On January 20, 2013, Zhang Xiaoqiang woke up at 7:30 AM to his phone's alarm. After getting up, he went to the living room and checked the supplies that were left. More than half of the cabbage he'd risked his life to obtain five days ago was still there, along with four or five pounds of rice. The cigarettes ran out yesterday, and this experienced smoker felt very uncomfortable without them.
There was a loud bang from the security door.
For the past five days, the zombies outside had kept battering the iron gate. They were so hungry for flesh and blood that they kept guarding his door like loyal dogs, never stopping their attack.
The strong, unpleasant smell of decay inside had grown stronger, but Zhang Xiaoqiang had grown accustomed to it. Sometimes he thought that only this smell was normal. The past was slowly disappearing, and only the basic instinct to survive remained.
He walked into the kitchen, turned on the stove, and poured yesterday's leftover pork rice into the wok. He added chopped cabbage and water, brought it to a boil, then divided it into two portions—one for breakfast, one for dinner.
After breakfast, Zhang Xiaqiang walked to the computer room window like he always did. He watched the zombies below, looked at the highway in the distance, and stared at the heavy, dark sky. The dark clouds felt cold, and it was hard to breathe.
He wished for a convoy to suddenly appear at the end of the highway. He wished for those camouflaged trucks to carry rows of PLA soldiers. He wished for those soldiers to sweep away the world's despair with their steel rifles. He wished for those soldiers to drive the putrid zombies back to hell and restore his former life.
Fantasies are just that—fantasies. Zombies are still everywhere, and Zhang Xiaoqiang is still worried about food. When he returned to the living room, he crossed his arms over his head, getting ready for today's exercise session. After being homebound for so long, his body had gradually grown weak. To survive, he had to get much fitter. Even the smallest improvement would be better than nothing.
"Forty-seven"... "Forty-eight"... "Fifty"..."
"Phew!" Zhang Xiaoqiang breathed heavily, his hands resting on the floor. He felt very tired. It had been a long time since he had trained as intensely as he was doing now. The thought of zombies lurking outside and the dwindling food supply at home made him take a deep breath. He started again, his hands clasped over his head.
He threw the eight-pound hammer into the corner and grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his face. After two thousand jumps and five hundred swings with the hammer, he was very tired. His breakfast had mostly been digested, and his stomach began to growl again.
Zhang Xiaqiang sat on the sofa and thought about how to deal with the six zombies outside. He'd left his shield outside the door, and without any defensive gear, he couldn't fight them off. The security door swung out, making it impossible to barricade it from the inside. Is he planning to open a crack to take them down one by one? Even though he had become stronger from days of eating only dry food, it was impossible for him to face six alone.
Zhang Xiaoqiang was worried. He was looking for a solution. He buried his face in his hands. His fingers dug into his scalp. He thought of every possible idea, but still couldn't come up with anything. He saw the Huangguoshu cigarette pack on the coffee table and grabbed it, shook it, and remembered that he'd run out yesterday. He looked at the cigarette butts in the ashtray and found a piece of white paper. He unwrapped the butts, put the tobacco leaves on the paper, rolled them into a strip, and lit them with a lighter he'd gotten.
He found a lighter, lit it, took a drag, and leaned back on the sofa, staring blankly at the landline phone. How long had it been since he paid the landline bill? Three months? Four? That pretty girl from the telecom office must have turned into a zombie by now. He had more than 80 yuan in unused mobile credit, but he didn't use it. He gave the unused credit back to the telecom company. Wasn't he losing a lot of money? His mind was filled with random thoughts as Zhang Xiaqiang's eyes drifted unconsciously over the telephone cord.
"Wait."
The telephone cord? Zhang Xiaqiang looked again, and for a moment he understood, but then he lost it.
He stared blankly at the telephone cord. His mind raced. What other uses can a phone cord have besides making calls? Hanging clothes, drying quilts, tying things up... As he thought about it, he had an idea. "Exactly—like a rope..." He stood up and walked back and forth. He found a rope and tied one end to the security door handle. He tied the other end of the rope to something else. Now, opening the door wouldn't risk it being forced open by zombies. He could leave a small gap and take out the zombies outside one by one.
