Invasion of the United States

On the seventh day of the lockdown, the sky over Washington D.C. was as gloomy as a water-soaked cloth, emanating a damp chill.

In the Thomas Family's kitchen, Lucy was preparing lunch. She opened the refrigerator door, and the inside was empty.

The shelves, once packed with fresh vegetables, beef, and cheese, now only had a few limp carrots and a small hard chunk of butter. The freezer only had a single bag of rock-hard peas left.

She turned and shouted upstairs, "Victor! You need to go to the market and get some vegetables and meat, otherwise we'll be eating just bread!"

Zhou Qingfeng had a big appetite; he ate enough for two or three people at once. This doubled the household's food consumption.

The supplies they had stocked before the lockdown were depleting quickly. If it weren't for a few bags of flour and sugar in the garage, they would have been relying on canned food like the neighbors.

Luckily, there was an oven and a bread maker in the kitchen of this villa. Lucy had started early to knead dough and let it rise, turning the flour into golden, soft bread.

This greatly reduced the consumption of other food.

This morning, she baked another batch of butter bread. The aroma wafted from the oven, filling the living room. Even Old Hammer couldn't help but lift his head from the sofa and sniff the air.

Hearing the call, Zhou Qingfeng came downstairs, put on a mask, goggles, and wore a Superman-patterned jacket. He was wrapped up tightly like a patient afraid of sunlight.

"If you see anyone trading for sanitary pads and toilet paper, remember to bring some back." Lucy packed dozens of bread into a paper bag.

Zhou Qingfeng picked up the paper bag, grabbed a bread from it and stuffed it into his mouth, taking a few hasty bites before pulling a trolley cart through the backyard's hedge towards the neighboring street.

Two streets away, the "market" was a spontaneously gathered trading point in a parking lot.

Many people set up randomly with tables or cloths, bringing all sorts of bits and pieces from home to trade — from canned food to batteries, blankets to tools, everything imaginable.

There were high-ranking officials, university professors, and industry elites.

But at this moment, everyone was equal, wearing masks and gloves, bundled in thick clothing, wrapping themselves like mummies, afraid to expose even an inch of skin.

Lockdown rendered money meaningless; US Dollar bills were worthless even as hand wipes. All trades relied on bartering, based on the practicality of the items in hand.

The trolley neared the first stall.

It was run by a fat guy, wearing a loose t-shirt with a cartoon bear and baggy sweatpants, his figure standing out in the crowd.

Zhou Qingfeng recognized him by this distinctive attire and greeted in a low voice, "Hey Tim, what are you selling today?"

"Ice cream," Tim replied in a muffled voice, emanating from behind his mask.

He pulled a commercial-sized bucket of white ice cream out of a plastic container behind him, with droplets of condensation still clinging to it.

"Don't ask me why I have ice cream; I don't know. The soldiers drove a truck in yesterday and shoved a bucket at every household in our street, no questions asked.

Now, one kilogram of bread for one bucket of ice cream, do you want it?"

The bucket weighed a hefty five kilograms.

The market had no ice chests, and the temperature was high, making it difficult to preserve. Tim stored it in a plastic container, but a small puddle of water had already formed beside his stall.

The fat guy wore a helpless expression, clearly aware that ice cream couldn't serve as food at times like these. Though he didn't say it, it was obvious he wanted to trade the damn thing for some bread.

However, the high-fat content of ice cream was an unexpected boon for Zhou Qingfeng, whose high caloric needs made it a welcome surprise.

He took five of Lucy's freshly baked breads from the trolley—golden on the surface and subtly buttery, soft inside when pressed lightly with fingers.

Tim's eyes lit up as he hurriedly took them, like he feared Zhou Qingfeng would change his mind. He sniffed the bread and muttered under his breath:

"Thanks, buddy. You don't know how hard it is to feed my two kids. These breads will at least last us a day." First sееn оn МV4LЕМР|YR.

Zhou Qingfeng said nothing, bent down to pick up the ice cream bucket and loaded it into his trolley.

-----------------

In seven days, the National Guard responsible for the lockdown came three times, each scene resembling something out of a sci-fi movie...

The soldiers were bundled in white protective suits, eyes behind face shields cold and fatigued, boots thudding on the ground.

During their first visit, at dawn, the rumble of military truck engines woke the community from sleep.

A few soldiers knocked on doors house by house; if there was no answer, they broke in.

They didn't care who lived inside or their identity, just coldly asked: "Anyone dead in there?"

If the answer was "yes," they dragged in black body bags, took the corpse to the truck, and drove to an unknown location for cremation.

If someone was sick, whether with fever, cough, or in critical condition, they would just shrug and say, "We'll report it, let the ambulance come get them."

But everyone knew the hospitals in Washington D.C. were already overwhelmed, the ambulance sirens rang less often, medical staff fell one batch after another, and even protective suits were starting to run out.

In the following days, whenever the engines roared on the street, you could almost always see soldiers in protective suits transporting corpses.

Each visit, they carried off around ten bodies, most being frail elders wrapped tightly.