November 1, 2027. Day 138 after the disaster.

The silence of the night weighed heavily.

It was the rigid corpse left behind by millions of tons of dead reinforced concrete.

Yu Molan was awake. He crouched like a weathered rock in the shadow behind the front door. The short-handled axe in his hand pressed against the outside of his thigh, the chill of the blade seeping through his thin pants into his muscles.