Typhoon Page 8

  “Pity. He was a savvy windrunner. Only person who would rather scavenge than work in an office and sleep in a bed every night,” said Wangfa.

  “He’ll do more good for the Living Revolution behind that desk.” Hengyen continued down his mental checklist. “What about Hufeng?”

  Wangfa shook his head. “She’s pregnant. Secretary Guo will never allow it.”

  “ ‘Women hold up half the sky,’ ” Hengyen quoted. “It should be up to her to decide.”

  “Stop quoting Chairman Mao at me all the time.”

  Both men stared at the opposite wall.

  “I miss air-conditioning,” Wangfa muttered, wiping his brow.

  Hengyen, fanning himself with a cardboard flap torn off a box, nodded. It was a particularly humid day and the settlement felt like a huge, dirty sauna. The clothing on his back was damp. The blanket he slept under was damp. Even the cook-fires smoldered from the moisture.

  The building they were in had working air-conditioning, but it was only on in specific rooms. Hengyen had a sneaking suspicion that this was the real reason Wangfa had offered to accompany him to the meeting. The two sat on a bench along the wall of a barren hallway. The squat two-story building had been the purification plant’s administration center. It now served as the capital building for all of Hunan Province. It had ten rooms, and only half were in use, by order of the secretary.

  “What about one of the Xing twins, the nice one?” asked his second in command.

  “There’s only one twin left. The other one died two days ago while trying to siphon fuel from a van when a jiāngshī crawled out from under it and bit his ankle.”

  “Which one died?”

  “Luhong.”

  Wangfa grimaced. “That was the nice one. His brother is a terrible person.”

  “From what I hear, he’s even worse now.”

  The door next to them opened, and a stick-thin man in a pressed suit with large-rimmed glasses and slicked-back hair emerged. Hengyen and Wangfa jumped to their feet and saluted.

  Secretary Guo smiled and patted Hengyen’s shoulder warmly. “Comrade, it’s good to see you’ve returned safely. Come in, come in.”

  The secretary led them into his office, a spacious and well-kept room. Both men sucked in a deep breath of the cool air.

  The office housed an ornate wooden desk and a beautiful traditional lounge set tucked in the corner. On the wall behind the desk were portraits of Chairman Mao and Jiang Zemin, the current—and possibly last—president of China, whose whereabouts were currently unknown.

  It was rumored that during the evacuation of Changsha, the provincial governor had ordered his entire office, furniture included, loaded onto a plane. The governor and his staff, along with most of the senior party officials in the province, had perished when the jiāngshī overran the airport. One of the dead got sucked into the turbine while the plane was trying to take off. The plane never left the tarmac, and those on board never deplaned.

  Guo, who in normal times was far down the line of succession, was now the acting provincial governor of Hunan. He had rallied the remnants of the military and the government and led them to the Beacon. He had instilled hope and order, and kept the settlement together when almost everyone else had given up. Secretary Guo kept the idea of the Living Revolution alive by persistently hammering the message into every person’s heart. Hengyen admired his single-mindedness and tenacity, even if he didn’t agree with every decision the secretary made.

  Even though the secretary was technically only the acting provincial governor and did not hold rank in the People’s Liberation Army, he was a great man, completely loyal to China, the Communist Party, and to the Living Revolution. It was important for everyone at the Beacon to know that the government was still in control. It was Guo’s idea to reach back to their roots during this crisis and reclaim the old party dogma to inspire and guard the people.

  The secretary circled around the desk and sat. He plucked a slice of orange from a plate and peeled the skin off, then slid the plate over to his guests. “Please, sit, sit. What news from Changde?”

  One of the first things Guo had done was allow military protocol to fall by the wayside. Most of the survivors here were not military, and the secretary felt it was more important to inspire loyalty and strengthen bonds than it was to maintain a strict command structure. Hengyen did not necessarily agree with the decision but understood its wisdom, so did as ordered. He still saluted the secretary, however. He would always salute.

