Chapter Sixteen: No Harbor in Turning Back

The sandstorm raged for more than two hours, and those sheltering in their vehicles nearly reached the brink of collective breakdown. By the time the wind outside finally abated and the dust thinned, the yellow earth had nearly buried them up to their necks. It was no exaggeration: the container truck and the ambulance, thanks to their tall bodies, managed to escape disaster, but the flashy Red Bird and the stylish Viper weren’t so lucky.

Both sports cars, designed for high-speed runs, had low bodies and shallow chassis. Worse yet, they were parked on the windward side. After the sandstorm swept through, the Viper and Red Bird were left with only their roofs exposed above the earth.

Hong Xiangcai had boarded the ambulance at the onset of the sandstorm. The people from the hospital and the manor were experienced; they used the container truck as a shield, clustered the ambulances behind it, ready to retreat or defend, and mostly avoided hardship.

Zheng Nanfang’s group wasn’t so fortunate.

Four of them huddled inside the Viper, realizing the danger only when sand began to bury the car doors. To avoid suffocating inside, Zheng Nanfang was forced to shatter the car window. In the blink of a crisis, he led his three companions out of the Viper and into the fortress of the heavy truck.

When the wind and dust finally ceased, dozens of people returned to the world of the living, cursing as they cleaned up the battlefield and checked their vehicles.

Zheng Nanfang found Shaman, who was deeply grateful, nearly bursting into tears upon seeing him alive. She hugged Zheng Nanfang tightly, unable to utter a coherent word for a long while.

“Calm down,” Zheng Nanfang said, still full of questions. He hurriedly pulled her off and, while the hospital and manor people were busy, led Shaman aside.

“How did you find your way back? My god, when you pushed me up, I couldn’t see a thing. I thought you were behind me, but the manor people brought me into the vehicle and I realized you hadn’t followed…”

“That’s a story for another time. The point is, I survived,” Zheng Nanfang interrupted her, glancing toward Hong Xiangcai’s side. Seeing no one paying attention, he waved for Tang Suan to join them and said quietly, “I saw two people.”

“Where?” both women asked simultaneously.

Zheng Nanfang recalled the moment, intending to lead them over but, surveying the area, realized the yellow earth piles had all changed shape. Some had been eroded away, others had grown several meters high, and the landscape was completely altered—finding any trace now was impossible.

So Zheng Nanfang could only recount, from vague memory, what he’d seen in the sandstorm.

Tang Suan and Shaman exchanged startled looks, astonished by the tale.

“You mean, someone helped you? Brought you back to the convoy?” Tang Suan’s beautiful eyes widened, incredulous. If she didn’t know Zheng Nanfang’s character, she wouldn’t believe a word.

Zheng Nanfang nodded. “But the person who helped me wasn’t the two I saw in the sand.”

The women were even more dumbfounded.

“And I know the person who helped me,” Zheng Nanfang said firmly, explaining to Tang Suan, “Remember before we left Fresh Meat Town, the woman who came to the car and talked to me?”

“Her?” Tang Suan nodded. She remembered her well; she’d even confronted her at the time.

Later, when the convoy departed together, that woman and her people had followed from afar, discovered early by someone in Yu Xiuzhu’s car.

Before the sandstorm, Hong Xiangcai had even asked Zheng Nanfang about this.

“It was her. I couldn’t have mistaken her,” Zheng Nanfang said with some emotion. If not for that voluptuous woman, he would surely have been buried in the earth by now.

Tang Suan found it unlikely, but Zheng Nanfang spoke with such certainty she couldn’t refute him. Yet, looking around, within hundreds of meters there was nothing but their convoy. Even if the woman had saved him in the heart of the sandstorm, where had she gone afterward?

“She vanished,” Zheng Nanfang spread his hands helplessly. “Believe it or not.”

“What about the other two? Were they just passing by?” Shaman pressed.

Zheng Nanfang frowned, recalling, “I can’t be sure about those two, but seeing their silhouettes was why I doubled back. In the first few minutes of the storm, I saw them clearly: one tall, one short, standing there in the distance.”

“This really is…” Tang Suan smacked her lips, unable to find the right words, and forced a smile. “In broad daylight, the way you tell it is unsettling.”

“Forget it. We have bigger headaches now. Just keep this to yourselves, don’t spread it around. Also, stay alert and warn Onion and Pepper. I don’t know why, but something feels off.”

…

When the convoy set out again, the sun was directly overhead. Despite the unbearable heat, everyone gritted their teeth and pressed on.

The national highway ended here; from now on, they’d rely on experience and luck.

Fresh Meat Town belonged to what used to be the northwest region: mountains were many, trees were few, and in recent years, desertification had made the land bleak and barren as far as the eye could see.

According to the hospital’s lead vehicle, the convoy would head toward the old Dead City, seeking a path through the abandoned urban ruins. It might take more time, but it was safer than the Yellow Earth Plateau—if another sandstorm struck, there would be no shelter, not to mention the risk of quicksand.

