novelsite Chapter 10 Aftershocks of the Killing
Chapter 10 Aftershocks of the Killing
July 14, 02:34.
The curtains on the second floor were lifted half an inch. Zhang Xun stared at the street, his fingers unconsciously stroking the telescope tube.
There were fewer infected people than during the day, but their movement patterns had changed. They were no longer wandering randomly, but slowly converging in the same direction—north, towards the government building. Twelve, fifteen, the number was slowly increasing. They didn't attack each other, didn't fight, they just walked stiffly northward, as if connected by an invisible thread.
Zhang Xun put down his binoculars and typed in his phone's notes app: April 14, 02:34. Infected individuals are gathering northward.
This is just observation. Not a conclusion. He needs more data to determine whether this is a coincidence or a trend.
But that unease was very real. Regularity implies change, and change in the end times is usually bad.
For the next two hours, he stayed on the second floor, staring at the street swallowed by darkness. Lin Xiaotang and Qin Wei slept on the bed behind him, their breathing light and steady.
Only after confirming that the procession outside the window had completely disappeared into the northern buildings did he tiptoe downstairs. He smelled of blood. He'd picked it up at the archives last night. He rubbed his fingertips; the sticky sensation still lingered—the resistance of a blade cutting into flesh, the burst of bloody stench. He didn't dare look down.
04: 17.
Zhang Xun sat on the folding bed on the first floor. The plastic film on the mattress was still on, and it itched as it rubbed against his thighs. He didn't move. He didn't want to make a sound.
A sliver of gray light peeked through the gap in the curtains. Qin Wei sat on a chair nearby, wrapped in a dark gray windbreaker, gazing wearily out the window.
In the corner, Lin Xiaotang curled up next to Su Nian, with a rabbit doll tucked between them. All three of them were downstairs. Zhang Xun didn't know when they had come down. Perhaps he was too focused on the stickiness on his hands and the lingering sweet, fishy smell, or perhaps the memories of last night and his observations from earlier were intertwined in his mind; in any case, he missed the sound of them coming downstairs.
There are birds chirping outside the window.
Zhang Xun couldn't tell if it was an ordinary bird or a mutated one, but the sound reminded him of the morning before the disaster, of riding his electric bike to the wholesale market to buy goods, of soy milk and fried dough sticks. He suppressed the thought. He couldn't think about it. Thinking about it made him weak.
A slight creak came from beside the folding bed. Qin Wei walked over and sat down next to him. She didn't say anything.
The two remained silent for a long time, so long that Zhang Xun thought she had fallen asleep, or perhaps he had fallen asleep.
Zhang Xun placed his hands on his knees, palms down, suppressing the slight trembling. He sniffed between his fingers, then lowered them.
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Qin Wei said softly.
"Hmm," Zhang Xun replied with only one word.
Qin Wei's hand covered his. It was very light. Cold, but steady. Her fingers had thin calluses. Zhang Xun's hand moved slightly, turning back to hold her hand, and their fingers slowly intertwined, their fingers locked together.
Zhang Xun glanced at her. In the dim light, Qin Wei's features were soft, a stark contrast to the cold, aloof emergency room doctor he knew. He wanted to say thank you, he wanted to say so much, but something was stuck in his throat.
The sky was beginning to lighten. The birds outside the window were chirping even more loudly.
Zhang Xun didn't know how many days had passed since the disaster. He only knew that the world was still deteriorating, with no signs of improvement. They could only continue to wait, continue to make decisions amidst uncertainty.
---
The feeling of hunger slowly crept back.
Su Nian opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the height of the ceiling—much higher than the low eaves of the rooftop, but lower than the ceiling of the police dormitory. An unfamiliar angle. Unfamiliar light seeped in through the gaps in the curtains, cutting out a patch of grayish-white light.
She took a few seconds to recall where she was. Xunye Outdoor Store. Zhang Xun's store. She had been carried down from the archives rooftop, through the infected neighborhood, for how long? She couldn't remember. She only remembered that his shoulders were thin, but his bones were strong, and he walked steadily with every step.
She took a few seconds to confirm she was still alive. Breathing. Heartbeat. The dull ache in her knee. The new bandage on her wrist. These sensations strung together to form evidence of survival.
