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  Zhu peered through the barricade as the three men walked up to the two jiāngshī. They looked like fisherman, one young and one old, and possibly related. Both dead were waterlogged and bloated, their flesh gray and sagging off their bones.

  The boy named Li poked at the old fisherman with his pitchfork. He began to bark for help when it continued walking forward, pushing him backward.

  “Plant your feet,” Zhu muttered.

  The one named Jincai had a little more success. His first swing cut deep into the base of the younger fisherman’s neck, knocking it to the side like a ragdoll. He shot a look at Zhu as if to check if Zhu was watching. He flourished his weapon and followed up with the same swing, biting it slightly deeper into its neck. And then promptly got the ax stuck. He yanked futilely several times, until it came free with a disgusting, wet noise. But the sudden release made Jincai lose his balance, and the young man tumbled to the ground. The jiāngshī continued to advance on him.

  Chima came to Jincai’s rescue, charging the young fisherman with his spear, hitting the jiāngshī in the shoulder. The thrust caused the jiāngshī’s torso to turn sharply from the blow. Chima, misjudging the impact of the glancing blow, continued his forward momentum and shot past the jiāngshī as he stumbled down the slope.

  Zhu caught himself reaching for a staff leaning against the barricade. The three eventually recovered from their initial attack, finally putting down the two jiāngshī with a lot more work than should have been necessary. They returned to the barricade beaming, patting each other on the shoulder.

  “See,” said Chima. “It was a mighty battle, but my men are ready for anything.” The two boys nodded vigorously.

  Zhu kept his opinions to himself. The Beacon expected all their guards to be able to easily handle multiple jiāngshī at a time. Needing three to take on two would have meant Charred Fields duty for the unlucky team members. These people needed better teachers, not more guards. Doubling the number of untrained amateurs only resulted in twice the number of people who didn’t know what they were doing.

  These people were going to get torn apart once they left the safety of this valley. This haven was a blessing, but it had also made them complacent, overconfident, and delusional. With the jiāngshī threat getting worse by the day, he had little faith in these soft villagers being able to travel hundreds of kilometers through gales and storms of jiāngshī to reach the Precipitous Pillars.

  The villagers who had eyed him with suspicion warmed up once they learned that he was Ahui’s brother. From the stories they told, it seems his quiet and dutiful sister had blossomed into a loud, opinionated firebrand. She had been the one who had pushed the elders to find a new home, and had also been the first to volunteer to lead a team to explore the dangerous wilderness. By dinner, most had welcomed him into their circles, shared their food, and even slaughtered a chicken. A fleeting memory of his childhood pet chicken Báibái flashed through his head, which was often the case whenever he ate poultry. That was quickly shoved aside the moment his teeth tore into the drumstick’s flesh. It had been many weeks since Zhu had tasted meat, and he savored every delicious morsel.

  After the sun set, darkness curtained the field quickly. The watchtowers and the burning embers from the central bonfire were all that illuminated the village, save for whatever light the stars could lend. Zhu sat next to Meili as they conversed with the villagers after the evening meal. There were faces young and old, chatting, laughing, and showing little concern for the horrors of the outside world.

  For a blissful moment, he forgot about the jiāngshī and the sickness falling across the country, and was transported to simpler times when life was small and peaceful. It had been a long time since he had last walked outside the walls of the Beacon feeling as safe as he did right now. It had been even longer since he had last felt like he belonged anywhere.

  Zhu didn’t notice himself huddling closer and closer to Meili as the number of people gathering around the bonfire shrank in proportion to the dying flames. He caught himself staring at her more than a few times. So much of her reminded him of his sister. Not because the two were in any way alike, but because they had been inseparable as children. Zhu didn’t have many memories of his little sister that didn’t involve Meili. Their parents had often joked that it’d be easier for everyone if they just betrothed Zhu and Meili and made her officially family. Both children had strenuously objected at the time.

