—What… how did you get here?
Brian looked at Sarah's luggage with surprise, raising an eyebrow.
—Why so much stuff? Don't you live over in the medical district?
—Too many questions! Help me carry this first. I'll explain later.
Seeing Brian start rambling, Sarah rolled her eyes, dropped her bags on the floor, pulled out a key from her pocket, unlocked the door to the adjacent dorm room, and walked inside.
Seeing this, Brian didn't rush. He picked up the four or five bulging bags from the floor and followed her in.
The room's layout was identical to Brian's. The furniture was spotless—clearly someone had cleaned it beforehand.
—You're moving in here?
After setting the bags down, Brian crouched, unzipped them, and began taking items out one by one, skillfully arranging them around the room. Since childhood, he'd taken care of Sarah. He knew her organizational habits better than anyone.
—Because I applied for it —Sarah said, happy to have help. She handed him a form while wrapping her arms around his back, leaning her whole body against him.
—Application? For what?
With Sarah clinging to his back, Brian paused briefly, then took the paper. When he read it, he almost laughed. It was a marriage application form.
The quarantine zone actually had such a rule: if two people chose to marry, they could apply to live together in adjacent rooms. This applied to ordinary civilians, military personnel, and professionals alike.
—So eager already?
Brian carefully read the form. He didn't think it was wrong. Before, he felt Sarah lived too far away, beyond his reach. Now, this solved the problem. Still, he couldn't help but smile, teasing:
—Can't wait, huh?
—You're ridiculous! —Sarah blushed, buried her face in his back, then, embarrassed, pinched the soft flesh at his waist.
—Ow! Easy! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!
The pain at his side felt like a mosquito bite. With his well-developed muscles, Sarah's delicate fingers couldn't hurt him. But happily, he played along, faking agony with dramatic cries.
When Sarah finished playing, Brian turned, pulled her into a tight embrace, and kissed her forehead.
Sarah only pretended to struggle slightly. Feeling the warmth of the hug, she rested quietly against his chest, a smile she couldn't hide spreading across her face. Then, as if remembering something, she blushed again and whispered:
—It was bound to happen…
They stayed close, chatting affectionately, unaware that at the doorway, a little boy stood awkwardly.
For Chen Shi, this was the hardest day since arriving in this world. He didn't know what Brian had said to the administrator, but they treated him like an emergency, assigning three teachers and piling on classes. The stress was unbearable.
He never imagined that, in the middle of the apocalypse, he'd still have to learn English. He was so frustrated he wanted to spit blood. And after class, no one came to pick him up. They just left him—a four-year-old child—to wander the quarantine zone alone.
Following his memory, he returned to the dorm building. Passing the hallway, he saw the neighboring room's door was open. Curious, he peeked his head in… and saw Brian hugging a blonde woman on the sofa, their faces pressed together, doing… something embarrassing.
He'd interrupted an intimate moment. Chen Shi felt extremely uncomfortable. Should he sneak away unnoticed? Or cough to announce his presence?
Hesitating at the door, until Brian inside noticed the small figure.
He straightened slightly and called:
—What's wrong, kid? Why are you standing there? Come in!
Hearing him, Sarah also looked. She saw a four- or five-year-old Asian boy walk in. Curious, she glanced at Brian, as if asking: Who is this child?
—Oh, I brought him back from outside —Brian explained, shrugging—. All his companions were killed. He only speaks Chinese, can't communicate. I brought him with me. He's at the language academy now. When he's older, he'll go to school.
As he spoke, Sarah gave him a suspicious look, but showed no displeasure about the sudden addition.
She looked at the child, saw his nervousness, remembered what was said, and her eyes filled with tenderness. She gently stroked his head.
—Poor thing.
Though he didn't understand what the blonde woman said, Chen Shi recognized that pitying look. In his past life, during his hospitalization, he'd seen it countless times. He obediently lowered his head, letting her stroke him.
—Alright, you'll have plenty of time to meet later. You must be hungry. Let me get something to eat.
Seeing they'd met, Brian stood up. Before full darkness fell, he went to his room and brought out several sealed bags of dried meat.
—Not dried meat again?
Sarah's face instantly showed disgust. She turned her head away.
—We eat this every day. I'm sick of it.
—You… outside, people would give their arm for this, and you complain? —Brian glared at her, exasperated.
But it was understandable. Food in the quarantine zone came from five livestock production factories. Large facilities raising chickens, ducks, cows, and sheep, providing endless supply. Plus, meat fit American eating habits better.
Soldiers and essential workers got first priority. Rations for lower-level civilians were heavily skimmed through layers of distribution. So food was extremely scarce among the poor.
Brian converted most of his external supplies—vegetables, long-lasting canned goods—into supply cards, used as currency to buy vital intelligence or resources.
Thus, dried meat—abundant and perishable—became their daily staple. No wonder Sarah wore that disgusted expression.