It took twenty-two minutes to reach the mall.
Tang Wei's old military van handled better than it looked. The engine coughed like a dying smoker, but it held steady over cracked pavement and broken debris. Windows reinforced with scrap metal. Rust around the wheel wells. She must have kept it hidden for weeks.
"I've had her since before the Fall," Tang said from behind the wheel, eyes on the road. "Kept her under a tarp in the substation parking lot. Guess it paid off."
In the back, no one answered. Just a few nods. Weapons were checked. Belts tightened. SMGs cradled or slung low. Yifei stared out the window, face unreadable.
The city watched us through hollow windows and cracked glass. We passed burned storefronts, overturned bikes, and a bus turned on its side. Somewhere in the distance, something moaned — not close. Not far.
Just enough to remind us the dead were still listening.
I sat by the rear door, gear strapped tight, gauntlets resting across my lap.
