Chapter 42

Faint moonlight filtered in from the high window.

Lin Zao crouched by the wall, three stainless steel water purifiers towering before him—each one taller than Lin Xiaobao.

He held a flashlight in one hand and felt around his waist with the other, swinging the tool pouch to the front. He unzipped it and pulled out a wrench.

Back when university had just started, he’d worked part-time in the school cafeteria.

On days without classes, he’d head to the back kitchen to help out—washing vegetables, scrubbing dishes, doing odd jobs.

At mealtimes, he’d tie on an apron, grab a big ladle, and dish out food to his classmates at the window.

But he’d only done it for a day when Fu Cheng smelled the dish soap on his hands.

Fu Cheng had been broke back then too. He’d teamed up with a few buddies to set up a stall selling radios. After scraping together just enough to cover Lin Zao’s tuition, he was left with next to nothing.

Dirt poor, but acting like some overbearing TV drama hero, he’d emptied his ragged pockets and shoved every last cent at Lin Zao, forbidding him from taking any jobs.

Lin Zao had placated him with promises he wouldn’t, all while sneaking off behind his back.

The south got a lot of rain, so places with the means—especially cafeterias and factories that used tons of water—built their roofs flat with concrete. They’d top them with a couple of massive stainless steel water buckets to catch the downpour.

Rainwater flowed down through pipes, got filtered by the purifiers, and came out clean as tap water—no water bill required.

These weren’t the cute little household purifiers, either.

These were industrial models: huge, built for high water pressure and massive output.

No electricity needed—just water pressure and filter screens or cartridges did the work.

The cartridges weren’t cotton; they were ceramic or polymer membranes, lasting two or three years. With proper maintenance, they could go five or six.

Lin Zao had cleaned those cartridges for the cafeteria chefs during his stint there.

That had been years ago, though, and he’d forgotten the exact steps—which parts to take apart, which to leave alone. He’d have to figure it out again.

His family had purifiers at home, but nothing like these beasts, and nowhere near as tough.

Now that he’d found better ones, he had to get them back.

The large purifiers had a mess of pipes, and with no one maintaining them for so long, they were caked in thick dust.

Lin Zao brushed it off without complaint.

He traced the flashlight beam along the pipes, upward.

There—the connection to the water pipe.

His eyes lit up. He scrambled in and attacked the bolts with the wrench.

While he worked, Fu Cheng stood guard nearby, just as Lin Zao had asked. His glowing eyes scanned the surroundings, alert for any sudden threats.

But the pipes were iron, the bolts rusted tight, practically fused.

Lin Zao clamped the flashlight in his teeth and gripped the wrench with both hands, straining.

No dice. It wouldn’t budge.

He couldn’t do it.

Lin Zao backed out, ass in the air.

Fu Cheng glanced back, instinctively reaching out to shield his head.

Such a natural motion.

No thought required—just pure reflex.

Before Fu Cheng could process it, Lin Zao grabbed his hand and yanked him into the cramped space under the stove.

“Brother Cheng, you do it.”

Lin Zao slotted the wrench onto the bolt and handed it over.

“This one. Quick.”

Fu Cheng took the wrench—and twisted.

The bolt loosened.

The wrench bent.

Lin Zao’s eyes went wide in disbelief. He slapped Fu Cheng’s hand and snatched it back.

“No, no—tools are precious, we can’t waste them. Just unscrew it by hand.”

Fu Cheng frowned, shooting him a pitiful look, but obeyed, twisting with his fingers.

Fine. Whatever Little Zao said.

His hands weren’t tools.

Tools were valuable. His hands weren’t.

Little Zao liked tools more than him.

The biggest difference between humans and zombies? Humans used tools—and cherished them more than zombies.

In no time, Fu Cheng had all the bolts off the pipe.

Lin Zao beamed, tapping his helmet lightly. “Brother Cheng, you’re the best!”

Fu Cheng’s gaze dropped, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

He was the best. Better than any tool.

They backed out. Lin Zao hugged one purifier, testing the weight as he dragged it.

With the bolts loose, it was much easier.

“You take two, I’ll take one. Let’s go.”

Fu Cheng hoisted two under his arms, one per elbow.

Lin Zao hugged his tight and jogged ahead, leading the way out.

Just like when they’d hauled the liquefied gas canisters.

Back at the truck, Lin Xiaobao sat inside, rice balls finished, fiddling with the doll he’d brought.

Lin Zao directed Fu Cheng to load the purifiers onto the bed with the gas canisters, stacking them neatly.

He grabbed cowhide straps from the truck bed, holding one end while tossing the other to Fu Cheng.

Man and zombie, linked by some unspoken rapport, secured everything in perfect sync.

The cafeteria was picked clean now—Lin Zao had everything he wanted.

