The Decaying Dream of America: I Assemble Corpses and Confront Madness

The tires of the recycling truck rolled over a pile of wet cardboard at the entrance of the alley, making a dull squelching sound.

The car headlights cut through the thick darkness, illuminating the depths of the alley.

This is a dead end, with old warehouse brick walls on both sides. Large areas of the plaster have peeled off, revealing the dark red bricks underneath, which are covered with a layer of dark green moss and black mold.

A complex, foul odor permeated the air.

There was the sour stench of rotting and fermenting food scraps in the trash can, the stench of solidified urine in the corner, and the fishy smell of puddles and mud mixed together after the rain.

Lin Zheng parked the car in the middle of the alley, pulled the handbrake, but didn't turn off the engine.

The engine's idling sound created a deep resonance in the confined space.

He pushed open the car door, and a stronger, sickly sweet and fishy smell rushed in.

He got out of the car, and Riley Dunn, who was in the same car with him, followed him out.

He smacked his lips, took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, shook one out and put it in his mouth, but didn't light it.

"Damn, this smell." Riley mumbled a complaint, his gaze sweeping towards the end of the alley.

Lin Zheng didn't say anything. He pulled out a toolbox from under the passenger seat, opened the trunk, and began to put on his protective gear.

The movements were mechanical and skillful.

Masks, gloves, protective suits, goggles.

Riley leaned against the car door, watching Lin Zheng's movements, the cigarette in his mouth swaying up and down as he chewed.

"It always feels like going to a nuclear explosion site," he muttered. "But this time, the shipment might actually be similar."

After getting dressed, Lin Zheng picked up a powerful flashlight and headed into the depths of the alley.

Riley tucked an unlit cigarette behind his ear, put on a basic mask and gloves, and followed behind.

At the end of the alley, next to an overturned industrial waste bin, a figure was huddled up.

The flashlight beam shone steadily over there.

It was a man, as thin as a rake.

He lay on his side on a pile of rags and cardboard, his body curled up as if trying to ward off the cold or pain.

Each breath he took was accompanied by a violent, heart-wrenching cough, his chest making a "hoarse" sound like a broken bellows.

With each cough, dark red liquid seeped from the corner of his mouth, dripping onto the cardboard beneath him and forming a small, dark stain.

He heard footsteps and struggled to lift his head.

The flashlight beam made him squint.

It was a face utterly ravaged by disease and hunger, with high cheekbones, sunken eyes, and an unhealthy grayish-yellow skin.

His lips were dry, cracked, and bluish-purple.

His cloudy eyes showed little spirit, only a bewilderment and fear like that of a dying animal.

He saw two people in uniforms, and the white masks on their faces, and his body trembled even more violently.

"Another one." Riley stood behind Lin Zheng, his voice muffled as it came from behind his mask. "How many is this area this month? Flu, pneumonia, plus all sorts of messy complications, it's practically a petri dish."

Lin Zheng did not respond. He squatted down, keeping a safe distance from the man.

He observed the man's condition.

The breathing rate is extremely fast and very shallow.

Typical respiratory distress.

Every time I cough, the muscles in my neck tense up like ropes.

This indicates that he is using all of his auxiliary respiratory muscles, and his lung function is nearing failure.

"Feed." Riley kicked an empty bottle on the ground with his toe, making a clattering sound. "Can you still talk? What's your name?"

The man was startled by the sound and then coughed violently again.

This time, he coughed up not liquid, but sticky phlegm mixed with pink foam.

He seemed to want to say something, but only a hissing sound like air leaking out came from his trachea.

He stretched out a withered, emaciated hand, not to beg for help, but instinctively pointing to his chest, his face showing an expression of extreme pain.

The man's eyes were on Lin Zheng, then turned to Riley behind him.

Despair gathered in his eyes.

He knew what these two people were there for.

They weren't doctors or police officers; they were corpse collectors.

"Please...please..." he managed to squeeze out a few broken syllables from his throat with all his might, "Save...save me..."

His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, each word accompanied by a painful gasp.

"I...I also have...a daughter..."

These words were like an invisible needle, gently pricking Lin Zheng.

Riley scoffed, his laughter sounding particularly jarring in the alley.

"Daughter? Brother, everyone lying here has a daughter, or a son, or a mom who can make apple pie. We're sick of hearing that excuse."

As he spoke, he took a sealed syringe and a small brown glass bottle from his toolbox.

