Chapter Seventy-Eight: We Are the Police

The sound of gunfire drifted faintly into the control tower on the cold wind. Wang Baoquan picked up his binoculars and looked toward the direction from which the shots came. About a dozen armed men, dressed in various outfits, stood atop a Toyota pickup truck, firing continuously at the waves of zombies surging in from all sides. A modified van followed closely behind, its windows covered with a layer of wire mesh, and from time to time, orange flames burst from its windows.

The two vehicles coordinated with each other; despite being surrounded by hordes of zombies, their progress was not slow. With their overwhelming firepower, even the massive zombie horde could do little to these two steel fortresses for the moment. The convoy was heading straight for the airport—clearly, these people had come for this very place.

What should he do? Wang Baoquan hesitated. Should he let them in, or keep them out? This group’s origins were unknown. Judging by their posture, they were not short on ammunition. If he rashly let them in and they turned out to be decent people, all would be well. But what if they harbored ill intent? There were several dozen soldiers on his side, all battle-hardened men who had fought their way here. Yet, even the bravest men might not withstand foes with superior firepower.

Previously, a few troublemakers had complained about the food and poor living conditions and stirred up unrest. Under pressure, Wang Baoquan ordered his soldiers to arrest them. To stabilize morale and prevent further incidents, he steeled himself and had them executed. That silenced any dissent, but left their ammunition nearly depleted. Each soldier on guard duty had fewer than three bullets left; those maintaining order in the hall had empty magazines. Without the bayonets gleaming on their rifles, the guns would be no better than firewood.

As he grew older, Wang Baoquan found himself pondering more and more. While he weighed whether or not to admit these strangers, the convoy had already reached the airport’s main gate, the rattle of gunfire now exploding in his ears.

“Relay my order: all soldiers assemble and await my command. I’m going to meet those people myself,” Wang Baoquan instructed Peng Sha, then strode out of the control tower.

He stormed into the main hall like a whirlwind. A soldier on alert duty hurried over, whispered a quick report in Wang Baoquan’s ear, and updated him on the current situation. Wang nodded, signaling all soldiers to assume defensive positions. The hall was already in chaos—adults clutched their children, whispered anxiously among themselves, their faces etched with worry, fear, and a glimmer of hope.

The airport’s fire doors at every entrance and exit had all been lowered. No one inside could get out, and the zombies outside could not get in. The convoy circled the entrance a few times, realized there was no way in for the moment, and tried calling out through a loudspeaker mounted on the pickup. No one appeared to open the gate.

The men on the pickup grew impatient. Zombies were swarming ever closer, and in the distance a Crusher appeared. Just as they were about to turn and leave, the fire door at the hall’s main entrance began to rise slowly.

Chaos erupted. The convoy’s people leapt from their vehicles, firing as they retreated. As the last of them slipped into the hall, the fire door descended once more, sealing the zombie horde outside.

Suddenly plunged into the hall’s dim interior, the newcomers barely had time to catch their breath before the clatter of gun bolts cocking echoed around them. “Nobody move! Hands up!” a commanding shout rang out—they were surrounded yet again.

The convoy’s men were not cowed; they instantly raised their weapons in reply, and for a moment, the atmosphere in the hall was electric with tension. The air reeked of gunpowder, gun barrels trembled slightly, betraying the anxiety of their owners.

A one-armed man stepped out from the convoy, set his weapon on the ground, and, with his good arm, motioned for his companions to remain calm. He glanced around; the hall was dim, faces indistinct, but the opposing group did not seem openly hostile. He spoke, “Don’t be nervous, we’re police.” As he finished, he slowly reached into his jacket.

Perhaps it was the man’s gesture or his declared identity that put the others at ease, but no one stopped him. He fished around in his jacket for a while before finally producing an ID with two fingers, tossing it toward the leader of the opposing group.

Wang Baoquan picked it up, turned it over in his hands, and scrutinized it. At last, he let out a breath, stepped out of the shadows with a broad smile, and extended his hand to the one-armed man. Their hands clasped firmly. “A misunderstanding, a misunderstanding. Comrade police officer, you’re most welcome.”

After some pleasantries, the tension eased. The soldiers lowered their guns, though they still maintained advantageous positions, keeping the police in their midst. The officers also slung their weapons, and the nervous looks on both sides relaxed.

Even so, Wang Baoquan’s heart was not at ease. One cannot judge a book by its cover, but something about these so-called police troubled him. Though he’d checked their credentials and the one-armed man answered questions about police affairs with ease, his gaunt face wreathed in a smile, his eyes were colder than the current winter air.

Wang Baoquan grew anxious. These men did not seem like good company. All were burly, and a few sported dragon and tiger tattoos peeking from their rolled-up sleeves. As they passed the refugee area in the hall, their eyes betrayed a lecherous glint without the slightest attempt to conceal it.

Still, appearances could be deceiving. Perhaps they truly were police—fierce looks alone meant nothing. Besides, they were all armed; if conflict broke out, his side would be at a disadvantage.

Seeing Wang Baoquan and the other leader chatting amicably, the soldiers let their guard down. After all, these newcomers had just arrived from outside and might have valuable information. Many of the soldiers were local, from Changsha, and eagerly pressed the newcomers for news from beyond.

After speaking with the one-armed man for a while, Wang Baoquan stood, pressed the communicator, and said, “Xiao Peng, come to the office.”

Moments later, Peng Sha hurried in. “Uncle Wang, is there any news?” she asked the moment she entered.

Wang Baoquan smiled, offering no answer. “Xiao Peng, this is Officer Li. He just returned from the city. Whatever you want to know, you can ask him directly.”

At that, the one-armed man stood up, stretched out his hand, and said in a cold, sinister tone, “Hello, my name is Li Zixin.”