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

Lin Zheng hunched over, pressed against the sticky wall.

The solidified grease and silt under his feet made a slight, sticky friction sound, and his nerves were on edge.

The sounds ahead grew clearer, no longer indistinct whispers, but a cacophony of voices.

He parted a layer of hanging black plastic sheeting, and a stench of cheap fuel, smoked meat, and human sweat wafted out, completely different from the putrid smell of the sewers. It was a raw and tenacious odor belonging to living things.

Light suddenly flooded his vision, revealing a few flickering lamps hanging from the low ceiling of this underground world.

The sight before him made him briefly forget his fatigue and nausea; he saw a miniature city built from waste.

Various colored plastic sheets, rusty iron sheets, and broken wooden boards are cleverly pieced together and wrapped together to form simple sheds of varying heights, barely creating a private space.

Some sheds had faded clothes drying on their roofs, and several huge old tires were used as tables and chairs, with broken bowls and greasy tableware on them.

Dust and fine smoke hung in the air, reflecting the firelight.

A dozen or so figures moved about among them; they were dressed in rags, their faces haggard, and their skin was sickly pale from years of lack of sunlight.

Several burly men were the first to notice Lin Zheng standing at the entrance.

They gripped the steel pipe and wooden stick that lay to the side.

The man's eyes were alert. He whispered a few words to his companion, then surrounded Lin Zheng in a fan shape, approaching step by step.

"Stop! I'll go get the mayor to handle this," one of them shouted in a hoarse voice.

Lin Zheng raised his hands to indicate that he had no hostile intentions.

He pointed his flashlight at the ground and put his scalpel back at his waist, to show that he was not there to provoke anyone.

His gaze swept quickly over the people, whose faces were etched with the hardships of survival. Many of them were wearing only worn-out slippers or were even barefoot.

Just as the tension between the two sides was rising, a series of slow footsteps came from behind the crowd.

A thin, hunched old man slowly emerged from the gap in the shed.

He was using a cane made from a discarded steel pipe, the bottom of which was worn smooth.

The old man's face was covered with deep wrinkles, bearing the marks of countless years, but his cloudy eyes, illuminated by the oil lamp, still shone with a sharpness that pierced the heart.

His gaze lingered on Lin Zheng's face for a moment, as if trying to make out something.

Lin Zheng tried hard to recall, and the blurry images in his mind gradually became clear.

He had distributed expired supplies to such a group of people in some abandoned corners, and he had also followed Evelyn into these dark places to deliver medicine to the sick and weak.

The old man suddenly called out a name in a hoarse voice, with a hint of uncertainty but also a certain certainty.

"Forest?"

The word, spoken by him, carried a trace of trust tempered by time, and sounded exceptionally clear in the noisy underground space.

The tense atmosphere instantly dissipated after the old man uttered just one word.

The men surrounding Lin Zheng exchanged glances. Although they did not lower their weapons, their vigilance visibly relaxed.

Lin Zheng nodded, which was his way of responding to the old man.

The old man waved his hand, signaling the armed men to step back.

"Children, put him down. This is Lin. He's not an outsider." The old man's voice was hoarse, but full of authority.

The people around him listened to his words and obeyed.

The old man stepped forward, gently patted Lin Zheng's shoulder with his calloused, rough hands, and pointed to the campfire burning in the iron barrel in the center of the camp.

"Come in and sit down, it's cold outside."

Lin Zheng followed the old man to the iron barrel campfire. The discarded wood in the fire crackled and popped, and the dancing flames cast shadows on everyone's faces.

"I am Oaks, they all call me Mayor." The old man handed Lin Zheng a mug filled with warm water. The water was a little cloudy, but it was emitting a faint steam.

Lin Zheng took the mug. The water was warm, with a slightly astringent plastic smell, but in this cold and damp environment, it was a rare treat.

Even with death looming behind him, the extremely exhausted Lin Zheng wanted to rest, not just for his health, but also for his sanity.

He sipped his drink slowly, his eyes subtly scanning his surroundings.

He saw the inhabitants known as the "Mole People," who, with incredible wisdom and resilience, used everything abandoned by the world above to rebuild order in the darkness.

Discarded batteries are disassembled, and the materials inside are extracted for use in lighting.

The rusty pipes were converted into a simple water collection device, which collected the water seeping down from above and then filtered it rudimentarily to make it drinkable.

Some people use salvaged discarded electrical parts to tinker with gadgets that no one understands; it's their way of maintaining a vague connection with the world above.

A wire mesh grill was placed over the campfire, on which several huge, fat rats were roasting.

The meat sizzled as it roasted, and drops of oil dripped into the fire, emitting an enticing aroma.

"You may not remember, Lin." Mayor Oaks sat on an old wooden crate, the campfire casting a red glow on his face, making his wrinkles even more pronounced.

"But we remember that you and Dr. Evelyn brought us clean blankets and medicine."

His voice carried a hint of wistful reminiscence; those rare moments of warmth were among the few bright spots in their difficult lives.

Lin Zheng remembered that he and Evelyn had delivered a batch of soon-to-expire vaccines and antibiotics to several underground communities, and Mayor Oaks might have been one of them.

Mayor Oakes pulled a tin cigarette case from his pocket, lit a cigarette, and the smoke swirled around him like a dream.

"Life's tough, Lin. The lords on the surface are getting more and more impatient. We're not safe even hiding underground."

He drank the murky water from the mug. The water still had that strange, astringent plastic taste, but the warmth it brought was enough to relieve some of his physical and mental fatigue.

He knew he couldn't stay there any longer.

His unintentional intrusion, if discovered by pursuers from the surface world, would only bring annihilation to these underground residents who have barely survived.

Lin Zheng was about to say goodbye.

Just as he finished his last sip of water, a piercing scream came from the entrance of the camp. The sound was abruptly cut off in the air, leaving only a short echo.

The noisy conversation around the campfire stopped abruptly, and everyone's eyes turned to the entrance.

The oil lamp flickered, casting long and short shadows, plunging the camp into a deathly silence.

A soft clattering sound was heard, followed by a faint red light appearing in the darkness at the entrance.

It was a pair of red optical goggles, peering through the face of a person wearing a black tactical helmet.

The helmet had no reflective surface; it was completely matte, with only two points of red glow remaining.

Its owner, holding a silenced rifle, was silently peeking out from the shadows of the entrance.