Thoughts turned into action. Zhang Xiaoqiang got a thin hemp rope from the storage room. He tied one end of the rope to the iron bars on the window and left a ten-centimeter slack to secure the other end to the door handle. A hammer wouldn't work as a weapon because the space was too small to swing it effectively. He found a 1.5-meter galvanized water pipe, but after testing it, he decided its impact was too weak to handle zombies.
He kept searching through his father's toolbox, amazed by it. Luckily, his dad was good at many different jobs! Digging irrigation ditches during the 1960s Down to the Countryside Movement, running an electric motor factory in the 1970s—though it only had a dozen employees, it was still a collective enterprise, and he was a manager, no less! Then, in the 1980s, he opened a restaurant and became one of the first ten-thousand-yuan households in the small city!
Unfortunately, his father loved to play—fishing, hunting—and had no interest in the business. Otherwise, he could have been a small-time businessman. His father made his own fishing rods and hunting rifles. During a time when China was banning guns, his father, who was very scared, threw that homemade flintlock rifle into the Yangtze River. His father is gone, but he still has the tools.
"I found it."
He took out a triangular piece of wood that was about a foot long. It had been stored for quite some time, its body blackened but barely rusted. The tools are made from steel from the 1970s, so you can be sure they are high-quality.
He cut the wooden handle down with a knife until it fit snugly over the water pipe. He tested it, but it didn't feel reliable, so he secured it with iron nails where the pipe and handle meet. This way, it would be impossible for it to fail at the most important moment.
Everything was ready. Zhang Xiaoqiang stood behind the door, checking his equipment. His military coat was freshly cleaned, but it would get dirty again today. The water was off, so he didn't expect to drink it, but he'd hoped to use it for laundry!
He grabbed his homemade iron spear with his left hand and pushed the door open with his right.
Bang!
Zhang Xiaoqiang slammed the door shut again. The stench was unbearable. It was the rotting smell of the zombie he'd killed days ago. It made his eyes water so badly he could barely keep them open.
There were no masks at home, so Zhang Xiaoqiang found a woolen scarf to cover his mouth and nose. He sprayed some cologne on it, which helped a little.
He opened the door again, and a black claw reached for his face. Its owner was trying to squeeze through the crack. This time, he was ready, so he wasn't surprised. He closely examined the zombie. The flesh on its claws had pulled back inside, showing every bone joint like an eagle's talons aimed at him. Sharp nails attached to withered fingers moved up and down. The zombie tried to push its head through the door. Its face looked like the claws—the eye sockets were sunken, the cheekbones protruded, and they scraped against the iron door, as if it wanted to sharpen its skull to squeeze through.
Zhang Xiaoqiang raised his iron spear, the sharp tip of the file pointing directly at the zombie's eyes. He grabbed the water pipe with both hands and used all his strength to push outward. He couldn't control his strength with the iron spear on his first try, so he thrust without looking. His mind was hazy, but he felt a primal strength surge through his body. He felt very excited, sure that he was better than any zombie. He thought he could kill all the zombies.
Two more claws reached through the door crack toward him, waving before his eyes and jolting him awake. He pulled out the iron spearhead. The zombie's eye socket had become a deep, dark hole, slowly oozing out thick, black blood. The zombie first fell onto the one beside it before slowly falling to the ground. Its head faced him. One eye was blank and pupil-less, white. The other eye was a dark, blood-dripping hole. The big difference made Zhang Xiaoqiang feel nervous.
"Five more..." he said to himself, not looking at the dead body.
He wasn't used to using a spear, and he couldn't tell how strong he was. He used his basic spear technique to defeat the last five zombies. When the last one fell to the ground...
Clang.
Zhang Xiaoqiang could no longer hold the iron spear. It fell to the ground.