“Roar—”
“Roar roar roar—”
It was early morning, the sky just barely lightening.
Faint, intermittent roars drifted up from downstairs.
“Ah…”
In the bedroom, the curtains were drawn tight.
Lin Xiaobao flipped over and sprawled across the bed like a flattened pancake, kicking his legs hard a couple of times.
The force was so strong that the eight-pound cotton quilt draped over him slid down a little.
Who was making that racket? So utterly lacking in decency.
Didn’t they know Little Bao Bao was in the middle of a growth spurt and needed his full night’s sleep?
“Hate it…”
Lin Zao got kicked awake. He flipped over in a daze, fumbling to pull his son close, covering the boy’s ears and tugging him back into the warm nest of quilts.
“Alright, alright, nothing to hate. Go back to sleep.”
Through the covers, Dad’s gentle pats landed softly on Lin Xiaobao’s little chest.
Lin Zao murmured reassurances even as he drifted off again, without bothering to open his eyes.
“Brother Cheng…”
Lin Zao mumbled, but nothing stirred behind him.
That wasn’t right.
Normally, Fu Cheng would stretch out an arm at a moment like this, scooping both him and Little Bao into a tight embrace—covering Lin Zao’s ears just as he had the boy’s.
So why no movement today?
The roars grew louder, more ferocious.
Lin Zao let out a whine and twisted deeper into the quilts.
“So annoying. What’s the deal? Is it Grandpa Zhang’s big rooster crowing, or those rowdy punks roaring back on their scooters from the night shift?”
He gave his own leg a kick, mimicking Lin Xiaobao’s exact motion.
“Brother Cheng, go take a look, will you? The rooster and those punks are all terrified of you. Just go tell them to pipe down…”
The words died on his lips as Lin Zao snapped fully awake, his eyes flying open.
Wait—no!
Brother Cheng was home, but not in the bedroom.
Brother Cheng had been scratched by a zombie. He’d been infected with the zombie virus.
Last night, Lin Zao had stayed up until the wee hours writing in the Zombie Husband Feeding Diary.
Which meant…
So what the hell was roaring now?
His heart clenched tight. Lin Zao threw off the quilts in a single swish and scrambled off the bed with a thud.
Could it be Brother Cheng?
No way! He had to go check!
Lin Zao started for the door, but he’d barely taken a step—his foot not even touching the floor—when his vision blurred. He swayed and toppled right back onto the bed.
“Ah…”
Too abrupt. His head spun.
Lin Zao clutched his forehead and shook his head vigorously.
Once his sight cleared, he tucked the quilts snugly around Lin Xiaobao. Then he yanked open the nightstand drawer, fished out a pair of over-ear headphones, and slipped them onto the boy.
He hit the button. Soft, soothing lullabies began to play.
Now Little Bao Bao wouldn’t get woken by the noise.
With that taken care of, Lin Zao slid his feet into his cotton slippers, gripped the bedpost for support, and tried standing again.
Good—no problems.
Lin Zao tiptoed out of the room and hurried down the stairs.
The zombie virus had erupted on a massive scale that Chinese New Year’s Eve.
He’d always been terrified of those things—the blood, the guts. Even a quick glance on the street left him queasy, and he’d always yanked the curtains shut once he got home.
Before Fu Cheng’s injury, the thought of closely observing a zombie had never crossed his mind.
He had no idea what infection really entailed.
But there had to be pain. Torment.
His cotton slippers slapped against each step—pa-da, pa-da.
Lin Zao ruffled his messy hair, regret gnawing at him.
He shouldn’t have slept so deeply last night.
After finishing the diary around one or two in the morning, he should have gone down to check on Fu Cheng.
At three or four, he should have set an alarm and checked again.
At least three times a night—like a dorm monitor doing bed checks!
Lin Zao reached the door to the utility room and clambered onto a stool with practiced ease.
He unlatched the window and pushed open the pane.
The sun wasn’t up yet, and even if it were, the room inside was pitch black.
Lin Zao craned his neck, peering intently.
There was Fu Cheng, still frozen in yesterday’s position—back turned to him, lying motionless on the bed.
The one roaring wildly wasn’t him, then.
What a relief.