He skillfully used a syringe to draw out most of the clear liquid.

"He's too agitated." Riley waved the syringe in his hand at Lin Zheng. "This is difficult to handle and will cause us trouble. It's better for everyone if we can calm him down."

This is part of the standard procedure.

For "recovery targets" that are not completely dead but have no value for treatment, administer sedatives to keep them "stable" during transportation and avoid unnecessary accidents caused by struggling or convulsions.

Lin Zheng looked at the syringe in Riley's hand.

The needle tip gleamed with a cold, icy light under the flashlight beam.

The man also saw the syringe, and his pupils suddenly contracted.

His face showed an even stronger fear than before.

He began to struggle, trying to push himself back with his elbows, but he was too weak and only managed to scramble against the dirty cardboard.

"No...please don't..." he pleaded, his voice trembling with tears, "Don't...don't hit me with that...I don't want to pass out...please..."

Riley completely ignored his pleas.

He stepped forward, pressing down on the man's struggling shoulder with one hand like an iron clamp, while holding a syringe in the other, he accurately pierced the only muscle on the man's upper arm that looked relatively intact.

The man let out a piercing scream, but it quickly faded away.

Riley pushed all the liquid in the tube in, then pulled out the needle and casually tossed the used syringe into a designated recycling bin.

"All done." He clapped his hands, stood up, and said, "In two or three minutes, he'll be quieter than a mouse in a church."

The injection works very quickly.

The man stopped struggling.

His violent cough subsided, turning into weak, rhythmic wheezing.

He stopped wailing and stopped speaking.

He just lay there, his eyes wide open, staring intently at the narrow, dirty stretch of night sky above him, cut off by the warehouse roof.

His eyes no longer held fear, nor pleading.

It was a complete, utterly lifeless silence, devoid of all emotion.

It was as if his soul had already left this still-breathing body.

The drugs robbed him of his last struggle, and also took away his last pain.

Lin Zheng looked at him.

Watching the slight rise and fall of his chest.

Looking into his empty eyes, reflecting the city's murky sunlight.

"……daughter……"

The word echoed silently in his mind.

He remembered when he first came to this country, every time he video-chatted with his parents, his mother would repeatedly tell him to take good care of himself.

He recalled the first time he called home after dropping out of school, when he lied about his studies going well and everything being fine. His father remained silent for a long time on the other end of the phone, and finally only said, "Tell us if you don't have enough money."

Those memories are distant, worn down by this numb job and cold reality.

But at this moment, they appeared with exceptional clarity.

"Alright, that's about enough." Riley's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Go to the car, get the body bag, put him in, and we're done. I want to get back to watch the replay of the game."

Riley turned and walked toward the recycling truck.

Lin Zheng did not move.

He remained squatting there, watching the man.

I don't know if it was just a hallucination caused by the medication, but the man's eyes seemed to have changed.

It is no longer completely empty.

A faint, clear light flickered in the depths of his cloudy pupils.

It was as if, in the final moments of his life, the sedatives actually helped him dispel the chaos brought on by the illness, giving him a moment of clarity.

His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.

But Lin Zheng understood the lip movements.

"Please."

Then, a tear slid down from the corner of his sunken eye, leaving a clear, wet trail down his grimy cheek.

A long-lost, sharp stinging sensation pierced through the thick shell he had built up with numbness and professionalism.

This is not an "object".

This is not a "goods" item that needs to be numbered, processed, or archived.

This is a father.

A man who, on his deathbed, was still thinking about his daughter.

A person who, after being deprived of the right to struggle, thanks a silent end.

"Hey Lin, what are you spacing out for?" Riley had already returned with the black body bag. He urged impatiently, "Hurry up and lend a hand. I don't want to stay in this godforsaken place for another second."

Lin Zheng slowly stood up.

He turned his head and looked at Riley.

Behind his goggles, his eyes were calm, yet resolute.

"Wait a minute," he said.

His voice wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet alley.

Riley paused for a moment, then threw the body bag on the ground.

"Wait for what? Wait for him to die? We don't have time for that."

"He's not quite dead yet," Lin Zheng said, emphasizing each word. "We...we can't just send him to the morgue."

Riley looked as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world. He took off his mask, revealing an exaggerated, incredulous expression.

"What did you say? Are you crazy? If you don't want to send him to the morgue, where do you want to send him? The presidential suite of a five-star hotel?"

