Chapter Nine: The Dilapidated Minibus

Rebuilding Civilization

Qi Feiwu was exceptionally decisive in her actions; once she made up her mind, there was no turning back. Xie Han had considered stopping her from carrying out this plan, but when he thought of the elderly and the young in their group, he realized they couldn’t hold out much longer. If they didn’t solve their food problem by tomorrow or the day after, the entire group would starve to death.

The night watch was assigned to Qi Feiwu and Xu Qiang. The wounded man—whose name Xie Han now knew—was Chu Tianhe. He had once been a teacher in Anhuai City, and his strong immunity to the virus had allowed him to survive. He had managed refugees at the Anhuai base, but during this latest escape, he was struck in the thigh by a stray bullet from an ally and abandoned by his group, leaving him no choice but to join Qi Feiwu’s ragtag team.

In this post-apocalyptic world, everyone knew how to handle firearms. Chu Tianhe appeared gentle and scholarly, but after three years defending the base, he had developed into a machine gunner. It was likely this skill that attracted Qi Feiwu to him, though their team lacked a machine gun. For now, Chu Tianhe could only stay in the minibus, guarding a firing point at the back—half a combatant, at least.

Xu Qiang took the first half of the night watch, so Qi Feiwu instructed Xie Han to rest. She herself cradled her rifle and disappeared into her tent, soon emitting the soft sound of snoring.

Xie Han shook his head and lay beside the campfire, feeling a touch of warmth. Yet, unlike Qi Feiwu and the others, he lacked their openness and calm. On his first night in the apocalypse, his mind churned with countless thoughts, unable to find peace. Restless, he tossed and turned by the fire, unable to sleep.

Eventually, he sat up, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. Halfway through, he summoned Zhou Ruomeng and began exploring the database. The information within was vast, and the functions of his time-space watch were formidable; he could operate it with a mere thought. The maps he needed most could be found in the database and would appear as flat projections in his mind. This discovery filled Xie Han with elation, and he asked Zhou Ruomeng, “Is it possible to access real-time satellite maps?”

Zhou Ruomeng chuckled. “Of course…” she began.

Xie Han was ecstatic—wouldn’t that let him track the movements of the zombies at will? But just as he grew excited, Zhou Ruomeng added, “But you’ll need to reach Level Five gene access to unlock that feature.”

Her words were like a bucket of cold water. Dejected, Xie Han took a deep drag of his cigarette, muttering, “That’s as good as not telling me.”

At that moment, footsteps approached from behind, measured and clear. Xie Han turned to see Chu Tianhe, clutching his thigh as he hobbled over. He plopped down beside Xie Han, inhaled deeply, and said, “The smell of tobacco… I haven’t had that in over a year. I miss it.”

Xie Han, having spent two years at his workplace, was not so easily fooled by Chu Tianhe’s tactics. Since he still had cigarettes in his stash, he tossed over the pack from his pocket, barely used, and said, “Have one.”

Chu Tianhe accepted it with delight, carefully extracted a cigarette, and used a burning stick from the fire to light it. He savored the first puffs, sighing, “More than a year without a smoke—damn, it really is a torment.” By the firelight, he examined the cigarette pack and exclaimed in surprise, “Soft Zhonghua! They stopped making these in ‘45. Where did you get them? This pack alone is worth at least ten catties of white rice.”

Xie Han only chuckled. The cigarettes had come from his workplace, and he rarely smoked, so he’d kept them all this time. There was no way he’d tell Chu Tianhe that. Still, in this world where food was king, a pack of Soft Zhonghua trading for ten catties of rice was astonishing. Two packs of instant noodles could get you a ring and a bracelet—ten catties of rice must be worth two or three hundred grams of gold at least, which was five or six thousand yuan.

“They stopped production in ‘45?” Xie Han thought to himself, realizing he’d just handed over the equivalent of five or six thousand yuan. He tried to steer the conversation away to ease his regret. Chu Tianhe lingered over the cigarette, even holding the smoke in his mouth, and mumbled, “Stopped in ‘45. You hardly see Soft Zhonghua on the market anymore.” He exhaled a smoke ring, rummaged in his pocket, and sheepishly handed over two small pieces of gold, about twenty grams in total. “I can’t just take your cigarettes for free. This is all I have left.”

Xie Han waved him off. “Forget it. I hardly smoke anyway. We’re a team now—just take them.” To him, what others treasured was still worth its original price. If he ever returned to his own world, he could have as much Soft Zhonghua as he wanted. The thought set his mind at ease.

Chu Tianhe didn’t protest further. He tucked away the cigarettes and said, “I owe you one. If you need anything, let me know.” With that, he carefully returned to his tent, the faint red glow inside flickering in the darkness.

Xie Han shook his head, lay back down by the fire, let go of his worries, and soon drifted off into a deep sleep, exhausted.

The next morning, as dawn was just breaking, Xie Han felt someone gently nudging him. Struggling to open his eyes, he saw a small, thin boy from their group, his sallow face tinged with fear. When he saw Xie Han awaken, the boy jumped back several steps, pointing at Qi Feiwu—who was already packing up the tent—and stammered, “The captain asked me to wake you.”

Xie Han smiled warmly. “I won’t eat you, you know. What’s your name?” The boy turned and ran toward Qi Feiwu, calling out as he went, “Lu Haiyang!”

Xie Han’s only real possession was a steel pot, which he couldn’t store in his spatial vault, so he carried it as he joined Qi Feiwu and the others, making their way down the hillside toward the minibus.

To be honest, the old minibus looked well past retirement age to Xie Han. The windshield was in shambles, and much of its white paint had peeled off, exposing the rusty metal beneath. Worse yet, one of the rear tires had a gaping tear, revealing the inner tube. Xie Han doubted the tire would hold up—if they were attacked by zombies and suffered a blowout, it would be a catastrophe.

Qi Feiwu noticed his hesitation and said with resignation, “There’s nothing we can do. This is the only vehicle we could find that still runs. We’ll have to manage with it for now. Hopefully, we can find something better in the next town.”

Xie Han understood her predicament and simply sighed, then climbed aboard with his steel pot. Half the seats had been removed to make space for supplies. The three elders and three children settled in, fastening themselves with seatbelts once everything was loaded. Xie Han tossed his pot onto the pile and found a window seat.

Chu Tianhe came up and advised, “Xie Han, you’d best keep your pistol handy. Zombie attacks can be sudden. If you can’t suppress them, they’ll quickly surround the van, and the thin metal won’t hold them off for long.” Xie Han had no experience fighting zombies, but Chu Tianhe, with three years of survival behind him, certainly did. So Xie Han drew his pistol, checked the magazine, and, finding everything in order, thanked him.

Qi Feiwu was driving. Once the engine started, the whole van was overtaken by its noisy rumble. Xu Qiang, having stood the second half of the night watch, was now catching up on sleep beside the supplies. Chu Tianhe smiled at Xie Han, then took up his post in the back, eyes fixed on what lay behind them.