Chapter Nine: Do You Have Any Candy?

The roar of motorcycle engines, wild and relentless like a pack of rabid dogs, surged over the dunes behind them, drawing ever closer. Grains of sand, flung up by spinning tires, arced through the morning light in golden streaks.

Chen Mo abruptly raised his hand, signaling a halt, his finger pointing toward an abandoned oil tank yard a hundred meters to the left. There, more than a dozen rusted tanks lay toppled in disarray, their surfaces streaked with dried black-brown stains, as if gnawed by mutant creatures.

“Hide in there,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, gripping his entrenching tool. “Li, get on top of a tank—find the best vantage point for your rifle. Taozui, take Yaya and hide behind the third tank. Don’t let them see you.”

Li grunted in assent, slinging his hunting rifle as he darted out in a low crouch. He scrambled atop a half-fallen tank, blending almost perfectly into the rusted metal with his camouflage—nearly invisible unless you looked close.

Taozui scooped Yaya into her arms and ran low to the ground, pressed close to the earth. Yaya clung tightly to her neck, her small face buried in Taozui’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. At the base of the third tank yawned a half-man-high breach, just big enough for two to curl up inside. Taozui wedged Yaya into the hole and crouched at the entrance, her left hand on her pistol grip, her right clutching a knife, ear pressed to the scorching metal to listen for movement.

The engines sputtered to a halt outside the tank yard. Then came the coarse jeering—Cyclops’ voice, shrill as a cat with its tail stepped on. “Run! Why aren’t you running now? That bitch with the brat—she’s gotta be hiding in here!”

“Boss, want me to toss in a Molotov?” came another voice.

“Idiot!” Cyclops spat. “We want them alive! That woman’s worth bullets; the kid’s good for the butcher, worth half a sack of salt! Search—thoroughly!”

Boots thundered as they closed in, someone banging the tanks with a rifle butt, a muffled boom echoing out. “You inside—come out and surrender, and we’ll leave you in one piece!”

Taozui’s heart hammered like a drum, sweat beading at her fingertips on the knife handle. She could see Yaya’s little hands gripping the hem of her shirt, knuckles bone-white.

Bang!

A gunshot cracked from atop the tanks, followed by a scream of pain.

“Shit! Someone’s up there!” Cyclops roared.

Li’s voice drifted down from above, tinged with smugness. “Come get me! I’ll drop anyone who tries!”

Two more shots rang out, bullets pinging off the tank walls with a metallic clang.

Suddenly, Chen Mo darted from between two tanks, his entrenching tool slicing through the air and crashing down on the skull of a hyena gang member peeking around the corner. The man crumpled without a sound.

“There!” someone shouted. Muzzles swung toward Chen Mo.

He ducked low, sliding beneath the hail of bullets, scooping up a steel pipe and smashing it against another man’s knee. As the man howled and clutched his leg, Chen Mo lunged at a third, entrenching tool flashing in a vicious arc to slit his throat.

Chaos erupted in the tank yard. Gunfire, screams, and the clash of metal all melded together, sending mutant lizards scurrying from their hiding spots beneath the tanks.

“Big sister…” Yaya trembled in the hole, biting her lip so hard she didn’t cry out.

Watching the chaos outside, Taozui spotted a gang member circling the tank, machete raised to strike at Chen Mo’s back. She didn’t hesitate—she burst from the hole, hurling her knife straight at the man’s wrist.

He screamed, dropping the blade, and turned to glare at Taozui. Cyclops’ voice sounded behind him: “Grab that bitch!”

Two men lunged for her. Taozui snatched up the fallen machete, sidestepping the first man’s punch, the blade slicing along his arm in a spray of blood. The second swung a steel pipe; she retreated, stumbling as her foot caught on gravel, crashing into a tank.

At that moment, Yaya seized a stone from the hole and hurled it at the man’s knee. It wasn’t large, but it made him stumble.

“Now!” Taozui seized the opening, slashing upward—the machete struck the man’s chin.

She barely caught her breath before Cyclops leveled his gun at her, his single murky eye burning with malice, finger tightening on the trigger.

Bang!

A shot rang out—but it wasn’t Taozui who fell. Chen Mo had knocked the bullet aside with his entrenching tool, the round sparking off the metal tank. He barreled into Cyclops, the two of them tumbling into the sand in a furious grapple.