"Send it to Reverend Dunbar," Lin Zheng said, uttering the name.

Reverend Dunbar, an old pastor in a church on the southern edge of the city.

That place was the church where the old pastor kindly provided end-of-life care; many large cathedrals, on the other hand, don't engage in this kind of charity.

Reverend Dunbar specifically takes in homeless people and terminally ill patients who are turned away by hospitals and do not want to die on the streets.

Pastor Dunbar would provide them with a clean bed, a cup of hot water, and, in the final moments of their lives, read a passage from the Bible to them, or simply hold their hands quietly.

That place was illegal, unlicensed, and survived entirely on donations and Reverend Dunbar's own savings.

Everyone in the medical examiner's office knew about that place, and everyone acknowledged Reverend Dunbar's actions, but everyone remained silent about it, pretending it didn't exist.

Because of Reverend Dunbar's presence, his work was somewhat troublesome and hindered. Reverend Dunbar would try his best to cremate the bodies of those who came to him and place them in the church to be bathed in God's holy light.

This will also mean that people like Lin Zheng who collect corpses will have one less item and one less business.

"Dunbar?" Riley's brow furrowed. "Are you out of your mind, Lin? Sending the 'goods' there? That's a serious violation of regulations! If the higher-ups find out, we're both fired!"

"He's not merchandise, at least not yet," Lin Zheng repeated, his voice soft but steady. "He's a person. He said he has a daughter, so we should at least let him leave with some dignity and try to help him contact his family."

"Family?" Riley scoffed. "A homeless man lying in an alley, what family does he have? Even if he did, do you think anyone would come to claim him? Don't be naive. We in this line of work should understand from day one that we're not dealing with people, we're dealing with goods."

This was the first principle that their supervisor repeatedly emphasized during their onboarding training.

Strip away emotions, objectify goals, and operate according to a programmed procedure.

Only in this way can I avoid going crazy in this job.

Lin Zheng always thought he had followed the rules very well.

Until tonight, he felt a pang of compassion that he shouldn't have felt in his work.

"This is my decision." Lin Zheng didn't argue with him, but calmly stated, "I will write this recovery report, and I will take full responsibility. You just need to help me lift him into the car."

Riley stared at Lin Zheng for a full half minute.

He seemed to be trying to find even the slightest hesitation or jokingness in Lin Zheng's eyes.

But he failed.

Lin Zheng's eyes were calm, so calm that it made Lin Zheng feel a little unfamiliar and uneasy.

This usually quiet and methodical Asian colleague seemed like a completely different person tonight.

"Damn it." Riley cursed under his breath, putting the cigarette back in his mouth and chewing it twice. "You're a fucking weirdo. Fine, whatever. If you want to be a saint, don't drag me down with you."

Although he said that, he still stepped forward and grabbed the man's arm.

Lin Zheng also walked over and lifted the man's legs.

A man's body is very light, with almost no weight.

They did not use body bags.

The two of them worked together to carefully lift him up and place him on the fixed stretcher at the back of the recycling vehicle.

Lin Zheng covered him with a clean blanket, leaving only his lifeless face exposed.

After closing the back door, the two removed their protective gear and threw it into the medical waste bin.

Riley got into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.

"Set the navigation to that godforsaken place, Dunbar," he said irritably. "I'll leave right after I deliver this 'Holy Communion,' and you'll have to clean up the mess yourself."

Lin Zheng didn't say anything and started the car.

The recycling truck slowly drove out of the dark and damp alley and rejoined the city's nighttime traffic.

The radio was not turned on in the carriage.

Only the hum of the engine and the silent breathing of the two people could be heard.

Lin Zheng glanced at the man lying in the back of the car through the rearview mirror.

He kept his eyes open, quietly staring at the roof of the car.

The car drove across a bridge, and outside the window were the city's dazzling neon lights. The light and shadow swept across his lifeless face, sometimes bright and sometimes dim.

Lin Zheng didn't know whether his decision was made on a whim or because something that had been suppressed in his heart had finally broken through.

He didn't know what the consequences of this decision would be.

Maybe nothing will happen.

Perhaps I will submit my resignation tomorrow.

But he had no regrets.

At the moment he made the decision, he felt not fear, but a strange, relieved peace.

He just felt that he should do it this way.

The car turned a corner and drove into the deeper, darker edge of the city.

The church where Reverend Dunbar works is right there.

A destination that doesn't exist on a map, but is known to many people.