Invasion of the United States

The word gradually spread in the community that the hospital beds were already full, and critically ill patients were lying on stretcher beds in the hallways.

The crematoriums were working around the clock because the morgues couldn't even fit any more bodies.

With so many patients, couldn't they be transferred to Maryland or Virginia? No way.

The two states around Washington refused to take in patients, wanting to reserve their medical resources for their residents. At most... they could help the capital cremate some bodies.

Besides collecting bodies, the National Guard also delivered some supplies, but the logistics were brutally unprofessional, a mere half-hearted effort. Every time the truck came, it only brought one type of item.

The day before yesterday, it was cabbage. Yesterday, it was potatoes. Today, it was lettuce... If residents wanted anything else, they had to go to the neighboring blocks and barter for it themselves.

The soldiers only sealed off the main roads between communities, setting up barbed wire and barricades. As for the flow of thousands of people within the communities, they didn't bother to manage it, nor could they.

Zhou Qingfeng spent half an hour with a pushcart, trading away all of Lucy's baked cream bread—all the army distributed was flour, and there weren't many who knew how to bake bread.

Staple foods were hot commodities in the market.

The pushcart was now filled with all kinds of things: a bucket of half-melted ice cream, a large bloody steak, a basket of fruit, two huge packs of toilet paper, and sanitary pads that Lucy specifically requested.

As he checked his spoils, a hurried shout suddenly came from behind him, "Victor! Victor!"

Zhou Qingfeng turned around sharply, recognizing a familiar figure running through the crowd—Jack, the neighbor from across the street.

He was wearing a black down jacket stained with mud, a mask askew on his face, and bloodshot eyes full of anxiety behind his goggles.

Jack ran up, glanced around nervously as if confirming no one was paying attention, then grabbed Zhou Qingfeng's arm and whispered, "Come with me."

The two quickly walked to a corner of the market, standing behind a pile of abandoned cardboard boxes. Jack took a few breaths and asked in a low voice, "Victor, do you want to escape?"

"Do you have a way to get past the National Guard's barbed wire under the infrared lenses of the drones?" Zhou Qingfeng would have run a long time ago if there was a way to escape.

Jack looked around and whispered, "Why escape from the ground? Washington D.C. is the capital of the United States.

For over a hundred years, a dense underground transportation network has been built here. Some are still in use, while others are abandoned. Maybe some parts are not well guarded."

Zhou Qingfeng was very tempted and asked, "Do you understand the underground transportation network of Washington D.C.?"

Jack was silent for a moment, then shook his head and said, "No, I don't understand it, but someone must. The White House doesn't care if we live or die.

The virus is extremely virulent now, and the lockdown is a joke. People are dying in every neighborhood every day. If we don't escape, we'll definitely die.

I'm assembling a team, and everyone is trying to escape. You're pretty handy. If you're willing to join, come to my house at seven tonight."

He said Zhou Qingfeng was "pretty handy" because he'd had an altercation at the market a couple of days ago.

An official, used to bossing people around, tried to use US dollars to buy bread. When Zhou Qingfeng refused, the official got angry, and Zhou Qingfeng knocked him out with one punch, showing formidable strength.

After finishing, Jack patted Zhou Qingfeng's shoulder and turned to leave, apparently to recruit others.

Zhou Qingfeng returned with the supplies and mentioned the idea of "escaping underground" to Lucy and Old Hammer.

Lucy sneered, "The neighbor across the street is probably still in the stage of pulling people together, like those hustlers who pitch their ideas hoping for investment."

The drowsy Old Hammer suddenly spoke up, "Someone from the Tree of Justice knows the underground transportation network of Washington D.C.

He was responsible for city planning and should still be in good health... and he happens to live near Arlington."

Zhou Qingfeng couldn't help but spit out, "The Tree of Justice sure is full of talents."

Lucy gave him a meaningful glance, "Indeed, it is."

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

As night fell, Lucy was in the kitchen washing the last few dishes, while Old Hammer was dozing on the couch.

The neighbor across the street came again to invite Zhou Qingfeng, hoping he would join their so-called "escape association," saying that more than a dozen families in the surrounding blocks wanted to exchange views.

