Grandpa Zhang and the two sisters grabbed brooms and hauled over water buckets to give the bloodstains scattered across the street a quick cleanup, lest they attract flies.
The rest of the neighbors got to work draining the fuel tanks on the three wrecked cars, siphoning out every last drop of gasoline and storing it in buckets.
One of the vehicles lay upside down on its roof, its fuel cap smashed and deformed on the ground nearby.
Lin Zao ran back home to fetch a screwdriver. It took all his strength, but he finally pried the cap loose.
Damn it!
Gritting his teeth, Lin Zao strained every muscle in his body, steeling his resolve.
He’d have to tell Brother Cheng about this later—no more flipping cars next time.
It was such a hassle!
In the end, they managed to extract more than half a bucket of gasoline from the three vehicles.
Fat Uncle carried the fuel bucket over and topped off the two minivans they all shared.
One of them had been driven a few times by The Tri-Colored Trio.
The other had run dry the day before yesterday after Fat Uncle, Fat Aunt, and the two sisters took it out. They’d abandoned it right in the middle of the road.
Luckily, they’d played it safe: after unloading the supplies, they’d siphoned some gas from their reserves to get it to the alley out back, then covered it with a tarp.
Otherwise, that gang of robbers this morning would’ve spotted the minivan smack in the middle of the street and smashed it to pieces.
Lin Zao watched them refuel the vehicles without saying a word.
Their own pickup truck still had plenty of gas left.
Brother Cheng had filled it up before heading out.
They didn’t need to refuel for now, and besides, gasoline wasn’t something you wanted to mix willy-nilly.
Different brands could damage the engine if blended.
Besides, adding it to the minivans meant everyone could use it later.
Lin Zao turned back, screwdriver in hand, and joined The Tri-Colored Trio in stripping the cars.
There was more to salvage than just the fuel!
The bigger parts—the seats, tires, engines—were all useful.
Even the smaller metal components could come in handy someday.
No telling when, but better to gather them up now.
Fortunately, The Tri-Colored Trio had worked at the auto factory before, so they knew cars inside and out. Each took a vehicle, dismantling them with practiced ease.
Lin Zao grabbed tools from home and assisted, keeping up without a problem.
Brother Cheng never let him learn proper repair work, but Lin Zao had picked up plenty just by watching day after day.
Red Hair reached out from under the car. “Brother Lin, wrench.”
“Got it.” Lin Zao handed it over right away.
Red Hair kept his eyes on the wheel, loosening it with a couple twists of the wrench, his tone casual. “Why not have Brother Fu come help out? His skills are better than all three of us combined.”
Lin Zao’s heart leaped into his throat at those words.
Didn’t they know? What should he do? How should he respond?
Before he could answer—or Red Hair could finish—a series of heavy coughs erupted from nearby.
“Ahem! Ahem!”
The cluster of neighbors all started coughing at once, loud and synchronized.
Red Hair blinked in confusion. “Did I say something wrong? If Brother Fu helped, it’d be even—”
The last word stuck in his throat.
“Quicker… uh…”
Red Hair paused, then smacked his own cheeks twice.
“Men can’t say ‘quick’!
“That was nonsense, Brother Lin—don’t mind me. Let Brother Fu rest. I got this.”
Lin Zao nodded, flashing an awkward thumbs-up. “Yeah, you got it. Keep it up.”
“Right on!”
Directly across the street, in Building 3.
Fu Cheng stood by the window of the repair shop on the first floor, gripping the anti-theft netting with both hands, silently watching the scene outside.
Little Bao stood beside him. Without his little stool, he couldn’t even reach the windowsill.
But right now, Fu Cheng had no attention to spare for the kid.
Fu Cheng’s expression was one of sorrow, his gaze full of reproach as he stared at Lin Zao.
—Little Zao, how do you know so many mechanics?
—Little Zao, how can you assist other mechanics?
—Little Zao, I’m not your one and only favorite mechanic anymore, am I?
—Little Zao, Little Zao, Little Zao…
His stare was so intense it practically burned. Lin Zao noticed and turned around, meeting Fu Cheng’s pitiful, aggrieved eyes.
With everyone around, Lin Zao didn’t dare go over. He just raised his hand in a mock threat.
—Let go! Drop the netting! What if you break it?
Fu Cheng got the message and quietly released his grip.
—Got it. In Little Zao’s eyes, the anti-theft net matters more than me.
Even a cold zombie couldn’t compete with a chunk of cold metal netting.
So heartbreaking.
Lin Zao glanced around to make sure no neighbors were watching, then schooled his face into a stern look and shook his fist again.
From Fu Cheng’s expression, Lin Zao knew he was lost in some wild thoughts.
—Stop it! Just wait quietly! I’ll be back soon!
Fu Cheng pressed his lips together and kept watching.
Little Zao was so domineering—his domineering wife.
Just then, Little Bao finally dragged his stool over and clambered up to the window.
He caught Lin Zao waving his fist at Fu Cheng.
Little Bao instinctively clutched his butt.
Why was Dad going to hit him? He hadn’t even done anything yet!
Such a domineering dad—Domineering Dad for short.
It didn’t take long for The Tri-Colored Trio to remove all twelve tires from the three cars.
Five were intact; the other seven had been punctured by the glass shards they’d scattered.
Ah well, a miscalculation.
But even punctured, the rubber could still be used. No big loss.
“Where do we put all these tires?”
“Back at Grandpa Zhang’s? He can look after them.”
“Sounds good. I’m in.”
The neighbors raised their hands in agreement, but Grandpa Zhang looked troubled.