Then she sensed someone beside her.
Lin Xiaotang was curled up, her rabbit doll nestled in her arms, fast asleep. Su Nian didn't move. She observed the girl—round face, slightly curly hair, and a slight furrow in her brow even in her sleep. She remembered the bowl of porridge from last night; it was better than any meal she'd had at the SWAT team's canteen. Not because of the taste, but because of the temperature—because someone had specially heated up a bowl for her.
Su Nian prepared to get up. Her feet had barely touched the ground when Lin Xiaotang woke up.
She rubbed her eyes, one second, two seconds, then, as if suddenly remembering something, she sat up abruptly. "You're awake? Are you hungry? I'll go heat up some porridge—"
"No need," Su Nian said. But her stomach was growling.
Lin Xiaotang had already gotten up: "You sit down first, I'll be right back."
Su Nian watched her figure disappear at the top of the stairs, stunned for a few seconds. She looked down at herself—the clothes she was wearing weren't hers, they were someone else's pajamas, with some cartoon patterns, probably Lin Xiaotang's.
The wound on her knee had already been dressed, and the bandaging was done professionally, typical of the emergency room. There was also a new bandage on her wrist; she didn't know when it had been applied, probably from a scrape she sustained while being carried down.
Lin Xiaotang returned with a bowl of hot porridge, still steaming. Su Nian took it and took a sip. The porridge was a little hot, but the warm sensation slid down her throat to her stomach, suddenly making her eyes sting. She remembered her last few days on the rooftop; the kettle was empty, and she had licked the dead skin off her lips, imagining the taste of water. Now the water was in the bowl, along with rice and salt.
"Did you do this?" Su Nian asked.
"Um."
"It's better than what I eat in the canteen," Su Nian said, taking another sip. This was the truth. The SWAT team's canteen served communal meals, enough to fill you up but not good quality. This bowl of porridge was specially cooked for her; she could tell from the taste.
Lin Xiaotang paused for a moment, then smiled. Her lips curved into a smile, her dimples deepened, and her eyes narrowed into slits. This was the first time Su Nian had ever seen this girl smile, and also the first time Lin Xiaotang had ever smiled in the apocalypse.
Su Nian watched her smile, and her own lips twitched slightly. It was a faint smile, but it was definitely a smile. She wasn't used to this expression, and her muscles felt a little stiff.
Lin Xiaotang suddenly asked, "Weren't you afraid when you were alone on the rooftop?"
Su Nian paused in her porridge-drinking. Fear. Of course she was afraid. But there was something else more intense, something more persistent, something more draining.
"Fear," she said, "but more than that...wait."
"What are you waiting for?"
Su Nian didn't answer, continuing to eat her porridge. She was waiting for a voice, a response, a signal proving she was still in the human network. She got it, but she didn't know how to explain it.
---
Zhang Xun got up from the folding bed and stretched his neck. His back was itchy from rubbing against the plastic sheeting all night. He resisted the urge to scratch and walked to the window, glancing at the street first.
The infected people were still wandering around, though fewer than last night, probably drawn to other areas by the noise. He counted them; there were eleven or twelve within his field of vision, moving slowly. He noted this down, and as he turned, he saw Qin Wei approaching, handing him a glass of warm water.
"Drink some water."
Zhang Xun took the cup, drank half of it, and then held it in his hand. The warm water seeped through the enamel and into his palm—a very real feeling. "Last night…"
Qin Wei didn't answer. She paused, her gaze falling on the newly unfolded folding bed beside her. "This is where you sleep, right?"
"Hmm." Zhang Xun pointed, "We haven't put on the bedding yet."
Qin Wei frowned: "Let's change it later. The folding bed is too hard; my back will hurt if I sleep on it for too long."
Zhang Xun looked at her, a smile curving his lips: "Dr. Qin is starting to care about my back?"
Qin Wei glared at him but didn't argue. She simply said, "I'll go check Su Nian's wound." She turned and walked towards the sofa. Su Nian had already finished her porridge and was looking out the window at the street with a SWAT officer's scanning gaze.
"How is the wound?" Qin Wei squatted down and gently peeled back the edges of the gauze with her fingers.
