Baoquan switched to a few more images—this time, portraits of men and women, young and old—showing them to Hu Chun and Wang Chen for identification.

Wang Chen found the photos oddly familiar in style, then realized these were all standard ID photos, likely from identity cards. After flipping through about a dozen, Hu Chun suddenly pointed and said, "This one—I know him. He was the bus driver who died at the station, said to have been bitten by a zombie. He moved buses while wounded. Without him, we wouldn't have that ring of buses around the station. But Han Li said he and Aunt Hui dismembered Han Li's boyfriend together."

Cao Baoquan nodded, marked the photograph, and continued the process. The two men recognized no one else, but when Han Li took her turn, she confidently picked out a woman's photo, insisting she had also seen this woman at the station. Wang Chen and Hu Chun, however, had no recollection.

This round of identification brought some progress. Cao Baoquan, in a good mood, accepted a cigarette from Wang Chen and, after a few puffs, spoke earnestly: "You are witnesses in this matter. Still, some things are best kept to yourselves, understood?"

Everyone nodded. Wang Chen, hesitating, asked, "Captain, could you tell us anything you’re allowed to share? Anything at all. This outbreak, the escape… at times I feel like I’m dreaming. Now everyone has their own theories—from science fiction to mythology, even alien invasion..."

Cao Baoquan took another drag on his cigarette, gazed at Wang Chen and, after a moment’s thought, said, "You know some of the inside story, and even if I don’t say it, you can guess. But speculation breeds panic. Let me put it this way: This disaster is definitely not a natural one, and certainly not aliens. It’s man-made. That’s the good news. Natural disasters are hard to resist, at best you can clean up after. But when it’s man-made—"

"The dead don’t bring disaster," Li Changhuai muttered through clenched teeth.

"Exactly. Legally, those responsible for this would be guilty of the gravest crimes. So you needn’t worry too much—since people did this, there will be a solution." Cao Baoquan, noticing Li Changhuai’s slow-wittedness, didn’t mind his earlier foolishness. Rising to his feet, he pulled out his radio and said, "Relax. Once the quarantine is over, you’ll likely be evacuated tomorrow night. If you remember anything unusual about Aunt Hui or the other refugees, report to any stationed soldier and have them call me."

"Of course, of course. We definitely will," Hu Chun and Wang Chen replied, politely seeing Cao Baoquan out.

"Looks like that X University representative at the station might really get rescued by the Army. Lucky bastard," Hu Chun remarked, throwing himself onto the bed.

Wang Chen, though less worldly than Hu Chun, had grown up around his father’s repair shop and seen more of life than his sheltered peers. He shook his head, saying, "The zombie outbreak erupted almost everywhere last night. Some are blaming cults. But, Brother Hu, didn’t you feel the captain was a bit too relaxed with us?"

"Hmm? I didn’t notice anything."

"Look, we escaped from the station and reported suspicious activity. So, does that mean we’re not suspects?"

"Of course we’re not suspects, we know that. Wait—you mean the Army doesn’t actually know?"

"Exactly. That’s why I think the captain was too relaxed. If I were him, I’d at least quarantine us and interrogate us for hours."

"Come on, you watch too many TV dramas. The Army’s too busy dealing with zombies to waste time with interrogations. But you’ve got a point. Maybe when we get to Changchun, the people greeting us won’t be so friendly," Hu Chun replied, frowning.

Li Changhuai, knowing he’d almost caused trouble earlier, quickly offered cigarettes to Hu Chun and Wang Chen. Wang Chen accepted, but Hu Chun waved it off, saying he needed a break, and comforted Li Changhuai: "Don’t worry too much. He’s just a captain. Even if we upset him, it’s not like he’ll hold a grudge all the way to Changchun. Who’ll know him there?"

Li Changhuai didn’t know how to respond, so he just laughed awkwardly.

The morning was uneventful. Along with Han Li and Hu Qianqian, they gathered to sort through their gear. The occasional armored vehicle passing outside was reassuring, but the sporadic gunfire was a constant reminder that danger was still near.

Apart from the Army-issue clothing and consumables like military energy supplements, the most notable were the emergency medical kits Wang Chen found in a parachute crate. When Hu Chun saw the drugs, his eyes lit up. As a former athlete, he was no stranger to performance enhancers. As a fitness coach, he had often provided such drugs to clients wanting to look good, taking advantage of the regulatory gray area. To Hu Chun, these were old friends.

Wang Chen, however, was unfamiliar with the long chemical names and could only decipher the basic instructions. Seeing Hu Chun’s delight, he generously said, "Brother Hu, if you know these, explain them to everyone. I can’t use all this myself, and it’d be a waste just sitting around."

"Alright then, I won’t stand on ceremony. These here are for all of us—short-term boosters for heart and lung function and blood oxygen. Don’t worry, as long as you don’t overdose long-term, they’re not harmful to the heart. Just remember: two pills at a time, no more, or your heart won’t take it." Hu Chun picked up a green box and explained.

