Chapter Eight: Do You Know Each Other?

Damp with cold sweat, her intoxicated fingers clenched the hilt of the dagger. That voice, rough as rusted iron scraping against itself, carried a quality she couldn’t quite name—yet it was unmistakably familiar. It wasn’t the brashness of the Hyena Gang, nor the sleaziness of the scavengers; rather, it reminded her of something she’d heard in the subway tunnels—a chill, hard edge tinged with exhaustion and hoarseness.

She didn’t reply, only pressed her body closer to the door, the knife’s hilt biting into her callused palm. From the heap of dry grass, Ya-ya seemed startled by the commotion outside; her lashes trembled, but she dared not make a sound, only burrowed her face deeper into the straw, the back of her head dusted with bits of hay.

“No one in there?” Another shadow spoke, his voice younger, edged with impatience. “Boss, why not just kick it open? This crumbling outpost’s been picked clean by scavengers—no one could be here.”

Boss? Intoxicated’s brows creased beneath her mask. The Hyena Gang’s boss was a one-eyed man, his voice as shrill as glass scraping, nothing like this.

The first shadow ignored his companion and stepped half a pace toward the door, his boot grinding against gravel with a quiet crunch. “I see the door’s blocked from the inside,” he said, his tone deepening. “Come out if you don’t want to die. We don’t have spare bullets to waste in a dump like this.”

The calm in his words put her further on guard. This wasn’t a threat from some reckless thug, but more like a warning weighed on cold logic. She touched the M1911 at her waist—only seven rounds left; one had gone to deal with that scavenger earlier.

“Sis…” Ya-ya’s voice, faint as a mosquito’s hum and tinged with tears, fumbled through the straw, searching for comfort.

Intoxicated pressed her hand to the stone behind the door, giving the slightest shake of her head to signal Ya-ya not to move. Drawing a deep breath, she forced her voice through the mask, coming out muffled and thick: “What do you want?”

The two shadows paused outside.

“Knew it—someone’s there,” the younger voice clicked his tongue. “Hiding a woman, huh?”

“Shut up,” the one called “Boss” snapped, then addressed the interior, “We only want to rest here for the night, avoid the late-night ‘Corrosion Tide.’ We’ll leave at dawn, won’t touch your things.”

Corrosion Tide? Her heart tensed. Everyone in the ruins knew that at night, the mutants would swarm toward heat sources—this deadly tide was common knowledge. But these two knew it would happen tonight? Was it luck, or did they have a more reliable source?

“Is there a child in there?” The boss’s voice came again, this time with a subtle inflection. “We have clean water. Half a bar of chocolate. We’ll trade for shelter. Fair enough?”

Chocolate. Ya-ya’s ears visibly perked, her small hands clutching the straw beneath her.

Intoxicated was silent for three seconds. She could hear the steady breathing of the two men outside—steady, not eager for a fight. And if they knew about the Corrosion Tide, they weren’t amateurs. A direct confrontation would only risk attracting the mutants. She might not come out on top, and the consequences could be catastrophic.

Slowly, she removed the stone bracing the door. The hinges screeched in the silence—sharp and jarring.

Two men stood outside. Moonlight slanted through the shattered window of the outpost, sketching their outlines in silver. The younger, on the left, carried a hunting rifle and wore oil-stained overalls, his gaze assessing. The “boss” on the right was tall, clad in a faded, worn camouflage jacket, pant legs rolled to the knee, revealing a vicious scar on his shin—gnawed, it seemed, with jagged, uneven edges.

But what made her heart jolt was what he held in his hand: a shovel, polished to a shine, its handle wrapped in cloth for grip—almost identical to the one she’d found in the subway tunnel.

“It’s you?” Her voice, filtered through the mask, trembled.

The man lifted his eyes, the moon catching the shallow scar above his left brow. His gaze was as cold as ice, but when he saw the gash torn into her mask by the mutant’s claw, his pupils contracted.

He was the stranger from the subway—the one who’d left her half a canteen of water, who’d pushed her away before the collapse.

The younger man blinked. “Boss, you know her?”

The man didn’t answer, only stared at Intoxicated, then glanced at the little head peeking from the straw behind her. His voice softened. “Corrosion Tide will be here in an hour. If you don’t want to be shredded, close the door.”

She stepped aside to let them in, then braced the door shut with the stone once more. The younger man opened his mouth to speak, but a look from the other silenced him. He walked to the corner, set the shovel against the wall, and from his pack produced a military canteen, tossing it to Intoxicated.

“For the child.”

The canteen was heavy; shaking it, she could hear the slosh of water. Ya-ya peeked from the straw, her wide eyes fixed on the canteen, then at Intoxicated.

She unscrewed the lid and sniffed—no strange odor. She poured a little into her palm to test the temperature before handing it to Ya-ya. “Drink slowly.”

Ya-ya held the canteen with both hands, sipping in tiny mouthfuls, but her eyes kept darting to the younger man—who was pulling a foil packet from his pack. Inside was half a bar of blackened chocolate.