Lin Zao let out a long breath, his tension easing.
As long as Brother Cheng was okay.
But—
Lin Zao shut the window and scanned his surroundings.
Up in the third-floor bedroom, the roars had sounded distant.
Down here on the first floor, they boomed loud and clear.
Listening carefully, they seemed very close—just a few walls away.
Zombies were prowling right near their house.
Just passing through? Or had they set their sights on breaking in?
Lin Zao tensed up again, his heart leaping into his throat.
He hopped off the stool and snatched the iron stick propped in the corner. He gripped it awkwardly, testing its weight with a few swings.
Where was it?
Where was the zombie?
Lin Zao clutched the iron stick in both hands, holding it out in front of him.
This was the defensive stance Brother Cheng had taught him—one that let him counterattack if anything lunged.
Lin Zao crept to the wall and hugged it close as he inched forward.
All the while, he peered through the glass, scanning outside for any trace of zombies.
No matter what, zombies weren’t allowed anywhere near their home!
That was his rule!
Yet after circling the garage and the auto repair shop twice, he hadn’t spotted so much as a single zombie hair.
Just as Lin Zao figured the thing had wandered off and started to lower his weapon, another roar erupted nearby.
He jumped, whipping around to trace the sound.
Nothing.
Strange. He’d searched every inch of the first floor. No zombies.
So where was the noise coming from?
Lin Zao tightened his grip on the stick, his mind racing.
Had zombies evolved wings in a mere ten days and taken to the skies?
Or…
Had one already broken into the house, lurking in some corner?
No. Impossible.
He’d checked the doors and windows while searching. Everything was securely locked, no signs of tampering.
Then where were these sounds coming from? How could they be so close?
Suddenly, inspiration struck. Clutching the iron stick, Lin Zao bolted upstairs.
Right—there was one place he hadn’t checked!
He dashed to the second-floor living room and over to the back window. He parted the curtain just a sliver and peeked out.
There!
Two or three zombies dragged their trailing guts as they shuffled about below.
The living room’s back window overlooked the utility room where Fu Cheng now stayed!
He’d promised Fu Cheng not to open the door casually.
So he hadn’t gone inside during his patrol.
Right now, those zombies were milling around under the exhaust fan like headless flies—circling aimlessly, bumping into walls.
Heads bowed low, drawn to something. They lurched forward, only to smack into obstacles.
Blocked, they raked the outer wall with their fingers, carving bloody streaks. Every so often, one let out a low roar.
One roared, and the others joined in—a call-and-response, like humans greeting each other.
Hidden behind the curtain, Lin Zao frowned, watching in bewilderment.
A wall enclosed their backyard, and the alley wasn’t wide. How had they gotten back here?
This had never happened before.
What were they doing? Trying to break in?
Why did they want in? What was drawing them?
Why the constant roaring? Who were they greeting?
Or…
Who were they summoning?
In the next instant, the realization hit Lin Zao like lightning.
His brows twitched. His heart thudded heavily.
Fu Cheng…
It was Fu Cheng!
These zombies had locked onto his Brother Cheng!
Fu Cheng had been scratched. He must carry their scent now.
They’d smelled a kindred spirit and come prowling!
Lin Zao squeezed the iron stick and let the curtain fall. He turned and ran.
No! Brother Cheng was his husband, his son’s Big Daddy!
Brother Cheng was human!
No other zombies were allowed to summon him—to lure him away!
Lin Zao raced back to the garage, went up on tiptoe, and plucked a string of firecrackers from the shelf. He grabbed a lighter and hurried upstairs.
Back at the rear window, he ducked behind the curtain. With careful movements, he unlatched it and nudged the pane open just a crack.
His hands shook badly. His heart pounded even worse.
Three zombies down below.
All adult-sized, none small.
Beneath the gore, he could make out blue work overalls.
Less than a kilometer east sat the auto factory.
These must have been workers who’d stayed on-site over the holiday, chasing triple pay.
They hadn’t earned a dime. Instead, they’d turned.
Lin Zao gripped the firecrackers and iron stick. He drew a deep breath, shoving down pity, sympathy, worry, fear—all the messy emotions swirling inside.
The zombies were right there. He couldn’t afford to hesitate!