So began a crash course, with the dozen-odd types of medicine distributed according to need—some for regular use to boost physical response, some for emergencies, and some for trauma. Without a seasoned athlete like Hu Chun, Wang Chen’s haul would have been wasted—no one else would know how to use them properly.

After committing the instructions to memory, Wang Chen and the others took on the task of fetching lunch, not wanting Han Li to always do the errand. They stepped outside the prefab shelter to find the once clear weather had turned oppressive and humid, with dark clouds looming, pressing down with an almost apocalyptic weight. The mood among the refugees, already anxious for evacuation, grew heavier. Over the radio, the Army issued a weather update, promising evacuation would proceed once the storm passed.

Despite everything, the aroma wafting from the field kitchens was mouthwatering, cutting through the gloom. They ran into Zheng Guozong, who was still dressed and moving in his usual flamboyant, androgynous manner. His first words were, "You’re late—you missed a show."

He might as well have had "gossip" written on his face.

Wang Chen wanted to say he wasn’t interested, but Li Changhuai, ever the straight man, took the bait. "What happened?"

"Let me tell you—just now in line, two dumb broads tried to cut in, caused a scene. The MPs came to restore order—and you know them, right? Captain Cao Baoquan. The two women wouldn’t let up, insisting on cutting to the front, saying 'ladies first.' The MPs blocked them, but the women started clawing at the captain’s uniform. He just smiled, all sly, and accused them of trying to grab his gun. He drew his pistol and fired a shot between their legs—scared the piss out of both! They didn’t even get their food, just got dragged off by the MPs for a court-martial or whatever. Hilarious!"

Indeed, Zheng Guozong’s gift for gossip was unmatched. Entertaining perhaps, but it was lunchtime, and both Wang Chen and Li Changhuai grew impatient as their stomachs rumbled.

Zheng Guozong was so caught up in his story, he almost forgot he was supposed to be getting food as well. He was about to launch into another tale about how he and Brother Hui had charmed two soldiers into giving them cigarettes when he suddenly sniffed the air and asked, "What’s that awful smell?"

Wang Chen smelled it too, covered his nose, and said, "What’s with the chemical stink? It’s terrible!"

It was a harsh, chemical odor, distinctly different from the smell of corpses, and made everyone uncomfortable.

"Ugh, what a buzzkill. I’ll catch up with you later," Zheng Guozong called over his shoulder.

Wang Chen didn’t reply, afraid that if he opened his mouth, Zheng Guozong would find an excuse to keep talking. He simply nodded and lowered his head—just as, not far off, there was a thunderous explosion!

Wang Chen didn’t even bother to look up; he dropped flat to the ground. Li Changhuai did the same. Zheng Guozong, less lucky, had his food tray in hand, which spilled all over him, covering him in soup and rice.

"What—an explosion?!" Captain Cao Baoquan, escorting the two women to the temporary holding room near the command center, heard the blast. He quickly confirmed over the radio that the field kitchens had exploded. Young as he was, he hadn’t become an MP captain by chance—his face hardened with a ruthless edge. He immediately drew his gun and pressed it to the forehead of one of the women. "Talk! Who are your accomplices? What are you planning?"

The women said nothing, their previous hysterics gone. Now they glared and clenched their teeth in silence. It was obvious—they’d created a distraction so their accomplices could bomb the field kitchens.

Bang—Cao Baoquan didn’t hesitate. This was martial law in extraordinary times. He shot a chunk out of the older woman’s arm.

"Help! The army’s killing people—" The other woman didn’t even finish her cry before Cao Baoquan blew off half her ear with another precise shot.

The screaming woman froze, realizing she could hear nothing but a shrill ringing. She reached for her ear, then recoiled as if shocked, staring at her bloody fingers. Trying to scream again, she was punched in the solar plexus by a quick-thinking soldier, silencing her.

The older woman simply sat down, muttering prayers. She looked like a martyr awaiting execution.

Cao Baoquan wasn’t an interrogation expert and felt some frustration with such zealots. He knew his duty: to pry open their mouths and uncover their plans. At the very least, he needed to know who was behind this, and how they’d managed to spread the pathogen so widely and quickly.

The pathogen itself wasn’t as frightening as the people spreading it. If they couldn’t uncover the organization and personnel behind it, there would always be a risk of new outbreaks, even if the current one was contained.

That was the real danger.

Even for a front-line officer like Cao Baoquan, information was limited. He knew only that the initial outbreak traced back to Melbourne, Australia, and within seven days, cases appeared worldwide, spreading rapidly.

China was in the second wave of outbreaks. Thanks to its military and political system, China’s emergency response was among the world’s best; there would be no delays like the National Guard’s infamous tardiness during certain foreign disasters. Thus, within twenty-four hours of the Harbin outbreak, the infection was contained and refugee camps established.

Cao Baoquan wasn’t responsible for clearing the kitchen wreckage, but dealing with cult-related disturbances was his duty. The more the disturbances escalated, the more he had to prove his worth if he wanted to keep his uniform.