“Boss, do you think there are still zombies in the ruins?” Shu Onion blinked her almond eyes, asking with childish curiosity, “Since following Sister Hong, I haven’t really seen any. Everyone says zombies are extinct, but I’m not so sure.”

“There probably are,” Zheng Nanfang thought to himself, Who am I supposed to ask? In the first three years of the zombie outbreak, he was just a little kid. Luckily, he and his mother met a group of people—danger was constant, but under their protection, he barely suffered.

Later, he stayed in that place, cut off from zombies entirely.

“Even if there are, they’re not much threat,” Tang Suan said in her big-sisterly way, driving as she spoke. “Nowadays, we lack everything except antibody vaccines. Besides, zombies used to be concentrated in cities; in recent years, with desertification and the shrinking population, zombies have no one left to bite. Any survivors are little more than rotting wood—touch them and they’ll fall apart.”

“That’s true. Living people are far more dangerous than zombies now,” Li Pepper chimed in.

Zheng Nanfang just smiled, not adding anything. Li Pepper was only half right.

Not just now—even during the years of rampant zombies, living people were always the greatest threat.

At noon, the shadow of the sandstorm faded completely, and the world became a furnace once more.

The convoy reached a barren mountain, found shade to rest briefly, then hurried on.

Outside the window, nothing had changed from a few hours ago: only scorching yellow earth, occasionally the distant outline of a once-thriving city.

The talk of zombies had stirred Zheng Nanfang’s memories; years ago, he had traveled similar roads.

The difference was, though zombies were everywhere then, their journeys were filled with laughter and joy. Those young men and women, in those days, planted many seeds in young Zheng Nanfang’s heart.

He saw them fleeing in panic, saw them fight to the death—men and women alike, able to laugh and cry, to revel, to fight, to kill, to be bold.

The memories most vivid were not the battles, but those chilly nights filled with reckless laughter and endless wine.

“Boss, what are you thinking?”

Shu Onion’s voice pulled Zheng Nanfang from his reverie.

“Nothing, just remembering childhood,” Zheng Nanfang smiled, suddenly melancholy. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and took a deep drag, imitating the cocky young man from his memories, exhaling a cloud of smoky haze.

…

Half an hour after Zheng Nanfang’s convoy departed, the desert off-road convoy arrived, lagging behind.

Laili had changed clothes; her shapely figure was wrapped tightly in an oversized windbreaker. The off-road vehicles were dust-covered, their occupants grimy—clearly, they’d taken a beating in the sandstorm.

“We didn’t lose the trail; this is the right direction,” Laili checked the traces left by Zheng Nanfang’s convoy, shading her eyes and looking ahead. “Rest ten minutes, then move out.”

The Dog-Headed Man, carrying a crossbow on his back, followed behind Laili and couldn’t help but ask, “If we keep following, we’ll miss the race.”

“There’s a race every year. But Deep Blue Hospital and Hoarse Manor acting together—that’s a first,” Laili said, wearing wind goggles, a smile on her pale face. “Right now, I’m more interested in their destination.”

“I don’t mind, as long as I’m with you,” Dog-Headed Man paused, lowering his voice, “But what about those alliance racers? We brought them along by promising to join the race. Now we say we’re not, that could be a problem.”

“If they don’t want to go, let them return. If they have objections…” Laili turned, patted his shoulder, and smiled, “I trust you’ll handle it.”

…

Restricted Zone, a certain laboratory.

Meng Chang had worked through the night, eyes swollen and bloodshot. The only consolation was that the current project was finally wrapping up; the collection and study of the new hive had ended, and the remaining tasks could be left to the lab assistants.

If only there were more hives like this: zero danger but immense scientific value.

This was Meng Chang’s sixth hive project, and the only one without casualties. Over four months, they had collected a large amount of unknown plant extracts—not only useful for biological research, but perhaps able to shed light on the hive’s origin.

Regrettably, the higher-ups had rejected his request to explore the cavity at the hive’s base. Hives were rare, and safe ones even more precious. If he could enter the cavity, Meng Chang was confident he could uncover much more.

But that was just wishful thinking; the company had already sent out a field team to seal off the hive. As always, from now on, the hive belonged to the company—researchers had no further access.

Bored, Meng Chang picked up a folder from the desk and flipped through it. Seeing the sealed bag’s label, he chuckled: some careless assistant had mixed up the files. This folder belonged to another scientist of higher clearance.

Meng Chang picked up the phone, ready to call for the assistant to retrieve it, but after dialing the extension, he hung up.

“Well, you brought it here. I’ll just say I opened it by mistake,” Meng Chang grinned slyly, hurried to lock the door, and gently sliced open the seal with a blade, carefully pouring out the documents.

“What the hell…” Meng Chang looked them over, growing increasingly puzzled. The documents weren’t research reports, mostly aerial photos—black-and-white, blurry. Only at the end did he find a few pages with writing, the header stamped bright red with the RCA logo: [Northwest Rift, Lower City].

Meng Chang swallowed, his legs buckling as he sank into his chair, staring in a daze for a long time, muttering, “The Rift… surely that’s a joke… Lower City… northwest…”