  Nothing ever did happen between them. In the end, he wanted to move to the big city and she wanted to stay close to home. Zhu wanted to do more than run a convenience store or be a rice farmer, and Meili wanted to be with her family. Now he wondered if he had made the wrong choice.

  The bonfire eventually withered into barely more than glowing embers. Meili got to her feet and brushed the dirt off her pants. She offered a hand, which he accepted, and led him to the outskirts of the village. As they strolled through the light brush, a creeping feeling settled into his bones, but Zhu couldn’t quite figure out what it was or why he was feeling it. It wasn’t until they had lost sight of the village that he realized that he wasn’t armed. If a jiāngshī came out of the darkness now, they would be defenseless.

  His mind ran in circles as his past collided with his present. As much as a part of him longed for what had been and what could have been, he also drifted back to Elena. Was she all right? Had she made it back to the Beacon? He loved her. More importantly, he owed her in a way he could never repay. His heart and mind tugged him in two directions at once.

  “We’re here,” she said in front of a lonely wooden hut in a small clearing. The hut, resting on four cinder blocks to keep it off the wet ground, wasn’t much to look at, just several uneven pieces of wood lashed together by chicken wire beneath a tin roof. A torn piece of canvas over the doorway rippled against the breeze, causing the entire structure to creak and groan.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “This is where you’ll be sleeping tonight,” she said. “I spoke with the elders. They’ve come to the conclusion that you are indeed Ahui’s brother and that you’re not a threat.”

  “Much nicer than the cattle pens,” he replied. “Thank you.”

  “Tomorrow, can you show us how you got into the village?” she asked. “We could use some supplies.”

  He nodded. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Before he could say another word, Meili wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself into him. “It’s really good to see you again, Wenzhu.” Before he could react, she let go, stepped away, and disappeared into the night.

  9 SEARCH

  Hengyen was as good as his word. The next morning, an hour before dawn, Elena and Bo reported to the supply tent and found a week’s worth of supplies waiting for them. The quotamaster had his arms crossed when they arrived and scowled as he filled their duffels.

  “Dàgē said you two are exempt from quota,” he huffed, “but you’re not exempt from me. I know exactly how much you are packing. I better get at least as much back when you return. If not, don’t bother returning at all.”

  “That Ming is a hard-ass,” Elena grumbled as they left the tent. “Ming the Mean. Ming the Jerk.”

  “He is merciless,” Bo added.

  Elena translated his words into English and shot him a grin.

  “What?” asked Bo, puzzled.

  “Never mind.” Elena had learned early in her stay in China that most people knew a surprising amount of English. An even greater number had solid listening comprehension even if their fluency was lacking. Just last month, Ming docked her half of a scavenge when she called him a “crap stain” in English. That was when she had discovered that Ming’s American name was Wilbur, and in his previous life he had attended NYU on a full ride majoring in international relations and minoring in English literature. One thing was for sure: whatever he had learned as an international-relations major sure as hell wasn’t being applied toward his dealings with others.

  To their
collective surprise, they were allocated a shotgun with twelve shells. Prior to the jiāngshī, the Chinese government had kept tight restrictions on gun ownership, reserving guns primarily for the army and law enforcement. Firearms were a rarity in China, even more so since the outbreak. The armory at the Beacon was decently stocked due to the military unit that had been based here, but Ming and Hengyen rarely allowed wind teams guns. Not only was ammunition in short supply but gunshots also tended to work like siren calls in attracting hordes of the dead.

  Hengyen was giving orders at the training grounds when Elena and Bo set out. Elena caught his eye as they passed. She waved and silently mouthed her thanks. He gave her a curt nod before turning his attention back to the crowd. Something big was going down. The other wind teams had been abuzz all morning. The rumor was that they were all heading east. Whatever it was, Elena was glad she and Bo weren’t involved. The last time Hengyen had gathered this many people for a job, it had been to clear the forest half a day west of the Beacon. That expedition had suffered heavy casualties.

