Chapter 59: Reclaiming the Eastern Dam (1)

Li Fengyi understood immediately. His mind raced as he spoke, “The machinery industrial zone is a massive consumer of electricity. It’s not cost-effective to transmit power over long distances—there must be a power plant nearby. This is no time for blame. How many city dwellers ever care where their daily water and electricity come from?” He pulled Sun Xiaoshan up and urged, “There must be someone in Dongba who knows, and the machinery factories will have their own generators, just like Mary Hospital… Come on, let’s get to work.”

In the days that followed, Sun Xiaoshan was dazed and distracted. Whether checking equipment or clearing out zombies, he was always at the forefront. Even after the zombies were dealt with, he would keep smashing the corpses relentlessly.

He couldn’t be pulled back, and when spoken to, it was as if he didn’t hear; his replies were disjointed and irrelevant. He simply worked himself to the bone in silence. Li Fengyi grew worried and assigned him three security guards with strict orders: if anything happened to Sun Xiaoshan, they were not to return.

In the designated central area, the most densely packed part of the Dongba Machinery Plant, Sun Xiaoshan led a group to the entrance of one factory. The yard was swarming with zombies. The provisional army feared no such scene; the tactical squads on the ground quickly formed shield formations, followed by fighters wielding one-and-a-half-meter and two-meter steel pipes. Once their formation was set, they charged in.

Suddenly, Sun Xiaoshan, wielding a half-body shield and a combat knife borrowed from the reconnaissance battalion, stormed forward. “Quick! Quickly, follow!” The three security guards shouted as they chased after him.

Sun Xiaoshan’s rage unleashed his strength. Most of the provisional soldiers had never trained in swordplay or steel pipe combat, but most had bayonet training from the regular army. Their steel pipe techniques were adapted from bayonet drills, though they only practiced thrusting at heads, and their swordplay consisted solely of decapitating cuts.

Before long, zombie heads littered the ground. When his combat knife broke, Sun Xiaoshan tossed it to a guard without a thought, grabbed a two-meter steel pipe, and, throwing away his shield as well, pressed on to the next factory.

The factories here were built haphazardly—or perhaps the land was just used with ruthless efficiency. The security guards soon lost track of him in the labyrinth, leaving Sun Xiaoshan alone as he burst into another factory yard. Facing the backs of dozens of zombies, he felt no fear.

More than thirty zombies were clawing at an iron door, their movements strange and frenzied. Their nails left bloody scratches, and the screeching was unbearable. Some at the back noticed Sun Xiaoshan, turned with guttural snarls, and rushed at him.

In battle, soldiers everywhere instinctively roar, to intimidate their foes and bolster their own courage. But those in the provisional army, seasoned in fighting zombies, knew that noise only drew more undead. Against fearless enemies, they had learned to fight in grim, silent focus.

As Sun Xiaoshan advanced, he drove his body forward with the ball of his right foot, his left foot stepping quickly ahead, heel first, then right foot following at the same distance. He thrust the steel pipe with both arms at the oncoming zombie, guiding it with his left hand. He pushed off with the right foot, his waist driving his body forward, then his left calf propelled his thigh in a long step, never lifting his foot more than two fists from the ground. As his left foot landed, the pipe pierced a zombie’s skull, and his right foot glided forward naturally. With each step, he killed, never pausing, cutting a bloody path through the horde to the iron door.

There, pivoting on his heels, he turned ninety degrees to the right, pulling the steel pipe back with both hands as he turned his head to look behind. The pipe’s end was level with his lower abdomen, his left wrist close to his body, left forearm nearly horizontal. He pivoted on his left foot, pushing off with his right, another ninety-degree turn, right foot stepping back. As he moved, his right hand pulled, his left pushed, resetting for another thrust. Behind him, the zombies he had stabbed fell in heaps.

Clenching his teeth, Sun Xiaoshan prepared to charge again when the iron door creaked open from within.

“Brother from the army, hurry inside,” a deep male voice called out. Sun Xiaoshan was unfazed by the sudden voice; in the apocalypse, nothing surprised him anymore, especially in his state of guilt.

Without a word, he charged out again. The iron door was quickly shut behind him, and soon he had cut through another group of zombies, reaching the door once more.

He set himself, poised to charge yet again, when a shout came from the door: “Behind you!”

The Ministry of Industry had redesigned the steel pipes, both two and five meters long, with thirty-degree angled tips. Without looking back, Sun Xiaoshan pressed down with his left hand, lifted with his right, and stabbed backward instinctively. He felt the point hit, then, pivoting again on his heels, turned ninety degrees right, pulling the steel pipe back with both hands as he glanced behind. The pipe’s end was at waist height, his left wrist near his body, left forearm horizontal. He spun another ninety degrees, right foot stepping back, right hand pulling, left pushing, ready to thrust again. A zombie that had wandered in from outside collapsed behind him. He glanced at it, turned again, and charged through the horde toward the iron door.

He turned once more; the door swung open. A burly man, gripping a one-and-a-half-meter hexagonal crowbar, stepped to his side. “Good skill, good courage,” he said.

The burly man wore a deep-blue work suit stained with engine oil. He stood about one meter eighty, half a head taller and much broader than the one meter seventy Sun Xiaoshan. “Let’s fight together,” he said.

Sun Xiaoshan didn’t wait for him to finish. He leapt into the zombie horde. The burly man grinned and charged after him.

It was obvious the man had training. With a roar, he wielded the heavy crowbar with dazzling skill, swinging and smashing, circling left and right. Zombies struck at the legs flew into the air; others, with their heads caved into their chests, shrank a head shorter. Some were so battered that half their bodies were pulverized, hunched and broken. Unless their heads were crushed, the zombies didn’t die—just faltered, then lunged on.

Sun Xiaoshan broke through the horde again. The burly man was now surrounded, zombies drawn by the noise, leaving the deadliest man, Sun Xiaoshan, unnoticed. This was why the provisional army always fought in silence.

This time, Sun Xiaoshan didn’t charge straight in. He saw the burly man had excellent skill and was in no immediate danger—the provisional army was, after all, the regular military, and to ignore civilians in peril was to break discipline. As Party Secretary of the Ministry of Industry, he also had to consider the Party’s reputation.

He circled the horde’s edge, wielding the steel pipe like a venomous snake, each touch felling a zombie. Soon, he had finished off all the remaining undead.