"It doesn't hurt anymore," Su Nian said.
After examining the wound, Qin Wei re-bandaged it: "There are no signs of infection, but the dressing needs to be changed. You can't get out of bed today."
Su Nian nodded. Her knees did need more rest, but she had noticed the looseness in the back door hinges—three minutes of observation would be enough for her to complete the assessment.
Zhang Xun walked over, and Su Nian looked up at him. They stared at each other for a few seconds, a subtle tension hanging in the air. Zhang Xun remembered carrying her down; her arms were wrapped around his neck, cold but steady. Su Nian remembered his shoulders—thin, but strong, each step firm and steady.
"The hinges on the back door," Su Nian said, "need to be replaced."
Zhang Xun paused for a moment, then smiled. This was the first time he had truly smiled in the apocalypse—not just a polite twitch of the lips, but a smile that made his eyes crinkle. "Roger," he said. "Come and change when you can walk again."
Su Nian looked at him, her lips twitching slightly: "Okay."
Lin Xiaotang stood to the side, watching this scene. She didn't speak, but there was something complex in her eyes—not hostility, but a kind of coordinate adjustment. She needed to reposition herself in this space because a new reference point had appeared.
Zhang Xun noticed, but he didn't explain. He simply walked to the window, glanced at the sky outside, and said, "Today... we still need to close the window."
Nobody knows when it will open. Maybe it never will. They can only keep waiting and making decisions based on guesswork.
---
Qin Wei was organizing the first-aid kit when she noticed the alcohol was almost gone. She made a mental note of this, planning to discuss an alternative with Zhang Xun that afternoon. She still had iodine, but it was too irritating and couldn't be used on large wounds.
Lin Xiaotang was making lunch. Today she added canned vegetables, enough for four people. She counted the spoons to make sure everyone got a spoonful of meat. She broke up compressed biscuits and soaked them in the porridge to thicken it and make the hungry stomachs feel more satisfied.
Su Nian lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, occasionally asking Lin Xiaotang a few questions. About the shop's layout, the stockpiling of supplies, the reinforcement of the roller shutters and the back door. It wasn't an interrogation, but a professional assessment. She needed to know the strengths and weaknesses of this location; this was her way of relaxing.
Zhang Xun sat on the folding bed, organizing the intelligence from last night: Su Nian's call, the location of the archives, the distribution of the infected, and the evacuation routes. He typed in his phone's memo app, the screen brightness turned down to the lowest setting, black text, dark mode.
Su Nian suddenly asked, "Do you know how this disease is transmitted?"
Zhang Xun and Qin Wei both looked at her. They had discussed this issue, but hadn't reached a conclusion.
"There's a rumor within the SWAT team," Su Nian continued, "that it's airborne transmission with a long incubation period. But none of my team members know the specifics of how to prevent it, or when it will stop." She paused, "When I was on the rooftop, there was wind, but I didn't get infected. This means that as long as it's not close-range droplet transmission, it should be fine."
"What if you get bitten?" Lin Xiaotang suddenly interjected, her voice very soft. "In the movies... getting bitten changes everything."
All three looked at her. Lin Xiaotang lowered her head, twisting the hem of her clothes with her fingers: "I was just... thinking randomly."
"I don't know," Qin Wei said, her voice honest. "There are patients in the hospital who have been bitten, but we haven't observed any follow-up. It could be that the incubation period hasn't ended yet, or it could be... it really can't be transmitted through bodily fluids."
Su Nian was silent for a moment, then spoke, her voice even lower than before: "That night... I didn't just go to deliver the bow."
Zhang Xun's finger stopped on the screen.
"On April 7th," Su Nian said, looking at the ground, "our team received a mission to escort a batch of archives from the archives to an underground bunker in the military district. It's called 'Operation Spark'—the government is afraid of system crashes, so they want to back up core data like citizens' identities, medical records, and supply depots to a safe place, so that if the city is destroyed, it can be rebuilt in the future."
She looked up at Zhang Xun: "That's why I'm in the archives. The mission failed, the virus broke out prematurely, and we were cut off from our escape route. I covered their retreat so they could go first... and then I got trapped on the rooftop."