The rooftop stainless steel water tanks? Pass.

Too much hassle to dismantle and carry down the stairs.

Plus, they were massive; they’d crowd out everything else.

Pots, pans, plates, utensils? No need.

They had plenty at home.

Time to roll!

Lin Zao opened the driver’s door, shoved Fu Cheng into the passenger seat, and climbed in.

Lin Xiaobao lit up as they entered. “Dad! Big Daddy!”

Lin Zao buckled up. “Little Bao, you okay alone in the truck?”

“All good. Just a bit bored.”

“Dad and Big Daddy had important stuff to do, so we couldn’t bring you.”

“I know.” Lin Xiaobao tilted his little head. “That’s why I didn’t cry.”

“Good boy!”

Lin Zao pulled out the handcuffs and glanced at Fu Cheng.

He thought of the snapped padlock, the bent wrench.

These probably wouldn’t do much against him.

Lin Zao hesitated, starting to put them away.

The next instant, Fu Cheng thrust out his left hand.

Little Zao, tie the red string for me.

Lin Zao stared silently, then cuffed him.

Fine. If that’s what you want.

Everything set, Lin Zao fired up the engine.

It was still early, and the truck bed wasn’t full yet.

The cafeteria wasn’t his only stop tonight.

He cranked the wheel right, the pickup easing down a side road.

An auto factory meant tools and fuel galore.

Last time Fu Cheng had driven out, he’d topped off the tank on the way back.

Plenty of gas left—but more was always better.

Lin Zao followed the route The Tri-Colored Trio had described, steering onward.

The family of three pulled up at the vehicle inspection bay.

New cars always shipped with a bit of gas in the tank for test drives and the trip to the gas station. Fuel had to be here.

They parked outside. Lin Zao led Fu Cheng in.

They shoved open the battered iron door into a wreck of a workshop.

Someone had beaten them to it, making off with the fresh-off-the-line cars.

Usable tools? Gone.

No helping it—the bay was in a prominent spot for easy shipping.

Lin Zao searched carefully, even checking the fuel tank.

Empty. Drums taken.

Too late.

Oh well.

Lin Zao sighed, turning to leave.

Fu Cheng saw his frown, knew he was bummed about the empty haul.

He scanned around, went to the iron door, gripped it with both hands.

—Little Zao, don’t be sad. We’ll rip this off and take it. I’ll carry!

“I don’t want that.” Lin Zao laughed despite himself, swatting him. “Dummy, let’s go.”

Back in the truck, they pressed on.

Lin Zao wanted it all: gas, weapons, meds—in one sweep.

But the factory had been raided multiple times.

Production lines, offices, even the bare-bones clinic—stripped bare.

Scoring in the out-of-the-way cafeteria had been pure luck.

No other goodies this round.

Lin Zao looped back to the cafeteria, hauling out two big plastic buckets, stuffing them with pots and pans for the truck.

He even twisted off the faucet from the veggie sink.

Whatever. He wasn’t picky.

He’d take it all, ditch for better later.

Ten p.m. Pitch black.

The family climbed aboard, ready to leave the factory.

Lin Xiaobao had napped the afternoon away; he was wide awake.

Lin Zao drove, mind racing: What else nearby?

No way were they heading home empty-handed after coming this far.

Plus, no bite guard for Fu Cheng yet.

He’d figured the factory would have sheet metal, wire, welding gear—worst case, Fu Cheng could make one.

But now…

Lin Zao hadn’t hit on a spot yet.

Then Fu Cheng’s head snapped up, expression sharpening, eyes wary.

Lin Zao slammed the brakes. The truck lurched violently to a halt.

Lin Xiaobao clutched his head, whining, “Dad…”

“Shh—” Lin Zao hushed him urgently.

A split second later, the rumble of engines echoed from nearby.

Not theirs—the truck was stopped.

Someone else.

Incoming!

Scavengers? Or just passing through?

Lin Zao strained to listen.

Fu Cheng threw up an arm, shielding him.

Three seconds: the roar grew louder. Lin Zao clocked it.

Shit—they’re coming in!

Only one road into the factory.

And they were blocking it.

Play dead? Those supplies in the bed might tempt them.

Drive out? Head-on collision.

In a zombie world, Lin Zao trusted no one.

Couldn’t tell how many from the engine noise, but it sounded like a group.

Fu Cheng could take ten, sure—but with Little Bao in the truck, a fight might not go their way.

What to do? What to do?

Lin Zao’s brain whirred. He scanned around, eyes landing on Fu Cheng.

He hit the window button, glass sliding down. He pointed outside and mouthed a moan: “Raaah—”

Fu Cheng got it, leaning out to bellow at the night.

“Roar!”

At the same time, Lin Zao slammed it into top gear and floored it!

—Go!