  “Secretary,” he began. “It’s as we feared. Something has stirred the jiāngshī from Changde, and they are now moving en masse. A large group of jiāngshī is sweeping down the main highway. They’re traveling at roughly a quarter to one kilometer a day, so they’ll reach us by month’s end.”

  Guo at first didn’t seem to register the seriousness of the matter. He looked thoughtful as he picked up another slice of orange and peeled away the skin. “This sounds serious. How many more windrunners do you require to turn it aside? We can always enlist some of the settlement’s guards to assist.”

  Hengyen shook his head. “There are not enough windrunners or guards in the entire Beacon of Light for the job. Sir, the mass of jiāngshī is enormous. There are hundreds of thousands of dead. The largest typhoon I have ever witnessed.”

  “Then we’ll have to just redirect some of our efforts to improve our fortifications.”

  Blunt honesty was often the best course of action. Hengyen spoke in a measured tone. “Once that typhoon reaches us, it’ll smash through our fortification within hours.”

  “What are our options? Can we fight them off?”

  Hengyen shook his head. “There are simply too many. If we put every man, woman, and child in the Living Revolution to work, it would not be sufficient. Our only hope of survival is to abandon the Beacon of Light.”

  The realization on the secretary’s face came slowly and drastically as his eyes widened and tension etched deep lines into his face. Hengyen could almost see his thoughts spinning frantically in his head. Guo wiped his hands on a red handkerchief and pointed at the map on his desk. “The Beacon is a kilometer away from the highway. What are the chances the typhoon misses us completely?”

  “None, Secretary,” said Wangfa. “The dead are so numerous they span the horizon. Add the noise and lights from the settlement, the jiāngshī are bound to find their way to our doorstep.”

  “What if we were to shut the settlement down and keep silent until the typhoon passes?”

  Wangfa made a face. “It will take weeks for this typhoon to pass. We would starve long before then.”

  “They will also be attracted to the jiāngshī already in the Charred Fields,” added Hengyen. “Even if we wait out the main body, we’ll have a sea of dead surrounding us. We have no other choice.”

  A long silence passed as Guo studied the map. He finally spoke, “Comrades, do you know why I named this run-down facility the Beacon of Light?”

  “No, Secretary.” In truth, they did know, but both men knew it wasn’t their place to answer rhetorical questions.

  “The people look toward us for inspiration and guidance in these perilous times,” the secretary recited for probably the hundredth time. “Our purpose here is not just to eke out a meager existence until the cursed dead claim our lives. We are not here to scavenge for scraps from the corpses of our cities. We exist to stand tall. The Beacon is the symbol of the Living Revolution. We are the ones who draw the line. Our struggle, our very existence inspires hope in every survivor as far as the eye can see. We must show the people that the Living Revolution has not succumbed to this plague. We must show them hope, inspire them to strengthen their resolve, not to surrender to the darkness. We fight until our last breaths for the Land Under Heaven.”

  The secretary was a true patriot. His words were spoken directly into their souls, as if to lift their very hearts. Hengyen noticed Wangfa nodding along with every proclamation. Ever the skeptic, Hengyen
was not so easily swayed. It was a good speech, although he personally thought that Guo would do well to vary it up a little. As flowery and inspirational as the secretary’s words were, it didn’t change the facts. Numbers did not lie. Reality defeated hope every time.

  “I understand the significance of the Beacon,” Hengyen said slowly. “With all due respect, Secretary, the issue is not the people’s dedication to the Living Revolution.” He paused, choosing his words. “The Beacon is indefensible against these numbers. Even if we manage to keep the typhoon off our walls, it will simply surround us and starve us out. These are impossible odds.”

  “Impossible is a symptom of a lack of creativity,” declared the secretary.

  Hengyen bit his lip and struggled to keep his expression even. “You are right that it is more than just these walls and buildings. These we cannot move. The Beacon is the people who reside inside. We can move and save the people. Hope and inspiration may sustain their hearts during the outbreak, but we need to save lives.”