The room remained quiet for a long time. Lin Xiaotang opened her eyes wide, while Qin Wei frowned slightly.
"What about those files now?" Zhang asked.
"It's all gone," Su Nian said. "The transport trucks either broke down or went missing. The box I carried on my back... it's gone too. I only remember fragments: the coordinates of the supply depot, the locations of a few air-raid shelters." She gave a bitter smile. "I was trying to protect these things, but I almost got myself killed in the process."
Qin Wei sighed softly: "So the government knew something bad would happen all along."
"I knew a little," Su Nian said, "but I didn't know it was this serious. Otherwise, they wouldn't have only sent a small team to move the files."
Another silence fell. Lin Xiaotang stared at the floor, her fingers unconsciously stroking the rabbit doll's ears. Zhang Xun continued typing, adding "Project Fire" and "Air Raid Shelter Coordinates" to his memo.
"Then..." Lin Xiaotang looked up, her voice still soft, but filled with a persistent worry, "What about those things themselves? Their nails... wouldn't scratches also..."
She asked, "In the movies... getting bitten changes you, so what about getting scratched?"
"Unsure," Zhang Xun typed, the screen light illuminating his thoughtful face, "but assuming it will. All wounds must be disinfected, all contact must be avoided."
This is their consensus: when uncertain, make the worst-case scenario assumption. Airborne transmission is certain, but it's unknown when it will stop, or even if it will stop at all. Transmission through bodily fluids is "common sense," but it comes from movies rather than observation. Between these two uncertainties, they choose the more stringent precautions.
No one knows the truth. Maybe some do, but they can't access it. They can only continue to guess, continue to wait, and continue to live in uncertainty.
The four were each doing their own thing, but a subtle tension hung in the air. For Lin Xiaotang, it was the fear of "whether being bitten would change her" and the uncertainty about the future. For Qin Wei, it was the continuation of the observation window; the data was never enough. For Su Nian, it was yet another cycle of waiting, a state she was already very familiar with. For Zhang Xun, it was the continuation of his promises—he had promised Lin Xiaotang to come back, and he had promised Su Nian to save her; these promises needed to be fulfilled amidst the uncertainty.
During lunch, Lin Xiaotang suddenly asked, "Are we... going to keep the windows closed all the time?"
Qin Wei said, "I don't know. Maybe it will open someday, maybe it never will."
Lin Xiaotang kept her head down and ate, not asking any more questions. But Su Nian noticed that her hands were trembling—slightly, almost imperceptibly, but definitely there. This was the aftershock of prolonged stress, a symptom Su Nian was very familiar with. She didn't say anything, but simply typed on her phone: "I'll work the night shift tonight."
Zhang Xun shook his head: "You haven't recovered yet."
Su Nian: "I stayed on the rooftop for five days. I know my limits."
Zhang Xun looked at her, a certain determination in his eyes. But Su Nian's gaze was harder, like that of a SWAT officer, brooking no argument. In the end, Zhang Xun compromised, but he added a condition: "Two people per shift. I'll go with you."
---
While Qin Wei was changing Su Nian's dressing, Su Nian suddenly asked, "That Lin Xiaotang..."
Qin Wei paused for a moment.
"She likes Zhang Xun?" Su Nian said. It wasn't a question, but a statement. She had observed him closely: his gaze, the distance between them, and the attentive way he warmed his food and handed him a spoon.
Qin Wei didn't answer, but continued bandaging. She wrapped the gauze around and around, her movements steady.
Su Nian said, "I asked her, and she didn't deny it."
After Qin Wei finished bandaging the wound and put the gauze away, she stood up, her back to Su Nian, and said, "Ask her about her matter."
Su Nian looked at her: "And you?"
Qin Wei didn't answer, but instead carried the first-aid kit towards the stairwell. She paused at the top, her back to Su Nian, and her voice came from the shadows: "Ten years."
Su Nian said, "Even longer than his neighbor?"
Qin Wei turned her head to look at Su Nian. Light streamed in from the window, dividing her face into light and shadow. "What do you want to say?"
Su Nian said, "It's nothing. Just...curious."
"Our relationship," Qin Wei said, her voice flat, "is not what you think."