“It’s not that I mind… but my place is so small. I’m not sure it’ll fit.”
Fair point. Grandpa Zhang’s was just a single-story bungalow, no living room even.
Twelve tires plus all these odds and ends? No way it’d fit.
The group fell silent for a moment, pondering solutions.
Other homes had space, sure.
But suggesting that might make it seem like they wanted to hoard the stuff themselves.
And trusting someone else with it? Risky—they might pocket it.
Tricky situation.
Grandpa Zhang was like the moral glue holding them together.
As long as he was around, thumping his cane and calling the shots, trust remained.
No one would go behind his back.
Lin Zao rubbed his chin, scanning the area.
Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He pointed in one direction.
“Got it! Put them there!”
Everyone looked up, following his finger.
Happiness Street was a key development in the new western district of the small city.
Running east to west, left to right, the buildings were:
Number 1: Sisters Hair Salon.
Number 2: The nameless convenience store.
Number 3: Little Lin’s Auto Repair Shop.
Number 5: Self-Built Rental Building.
Number 6: A Fei’s Flat Meat Shop.
That’s right—no Number 4 shop.
Or rather, Building 4 had always stood empty.
Folks shunned the number four; it sounded like “death,” bad omen and all.
Even those who eyed the street’s plots hesitated and backed out in the end.
One entrepreneur did buy it eventually, intending to use it as a warehouse.
But whether he forgot or truly despised the spot, the two-story building went up without ever storing a single crate.
So Building 4 sat vacant, untended.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. Could they borrow the warehouse for now?
Worst case, when the apocalypse ended and the owner returned, they’d explain and pay rent.
In a heartbeat, all the neighbors were on board.
“Sounds good!”
“Agreed!”
The Tri-Colored Trio rolled the tires over.
Lin Zao led the others to Building 4, circling the warehouse.
The first floor had anti-theft netting on all windows. A clear footprint marred the rear windowsill, and one second-floor window stood ajar.
Probably left by those thieves last time—they’d scoped it out, tried to break in.
Too bad for them; it had been empty then.
They were only just now planning to stock it.
Fat Uncle and Fat Aunt fetched a ladder and propped it against the wall.
Lin Zao climbed nimbly through the window, dashed downstairs, and opened the door for the group.
It was a roller door with an interior button—easy.
Lin Zao stood inside, welcoming his neighbors.
“Stack ’em here for now. If the first floor fills up, we can use the second.”
It was more shell than warehouse—a raw concrete space, floor and walls rough and uneven.
Dust motes floated in the air.
The Tri-Colored Trio maneuvered the stripped tires inside, rolling them along.
They hauled in engines, generators, seats—everything.
The three cars on the street were reduced to empty husks.
From afar, it looked gruesome.
Like zombies with hunger-crazed eyes had gnawed the vehicles clean.
The neighbors had hustled all morning and finally cleared the street.
After goodbyes, they divvied up some veggies for Lin Zao as planned, then headed home.
They had an evening outing ahead—grab a bite, rest up.
Lin Zao carried his half-bag of vegetables but didn’t take it home. Instead, he handed it to Grandpa Zhang.
Grandpa Zhang had boiled thin noodles for them that morning, no meat—clear sign his pantry was thinning.
He ran the convenience store and grew veggies in his backyard, raised chickens too. The Tri-Colored Trio dropped off rice and flour now and then.
But the store and garden were small-scale. Staples aplenty, meat and veg scarce.
Grandpa Zhang waved it off. “Take it back, kid. This old man’s fine with scraps.”
Lin Zao grabbed his hand, shoving the bag into it. “We’ve got plenty at home. It’ll just wilt. Take it.”
“Fine… well…”
“It’s getting late. Skip cooking veggies for lunch. Tonight, I’ll make preserved vegetable stewed pork. No stir-fry from you.”
“No need—we’ve got enough veg for days. Why meat too? Don’t cook for me.”
“Settled. Head home—zombies might show up!”
Lin Zao stuffed the bag into Grandpa Zhang’s hands and bolted.
Grandpa Zhang called from the window, but Lin Zao ignored him.
He called for Little Bao, but Lin Zao scooped the boy up tight, blocking him.
No choice—Grandpa Zhang took the veggies home.
He’d barely settled when he shuffled back, placing three packs of cola gummies shakily on their windowsill.
One for each of them—family of three.
These days, candy outvalued veggies.
Lin Zao stowed them away and turned to Fu Cheng.
“I taught you cooking a few days ago. With me out today, did you make anything?”
Fu Cheng, clutching a spatula and draped in Lin Zao’s little floral apron, stepped closer for a good look.
—What do you think, Little Zao?
Lin Zao burst out laughing, sneaking a feel of his solid arm muscles.
“Come on, let’s go upstairs and see what you’ve whipped up.”
Lin Zao bounded up with high hopes—and saw:
Fu Cheng had set the rice to steam in the pot.
Good!
Fu Cheng had thawed meat from the fridge.
Nice!
Fu Cheng had…
Pealed the potatoes and cut them into strips!
The wok sat on the stove, oil already heating. Fu Cheng was about to stir-fry when Lin Zao returned.
Lin Zao frowned, picking up a potato strip and squinting at Fu Cheng.
“French fries for lunch? Deep-fried with ketchup?”
Fu Cheng ducked his head and butted his forehead against Lin Zao’s, staring intently.
Little Zao, this is clearly stir-fried potato shreds!
Lin Zao laughed, tilting his head to nuzzle Fu Cheng’s cheek.
“Alright, not bad for a first try—you’re amazing!
“Brother Cheng, you’re probably the world’s first cooking zombie!”