  Wangfa was staring at the map. “What if we find a way to turn the typhoon aside? Change the course of their flow?” He traced his finger along the highway and river. “If we destroy the bridges and roads here, here, and here, the typhoon may wrap around the Yuanjiang River and flow south instead, avoiding the Beacon entirely.”

  Secretary Guo’s face brightened immediately. “There you go, Comrade Wangfa. Find a solution. Surrender is not an option. We will use whatever resources the Beacon has at our disposal to defeat the jiāngshī.”

  Hengyen was dubious. After months of fighting the jiāngshī, he knew better than to try to divert a mass of this size. Wangfa’s idea had a low chance of success. Even worse, it would cost them valuable time and resources they could otherwise direct toward evacuating.

  It was Hengyen’s solemn duty to follow orders, but it was also his duty to avert disaster. He stood his ground. “Secretary Guo, you’ve entrusted me with keeping the people safe—”

  “Enough,” snapped Guo. “My decision is final. We are not abandoning the Beacon. The Living Revolution will not cede more ground to the dead. You will find a way, comrades. We cannot afford to lose the water-purification plant.”

  That was the crux of the problem. Clean water was difficult to supply for the thousands of souls within the Beacon’s walls. In many parts of the country, the rivers were tainted by the bodies of the dead. Still, what was the point of clean water if everyone who had access to it was dead or starving?

  Guo must have noticed the look on Hengyen’s face. He looked toward the door, as if checking to see if anyone was outside eavesdropping. “This is confidential. This information cannot be leaked until we verify it, but…” He leaned in. “We’ve received a signal from the Central Military Commission. It’s taken them months to recover from the initial shock of the outbreak, but party radio channels have communicated that the People’s Liberation Army has regrouped and is finally beginning to stem the tide of the dead.”

  Both Hengyen and Wangfa were stunned. The two men gasped and exchanged a quick, wide-eyed glance before remembering their place. After months of being completely in the dark, Hengyen’s staunch, unfailing faith in the country had started to crack. “Is it true? How far away is the main body? When will they reach us?”

  “It’s true,” said Guo. “But there are many thousands of kilometers and millions of jiāngshī between us and the People’s Liberation Army. The CMC is reclaiming the country province by province. It will take some time before they reach us, but help is coming. Until then, we must remain resolute.” He came around from behind his desk and put his hands on Hengyen’s shoulders. “In times of difficulties, we must not lose sight of our achievements, of what we have built here at the Beacon of Light. Comrade Ying Hengyen, you are the hero of this settlement, the living embodiment of the Beacon of Light. Everyone here admires and respects you. They follow your lead and stand by your side in battle. This typhoon now threatens to snuff out the Living Revolution. It is our solemn and patriotic duty to stand against this tide of darkness to keep this light shining for future generations. Can you do this for your people?”

  Hengyen had no other choice. Reconnecting with the main body of the army would change everything. He glanced down at the map again. “Perhaps if we were to blow these two bridges and block off these roads here, Wangfa’s plan may have a chance. However, we have to be careful not to corral them into the gorge. The dead move like water, and all rivers flow to the path of least resistance. We block one section and the dead may flow directly to a path leading to the Beacon.”

  “I leave the planning to you, Hengyen,” said Guo, walking them to the door. “You will have the Beacon’s every resource at your disposal.”

  Hengyen saluted. “Thank you, Secretary.”

  No sooner had they left the office and Guo’s earshot, than Hengyen stopped Wangfa in his tracks. “What was all that about?”

  “Sir? I don’t understand.” The expression on his second in command’s face said otherwise.

  “Next time you want to suggest a plan, run it by me first.”

  “My apologies,” replied Wangfa. “It was a moment of inspiration. I did not mean to speak out of turn.”

  If they had been back in the Falcon Commando Unit, there would have been severe repercussions. But they weren’t. Good soldiers were rare these days, and taking initiative should have been commended, not punished. It wasn’t a bad plan either, just one that was due more diligence before being brought to the secretary.

