Cooking, eating, washing the pot and dishes.
Every now and then, he went downstairs to check on the zombie husband they kept at home.
A peaceful day passed just like that.
Deep into the night, when all was quiet, Lin Zao held Lin Xiaobao close and huddled under the covers.
The quilt was pulled up to their chins, covering half their faces. But the father and son tilted their heads back slightly, sleeping soundly—sweeter than little pigs.
“Hmm…”
“Ha…”
“Hmm hmm hmm…”
“Hahaha…”
What was going on?
As he slept, Lin Zao subconsciously scrunched up his face and huffed through his nose.
Why did he suddenly feel like he couldn’t breathe?
Who? Who had sucked all the air from right in front of him?
No, no—he was going to suffocate!
“Hmm!”
With a heavy snort, Lin Zao struggled awake from his dream.
He rubbed his eyes in a daze and looked around.
What had happened? Why was he awake?
Lin Zao looked down at Lin Xiaobao in his arms.
Oh. It was him.
Little Bao lay cradled against him. At some point, the boy had turned around, so their faces were inches apart, noses almost touching.
One breathed in while the other breathed out.
Then the other breathed out while the first breathed in.
The two of them were sharing the same pocket of air, so of course they ended up fighting over it.
Lin Zao patted Lin Xiaobao’s back, rolled over onto his back, closed his eyes, and prepared to go back to sleep.
Just then, the sound of a car engine rumbled from downstairs.
Vroom vroom vroom—
Lin Zao’s eyes snapped open again. He perked up his ears and listened carefully.
Now he was really awake!
Lin Zao went on high alert. He threw off the covers and got out of bed, not daring to dawdle.
He slipped on his cotton shoes and stood by the bedside. While shrugging on his coat, he tucked in the quilt around Lin Xiaobao. Then he grabbed the headphones and put them on the boy—not to play music this time, but to block out the noise.
Only after finishing all that did Lin Zao pick up the iron stick from beside the bed and step out of the room.
He gripped the iron stick with both hands, holding the weapon across his chest as he warily made his way down the third-floor hallway.
After nearly a month cooped up at home and going through so much, Lin Zao wouldn’t claim he was completely fearless, but his courage had grown a bit.
The third floor was safe.
Lin Zao descended the stairs, step by step.
The second floor was safe too.
That left the first floor!
As soon as Lin Zao reached the ground floor, he sensed it—
Someone was outside!
The engine noise grew louder, and light seeped through the cracks in the paper covering the windows.
Lin Zao tightened his grip on his weapon and hurried toward the glow, stopping at the window.
He peeled back a small gap in the covering and peered out. In front of Grandpa Zhang’s house, the minivan that had been parked there sat with its door wide open and lights blazing, engine humming.
Oh no! Someone was stealing the van!
Lin Zao’s heart jolted. He raised his stick—
But the next second, a shock of red hair poked out from inside the vehicle.
Lin Zao quickly lowered his weapon.
It was Red Hair.
Yellow Hair, Green Hair, and Grandpa Zhang followed right after.
They huddled together, speaking in hushed tones, but Lin Zao could still make out bits and pieces.
Grandpa Zhang asked, “How is it? Does the van run?”
Red Hair nodded and flashed an OK sign. “It’ll get us moving, no problem.”
“Good.” As Grandpa Zhang spoke, he pulled a plastic bag from behind his back. “Here, take this for the road.”
“Gan Grandpa, no…”
“Those rice cakes you made are all burnt—smell like scorch. Not good for you. Take it and eat up so you have strength to find food.”
“No, no. That’s not burnt—it’s toasty flavor. We love scorched pot scrapers.”
“It’s not a loan. Consider it a gift from me. No need to pay back.”
“We’re not worried about that…”
Grandpa Zhang tried to force the bag into their hands.
The Tri-Colored Trio stood firm, refusing just as stubbornly.
Finally, Grandpa Zhang’s face hardened. “Take it already. Keep arguing, and you’ll wake the whole street—not to mention, what if you draw one of those things?”
Before they could respond, he flung the bag into the van.
“Go on, get going.”
Grandpa Zhang clapped their shoulders.
“Safe travels. Come back in one piece.”
“Then we’re off. Gan Grandpa, take care. We’ll bring back food.”
“Go on.”
Grandpa Zhang waved them off. The Tri-Colored Trio climbed in, shut the door, revved the engine, and lurched away down Happiness Street.
They were pretty smart, setting out under cover of darkness in the dead of night.
No one would notice, and they might even score some overlooked supplies.
Lin Zao stood at the window, mouth agape in a yawn.
As long as they weren’t bad guys, that was fine.
He turned to head back to bed.
