Chapter Sixty-Two: Life or Death

The machete-wielding man clearly recognized Wang Ergou, who now stood in the doorway with a gun, blocking his path. Machete paused, Zhao Qiang slung unconscious over his shoulder, and came to a halt.

“Put him down!” Wang Ergou ordered weakly. He had originally planned to use the Humvee to forcefully rescue Brother Zhao, but hadn’t anticipated bullets coming from an unknown direction, shattering the vehicle’s reinforced glass. Wang Ergou was lucky: sensing danger, he’d immediately ducked, narrowly escaping the deadly rounds. Poor Zhang Tieniu, however, never even saw the enemy—his head was blown apart before he knew what hit him, and his body slumped, sending both man and vehicle tumbling down the hillside.

Though the Humvee was sturdy, Wang Ergou was thrown around inside and only regained consciousness after some time. He discovered his head was bleeding and caked with dried blood, sticking his eyes shut. It took considerable effort to open them, only to find his comrade Zhang Tieniu had already perished.

Ignoring his own injury, Wang Ergou dragged Zhang Tieniu’s body from the wreck and found a hidden spot to lay him to rest, intending to recover his comrade’s remains once everything was over. His mind, however, was preoccupied with Zhao Qiang’s fate, and so he dashed madly back to the TV tower.

Inside, the scene was harrowing. Wang Ergou’s heart was in his throat as he searched, finally finding Zhao Qiang unconscious on the top floor. Wang Ergou, previously just a ground crewman, had never witnessed carnage like this and was instantly thrown into panic. Despite Zhao Qiang’s formidable powers of recovery having healed most of his wounds, Wang Ergou couldn’t figure out what had rendered Zhao Qiang unconscious after thoroughly checking him.

Just as Wang Ergou was at a complete loss, Zhao Qiang suddenly muttered, “Water, water,” in his stupor. Wang Ergou hurriedly felt his forehead—burning hot! He was feverish. What now, thought Wang Ergou. He could fix a car or operate a radar, but being a doctor was beyond him.

Seeing Zhao Qiang murmuring for water, Wang Ergou rushed out to find some. On Yuelu Mountain, clear streams abounded, but his mind was so scattered with worry that it took him a long while to find a clean one. Realizing he’d forgotten a container, he had to double back, losing more precious time. By the time he finally returned with water, he saw a stranger carrying Zhao Qiang out.

“Sergeant Wang Ergou!” Machete ignored Wang Ergou’s hostile expression, calling out his rank and name coldly.

“Here!” Wang Ergou, his head swimming from cold, hunger, and injury, instinctively snapped to attention and responded loudly, lowering his weapon. Realization dawned—how did the stranger know his name? Had Zhao Qiang awoken?

Looking up, Wang Ergou saw Zhao Qiang limp and unconscious on the stranger’s shoulder—no sign of waking at all. As the stranger walked past, Wang Ergou quickly cocked his rifle and blocked his way.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” Wang Ergou demanded, gun across his chest.

“Out of the way. If you want to know who I am, ask your Commander Meng when you get back,” the stranger replied icily, pushing aside the gun without a glance and walking off.

Wang Ergou scratched his head, still unable to place the man. He seemed to know Commander Meng, though, and showed no hostility—he must be one of their own. But why had Wang Ergou never seen him before? Suddenly he remembered the mysterious sniper around the camp—always present yet never visible. Yes, it had to be him!

Seeing the stranger already at a distance, Wang Ergou jogged after him.

...

“Brother Meng, how is Brother Qiang?” Outside the makeshift infirmary, Zou Lin paced anxiously, repeating the same question for the tenth time. Ever since Machete had carried the unconscious Zhao Qiang back from Yuelu Mountain, Zou Lin hadn’t left his side.

Meng Longwei shook his head. He wasn’t a doctor. Zhao Qiang had already been in this condition when Machete found him. Wang Ergou’s account was vague, and none of them could pinpoint the cause of Zhao Qiang’s fever and coma. Several soldiers with battlefield medical training had gone inside, but hadn’t emerged yet, leaving everyone in suspense.

Just then, a soldier slipped out of the infirmary and whispered a few words to Meng Longwei, whose expression darkened immediately.

“Orderly, fetch Doctor Li for me. And get someone to bring a basin of water and a towel. The rest of you, come with me,” Meng Longwei directed calmly, turning toward the infirmary.

“Brother Meng!” Zou Lin grabbed his arm. “What’s happened to Brother Qiang? Please, don’t keep anything from me. If something’s happened to him, I— I—” She couldn’t finish; Meng Longwei’s grave face told her all she needed to know. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Don’t worry, Xiao Zou. Zhao will be fine. We’re just going in to lend a hand, that’s all,” Meng Longwei reassured her, all the while signaling a nearby soldier with his eyes. The soldier quickly led Zou Lin aside and comforted her in hushed tones.

Despite his words, Meng Longwei’s own heart was heavy. The soldier had just told him Zhao Qiang was showing signs of turning into one of the infected. This was a disaster. Zhao had risked everything for them; Meng Longwei, as the officer in command, couldn’t stand by and do nothing. He needed the doctor to confirm Zhao’s condition, water for physical cooling, and summoned other soldiers in case the worst happened.

He pushed open the door. Zhao Qiang lay bare-chested on the bed, several fresh scars visible on his torso. Meng Longwei already knew of Zhao Qiang’s enhanced regenerative abilities, so the sight didn’t surprise him. But the soldiers’ conclusions could not be ignored.

“Well?” Meng Longwei strode to the bedside and questioned a soldier.

The soldier shook his head, pointing at the scars on Zhao Qiang’s chest. “At first, we didn’t think much of it, but look at these wounds, Commander.”

Meng Longwei bent down for a closer look. The wounds had healed, new pink skin standing out starkly against the rest. Looking even closer, he realized the scars were rhythmically twitching—something you’d never notice without careful observation.

His mind flashed back to other soldiers who had been attacked by the infected. They too had suffered high fevers and bore similar scars, and inevitably, they’d all turned into mindless creatures. Was Zhao Qiang destined for the same fate?

Meng Longwei shook his head and stood up, signaling to his men. They immediately pulled off their belts and strapped Zhao Qiang’s limbs, waist, and head to the bed—a precaution used for those bitten, to prevent them from attacking others if they turned.

Soon, Doctor Li arrived, out of breath, and carefully examined Zhao Qiang. All he could do was shake his head in resignation. “Prepare for the worst,” he said, slumping into a chair. Having treated several previous cases, Doctor Li recognized the symptoms at a glance. Zhao Qiang was beyond saving.