Chapter 6

By the time we finished all this, night had fallen.

Since the packaging for both the truckloads and the boxes had been changed, the workers moving things drew a comment from a couple returning from their walk: "Just starting to furnish the place?"

The couple lived below us, on the 13th floor, with a baby and a Golden Retriever.

Mom nodded. "Yeah, the place still smells a bit. Once the furniture's in, we're heading out to stay elsewhere for a while. Don't want to breathe in formaldehyde and get cancer."

Don't blame us for not being truthful. When that day really came, the most terrifying thing might not be the zombies, but the survivors within the complex.

Back home, Mom urged me to shower and rest; she would handle processing all the meat. Dad arranged all the supplies.

After my shower, seeing them busy in the kitchen, I couldn't sit idle either. Grabbing a gardening trowel, I grunted and finished setting up the planting area on the balcony. Seeds germinate better if soaked overnight. To ensure the soil stayed loose and breathable, I mixed in some vermiculite and coconut coir. If you weren't fussy about seedlings, you could just scatter them, but using seedling trays for separate sprouts early on made things much more efficient.

Done, I logged into my author dashboard, explaining the story might go on a long hiatus and advising readers not to stay up late. Nonsense! I’d rather protect my family of three than deal with angry readers sending me hate mail or leaving bad reviews! Opinions in the comments section varied, but I reminded everyone again about pandemic fluctuations and the wisdom of stocking up.

Unnoticed, it hit midnight. We went to bed with heavy hearts.

Hazy and drowsy, I watched the white, misty moon sink below the horizon as I drifted off.

The final day of the countdown had arrived.

We still had several things left to acquire.

Clothing, mental sustenance, medical supplies, even backpacks for the day we might truly have to run.

Clothing was straightforward. Forget aesthetics: 100 sets of underwear each, 10 sets of raincoats and boots each, 15 down jackets each, 10 long military-style coats each, plus various transitional clothes grabbed randomly. We also took 10 sets each of cool mats and bedding.

"Got the medicine through some connections. Picked up a few medical kits too," Dad reported, having perfectly completed the medical mission. "Besides fever reducers, anti-diarrhea, pain relief for stomach aches and headaches, I got plenty of extra bandages and disinfecting supplies." Vitamins and antibiotics were also stocked in considerable quantities.

I flipped through one kit. Whoa, there were even things like motherwort for regulating the body and the girl's best friend – ibuprofen. He actually remembered me vomiting at home from period cramps back in middle school. Ugh... embarrassing.

We hadn't grabbed hygiene products! I jolted awake.

We quickly procured:

200 packs of toilet paper

300 rolls of garbage bags (couldn't throw them down, but couldn't let bacteria breed at home)

100 bars of soap

100 bottles of laundry detergent

50 bottles of body wash

30 bottles of shampoo

150 packs of sanitary pads (various brands)

To conserve precious water, we all got buzz cuts.

Plus:

200 bottles of bleach (84 disinfectant)

150 bottles of rubbing alcohol

Masks, protective gloves, and even hazmat suits were prepared.

Dad also ordered some home gym equipment. I downloaded countless e-books – dense classics, writing guides. Mom filled a massive hard drive with TV shows, movies, and variety programs. Ten walkie-talkies and radios were bought too.

In the flood, stranded on an island, you had to find something to do, or your mind would shatter.

Seeing the mountains of supplies, case after case, cart after cart, brought a measure of calm. But one more question needed consideration.

What if our home was breached? What if we had to leave?

I believed in the nation's strength, but accidents happened. Fire? Human malice? Viruses besides the zombie plague? Zombies and bad guys had endless chances; we had none.

"Mom, Dad," I said seriously. "We need a Plan B. An escape route."

We couldn't be passive.

"If we really have to break out, heading for the rural outskirts makes sense," I mused, frowning. "Hunan has lots of rivers and islands; there should be designated shelters." We were city residents, no rural homestead. Our apartment building was our fortress.

Dad understood immediately. When he returned, we had portable gas canister stoves, alcohol burners, lighters, windproof candles, emergency thermal blankets, and 9 paper maps (city and provincial level). He watched a lot of military news and was better at analyzing this than us. He outlined several likely shelter locations. Drones and binoculars were essential tools for gathering information. Then we considered specific escape routes from the complex. We were on the 17th floor. If we had to climb down, our physical condition had to be top-notch.

For transport, we finally decided to rent an SUV and a maneuverable motorcycle.