  “Let’s meet this afternoon to go over the details,” he replied.

  Wangfa nodded. “Have you decided on Linnang’s replacement?”

  “Prepare more names for me,” Hengyen ordered as he walked to the door. He wouldn’t have minded finding a cooled office and staying indoors for the rest of the day, but he was hungry. As he stepped outside, a curtain of humidity blasted him. He ignored the drops of sweat that began to pour down the sides of his face.

  As much as his stomach growled, Hengyen took his time, making sure his steps were calm and measured. His role was to ensure the security of the Beacon, and to be present for the people he protected. If people saw the head of security in a hurry, they would automatically assume the worst. The people were skittish enough. He made sure to make eye contact with the other residents, giving a reassuring smile here or a wave there. He never wanted to appear unapproachable or too important for the people he worked alongside of to foster the seeds of the Living Revolution. Cries of “Dàgē!” filled his ears. Several came to shake his hand. A vendor offered him sweets. A woman brought her child to meet him. It filled Hengyen’s soul to see the people alive and vibrant. It always did a soldier’s spirits good to know what and who it was he was defending.

  The walk also helped him clear his mind and gather his thoughts. His father used to fondly say that wandering legs could unravel problems that a focused mind could not. Hengyen had found this true whenever he was faced with a problem. By the time Hengyen reached the cafeteria, he had found an answer to at least one of his problems.

  He greeted the cooks by first name, which was a trick he had learned early in his military career. The cooks especially appreciated it, and showed it with bigger helpings. Not that it really mattered for someone in his position, but old habits were hard to break. There was never a reason to break good habits.

  He sat down at a table reserved for officers and party members at the end of the tent. A girl he didn’t recognize—she couldn’t be more than seven or eight—brought him a plate that was easily three regular rations’ worth. It was almost embarrassing. He thanked her, and then whistled for her to come back when she turned to leave. He took the guava and two buns from his plate and held them out. The hunger was raw in her eyes, but she refused shyly.

  Hengyen winked. “Our little secret. Take some home to your folks if you like.” He instantly regretted those words. There were too many orphans at the Beacon. It was unkind of him to bring it up, in case her parents we
re among the dead. The little girl didn’t seem to mind as she accepted his gifts and stuffed a bun into her mouth.

  “Thank you, dàgē,” she said, through full cheeks.

  Hengyen watched the girl leave to continue her work. It must be difficult for someone to have to serve food to others when they were themselves so hungry. He had just about finished his meal and was reviewing the previous day’s quota report when Elena Anderson came in for lunch. Seeing her reminded him of the other problem he had found a solution to during his stroll.

  He glanced down at his leftovers. He honestly couldn’t eat another bite. After months of eating half rations, a body got used to the smaller portions. Still, wasting food at the Beacon was practically a crime. He sighed and stuffed the rest into his mouth quickly, then hurried over to the other end of the tent.

  Elena Anderson was sitting alone staring at her camera when Hengyen arrived at her table. “May I join you, Ms. Anderson?” he said in his broken English.

  She looked up and froze before finding her voice and replying in her native tongue. “Oh, of course, Windmaster. I’m sorry. Please, sit.”

  Hengyen switched back to Mandarin. He knew just enough English to ask to use the bathroom, demand surrender, and to request to be taken to the Chinese embassy. “I reviewed your salvage from yesterday. Ninety-two points. Nicely done.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, blushing. “Wenzhu was the one who found the spot.”

  “Has he returned yet?”

  Elena shook her head. He could see the strain around her eyes. Something was wrong. “Is he in trouble?” she asked.

  “On the contrary,” he replied. “I have an opportunity for him. As you probably know by now, I have an opening on my wind team. I think Wenzhu would make a fine addition.”

  She hesitated, not looking as if she was taking the news well. “I thought your wind team was only for those in the military.”

  “It was,” he admitted, “but with everything going on, there aren’t many soldiers left. In any case, I prefer brightness and competence to military experience.” He paused. “Will that be a problem?”