By afternoon, Lin Feng and Merle were heaving a Honda CB750 onto the pickup bed with everything they had.

Merle's face had gone beet red, from excitement or sheer exertion, hard to say, but the eyes were all tenderness.

"Merle, are you even pulling your weight?!"

"Bullshit! I'm giving you every ounce I've got!"

"...Then that every ounce of yours is pretty damn weak..."

That did it. Goaded into a fury, Merle actually dug down and found a little more, and together they hauled the heavy machine straight onto the bed.

Lin Feng wiped the sweat off his face with a sleeve and rested both hands on his hips. "Funny how I have to needle you before you actually try."

"..."

Merle stood in the truck bed with a wide grin. Sure, this bike wasn't exactly a personal favorite, but Daryl loved it.

And it wasn't hard to notice. On lookout duty, those eyes kept drifting back this way with a look that could practically drip.

Lin Feng turned to survey the four pickups packed wall to wall, and the grin spread across his own face too. One hell of a haul. Six Remingtons, four AR-15s, eight M4s, four M16s. Four crates of 5.56mm full-power rifle rounds, 3,200 total. Three crates of 9mm pistol ammo, 1,500 rounds. Shotgun shells were the shortest stack: five crates, 500 shells.

Everything else, pistols, old hunting shotguns, machetes, cut-resistant gloves, padded knee guards, he hadn't even bothered counting.

Body armor was up by seven vests. Two of those were heavy hard-plate rigs stripped off the fallen, top-grade stuff theoretically rated to stop M4 rounds head-on. Heavy, sure, bare weight around 5 kilograms.

For people like Lin Feng's crew, that was nothing.

Merle finished securing the two motorcycles with chain, checked the fastenings twice, then looked at Lin Feng's face-splitting grin and said, "That smile of yours is seriously unhinged. I keep thinking you're plotting something filthy, bro..."

Lin Feng dialed the grin back and put on a mock-serious face. "Quit whining. You got your rides. Now we go home."

For the sake of the beloved bike, Merle let it go, hopped down from the bed, and climbed into the cab. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's hope those damn monsters keep their eyes open and don't come ruining Uncle Merle's good mood."

Lin Feng rolled his eyes, waved Daryl over, and the convoy fired up and rolled out.

They were halfway home when Lin Feng spotted two off-road vehicles stopped on the country road ahead. One was already bleeding black smoke, looked like it had taken a hit and died on impact.

He eased off the gas. Sharp eyes picked out a tall figure standing near the vehicles: tank top, brown hair, a signature horseshoe mustache, rifle in hand.

Was that... Contra?

Lin Feng keyed the radio. "Slow down, pull over."

The other three didn't need telling twice. The convoy bled speed and drifted toward the shoulder.

Cold sweat on the brow, cheeks flushed, Abraham Ford watched the unfamiliar convoy roll to a stop with hard eyes. Clearly they'd just finished a scavenging run. A quiet curse, and then a quiet thumb easing the safety back on.

Lin Feng stepped down and got a better look.

Yeah. That was definitely the Contra. Abraham Ford, in the flesh.

Before Lin Feng could open his mouth, Abraham stepped forward two paces, rifle raised in one hand, and fixed a hard stare on the young East Asian man standing there. "Hold it right there, gentlemen. The gun in my hand isn't the talkative type."

"Urghh—"

A groan of pure, barely-contained pain came from somewhere behind Abraham. Lin Feng also caught movement on the far side of the vehicles, figures working fast, like they were dealing with a casualty.

"Easy, veteran." Lin Feng kept his voice level. "If I wanted to make a move on you, I'd have had guns pointed at you before you even saw me. Wouldn't I?"

He let that sit for a beat.

"I've got a top-tier surgeon in my convoy. Maybe he can help. So how about we both stay friendly?"

Abraham listened. Turned it over. The logic held. The rifle came down, and the tight line of the brow slowly eased. "How'd you know I was military?"

"Lucky guess. I've got someone just like you back at my camp."

Lin Feng tilted his chin toward the smoking vehicle behind Abraham. "Right now, though — let's get the doctor over there before the wounded run out of patience."

