Ninety Days Before The Apocalypse

The Scent of Meat

"Lin Feng, please," Su Yan sobbed, pressing her forehead flat against the cold steel vault door. Her voice trembled through the tiny mesh grille of the intercom speaker. "I know I was selfish before. I know I took you for granted. But we were married for three years! Do you remember our wedding day in the spring? You promised my father before he died that you would look after me."

Inside the apartment, Lin Feng walked past the security monitor without glancing at her crying face. He picked up a heavy iron skillet, placed it on the induction stove, and tossed in four thick slabs of marbled pork belly. The meat sizzled instantly, releasing a loud, crackling sound and a cloud of rich white steam.

"My mother cannot breathe properly, Lin Feng!" Su Yan’s desperate voice echoed through the kitchen speaker. "Her lips are turning purple! If you have any heart left inside you, just give us one blanket and a cup of warm water. We will leave! We will never bother you again!"

Lin Feng did not reply. Instead, he reached for a small jar of cumin, crushed garlic, and chili powder, scattering the spices over the searing pork. The fat rendered rapidly, filling the quiet kitchen with a mouth-watering, savory aroma. He turned on the heavy industrial ventilation fan, flipping the exhaust switch to flush the air directly into the outer hallway duct.

Outside on the dark landing, Mother Su was huddled over Su Ming, trying to wrap her torn coat around his blistered, blackened palms.

Suddenly, a thick, warm draft blew out from the ventilation vent directly above the vault door.

Mother Su raised her head, her nostrils flaring as her pale face twitched. "What... what is that smell?"

Su Yan stopped crying mid-breath, wiping her nose with her frozen sleeve. The rich, intoxicating scent of crisped pork belly and bubbling mutton soup poured down the corridor, thick enough to taste.

"He is cooking," Su Ming whimpered from the floor, his eyes wide and bloodshot as saliva dripped uncontrollably from the corner of his swollen mouth. "Mother... he is eating hot meat."

"Lin Feng!" Mother Su shrieked, scrambling to her feet and throwing her body against the steel door with wild, unhinged strength. "You animal! Give us the food! You are cooking meat while my son starves? Open this door right now or I will tear you apart with my teeth!"

The rich aroma did not remain on the thirtieth floor. Carried by the ventilation shafts, the smell drifted down the concrete stairwell, reaching the frozen corridors below.

A heavy set of footsteps echoed up the concrete steps, followed by the metallic clatter of heavy boots.

Five men turned the corner onto the thirtieth floor landing. Leading them was a tall man in a long mink coat, his round face dark with sweat despite the freezing cold. It was Director Zhao, the former chief developer of the North Star Plaza complex. Behind him stood four broad-shouldered security guards wearing thick tactical vests, holding iron reinforcement bars and heavy, pneumatic nail guns modified with lengthened air tanks.

"Get out of the way, old woman," Zhao barked, shoving Mother Su so hard she stumbled over her own coat and hit the floor.

"Who do you think you are pushing?" Su Yan yelled, stepping between Zhao and her mother. "This is my husband's apartment!"

"Shut your mouth," Zhao sneered, looking up at the thick steel vault door and the heavy copper conduit running along the ceiling. He took a deep breath of the air, a greedy, dark smile spreading across his fat cheeks. "Pan-fried pork belly. Real meat. He even has enough power running to operate an industrial exhaust system."

Zhao stepped up to the security intercom and slammed his palm against the call button.

"Young man," Zhao said, his tone loud and imperious. "I am Zhao Tiancheng, the primary investor and director of this residential complex. I am assuming you can hear me through your monitors."

Inside the warm living room, Lin Feng turned off the stove, placed the cooked pork onto a ceramic plate, and sat down at his table with a pair of wooden chopsticks. He reached over, pressing the speaker toggle on his console.

"I hear you," Lin Feng said. "Speak."

"Good," Zhao said, smoothing the lapels of his fur coat. "As you know, the city is experiencing an unprecedented natural catastrophe. Municipal authority has completely collapsed. Under emergency survival regulations, all private food reserves, fuel assets, and fortified structures within this building are now subject to mandatory public requisition."

Lin Feng picked up a piece of pork, dipping it lightly into a tray of toasted sesame seeds. "Public requisition?"

"Exactly," Zhao replied, leaning closer to the intercom grille. "I have established a emergency neighborhood committee on the twenty-fifth floor. We have forty residents under our care. You holding thousands of pounds of food and private power generators to yourself is a crime against humanity. I am ordering you to open this vault door immediately and surrender eighty percent of your inventory to the committee."

"And if I refuse?" Lin Feng asked, his voice entirely flat.

Zhao let out a low, dry laugh. He turned his head and gestured to two of his guards. They stepped forward, lugging a heavy yellow plastic crate between them. Inside the crate lay three rusted iron cylinders wrapped in black electrical tape, attached to thick red detonation wires.

"Do you see this?" Zhao asked, pointing a gloved finger at the crate. "These are commercial blasting charges from our underground foundation project down in the basement. One stick can break three feet of solid granite."

Su Yan gasped, dragging her mother and brother back toward the stairwell landing. "He is going to blow up the floor!"

"Listen to me very carefully, Lin Feng," Zhao said, his voice dropping into a harsh, threatening growl. "I am giving you exactly five minutes to unlock these steel bolts and step out with your hands behind your head. If you refuse, my men will attach these charges directly to your hinge frames and detonate them. The explosion will shatter your thermal seals, freeze your entire living room, and kill you instantly."

Inside the quiet apartment, Lin Feng swallowed his food, set his wooden chopsticks neatly across his bowl, and stood up.

He walked over to his weapons storage rack near the hallway, reaching for a heavy, matte-black compound crossbow hanging on the wall. He pulled three hardened carbon-steel bolts from a leather quiver and loaded the first one into the firing rail with a sharp, mechanical click.

"Director Zhao," Lin Feng spoke into the microphone, his tone smooth and undisturbed. "Did you build this building yourself?"

Zhao frowned at the speaker. "What does that have to do with anything? I oversaw the entire structural design!"

"Then you should know," Lin Feng said, stepping toward the heavy vault door and sliding back a small, six-inch steel observation flap built into the center of the armor plate, "that the outer walls are four inches of reinforced steel plate, but the hallway floor beneath your feet is only six inches of hollow concrete."

Zhao froze, his eyes widening in sudden confusion. "What?"

Lin Feng aimed the heavy crossbow straight through the narrow firing port.