Chapter 8：Has the American Military Rescue Begun?
Chen Dao was momentarily bemused, an emoji practically floating above his head, thinking, "Seriously? Throwing up already?" Although he was once a regular person, after numerous up-close encounters with the undead, his mental fortitude had significantly strengthened. After all, his zombie takedown tally had surpassed the 300 mark.
Patting Demnia on the shoulder with the faintest voice, he told her, "Keep an eye on them here. I'll check on Payton." Catching sight of the machete in her small backpack, he was reminded of himself a few days prior.
Chen Dao motioned for her to prepare the blade. Facing zombies meant being ready for combat at all times; failing to prepare could be fatal. "If there's no trouble, wave your hand upwards. If there's danger, wave it downwards, then run towards us. Got it?" Chen Dao agreed on a silent signal with Demnia. Shouting to communicate in the presence of a horde is what only fools would do — it attracts more zombies. Silent gestures were the wisest way.
Approaching Payton, Chen Dao delved into his Alice pack for his treasured cigarettes, offering one to Payton and lighting another for himself. These days, the craving for cigarettes was a lesser evil compared to the pain from his wounds. Now that his injury was healing, giving up smoking wasn't high on Chen Dao's list of priorities, not when he needed cigarettes to ease his mind.
Smoking, though relaxing as the smoke fills the lungs, damages pulmonary health, essentially consuming one's life force.
Payton wiped the chickpea mud from his mouth, accepting the cigarette from Chen Dao with an expression akin to one enduring constipation. His look conveyed surprise that this Asian man was smoking, and seeming to ask, "What am I supposed to do with this?"
Chen Dao ignored his puzzled gaze, lit the cigarette, and placed it in Payton's mouth. Payton tentatively puffed on it, only to cough so badly that his eyes teared up.
Watching Payton stifle his coughs with as little noise as possible, Chen Dao turned to see Demnia flashing an 'ok' signal from afar, indicating all was well. Should there be trouble, Demnia would wave her arm downwards — their simple yet effective prearranged signal.
Chen Dao refocused his attention on Payton, whose handling capacity was much less than his sister's. Payton seemed quirky, but in reality, he was a good kid; Demnia too was brave, though she came across as reserved and quiet.
Without knowing their history, Chen Dao could only speculate about Payton and Demnia's past, Chen Dao, trying to comfort Payton, firmly grasped the wrench that nearly slipped from his hand and looked him dead in the eye, "Zombies far outnumber us, the living, and one day you'll have to fight them. You can't always count on Demnia to save you; you must learn to fight these creatures yourself."
Reasserting the grip on the wrench, he added, "This tool alone can kill dozens of zombies; even the fast ones can be easily dealt with if you use proper techniques."
Taking a few deep breaths, Payton stood resolute, gripping the wrench tightly in hand. Watching Payton's rekindled fighting spirit, Chen Dao took back the cigarette, puffing away to soothe his craving; after all, it was wasted on Payton, a non-smoker.
Payton's puzzled look returned, clearly wondering, "What was the point of that smoke?" To which Chen Dao replied with laugh, "Was hoping you'd turn into a real Popeye the Sailor man after a puff." The truth was, he just wanted to see Payton's flustered reaction.
But the prank eased the tension for Payton, who felt ready to handle those creatures. Demnia, from a distance, saw both men stand and head towards her. She made a reassuring gesture, signaling all was clear, awaiting their joining her at her side by the lake where the horde had remained.
The water-bound zombie, still entangled within the fishing net, continued its feeble struggle, unable to free itself.
Could exposure to rain and sunlight accelerate the decomposition of zombies? This summer had been quite warm, and a month into the outbreak, the zombies only exuded an odor without signs of liquefication or adipocere formation.
"Do zombies have a form of preservation?" Chen Dao wondered. As he and Payton joined Demnia, they watched the lakeside zombies probe curiously into the water, akin to a silent pantomime. After circling countless times, the child zombie with the pitchfork handle ceased to react to the incessant bumps to his head.
Now mellowed, he stood quietly with the horde, all still gazing at the churning undead in the water. The odd scene was suffocatingly eerie, without a breath of air.
Drowning in thought, Demnia and Payton shared a multitude of questions as they watched, unable to comprehend what drove these zombies. Did they share a sense of sympathy among themselves, or did they possess some consciousness?
"They're just afraid of water," Chen Dao reminded them, urging them to snap out of it. Opening his bag, he drew a few tin canisters which Demnia had seen Chen Dao collect as 'garbage' back at the farm.
Intelligent as she was, she immediately grasped Chen Dao's intent. "Remember what I said? They respond to sounds and lights instinctively." Feeling the weight of the can in his hand, he asked the siblings softly.
With a nod from Demnia and a blank stare from Payton, who had not yet caught up mentally, Chen Dao shared a plan to provoke movement within the zombie group to reveal the information they sought.
Handing a stone-filled can to the muscular Payton, Chen Dao directed him to throw it towards the group's side; just not more than 30 meters, assuring him, "You got this." Then, after Payton's unsuccessful toss, he encouraged another attempt, explaining not to throw, but to push for better accuracy — a lesson accompanied by an ample supply of cans to practice with.
To their surprise, the sounds of aircraft thundered overhead, pulling their gaze skywards. A massive Hercules transporter adorned with four propellers soared by, escorted by F-16 fighters bedecked with bombs and missiles. They zipped from the east, flying low at breakneck speeds in full combat mode, carrying essential cargo or a VIP—presidential level? Flashing past their slice of the border in mere seconds, their low flyover generated a tremendous noise, sending the previously lakeside-bound zombies northward without delay.
Among them, not a single runner—except for the pitchfork-pierced gentleman in the suit. Chen Dao and the siblings had not recovered from the shock of the flyover, possibilities racing through his mind like a quickfire sequence.
Demnia and Payton, though, found excitement in witnessing America's formidable military strength for the first time since the outbreak, fueling their belief that rescue was, after all, plausible. Contrary to Chen Dao's earlier declarations, things perhaps weren't as dire as he projected.
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