Chapter 143

In the shelter converted from the city stadium, before dawn at five in the morning, the emergency lights in the center of the field were already on. Under the dim yellow light, densely packed quilts stretched from the stands to the center of the field, with no gap between two quilts to even put your feet down.

Some people huddled together in tattered cotton-padded clothes, while others dozed off against the railings of the stands. The cries of children, the coughs of the elderly, and the sighs of women mingled together, enveloped in the frigid air, unable to dissipate in the enclosed space.

This is the tenth day since the shelter began receiving survivors. The food reserves have decreased from two cartloads to half a cartload, and each person's rations have changed from "a bowl of porridge and half a steamed bun" to "a small half bowl of wild vegetable porridge mixed with rice husks".

"Grain is being distributed! Line up! No one who doesn't line up will get any today!" Two staff members in dark blue vests pushed over an iron bucket. The rim of the bucket was covered with hardened porridge stains, and the wild vegetable porridge inside was so thin that you could see your reflection in it.

The crowd surged forward instantly, only to be stopped by two men wielding wooden sticks—the leader being Wang Lei, the nephew of Director Wang, the head of the shelter. While everyone else wore faded old cotton coats, he wore a clean black jacket with oil stains on the cuffs. He kept poking the crowd with his wooden stick, startling the elderly man at the front who shrank back: "What are you pushing for! Can't you see there's only this much food in the bucket? If you keep pushing, nobody will get any!"

Aunt Zhang stood in the middle of the line, clutching a chipped enamel bowl, the rim still stained with yesterday's porridge.

Her grandson, Xiaoyu, had a low-grade fever and his lips were cracked and bleeding. He had only drunk a small half bowl of porridge yesterday and kept saying "I'm hungry" all night. When it was her turn, the staff member ladling the porridge trembled, and the porridge in the ladle only covered the bottom of the bowl, with a few uncooked wild vegetables floating in it: "Auntie, drink sparingly, this is all for today, there are other people waiting."

Aunt Zhang was about to beg for an extra half spoonful when a hand suddenly reached out from behind and snatched her enamel bowl.

"I'll take this bowl. You old woman, why are you eating so much?" It was Wang Lei, pouring the porridge from the bowl into his stainless steel lunchbox.

There was already half a bowl of porridge in the lunchbox, which he had snatched from Uncle Li earlier. He casually threw the enamel bowl on the ground with a "clang," and a piece of porcelain chipped off the rim, spilling the porridge onto the floor, where it instantly froze into a thin layer of ice.

"How dare you steal my porridge! My grandson is still hungry!" Aunt Zhang lunged forward to grab the lunchbox, but Wang Lei kicked her in the knee, causing her to kneel on the ground in pain.

"Old hag, you dare to try and take it from me?" Wang Lei squatted down and poked Aunt Zhang's arm with a wooden stick. "Believe it or not, I'll have my uncle kick you out. It's minus twenty degrees outside. You'll freeze to death in half a day if you go out there. Do you want to try?"

Everyone around lowered their heads, no one daring to speak. Yesterday, Old Li was dragged to the shelter entrance by Wang Lei and his men and left to freeze for half an hour just for speaking up for Aunt Zhang, who said "it's wrong to steal the old woman's food." He's been coughing non-stop since then and is now curled up in a corner of the stands, unable to move.

Uncle Liu clutched his empty bowl, his knuckles turning white, but he could only turn his face away—he had a wife and granddaughter at home, and if he offended Wang Lei, his whole family would suffer.

"Brother Wang, here's another compressed biscuit. I just got it from an old man."

Wang Lei's follower, Xiao Li, ran over, clutching a crumpled compressed biscuit in his hand, the wrapper still covered in dust.

Wang Lei took it, tore open the packaging, and took a bite. Cookie crumbs fell to the ground. A child in a tattered cotton-padded coat immediately squatted down, trying to scrape them up with his hand, but Xiao Li kicked him away: "Get lost! This is not something you can touch!"

The child was so frightened that he started to cry, and his mother quickly pulled him into her arms. The mother's tears fell on the child's hair and froze into ice crystals before they could be wiped away.

A fight suddenly broke out on the west side of the venue. Two men were fighting over a cloth bag containing half a sack of cornmeal. It was unclear who had brought it from home. The two men had started fighting after the bag was discovered.

One person's face was scratched, and blood was flowing down their chin. Another person's arm was cut, with a strip of cloth wrapped around it, seeping with light red blood.

The cloth bag was torn in the chaos, and the cornmeal spilled onto the ground. Before it even hit the ground, the wind blew it away. Several people immediately squatted down and scooped the cornmeal into their mouths with their hands, not even sparing the dust on the ground, muttering, "Don't waste...don't waste..."

Aunt Zhang slowly stood up, supporting herself on her knees, and walked to the makeshift bed in the corner of the stands. Xiao Yu was still asleep, his brows furrowed tightly, and his lips even more chapped.

She pulled a small glass bottle from the tattered quilt, which contained some melted snow water, and used a cotton swab to apply it to Xiaoyu's lips.

Uncle Liu leaned over and whispered, "I just heard from the patrol staff that they received news on their radio that things are even more chaotic in the US than here—supermarkets have been emptied, looters are shooting people, bodies are piled up in the streets, and there's not even anyone to collect them..."

Aunt Zhang didn't say anything, she just hugged Xiaoyu even tighter.

The emergency lights dimmed further, and the sound of the wind outside came through the gymnasium windows, sounding like ghostly wails.

She looked at the people still scrambling for porridge in the center of the field, and at Wang Lei sitting in the stands eating compressed biscuits. Suddenly, she felt a bitter taste in her mouth—even if she hid in a shelter, even if she had a "safe" place, surviving in the extreme cold and food shortage was still so difficult.

The iron bucket in the distance was empty. The last person to receive the porridge licked the bottom of the bowl clean, even picking off the chaff stuck to the rim and stuffing it into his mouth.

After finishing his biscuits, Wang Lei threw his lunchbox on the ground and shouted to the staff, "Save me two extra bowls of porridge tomorrow. My uncle said I've been working hard on patrol lately and need to replenish my energy!"

The staff member nodded, not daring to object. Aunt Zhang closed her eyes and buried her face in Xiaoyu's hair—she didn't know how much longer she would have to endure this, nor did she know if she would be able to get that half bowl of porridge for her grandson tomorrow.