But at that moment, Grandpa Zhang hobbled over, leaning on his cane.
Lin Zao paused and peeled back the paper covering again to look at the old man.
Grandpa Zhang stopped at the window and gave him a smile. In a soft voice, he asked, “Little Zao, did Brother Cheng, me, and those three kids wake you?”
“Nah.” Lin Zao grinned. “I was up late watching TV anyway. Hadn’t gone to bed yet. Heard the noise and came down to check.”
Grandpa Zhang kept smiling, seeing right through the lie but not calling him out.
Instead, like a magician pulling a trick, he produced another plastic bag from behind his back. “Here.”
Lin Zao blinked, caught off guard. “What’s this?”
“Rice cakes.”
“No, no need.” Lin Zao waved it off on instinct. “We’ve got food at home.”
“I gave those three a bag, so your family gets one too. Call it—” Grandpa Zhang paused. “Fairness.”
“But we’re not going anywhere. We don’t need travel rations…”
“You do. An old man like me can’t play favorites. Take it.”
Grandpa Zhang shoved the bag into the slot of the anti-theft net.
“There. It’s yours now.”
“Grandpa Zhang…”
Grandpa Zhang set it down and turned to leave.
Lin Zao called after him, but the old man was already gone.
He had no choice but to grab the bag, close the window, and hurry along the wall to catch up.
But Grandpa Zhang moved nimbly on his cane, slipping through the alley and back through his rear door.
Lin Zao stood there, scratching his head.
“Alright then. Thanks, Grandpa Zhang.”
He wasn’t sure if the old man heard.
Lin Zao glanced at the rice cakes, picked up the bag, and turned away.
Passing the utility room, a thought struck him. He stopped, climbed onto a stool, and peeked inside.
Good—Fu Cheng wasn’t brooding against the wall anymore.
The zombie lay on the bed now, back to the door, fast asleep.
No matter how fierce the zombie, under Little Zao’s supervision, lights out meant bed time!
Lin Zao chuckled, relieved, and hopped down from the stool.
As he turned, his peripheral vision caught the pickup truck parked in their garage.
The black pickup had sat untouched since Fu Cheng brought it home last time.
Lin Zao pressed his lips together. He couldn’t help wondering—if they ran out of food at home, would he…
Have to go out scavenging like The Tri-Colored Trio?
He knew how to drive, but he wasn’t great at it. His spatial awareness was iffy, and he only drove with Brother Cheng riding shotgun.
Plus, with all those zombies outside, heading out alone still scared him a little.
He wondered if Brother Cheng could go with him when the time came.
Lin Zao stared at the truck’s glossy black paint, drawn in. He set down his bag and approached the driver’s door.
He pulled it open and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Fu Cheng was tall and burly; the seat felt roomy for Lin Zao.
He leaned down, adjusted the seat and backrest forward.
Buckling the seatbelt, he gripped the steering wheel and sat up straight, mentally reviewing the steps Brother Cheng had taught him.
No key in the ignition—he could practice freely.
Clutch first, then gear, honk the horn, check mirrors.
Lin Zao recited the steps to himself, running through them diligently. He didn’t want to forget after so long without driving.
He practiced three times and felt pretty good about it.
Relieved, Lin Zao leaned back against the headrest with a sigh.
The night was still pitch black, but sleep eluded him now.
Might as well do something.
He turned his head and spotted the three little duck plushies on the center console.
Red, yellow, blue—the primary colors. Fuzzy, with spring bases that made them bob and sway whenever the truck moved.
Just like their little family of three riding together.
He saw the tissues and hat he’d stuffed in the glovebox.
Brother Cheng was so rough around the edges. Even in scorching summer sun, he never wore a hat and always came back sunburned. So Lin Zao had left one in the truck as a reminder.
He didn’t like men quite so tanned.
He spotted the pink towel tossed on the passenger seat.
Bloodstains on it—probably from when Fu Cheng got scratched by a zombie and used it to wipe the wound.
Lin Zao also saw Little Bao’s toy car left behind, the lemon sachet he’d placed there, and the wooden Buddha amulet hanging from the rearview mirror.
And…
Right then, a red dot blinked on the rearview mirror.
Lin Zao tensed and sat up straighter. He reached for the mirror.
What was that?
Moments later, he followed a black data cable and yanked out a small black box.
What was this? It was…
Lin Zao stared at the blinking red light. Suddenly, it hit him.
The dashcam! The dashcam’s memory card!
Lin Zao smacked his forehead in annoyance.
How had he forgotten this? How could he have overlooked it?
The dashcam recorded everything—where Fu Cheng had gone those days, what he’d encountered. It was all there.
He’d left several days blank in the Zombie Husband Feeding Diary. Now he could fill them all in!