Abraham gave a short nod and stepped aside.

Rosita sat in the passenger seat, face drained of color, lips bloodless. Rosita hadn't gotten out of the vehicle. But the eyes tracking Lin Feng carried a flicker of sharp curiosity.

An Asian man running point for a group like this, that meant one of two things. Either the whole crew were decent people, no racist old-guard types giving orders from the back. Or this guy was just that capable. Strong enough that nobody pushed back.

The insolent one smoking behind him, eyes restless, not quite giving a damn about any of this, that one probably fit the first theory better.

Marcus moved to the passenger-side window and said quietly, "Where does it hurt? How are you feeling?"

Rosita rolled those striking eyes. "It's just a fever. I can wait. The one up front probably can't."

A rare flicker of awkwardness crossed Marcus's face, not because of any attempt to play hero, but because Rosita's symptoms genuinely looked the worst of anyone on scene.

Marcus nodded and moved on toward the smoking vehicle.

Both the driver and the passenger were out cold. Without exception, both were running high fevers. Marcus's eyes narrowed. Out came the alcohol, and work began.

This was no coincidence. Counting Orion from two days ago, that made five cases of high fever. Some new infectious disease?

Not certain. But Marcus filed the suspicion away and made a note to bring it up with Lin Feng later.

When it came to infection, prevention always came before treatment.

Abraham dug a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket, looked at it with faint distaste, and lit one anyway, tossing one over to Lin Feng as well.

An exhale. Still no taste.

Abraham raised a hand and pressed it to his forehead. Burning.

This damn fever wasn't going to kill anyone quickly, but it was relentless. Food had no flavor. Drinks had no flavor. Now even cigarettes had no flavor.

The two of them finished their smokes in silence. No sign of Eugene the whole time.

Fear, or was Eugene the one laid out in that vehicle?

Lin Feng wasn't sure. But one thing was clear: when it came to moving Abraham off course, Eugene was one of the very few people who could actually do it.

The plan had been to talk Abraham into coming back to camp for treatment, then find a way to keep them there. But if Eugene wasn't showing face, Lin Feng had nothing to work with.

Lin Feng studied Abraham's hard, authoritative face and tested the water. "Veteran — anywhere lined up for tonight? Come back to my camp. Rest up, resupply."

Abraham's instinct was to refuse. The mission was everything: get Eugene to Washington in one piece, develop the cure, end this rotten apocalypse.

That was the only road left. The only way to make any of it mean something.

Even dying on it, that was a price already paid in full.

But the reality of it sat heavy. Almost everyone on the team had the fever now. No medical supplies, no doctor, and their pace had slowed to a crawl. Today's crash had been the fever's fault too.

Maybe worth considering.

The decision came in a single instant. Abraham nodded.

Agreed.

➤ Next: Hope That Day Never Comes

Chapter 68 - Hope That Day Never Comes

Evening arrived, and the convoy rolled safely into camp.

Rick and the others came straight over to the pickups, eyes drifting curiously toward the unfamiliar off-road vehicle parked alongside them.

New members?

Lin Feng and Abraham climbed out one after the other. Abraham scanned the camp's setup and gave a steady nod.

When that gaze landed on Orion, the two held eye contact for a beat, and almost simultaneously reached the same conclusion. Military.

Just unclear which unit.

Lin Feng glanced toward Rick with a look that asked the question plainly: spot sorted out?

Rick nodded, then guided Lin Feng's gaze toward a cluster of tents at the edge of camp.

Ever since Marcus mentioned the high fever was unusual, Lin Feng had been carrying a quiet unease.

He remembered an infectious outbreak from the original show, but that had come much later, nearly a year down the line, deep into the Prison arc.

And yet the signs were already showing up now.

Lin Feng wasn't particularly worried, though. The camp's medical supplies were in a completely different league from anything available during the Prison arc.

For starters, they had enough antibiotics to fill an ammo crate.

And Marcus was on hand, which put Hershel, a veterinarian who'd stumbled into human medicine, well out of his depth by comparison.