  Elena and Bo walked up the stairs to the top of the container walls and climbed into the cable transport just as first light bathed the landscape. The battle at the Charred Fields was starting to pick up. The survivors avoided fighting at night, but the jiāngshī did not sleep. She watched as the morning rotation left the gates to meet the dead that had swelled into the fields overnight. The first wave, armed with long spears, corralled the jiāngshī into the trenches. It wasn’t long before their lines broke as the jiāngshī converged. The spear team fought their way back to the gates, but not before losing three of their number. A few seconds later, another group of spearmen appeared and attacked the jiāngshī, but they struggled to even push them away from the walls.

  Elena bit her lip as she saw one spearman, a boy who couldn’t have been more than fourteen, get dragged to the ground. She resisted the temptation to draw her bow and start raining arrows. In reality, though, she could empty her entire quiver and not make a dent. She scanned the rest of the fields. It wasn’t her imagination. The number of jiāngshī flooding the Charred Fields was growing steadily. Her gaze lingered on the battle until the cable transport crested the hill. The car shook violently as it stuttered along the final stretch over the forest, swaying back and forth as the motor at the station labored to bring them in. The car finally bounced off the guard rail and came to a rattling stop.

  Bo slid the creaky door open. A touch of vertigo passed over Elena as she stepped onto solid ground. The ride was getting worse and worse. It reminded her of a lesson her dad had instilled in her as a little girl: loose nuts and bolts are always telling you something. Never let them get away. Wiser words were never spoken. She reckoned it wouldn’t be long before a very necessary piece of the lift rattled off, breaking the entire contraption.

  She set that worry aside: it really wasn’t her problem. She turned away from the sputtering motor and resolved to remind the mechanics upon her return.

  Elena stepped to the edge of the platform. Her gaze followed the zigzagging path of the sky bridge on the electric poles above ground. Her heart fluttered. She had walked this course dozens of times, but this would be the first time she would lead a team. It was just Bo—not much of a team really—but there was a stark difference between being a team member and being responsible for even just one life more than her own.

  “Where to, xiăomèi?” asked Bo. “How are we going to find Zhu? There are four flag paths he could have taken from the village.”

  Elena pulled out her map. “That’s true, but there are only seven sanctuaries in between. He would have marked wherever he stayed. Let’s hit all the ones between here and Fongyuan village. If we see a drawing of a pig, we’ll know he was there.” And that he’s alive, she added silently.

  “And if we don’t find him?” he asked.

  “Then we’re in the perfect place to scavenge.”

  Bo grimaced. “Through that garage filled with jiāngshī? That doesn’t sound like a good plan.”

  She shouldered her pack and began to climb down the ladder. “Let me know when you have a better idea, big guy.”

  * * *

  The first leg of their journey, along the sky bridge, was relatively uneventful. Like the cable transport, some of the poles were starting to show significant wear from constant use. These things weren’t built for groups to walk along them every day. It was just a matter of time before one of the cables snapped or a pole fell over. What would the Beacon do then?

  More jiāngshī littered the ground than ever before, and the seasonal rain was starting to make them look melted, like action figures that had been held over a fire. Elena caught a whiff and had to stop and gather herself. The smell of decay was worsening too. She ended up losing her breakfast over the side of the bridge.

  She stared as her vomit splashed down into the muddy ditch below. Her first thought was irritation at losing much-needed calories. Her second was fascination as what initially looked like a large mud monster with assorted limbs rearing up from the muddy deep.

  It looked like a bunch of body parts glued together crawling out of the ditch and blobbing its way toward the pole, shaking it. A chorus of moans followed, almost like an off-key a cappella performance. Several jiāngshī stuck to the mud mass began to climb over the bodies of other jiāngshī until they reached halfway up the shaft. The bridge shook from the stress and the moist ground and began to lean toward the side.

  Bo grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her along. “Keep moving before that thing finds a way up here.”