"What's the relationship?"
Su Nian was taken aback: "What ten years?"
"I know her." Qin Wei said, then went upstairs.
Su Nian lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Ten years. Zhang Xun and Qin Wei had known each other for ten years. And her? Two years ago, she first walked into "Xunye Outdoors," wanting to buy a set of mountaineering equipment. He recommended suitable backpacks, sleeping bags, and sleeping mats, neither pushing the most expensive nor offering the cheapest options. She appreciated this straightforward professionalism.
After that, she would come every few months. She would buy headlamps, trekking poles, and waterproof bags. He remembered that she preferred lightweight gear and never asked her "when are you going hiking?" He would just slip her an extra pair of shoelaces at the checkout or remind her that a certain rain jacket was on sale. She wasn't good at small talk, and he didn't force her. Over two years, they probably didn't talk for more than five days in total, but it was more comfortable than her five-year relationship with her colleagues.
Two years. Ten meetings? Twenty? She couldn't count.
Qin Wei had ten years. And Lin Xiaotang? Su Nian recalled the way that girl looked at Zhang Xun, that dependence and trust that seemed to grow from the very core of her being. That couldn't be cultivated in two years; it took over a decade—from childhood, from adolescence, from every morning and night she was cared for.
Su Nian closed her eyes. She was too tired to calculate anymore. But the word "ten years" was like a seed, planted in her half-asleep consciousness.
---
At six o'clock in the evening, Zhang Xun was observing the street through binoculars on the second-floor platform. Su Nian followed him up.
Unable to climb the stairs, she gripped the handrail on the inside of the staircase, using her arms to support her body as she slowly made her way up—without putting any weight on her injured leg, her movements were surprisingly agile for someone injured. Zhang Xun, seeing her, paused, then asked, "How did you get up here?"
"I managed to pull myself up." Su Nian walked to his side. "Let me see."
Zhang Xun handed her the binoculars. Su Nian scanned the area, then stopped in one direction: "Over there, on the third floor, someone's moving."
Zhang Xun leaned closer to look—there was indeed a blurry figure behind the curtains, moving very lightly, not the stiff, swaying motion of an infected person. It was a person.
"They're not infected," Su Nian said. "Infected people don't hide behind windows."
Zhang Xun nodded and typed: "The others."
"Many," Su Nian said, "but not everyone... is safe."
Zhang Xun looked at her: "You mean...humans are more dangerous than infected people?"
Su Nian paused for a moment, then nodded: "With more people, some will try to control the water and food. Not yet, but it will happen."
The two stood in the twilight, gazing at the ruins of the city. The light was orange-red, casting long shadows of the infected, like some kind of ancient mural.
Su Nian suddenly asked, "What are you planning to do with Lin Xiaotang?"
Zhang Xun's fingers froze on the binoculars.
"She cares about you a lot," Su Nian said. "Do you know that?"
Zhang Xun didn't answer. He looked at the figure behind the curtain on the third floor. Was that person watching them too? Or were they just hiding in the shadows, waiting for nightfall?
"You have a responsibility towards her," Su Nian said. Her voice was flat, not accusing, but stating a fact. It was like a SWAT officer's conclusion based on observation.
Zhang Xun turned his head and looked at Su Nian. Su Nian also looked at him, her eyes calm, but there was something indescribable in them—not jealousy, but something more complex, about the experience of trust and betrayal.
Zhang Xun typed: "What are you saying?"
Su Nian said, "What I meant was—she trusts you. Don't let her down."
Zhang Xun said, "I don't know." His voice was very soft, but loud enough for Su Nian to hear.
Su Nian nodded, then turned and walked towards the stairwell. Her knees still ached, but she could manage. She needed to leave this space and let Zhang Xun face the problem alone.
Watching her departing figure, Zhang Xun felt a complex mix of emotions—gratitude, confusion, and a little… something indescribable. He remembered Lin Xiaotang's words before he left: "You promised me you'd come back." He remembered Su Nian's voice on the rooftop: "You really came." He remembered the warmth of Qin Wei's hand clasped with his.
Three people, three voices, three ways of waiting for him.
---
Two o'clock in the morning.
