Chapter Eighty-Two
In the distance, a battered Jetta swerved frantically, pursued by a horde of zombies. Among them, a Crusher relentlessly rammed the nearly collapsing vehicle.
"Brother, give me a hand!" Zhao Qiang’s eyes were fixed on the Jetta. Whoever was driving must be a survivor—a lone survivor, about to be killed before his very eyes. How could he refuse to help? But as the leader of his squad, Zhao Qiang couldn’t recklessly charge out alone. In desperation, he ordered the sniper to provide support.
The sniper was Chen Ergou. Under Wei Tao’s training, his exceptional performance caught the attention of Saber. Saber, breaking his usual habit of keeping a distance, commandeered nearly all of Ergou’s rest time, molding him into a skilled marksman. When the squad launched an assault, Ergou served as their cover; during tactical defense, he switched to sniper duty.
Though the training period was short, Saber only had time to teach Ergou how to use a sniper rifle. Techniques like stealth and concealment were left untouched. Even so, it was enough. Ergou could hit a soda can at four or five hundred meters with his Type 88 sniper rifle on the first shot—so what chance did the massive Crusher have?
The Type 88 sniper rifle used the same 5.8mm rounds as the Type 95, with greater penetration and accuracy compared to the Type 85’s 7.62mm rounds, and superior to the Russian SVD and Israeli Galil rifles. The bullet traced a ripple through the air, drilling straight into the unsuspecting Crusher’s skull.
The bullet, trailing blood and brain matter, pierced the Crusher’s comically misshapen head. Without so much as a sound, its vitality extinguished, the giant body’s inertia sent it crashing into the unlucky Jetta, flipping the car through the air. The Jetta rolled countless times before landing upside down, motionless.
...
"Airport... something happened... help..."
"Cai Jiashu, hurry and bring him back."
...
He came from a family of soldiers. His grandfather joined the revolution late, barely making it to the Korean War. His father fought in the self-defense counterattack against Vietnam. Following in their footsteps, he enlisted after two years of university. The influence of his family and the rigorous training of the army had made his military skills formidable.
Page (1/3)
Page (2/3)
When the catastrophe struck, he joined the rescue team without hesitation, following Wang Baoquan into battle, slaying countless zombies, witnessing comrades sacrifice themselves to cover the squad, only to be engulfed by the endless undead.
After arriving at the airport, he volunteered for guard duty. Yet, the expressions of his comrades at the moment of death haunted him. He tried everything to keep his mind from lingering on those memories—the dead were gone; he had to fight for the living.
He remembered that day, just like any other, swapping shifts with his comrades, standing at his familiar post. The sky remained perpetually gloomy. Since the crisis began, he hadn’t seen the sun; he almost believed the sky would always look this way. In the distance, gunfire rang out—not the familiar sound of the Type 95 or 81 rifles. A sense of unease crept over him.
A soldier’s duty is to obey. Without new orders, no matter how uneasy he felt, he couldn’t abandon his post. The gunfire gradually faded, and so did his hope. Orders arrived: all external personnel were to remain in place. He realized the shooters outside had breached the perimeter.
Soon, his worries became reality. After a long silence, a barrage erupted from the direction of the main hall. This time, the gunfire was inside the airport. Bullets whistled by, blasting the head off a comrade nearby. In that instant, he understood—the hall had fallen.
The fighting was fierce. He and his comrades had little ammunition. Those assigned to guard duty were the best-trained soldiers. At first, they were caught off guard, but quickly mounted an effective resistance.
He had only five bullets left; his comrades’ situation was likely similar. Every shot counted, every bullet struck flesh, but supplies were running out.
When the attack began, many soldiers fell before they could grasp the situation. The survivors quickly adapted, taking out a few of the invaders at the front. The cunning attackers then changed tactics, hiding behind cover, refusing to expose themselves. They thrust only their gun barrels out, unleashing a hail of bullets on the defenders’ positions.
“Take this,” from behind cover, the old squad leader handed him a full magazine, keeping only one bullet in his own chamber.
“Squad leader, where did you get so much ammo?” He accepted the magazine, heavy in his hand. Everyone was short on bullets—how did the squad leader have so many?
“Listen, when I give the order, you find a way to escape.” The squad leader was a veteran, unflinching in the face of gunfire.
Page (2/3)
Page (3/3)
As if anticipating his protest, the squad leader gave him no chance to speak, his tone suddenly stern. “This is an order! Remember, as long as you live, we still have hope.”
...
“Squad leader!” He shouted, jolting awake from his dream. As he sat up, he realized his head was splitting with pain, and his chest was wrapped in white bandages.
Where am I? Countless fragments flooded back to him. To cover his retreat, his squad leader and comrades had abandoned cover, drawing all fire with their bodies. As he vaulted the wall, a bullet struck his right chest. He had managed to find a car and speed away—but how did he end up here?
“You’re awake?” The lighting in the room was poor; he couldn’t see who was speaking, but sensed no hostility.
“Who are you?” Weakness forced him back onto the bed.
“Who we are doesn’t matter. What matters is who you are, and what you meant by ‘airport’ and ‘help’?” An unfamiliar voice asked.
He hesitated. He didn’t know if he should tell these strangers about his ordeal, about what had happened at the airport. He didn’t know who the invaders were, nor if these people were friends or foes. He was gravely wounded, yet the squad leader’s order echoed in his ears, and those at the airport still waited for rescue...
Page (3/3)