But Zhou Qingfeng politely declined. He took out a transportation map bought before the lockdown, noted the address Old Hammer provided, put on a hoodie, mask, and goggles, and slipped out through the back door into the night.

On the streets, soldiers in charge of the lockdown leaned against the barricades in twos and threes, their figures under the protective suits appearing lazy and fatigued.

They held rifles in their hands but had little interest in patrolling, often looking up at the drones buzzing overhead.

Those cold machines were the real eyes, circling the night sky with infrared lenses scanning the ground, monitoring the movements inside and outside the barbed wire.

According to the wishes of the White House and the Capitol Hill officials, the lockdown of Washington D.C. was to create a "clean zone," keeping the virus out beyond the barbed wire.

Some government workers within the district had been vaccinated, others had gotten sick. As long as they survived, herd immunity could be achieved, and the core bureaucratic system could restart.

As for the current material shortages and living inconveniences, in their eyes, it was just "low-quality" people failing to understand the hardships of the upper echelons.

The elderly and children who died in the process were simply "necessary evils" in the grand narrative.

But Zhou Qingfeng hadn't seen anyone who honestly believed this rhetoric.

Every district was divided into small blocks, the barbed wire a ghastly scar crossing the streets, with cameras hanging on top, red indicator lights like the eyes of a beast, coldly watching the surroundings.

In some places, makeshift watchtowers had been set up, and searchlights sporadically swept across the ground, casting shadows of trees that danced like ghosts.

The neighborhoods were not quiet at night.

Soldiers in protective suits shuttled back and forth in jeeps, the vehicle-mounted broadcasters mechanically warning, "Do not move around arbitrarily to avoid spreading the virus!"

But this speech scattered in the night wind, with few paying attention.

Different areas received different supplies. Despite the barbed wire, market trading still went on.

Someone held a bundle of cabbage, someone else brought out their medicine, and some even traded between different blocks, haggling in low voices as if performing a secret ritual.

Dull corners of the street gathered three or five residents, wrapped in thick clothes, cursing the White House bureaucrats softly.

Some waved flashlights, some shouted, some directly banged on trash cans on the roadside, venting their uncontainable anger.

The barbed wire between districts was relatively low, and the soldiers enforcing the lockdown were also lax.

Zhou Qingfeng avoided the noisy lights and figures, counting on his good physical condition to ignore obstacles along the way, heading along a map route toward the Leon Park neighborhood several kilometers away.

Leon Park was a historic residential area with rows of bungalows and colonial-style houses on both sides of the street, their roofs covered with ivy, casting mottled shadows under the moonlight.

Zhou Qingfeng matched the address given by Old Hammer, lightly jumped over a few hedges, avoided the cameras and searchlights, and stopped in front of a tightly closed residential house.

The house was not large, its exterior walls painted dark gray, with a shabby wicker chair on the porch, next to a rusty flower pot that only had a few withered stems left. For a better reading experience, visit M(VLEMPYR).

Weak light seeped through the windows, as if someone had lit a candle, flickering dimly.

Zhou Qingfeng confirmed the street sign and house number, stepped forward, and gently knocked on the door.

The wooden door let out a low "thud" in the silent night. He waited a few seconds, but there was no movement from inside.

He knocked again, a bit harder this time. But the light behind the door and windows continued to flicker, with no response.

Zhou Qingfeng stepped back and squinted at the house. A faint light came through the door crack, and the curtains were drawn tight, leaving no shadow visible.

He didn't hesitate anymore, bypassing the front door, moving gently toward the backyard.

The moonlight was cold, casting a silvery glow on the ground. The backyard fence was neat, and the lawn was clean.

But as he reached the backdoor, Zhou Qingfeng suddenly halted—the door frame held a hanged corpse.

The rope was sunk deep into the neck, the severed neck hanging crookedly under the moonlight, the gray-haired head appearing particularly gruesome.

The night wind caused the body to sway slightly, the rope making soft creaking sounds on the door frame. A chill climbed from his feet to his skull, making his heartbeats unbearably loud in the silence.