Zhang Xun sat on the folding bed by the window, Su Nian's backpack spread out on his lap. The zipper pull snapped, and the metal bounced off the back of his hand, leaving a white mark.
He poured out the kettle. It was empty, the limescale at the bottom smelling metallic, and the pouring made a hissing sound, like sandpaper on a high platform. The compressed biscuit wrapper was crumpled into a ball, empty, with teeth marks along the edges, as if it had been repeatedly bitten. A roll of bandage, half-used, with blackened edges, was a hardened lump from repeated use and drying. A spare battery, its electrodes covered his hand in green rust.
No food. No water. These were all the supplies she had for her last few days on the rooftop.
Zhang Xun's finger hovered over the wrapper. The expression on Su Nian's face as she drank her porridge—sunken eyes, her Adam's apple moving slowly as she swallowed—wasn't from hunger; it was from dehydration, where her body craved liquid more than solid food. His fingers tightened, the crumpled paper deforming in his palm.
He reached into the inner pocket. His fingertips touched paper, rough, thick archival paper with a brittle, burnt edge.
He pulled it out. Bloodstains. The paper had been soaked in blood and dried, the edges stuck together. He didn't dare tear it forcefully, so he scraped it apart little by little with his fingernail.
Suddenly, a grinding sound came from the sofa behind her. Lin Xiaotang rolled over, and her rabbit plushie fell to the ground with a soft thud.
Zhang Xun froze, his right hand instinctively reaching for his waist.
He stared at the rabbit doll for three seconds. This wasn't the archives. This was the second floor of the shop.
He turned the pages one by one by the dim light from the window.
The first page is only half intact, titled "Distribution Map of Emergency Supplies Reserve Points in Lanshan City." Most of the address below has been burned away, and only the words "suburban air-raid shelter" are legible. The second page is even more tattered, with the words "Spark Project" followed by gibberish. There are handwritten annotations at the bottom of the page, which are covered by bloodstains, and only fragments of "E series" and "individually packed" can be seen.
The third page is a relatively complete "Special Physical Condition Personnel Screening List," a table with names, ages, addresses, and blood types, followed by a string of codes. However, the page number is "7," and pages 1 to 6 are missing. The ink is pure black, and the paper is very new, clearly different from the yellowed paper of the previous two pages—when he looked at it at an angle against the light, he could feel the unevenness on the back of the paper, indicating that it had been printed recently.
Zhang Xun put the pages together. The skipped page numbers, the different papers, the mixture of burns and bloodstains—this indicated chaos, possibly caused by an explosion, or perhaps the documents were never from the same batch to begin with.
He couldn't be sure.
Outside the window, a bird cried out, sharp and piercing, like an alarm.
Zhang Xun thought of Bai Mo: If she were still alive—
The bird's call came a second time, even closer, as if it were coming from the air conditioner's outdoor unit.
He corrected: If she is still alive and not infected—
The birds suddenly stopped. Dead silence.
He finally thought: if she were alive, and still her.
He turned into the room, his gaze sweeping over the three sleeping people.
Lin Xiaotang curled up in the corner of the sofa, clutching her rabbit plush toy again. It had fallen to the floor and was covered in dust, which she unconsciously rubbed against her face. Her mouth was slightly open, and she occasionally let out a soft snore. She always slept like this, completely unguarded. He remembered what she had said to him before he left: "You promised me you would come back." He had promised, and he had come back, but that promise needed to be kept every day.
Qin Wei slept on the other side, her posture upright, maintaining a certain professional alertness even in her sleep. She turned over, her fingertips twitching in her sleep, as if trying to grasp something. Ten years had passed, from that medical school elective to now, and she had never asked him for any promises, but her waiting itself was a promise. He didn't know how to respond, so he simply remained there every time.
Su Nian lay on her side on the sofa, one hand resting on her waist, remaining alert even in her sleep. When Zhang Xun looked over, she suddenly opened her eyes.
"What time is it?" The voice was hoarse, but there was no sign of sleepiness.
"Two seventeen," Zhang Xun said.
