Chapter Fifty-Seven: Fierce Battle at Mount Lu

From the depths of the dense forest came a roar, like a trumpet signaling an attack. The zombie armies on both sides launched a full-scale offensive. Zhao Qiang swiftly commanded, "Get into the woods, fight guerrilla-style, don’t go head-to-head! The big one is mine!"

With that, Zhao Qiang darted toward the tank-like Crusher ahead, seizing the moment before the two zombie armies could merge. Once the two Crushers joined forces—plus the unknown number of zombie hounds lurking in the woods—the situation would become far more perilous.

After a few steps, Zhao Qiang saw Wang Ergou and Zhang Tieniu had already slipped into the forest, gunshots echoing sporadically. Zhao Qiang steadied himself, took aim at the Crusher before him, and fired a three-round burst, then spun around and repeated the maneuver at the Crusher behind.

His actions immediately provoked a furious response. The Crushers roared, abandoning the hundreds of zombies trailing them to charge straight at Zhao Qiang with great strides. Zhao Qiang smiled slightly; these Crushers were indeed as simple-minded as they were fierce. No matter, as long as he drew their main force to himself, Wang and Zhang would be much safer.

Without time to change his stance, Zhao Qiang fired another burst at the pursuing Crusher. The bullets aimed at its head struck only the hands shielding its skull, causing little more than a few sprays of blood. But the next burst found its mark—striking the Crusher's vulnerable knee.

The massive creature instantly lost its balance, its colossal body gouging a bloody trench across the earth.

Zhao Qiang holstered his gun and spun into the forest like lightning. The wounded Crusher was no longer a threat; he could finish it off later. Crushers appeared slow, but their speed was easily sixty kilometers per hour—covering almost a hundred meters in the blink of an eye, and it was right on Zhao Qiang’s heels as he slipped into the woods.

The Crusher’s enormous body swung its arms, demolishing thick trees with ease and sending shards of wood flying in every direction. Zhao Qiang used the dense trunks for cover, constantly shifting his movements—quick and slow, changing direction. Dozens of zombie hounds could do nothing against his agile maneuvers; several crashed headlong into hard trees, splitting apart.

The Crusher was relentless. No matter how Zhao Qiang twisted and turned, it bulldozed straight through, crushing anything in its path—a true Crusher in name and deed. Though its actions seemed sluggish, its unwavering straight-line charge brought it ever closer to Zhao Qiang.

Zhao Qiang tried several times to turn and deal with the tenacious Crusher, but his plans were foiled by zombie hounds rushing in from all sides. The moment he stopped, they pounced, giving him no chance to fire—sometimes not even to turn around. Only seizing fleeting opportunities, he slashed their bellies with his knife. Many hounds were already gutted, their bloody entrails spilling onto the ground, dangling from thorny bushes, immobilized for the moment.

Gunfire rang out in the distance; judging by the sound, Zhang and Wang were faring well. Zhao Qiang felt somewhat reassured and continued to draw the main zombie force toward the mountaintop. In his memory, not far ahead stood the transmission tower of Changsha Television Station, and beyond that was a certain air force base. If there was an intelligent zombie, it would be at one of these two places.

The transmission tower had stood for years atop Yuelu Mountain, offering a commanding view of the city below. Normally, no one went up there, but now things were different—anyone could climb it at will, especially those capable of controlling zombies. For someone directing hordes on Yuelu Mountain, it was the perfect vantage point.

There was no communication between the intelligent zombies; each fought alone. Thus, the one commanding the zombies to hunt Zhao Qiang and his companions had no idea that this unassuming, stout man had already stained his hands with the dark blood of other intelligent zombies. In its mind, any human daring to enter its territory was prey.

The roar that had signaled the zombie army’s attack was given by the personal guard of this intelligent zombie. It commanded many advanced zombies—Crushers ranked only second. The mysterious guard was its true trump card, never deployed lightly.

Zhao Qiang, however, knew none of this. He had never encountered the new types of zombies and believed the Crusher and the intelligent ones represented the pinnacle of their evolution. Only by eliminating the intelligent zombie could he break the army’s offensive; otherwise, escaping unscathed was uncertain, let alone securing the base’s weapons and ammunition.

Though the intelligent zombie could not see Zhao Qiang weaving through the woods, it sensed signals fed back from the brains of the zombie horde. Most zombies were converging toward its position, which meant the prey was fleeing its way. The army was thinner than when it first mobilized, and most of the advanced zombie hounds were lost, with only one Crusher left. Yet the intelligent zombie felt no anxiety—it had absolute confidence in its guard.

Atop the transmission tower, the intelligent zombie reclined on a bed made from Crusher bodies, continuously issuing commands to the zombie army. Even with its enormous head, it felt weary, and through brainwaves issued the final order for extermination to its guard before closing its eyes to rest.

Zhao Qiang finally reached the base of the tower. The woods behind him bore the scars of his battles—severed limbs, broken arms, and even the Crusher’s formidable upper body was bare, one massive arm completely gone. At the stump, veins and rotten flesh squirmed, desperately trying to regenerate the limb shattered by gunfire.

With the tower now within reach, Zhao Qiang seized his chance. With only one arm, the Crusher could no longer shield itself effectively. Three 5.8mm rounds from his rifle’s muzzle whistled through the gaps in the creature’s defenses and struck its comically small head. The ferocious Crusher fell without so much as a grunt, its immense body crashing to the ground, motionless.

Zhao Qiang put away his gun; for ordinary zombies, cold steel sufficed—no need for firearms. He was about to enter the seemingly empty transmission tower compound when his pupils contracted. After so much fighting, his sense for danger was keen. Even with no visible threat, he instinctively sidestepped.

In that instant, a shocking wound appeared across Zhao Qiang’s chest. His bulletproof vest and multifunction combat suit were useless; blood sprayed from a gash half a foot long.

Suddenly wounded, Zhao Qiang hadn’t even glimpsed his assailant, breaking out in a cold sweat. He immediately rolled to the side, absorbing the force of the blow. But before he could pause, the sound of something slicing through the air came again. Zhao Qiang rolled several more times, narrowly dodging successive attacks.

What is this thing? Zhao Qiang scanned his surroundings warily, but found no trace of the enemy. If not for the blood pouring from his chest, he might have thought it all a hallucination.

Just as he stopped, several more terrible wounds appeared on his body—flesh rent by powerful force, the edges curling outward grotesquely. His clothes were soaked crimson, yet his unseen adversary did not relent, the whistling sound of attacks slicing through the air again and again.