He couldn’t shrink back. He couldn’t let them loiter.
What if they damaged the exhaust fan?
What if they climbed in through it?
What if their calls really turned Brother Cheng?
He couldn’t save the whole world. He could only protect his home with everything he had.
And even if none of those “what ifs” came true, their shambling left blood and guts everywhere. The stench would draw more zombies.
That would be far worse.
Lin Zao exhaled sharply, gritted his teeth, and flicked the lighter to the fuse.
Nerves made his hand slip twice, wobble once.
On the third try, the flame caught. The fuse hissed to life.
Lin Zao flung the window wider and hurled the firecrackers out—over the wall.
Boom—
They detonated midair, before hitting the ground.
In one frantic motion, he lit three more and tossed them after.
Boom boom boom—
Done. He slammed the window shut, latched it tight, and ducked back.
Through the glass, Lin Zao held his breath, eyes glued to the scene below.
The zombies’ attention snapped to the bangs. They twisted their rigid necks at impossible angles, heads swiveling toward the noise.
Sweat slicked Lin Zao’s palms. He prayed silently.
Go away! Get lost! Don’t hang around here!
Don’t come for Fu Cheng—he’s not one of you!
My Brother Cheng isn’t a zombie. He’s not your kind!
Scram!
Finally—whether from the blasts or his desperate pleas—the zombies lowed once and shuffled into motion, turning to leave.
Lin Zao didn’t dare relax. He kept praying.
Yes! That’s it!
Go on! Beat it!
They circled confusedly, slammed into walls a few times, even veered back toward the house once or twice.
Lin Zao’s heart was in his throat. He itched to rush down and guide them himself.
That way! Over there!
Not this way!
As they lurched back again, Lin Zao cracked the window and lobbed one more firecracker.
This time, it worked.
The zombies finally found their path and staggered off.
Lin Zao let out a huge sigh of relief.
Only then did he realize he was drenched in sweat again, his pajamas soaked through.
But with the zombies gone, he didn’t dare dawdle. He raced downstairs, unhooked the long hose Fu Cheng used for car washes—high-pressure nozzle and all—and hauled it upstairs.
Lin Zao hooked the hose to the kitchen faucet and dragged the lengthy coil back to the window.
The instant he twisted the faucet, a powerful jet erupted.
The recoil was fierce; he nearly lost his grip.
Clutching the hose with both hands, Lin Zao aimed the spray at the outer wall, blasting away the bloody streaks the zombies had left.
Splash—
Water hammered the wall, kicking up sprays that trickled through the exhaust fan into the utility room.
Fu Cheng lay on the bed. Perhaps influenced by the others, he couldn’t help it—low roars bubbled involuntarily from his throat, answering his “kin.”
Roar—roar—
The next moment, stray droplets drifted in and pattered onto his face.
Fu Cheng jolted awake. He flipped upright and pressed his palm to the carved words on the wall, tracing the familiar strokes with his hand.
—Little Zao, Little Zao, Little Zao.
—Little Bao, Little Bao, Little Bao.
He silently repeated his wife and son’s names over and over, forcing down the roars clawing at his throat.
—He’s not a zombie. He’s not a zombie. He’s not…
It was raining.
Fu Cheng shuffled to the exhaust fan and stretched out his hands to catch the drifting drops, willing himself to clear his head.
Just then, a young, cheerful voice floated down—from somewhere above, maybe even the sky itself—
“Brother Cheng, who knew you’d be such a heartthrob. Oh—more like a zombie-throb. They all came looking for you.”
Fu Cheng froze for a beat, then tilted his head to follow the sound.
Lin Zao sounded like he was talking to himself—or maybe directly to Fu Cheng.
He went on. “But I’m pretty possessive. I chased them all off. You’re not going anywhere with them.”
Right then, the sun crested the horizon. Its rays pierced the fan blades, refracting through the misty air to dapple Fu Cheng’s face.
In that hazy moment, it seemed a rainbow arched across the tiny window.
The angel upstairs made his possessive declaration—
“Brother Cheng is mine. Only with me!”
Some clarity returned to Fu Cheng. He let out a low chuckle.
—Good. Only with Little Zao.
