Chapter 64: Establishing Communication with the Base (3)

Li Qiang was suddenly filled with excitement. “The formation of the horse-chopping broadswords! Shining like a wall as they advance, sweeping aside all in their path!” He thought of the glory of the Tang dynasty’s broadsword formations, then sighed. “We’re going back to the old ways. I think steel pipes were a good idea—they could have kept us from regressing for a few more years. Just look at Sun Xiaoshan, he’s mastered his technique so well that he can take on over a hundred zombies alone.”

“The vital area of a zombie is so small—just that tiny patch of head. It takes as much courage as training, maybe more. Sun Xiaoshan is an exception; if everyone were like him, zombies would have been wiped out long ago.” Sun Xiaoshan’s astonishing bravery had surprised many. Commander Liu took off his cap, rubbed his scalp, and sighed, “There’s a saying, you know: when intellectuals get ruthless, they’re scarier than anyone else. Believe it or not—I do.”

“When a scholar turns rogue, there’s no stopping him,” Li Qiang recalled the famous saying.

The two burst into laughter.

“It takes a year to learn the saber, a month for the staff, and a lifetime for the spear. The horse-chopping sword can be a saber if you want to slash, a staff if you want to sweep, and a spear if you want to thrust—it’s a real bargain!” Commander Liu continued to boost morale. He was often the steadfast anchor among them. “All our past tactics and weapons were designed for fighting humans. Now we’re up against zombies and hostile survivor groups, which complicates things. We can’t afford to equip hot and cold weapons separately; logistics can’t handle it. We’ll have to compromise—arm the main force based on the primary enemy, and have the reserve mix the other weapons as backup.” Commander Liu found the solution straightforward. “Back in the day, we barely had any guns—mostly broadswords and spears. Today’s conditions are much better, ha!”

“Have you ever tried fighting war after war with just three or five bullets each?” Commander Liu said proudly. “For a long time, I never had more than ten bullets on me—and I was an officer! We couldn’t even issue bayonets to everyone, so it was all broadswords and spears. If we’d had a twenty-pound horse-chopping sword... Well, we couldn’t have lifted it anyway back then.”

Li Qiang couldn’t help but laugh at Commander Liu’s regret.

The headquarters’ provisional military staff drafted the following plan: they would gradually reclaim the southwestern districts in a fan-shaped advance, leaving the northeast untouched for now to avoid provoking the zombie hordes. The thought of hundreds of thousands of zombies surging all at once was enough to make one’s scalp tingle.

On the edge of the Third Ring Road, they found three tall buildings arranged like the points of a triangle, each fifty stories high, surrounded by lawns and walls, with convenient access. They decided to use them as cremation towers. Considering the risk of massive fires, they sought an expert to oversee the project.

The Organization Department finally found the most suitable specialist available: a doctor of aerodynamics from the Air Force Research Institute. He had been stranded at home in Hepingli after finishing a research project just as the apocalypse struck. At first, he was thrilled at being excused from basic labor, but then horror set in—the task of cremating twenty million zombies was not something any ordinary person could stomach.

“Damn it! Let’s do it!” the doctor burst out, his small universe igniting. In the apocalypse, everyone cursed freely; a survivor psychologist explained that it helped relieve stress.

At the request of the Ministry of Civil Affairs, psychologists had already formed intervention teams. One psychologist snapped, “Hell, the Ministry of Health wants me to research whether zombies have psychological problems! Screw them all!”

The aerodynamics doctor meticulously designed the ignition and air channels for the three towers, aiming to save fuel and maximize efficiency. All ashes would be buried deep in pits dug as soon as the Ministry of Health marked out the areas. Watching the basic laborers sweating profusely, the doctor felt a measure of comfort—among them were professors of foreign languages, music professors, archaeologists, MBAs, and every imaginable specialty.

Wearing a mask and white coat, he passed in front of the basic labor force, satisfied, and entered the tower to continue the massive task of cremating twenty million corpses.

All scarce materials in the buildings had been reclaimed, and holes were punched evenly through the floors. Corpses began to pile up layer after layer inside the towers.

The Ministry of Civil Affairs issued a maddening order: every corpse had to be carefully cleaned, all items turned in, and even mouths checked for false or gold teeth.

In the stifling summer heat, the basic labor teams had to wear masks soaked in alcohol, searching each corpse by hand. After so many days of apocalypse, the bodies were rotting beyond recognition, fluids streaming everywhere, corpses too soft to lift—prompting another round of furious cursing. “Making a fortune off the dead, damn money-grubbers...”

After days of effort by tens of thousands, all corpses in the cleared area were finally collected.

Gasoline was pumped through the preset pipes to every corner of the buildings. The first crematorium director wished to hold a ceremony—he felt that such a high-spec crematorium, and such a high-status director, deserved the honor. He even wanted to invite the Ministry of Civil Affairs leadership to attend as proof of his achievement.

The ignition was set for July 15, 2015, announced globally in multiple languages via radio three days in advance.

On July 15, the aerodynamics director was surprised to see squads of soldiers establishing a security perimeter. Leaders of the Special Committee arrived with cadres at every level.

In China, there is a tradition of reverence for the dead; funerals are always solemn, striving to give the deceased honor and peace. The Special Committee arranged a live radio broadcast; the United Front Department believed it would win the hearts of survivor camps—after all, zombies were once living people, and everyone had lost loved ones to the disaster. No one wanted their relatives to be left abandoned in the wild.

The towers erupted in roaring flames. “This marks the great rebirth of humanity! May the departed rest in peace; we will rise to glory again!” The Special Committee’s radio station broadcast funeral music and speeches from a soundproofed room.

All who heard the broadcast observed moments of mourning, and this day was later commemorated as Humanity’s Day of Mourning.

The firelight was so bright it illuminated dozens of miles around the capital, visible even to Base Two in Dongba. As the broadcast played solemn music, everyone paused for a brief silence.

Base Two had already deployed all its reconnaissance units. Zombie horde movements were tracked and updated on maps in real time, with reports sent to headquarters. Seeing the dense clusters of zombies swarming the outskirts of Beijing, everyone drew a sharp breath.