Though Cyclops was one-eyed, he was monstrously strong, hands locked around Chen Mo’s throat. Chen Mo’s entrenching tool was pinned beneath him; he resorted to pummeling Cyclops’ face with his fists. The two rolled in the sand, smeared with oil and grit.

“Boss!” A surviving gang member raised his gun to help, but Li shot him from the tank top, hitting his shoulder. The gun clattered to the ground.

Taozui rushed over and kicked Cyclops hard in the side. He winced, grip loosening just enough for Chen Mo to reverse positions, pin him down, and drive the entrenching tool into his chest without hesitation.

Cyclops convulsed twice, then lay still, his single eye staring blankly at the grey sky.

The last two hyena gang members, terrified, scrambled toward their motorcycles. Li fired two shots from above, missing, but frightening them into an awkward scramble, falling and picking themselves up in a blind panic.

At last, silence settled over the tank yard, broken only by harsh, ragged breathing.

Chen Mo rose from Cyclops’ body, chest heaving, his camouflage soaked in blood—whether his own or another’s, it was impossible to tell. Wiping blood and grit from his face, he looked to Taozui. “Are you alright?”

She shook her head and ran back to the tank hole, pulling Yaya into her arms. The little one’s face was streaked with tears, but she stubbornly insisted, “I didn’t cry.”

“You were very brave.” Taozui wiped her face with a sleeve, her voice hoarse.

Li jumped down from the tank, clutching a bleeding arm. “Damn, those bastards actually had decent aim.” He cursed through gritted teeth, but still found time to scoop up a few scattered bullets and pocket them.

Chen Mo strode over, tearing a strip from his shirt and tying it tightly above Li’s wound. “Can you walk?”

“Of course. I’m not dead yet.” Li scowled. “But it’s a shame those two escaped—they’ll be back with more.”

“We need to move fast.” Chen Mo glanced at the sun, already high overhead. “Rock Fortress should be just beyond that ridge. We have to get there before dark.”

He rifled through the gang members’ bodies, coming up with half a bag of hardtack, three shotgun shells, and a military canteen—barely half-full, with cloudy water floating with debris.

“We have to ration water,” he said, handing the canteen to Taozui. “Just a sip for Yaya.”

But Yaya shook her head, pointing to Li’s wound. “Give it to Uncle, he’s bleeding.”

Li was momentarily taken aback, his face uncharacteristically awkward. “I’m not thirsty—you drink it.”

Taozui said nothing, unscrewing the cap and pouring a little into her palm for Yaya, who licked it up in tiny sips before Taozui passed the canteen to Li.

There was no strength to drag the bodies away, so they covered them with stones to mask the scent of blood as best they could, then pressed on. Li, unable to use his injured arm, switched the rifle to his left hand. Chen Mo led the way, his stride quick and urgent, a dark stain spreading across his back in the sunlight.

At first, Yaya trudged along, but exhaustion soon overtook her and she clung to Taozui’s back, head bobbing, murmuring, “Will there be candy at Rock Fortress…?”

“There should be,” Taozui replied, steadying the little girl’s legs, staggering but never stopping. “And clean water. And a soft bed.”

Chen Mo glanced back, slowing his pace. From his pack he produced a wrinkled apple, clearly aged and shriveled but still unspoiled. “Give her this.”

Yaya’s eyes lit up as she nibbled eagerly, licking the core clean.

As they crested the ridge, all four stopped in their tracks.

On the distant plain stood a massive fortress. The black walls soared more than ten meters high, bristling with barbed wire and guarded watchtowers. A broad moat encircled the walls, its waters murky green—who knew if it was poisoned. The gates were shut tight, above them three crooked characters spelled out: Rock Fortress.

“It’s real…” Li breathed, disbelief and excitement warring in his voice.

But Chen Mo’s brow furrowed as he stared at the flag flying above the wall—not the Stars and Stripes, nor any familiar emblem, but a black banner embroidered with a twisted skull. Two red stones glimmered in its eye sockets, sparkling with eerie light.

“What is that?” Taozui’s voice trembled.

Chen Mo said nothing, simply tightening his grip on the entrenching tool. The wind on the ridge carried with it the stench of the moat, and—just faintly—the coppery tang of blood, as if drifting from within the fortress.

Suddenly, the heavy gates creaked open a crack. Several figures in black uniforms emerged, guns at the ready, peering in their direction.

“They’ve seen us,” Li muttered. “What now?”

Chen Mo looked at the black flag, then at Yaya asleep on Taozui’s back, his throat working.

“Down the slope,” he said.