"Orion, come take a look. Something worth seeing over here," Lin Feng called out.

Orion slipped out of the crowd without a word. At Lin Feng's gesture, he jumped onto one of the pickups and cracked open a sealed weapons crate.

He went still for a few seconds. Then he lifted out an M4. The familiar weight, the cold steel, something about it tugged at him.

He turned, curious. "Where did you pull military hardware like this from?"

"A police station down south. Looked like they'd gotten emergency evacuation orders and left in a hurry — didn't take any of it with them."

Orion nodded, set the rifle back, and closed the crate. "These are all automatic assault rifles. Got a plan for how you're using them?"

Lin Feng smiled. "I'm still hoping for a day when we never have to."

That landed on the group like a stone in still water. Everyone went quiet for a moment.

Then again — Lin Feng was Chinese. Once you remembered that, it made perfect sense.

People from that country were genuine pacifists.

"There are full sets of individual combat gear in the crates underneath. Take a set for daily use."

Orion nodded. He'd already figured that out the moment he saw the crate markings.

"All right, enough standing around. Standard procedure: unload what needs unloading, count what needs counting. Medicine goes to Hershel's place, weapons and ammo get moisture treatment."

Lin Feng waved everyone into motion, then led Abraham's group toward the tents.

"Abraham, this is where you'll be resting. It's a little rough right now, but things will get better."

"Thank you, Lin. A safe place to sleep is more than enough. At least when you're out cold, you won't have some damn walker standing over you on watch — ha!"

Abraham clapped Lin Feng on the shoulder, not a trace of complaint about the tents.

They'd already slept in the off-road vehicle. What more could anyone ask for?

"Glad that works. Marcus will come by shortly to check everyone over. Dinner's going to be a little while yet."

Abraham nodded, quietly grateful.

Lin Feng had given so much. That created an obligation, something worth repaying. Abraham's eyes moved across the perimeter defenses. Solid, but not solid enough. Maybe that was the place to start.

Abraham was still turning that over when Lin Feng had already slipped away and crossed to where Shane was standing.

"How did today go?"

Shane's gaze flicked toward Orion in the distance, then came back. "Fine. He's thorough. The camp members picked up a lot of useful things."

"Good. And you?"

Shane's expression dimmed. Those sharp eyes drifted somewhere far off. "...Don't know."

Lin Feng exhaled. Expecting someone to just cut clean through something like this would be a miracle. The fact that Shane was holding together and not doing anything reckless, that was already something. The rest would come with time.

"All right. If anything comes up, say something. Don't sit alone stewing and start making decisions you'll regret."

He patted Shane's shoulder, then headed over to the pickups to help unload.

With Lin Feng in the mix, the work moved noticeably faster. Before long, all three truckloads were cleared out.

The pickups were driven back to the lot by the gate. On the other side of camp, Merle and Daryl were already elbow-deep in the two Honda CB750s, completely absorbed.

The brothers had finally gotten their hands on motorcycles. At this rate, they'd be sleeping next to the bikes tonight.

Lin Feng didn't bother with them. They were inside the perimeter, let them tinker.

What actually mattered right now was getting the camp's combat readiness up to a real standard. Once that was done, he could move freely into large-scale recruitment.

And then there was... Eugene.

The fake savior who had used a lie to buy Abraham's protection. The claim about manufacturing a viral vaccine from scratch was pure fiction, but hand-loading 9mm rounds? That part was completely real.

And if there was one problem that never went away, it was ammunition.

Keep Eugene around, and the supply issue practically solved itself.

He needed to find a moment to have that conversation.

The sun sank lower. Nancy and Carol got dinner on the table.

The group settled in around the meal. Every so often someone mentioned Abraham's party on the other side of camp, they hadn't come over to eat; the food had been brought to them.

A soft quarantine, more or less. When it lifted would depend on whether the fevers broke tomorrow.

From somewhere out on the distant highway, an engine roared.

Lin Feng set down his fork and knife the moment he heard it.

"Prepare for combat!"

He snatched up his recurve bow and ran for the gate.

➤ Next: On the Importance of Grasping the Timing