  They hurried along, running haphazardly across the narrow wooden planks. It wasn’t until the mud monster was out of sight that they finally slowed to catch their breath. Elena could still see the cables along the bridge trembling. Hopefully the thing wouldn’t bring the entire bridge down. They’d be in trouble then.

  “Everything is falling apart,” she muttered. “What do we do if the bridge collapses?”

  “The secretary will think of something,” replied Bo confidently. “We’ve made it this far under his guidance. He’ll see us through.”

  Elena had little optimism left in her once-deep well. There had been too many failures, too many broken promises. She recalled missing the last flight home because of emergency road closures. From the American Embassy falling a few hours before she was scheduled to evacuate to not being able to afford the price of a ship heading to the States, it had been one painful disappointment after another. Now she had very little hope left to cling to. Especially if Zhu was truly gone.

  Elena wiped that thought from her mind. He had to be alive. There were a dozen reasons why he hadn’t returned to the Beacon yet. Maybe he was injured or captured by vultures. Maybe he was taking time away from the pressure to produce back at the settlement. It wasn’t unheard of for entire wind teams to find a comfortable sanctuary and hole up for a few days. As long as you were back at the Beacon, you were spending points and under constant pressure to get out and scavenge again.

  The two reached the horse ranch, the location of the safe house closest to the Beacon, by early evening. They did a quick sweep of the premises, clearing three jiāngshī that had wandered in. The horses were long gone and the ranch was halfway up a steep, winding hill well off the main road, so only a few jiāngshī ever found their way here.

  Elena was surprised by the strange and sickening scent of burnt meat in the air. She didn’t know where it came from, but it lingered in the pens, in the well, at the barn, everywhere. There were also several strange gray mounds that rose chest-height in two of the horse pastures. She didn’t give it much thought and headed into the attic of an old barn that served as another sanctuary. After a short search, she concluded that there was no scrawl of a pig.

  Elena didn’t let this dishearten her. Zhu hated this sanctuary. It was too far out of the way of the flag paths, and the nearest water supply was tainted by the bodies of the previous owners, who had ended their lives in some sort of suicide pa
ct. The real reason, however, was that Zhu was deathly allergic to horses. When they had camped out here, his face puffed up and itched for days. They only ever used this sanctuary if there was no way they could make it back to the Beacon by nightfall.

  Elena and Bo retired early to the upstairs loft of the barn, making beds among the dry stacks of hay. Bo read his wŭxiá book while Elena leaned against a traditional vector window and stared through the open gaps up at the night. Her fingers curled against the circular patterns layered against the wooden frame. She had hoped to see a few constellations, but thick rolling clouds likely laden with rain had covered the stars. Lightning cracked in the distance.

  She looked up anyway, thinking perhaps at that exact moment her folks were doing the same. It was her parents’ birthdays around this time. At least she thought it was, give or take a few weeks. Her mom and dad were born days apart, and they always invited the entire neighborhood over for a barbecue to celebrate jointly. She fought down the urge to take out her camera and go through photos of her family. They were going to be gone from the Beacon for a while: she had to conserve the camera’s power.

  Elena eventually dozed off with her face against the vector window. Before she lost consciousness, she felt Bo stoop nearby and drape a horse blanket over her. The hay scratched her skin, but she appreciated the gesture.

  No sooner had she nodded off than she was awakened by a shout. It was several loud voices, actually. Yelling and… chanting?

  She was instantly alert, one hand reaching for her knife while the other pawed for the shotgun leaning against the wall close by. Bo had been roused as well and was peeling his sleeping bag off like a caterpillar’s cocoon. He crept next to her as they scanned the darkness near the front of the barn. It was pitch-black, but there were people out there. Strange voices. Shouts and… there was that rhythmic singing again. Elena couldn’t quite make out the words. Mixed in with human voices was the unmistakable, loud cacophony of jiāngshī. Scores of them.