Su Nian didn't reply, her eyes closing again, but her fingers tapped lightly twice on her waist—a SWAT signal to confirm safety. When he carried her down, her arms were wrapped around his neck, cold but steady. She said, "Let's go home," but she had no home; this shop was merely a temporary refuge. Her promise was functional, "You save me, I'll help you reinforce the back door," but he sensed something deeper beneath, something he hadn't yet deciphered.
Three people. Three promises. Three responsibilities that are not entirely compatible.
Zhang Xun suddenly felt a weight. He picked up his backpack to hang it back on the chair, but his hand sank as the strap dug into his palm—it wasn't the backpack that was heavy, but the rolled-up black bandages, the few pieces of blood-stained paper, and the empty water bottle inside that were sinking down.
He reached for the drawer. He'd opened the drawer under the counter before, on the day Qin Wei arrived, when he'd hesitated about going to the western suburbs. Now he opened it again, his fingers rummaging through the clutter—screwdrivers, tape, spare batteries—before finally touching the dark gray card.
He pulled it out and traced it again and again in the darkness with his thumb.
Dark gray, matte finish, with worn edges. The front is printed with "Bai Mo, Investigative Reporter, Lanshan City Daily," while the back bears her neat handwriting: "Protect her, and protect yourself."
He remembered that afternoon on April 7th. She was wearing a dark gray trench coat, neatly cinched at the waist, her hair loosely tied up, and thin-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She pushed her business card towards him, saying, "The person inside," and "I'll keep it a secret," with a weariness in her eyes that he couldn't understand at the time.
He had initially assumed "she" referred to Lin Xiaotang. Now, looking at the three sleeping figures and the fragments of files in his backpack, he was no longer certain.
The birds outside the window stopped chirping.
Zhang Xun pressed the business card against his chest, feeling the edge of the paper digging into his skin. This was the only person who had mentioned "ZF" and "secret," the only one who might know what these fragments meant—if she were still alive, if she were willing to tell him.
He hadn't gone to see her yet. Every day after Qin Wei arrived, a new reason came up to postpone it—Qin Wei was here, so he had to watch the shop; there were too many infected people, so he couldn't go out; Su Nian was trapped, so he had to go rescue her. The reasons were all true, but there was something deeper beneath: he was afraid that if he found her, he would discover that she had changed, or was dead, or wasn't even the person he remembered.
Zhang Xun stuffed the business card back into the drawer, not into his wallet. He needed it to be within easy reach, but also something he could easily give up.
Zhang Xun picked up the walkie-talkie and tuned it to channel 3, the frequency Su Nian used when she kept watch. It was white noise, a hissing sound, like some kind of eternal background noise. He didn't tune to any other channels, nor did he try to search the western suburbs.
It wasn't the right time yet. Su Nian's injuries hadn't healed, Lin Xiaotang's condition was still unstable, Qin Wei needed rest, and he himself—his hands were still trembling, the aftershocks of the killing hadn't subsided. The direction in which the infected were gathering was unknown, the fragments of the files were undecipherable, he wasn't even sure if Bai Mo knew the answer, and he wasn't prepared to face the next promise.
But he noted down the fragments of the files, the infected person's unusual movements, Su Nian's empty backpack and crumpled wrapping paper, the worn-out business card in the drawer, and the only person who might know the answer—if she was still alive, if she was willing to talk, if she knew more than he imagined.
Tomorrow, or the day after, or at some point when the weight becomes unbearable, he will go to the western suburbs. He will go with questions, with caution, and with the awareness that he may not be able to return, to find the only person who could tell him what these fragments mean—or discover that she knew nothing about the "Fire Seed Project," or discover that she is already dead, or discover that the truth is more terrifying than he imagined.
This is his pattern. Not a strong person, but someone who never stops preparing, never stops responding, even if the way he responds is by waiting, touching a business card, or bearing the weight of uncertainty alone in the dead of night.
Zhang Xun leaned against the window, listening to the breathing of the three people and the white noise from the walkie-talkie.
He closed his eyes, but didn't sleep. He was waiting, waiting for dawn, waiting for an opportune moment to act, waiting for the moment when he was ready to face the next promise—or the next disappointment.
The business card in the drawer silently awaits to be taken out again in the darkness.
[End of Chapter Ten]