“Take it,” the young man tossed the chocolate over, expressionless. “Don’t let her cry. If she attracts the mutants, that’s your problem.”

Ya-ya caught it, glanced at Intoxicated, and, seeing no objection, carefully unwrapped the foil and took a tentative lick. Her eyes lit up instantly, like a star had fallen into them.

For a while, no one spoke in the outpost. Only the faint sound of Ya-ya chewing chocolate and the rising wind could be heard. In the distance, the mutants’ howls drifted closer.

“How did you end up here?” Intoxicated broke the silence, her fingers unconsciously tracing the crack in her mask.

The man leaned against the wall, flicked open a lighter with a click, the flame illuminating the stubble on his chin. “Looking for Bastion Rock.”

“Just the two of you?”

“There were five,” the younger man muttered, voice lower now. “Ran into the Hyena Gang yesterday. Lost three.”

Hyena Gang. Intoxicated’s gaze chilled.

The man snapped the lighter shut, darkness swallowing the brief light. Only his voice remained. “You’re looking for Bastion Rock too?”

She nodded.

“With a child, you won’t move fast.” His tone was neither mocking nor sympathetic, just stating a fact. “The Hyena Gang is after you?”

“They’ve got a bounty on my head.” She gripped the dagger tighter. “Fifty rounds of ammunition.”

The younger man snorted. “One-Eye’s generous. That’s probably all he’s got left for a bounty.”

“One-Eye?” Intoxicated frowned.

“The Hyena Gang’s new boss,” the man explained. “Lost his left eye to a mutant. Vicious, but not too bright.”

So the leader had changed. She recalled the scarred face she’d split with an axe in the subway—clearly, the Hyenas had replaced him.

“Why are you looking for Bastion Rock?” Ya-ya, emboldened by chocolate, whispered.

The young man glanced at her, uncharacteristically patient. “Heard they have walls, clean water, and…medicine.” He subconsciously rubbed his arm, where it looked like he was wounded.

The man said nothing, but Intoxicated noticed he coughed now and then, his breathing heavy, as if he was hurt inside.

Outside, the howling drew closer, mingled with the sound of something being torn apart. The Corrosion Tide was here.

Ya-ya shrank into Intoxicated’s embrace. She held her close, eyes on the door—through the gap braced with stone, twisted shadows flickered outside: the shapes of mutants.

“They can’t get in, right?” Ya-ya’s voice trembled on the verge of tears.

“The outpost’s walls are solid,” the man said steadily in the darkness. “As long as we don’t make too much noise.”

As the words left his mouth, a tremendous crash shook the door, rattling the stone. Ya-ya screamed, clinging to Intoxicated’s neck.

“Don’t move!” the man barked, grabbing the shovel. The younger man gripped his rifle, aiming at the door.

The battering grew more frenzied; claws scraped the wood with a sickening creak, making their skin crawl. Intoxicated pressed her hand over Ya-ya’s mouth to stifle any sound, clutching her dagger, back to the wall, ready for a fight.

She didn’t know how long they waited. Gradually, the pounding faded, the shrieks receded into the distance. The Corrosion Tide had passed, migrating onward.

Silence returned to the outpost, broken only by the panting of four survivors.

Ya-ya, exhausted from crying, drifted to sleep in Intoxicated’s arms. The younger man slumped to the floor, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Damn, that nearly killed me.”

The man ignored him, turning to Intoxicated. “We leave together at dawn.”

“Why?” she asked warily.

“With a child, the Hyena Gang will kill you if you run into them.” He paused, then added, “We need extra hands to handle trouble on the road.”

Alliance—or mutual use? She looked at the shovel in his hand, then at the sleeping Ya-ya. Her foot was badly swollen; alone with Ya-ya, she couldn’t make it far.

“Fine,” she agreed. “But don’t try anything with us.”

The man said nothing, taking it as consent.

As dawn tinged the sky with pale light, the four packed up and left the outpost. Sunlight pierced the morning mist, illuminating the rugged path ahead. On the distant horizon, a gray-black silhouette loomed—that must be Bastion Rock.

The young man led the way, the tall man in the middle, Intoxicated carrying Ya-ya at the rear. No one spoke, but their steps fell into a curiously unified rhythm.

On the road, Intoxicated couldn’t help asking, “I still don’t know your name.”

He glanced back at her, sunlight catching the scar on his brow, sharpening his features.

“Chen Mo,” he replied.

“I’m Intoxicated,” she said, then added, “and she’s Ya-ya.”

Chen Mo nodded, said no more, and walked on.

Watching his back, Intoxicated suddenly recalled what he’d said to her in the subway tunnel when he pushed her away: “Survive.”

She’d thought it a fleeting kindness between strangers. She hadn’t expected to meet him again here.

In the far distance, the roar of the Hyena Gang’s motorcycles was already faintly audible.