Watching his men handcuff the women to folding chairs, Cao Baoquan lit a cigarette and stared at them, thinking hard. The virus had spread far faster in Harbin than anticipated; in just a few hours, the city was a dead zone. The cultists, being reclusive and often living alone, had suffered fewer casualties and thus made up a higher proportion of survivors at the airport. But why were they still causing trouble, again and again? Did they want to turn the place into a wasteland? Didn’t they fear the authorities might decide Harbin wasn’t worth saving and just nuke the area clean? What good would that do the cultists?

Or were the attackers just pawns, themselves turned into zombies after spreading the virus? In any case, he had to make these two talk.

In wartime, there were no civil rights.

That thought flashed through Cao Baoquan’s mind. The next moment, he made his decision.

Interrogation by force.

While Cao Baoquan burned with fury, Wang Chen faced even greater trouble. The burning shells of the field kitchens were not far off, and his eyebrows drooped miserably as he pulled back the impulsive Li Changhuai. "You can’t help them. We need to go," Wang Chen said, shaking his head.

Li Changhuai, confused, protested, "Why? People are calling for help! Some are still alive!"

"Just listen to me—let’s go!" Wang Chen didn’t have time to explain that the wounded from the blast would soon die and turn, attacking the living. The military would likely arrive and shoot anything that moved, to prevent further escalation.

But sometimes stubbornness can be a virtue. Li Changhuai ignored Wang Chen, broke free, and ran toward the kitchens.

Wang Chen rolled his eyes and chased after him, with Zheng Guozong following in his effeminate, flustered gait.

Three field kitchens had exploded, setting two more on fire. Smoke filled the area, burning eyes and choking the air with a strange, pungent odor. The epicenter was an inferno, leaving no survivors—body parts were strewn everywhere. Fragments of dishes and pots were scattered around. Because the military and civilians were supplied separately, most of the dead were civilians; only a few soldiers were injured.

Unable to approach the hottest center, the three could only help on the periphery. Li Changhuai used a mason’s hammer to check the fallen; those obviously dead received a quick blow to the head to prevent turning. Wang Chen and Zheng Guozong dragged the wounded and safe bodies to a clearer area, removing flammable debris to prevent further explosions.

Their efforts lightened the load on the few soldiers and civilians already helping. In a few minutes, they’d dealt with over twenty bodies and almost ten wounded. Wang Chen found himself unexpectedly energized—at first he and Zheng Guozong could only carry one person together, but now Wang Chen was lifting over a hundred kilos on his own. Was this the effect of the drugs Hu Chun had given him that morning? The results were almost too immediate and powerful.

He had just placed a dead soldier, along with his salvaged rifle, pistol, and ammunition, in the temporary morgue when Zheng Guozong suddenly shrieked, "Look!"

Wang Chen turned, following Zheng Guozong’s pointing finger, and felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him. Every hair on his body stood on end.

What the hell was this!

Figures with twisted limbs emerged from the smoke, lurching as always, driven by the same hunger for flesh—zombies had appeared! It had to be that the dead at the blast center had turned. But these were different: though they staggered, their pace was terrifyingly fast, faster than a running man!

At that speed, you couldn’t call them zombies—they were more like living corpses.

Wang Chen thought he’d seen it all, that he no longer feared death or zombies. But as the fast-moving zombies charged him, he discovered, to his dismay, that he was paralyzed with terror.

Yes, sudden, overwhelming fear gripped him, and he couldn’t move.

What’s worse, he was unarmed—not even a knife, unlike Li Changhuai.

Who could have imagined that, in a heavily guarded airport, a simple lunch run would end with a new type of zombie?

The survivors near the kitchens, still carrying out the wounded, were caught off guard and mauled. Their screams echoed in everyone’s ears. Their sacrifice delayed the zombies, but at least a dozen broke away and charged straight at Wang Chen.

The lead zombie was less than ten meters away, its charred, ruined face unrecognizable, but its gaping maw and white teeth were clear as day. Wang Chen was still frozen. Only Zheng Guozong managed a scream and ran.

He could hardly be blamed. Zheng Guozong had shown courage in helping, but he wasn’t a soldier. Facing a dozen fast, shuffling new zombies? No way. As he ran, he tried to pull Wang Chen along, but Wang Chen was too stiff to move; Zheng Guozong himself was nearly paralyzed with fear, so just managing a tug was already loyal enough. In seconds, he was rolling and crawling away like a rabbit chased by dogs.

With Zheng Guozong gone, Wang Chen remained rooted in place. Li Changhuai, gripping his hammer, stood protectively in front of the wounded. He’d insisted on helping, and now, unable to abandon Wang Chen or the severely injured, his single-mindedness became a virtue. If Wang Chen was going to fight the zombies with his bare hands, then for Li Changhuai, there was only one thought left:

Fight to the end!

But the vehicle-mounted machine gun didn’t give him the chance.

Tat-tat-tat-tat!

Just as the zombie was about to grab Wang Chen, its body went rigid, a finger-sized hole appearing in its head. The skull blew apart, brains splattering everywhere, the stench overpowering even the smoke.

Before Wang Chen could react, Li Changhuai vomited.