Chapter 175: A Small Tide of Corpses
Chapter 175: A Small Tide of Corpses
Zhan Lian grabs a handful of the Green Dragon tattooed man’s hair, yanks his face closer, and holds up a photo of Anran in front of him. His voice is eerily soft:
"I’ll ask you again. Where is she?"
"In the back! In the dormitory behind the gas station! Don’t kill me, don’t kill me!" the Green Dragon tattooed man begs, his voice trembling.
Zhan Lian’s lips curl into a malicious smile. "If I don’t kill you, this fire in me won’t go out."
Letting go of the Green Dragon tattooed man’s hair, Zhan Lian pats his head lightly. Then, with a swift motion, he grabs the Green Dragon tattooed man’s chin, his grip tightening. With a sharp twist, there is a sickening crack, and the Green Dragon tattooed man’s head lolls to the side—his neck broken by Zhan Lian’s bare hand.
Without a second glance, Zhan Lian stands up and walks toward the supermarket door. Two women, still without pants, stumble toward him. He sidesteps them easily, his thumb pressing into the joint of one woman’s wrist to pry her back. Pointing to the supplies scattered inside, he says coldly, "Don’t touch my wife’s or my daughter’s clothes. The rest is yours."
Not waiting for a reply, Zhan Lian rushes out of the supermarket and rounds the corner toward the back of the gas station. He comes to a row of dark dormitories, their outlines barely visible in the dim light. Standing in the open space before them, he calls out desperately:
"Wife! Wife!"
But the only response is the groaning of zombies in the distance.
A group of the undead lurches toward him, and Zhan Lian calmly flings a throwing knife, cutting through several of them in an instant. Kicking the bodies aside, he turns his focus back to the dormitories. One by one, he kicks open the doors, carrying a marching backpack as he searches every room.
Empty. Each and every one is empty.
Frustration mounting, Zhan Lian stands in the open space again, his voice rising in desperation:
"Wife! It’s me, your husband! Come out quickly!"
But the silence is deafening.
Zhan Lian quickly assesses the scene. The defensive circle of cars that should have been in place is incomplete—fewer cars than expected. There also aren’t many zombies blocking the dormitory, suggesting that Anran and their daughter have either escaped or been taken. The direction in which the zombies are gathering seems to indicate where Anran has fled.
Wasting no time, Zhan Lian hurries back to his bulletproof car parked at the gas station. He climbs in, starts the engine, and then curses loudly in frustration. The car is out of gas!
The dark street stretches ahead, dotted with broken streetlights. Some flicker faintly, powered by old solar panels, but most are out. The mix of light and shadow makes the scene even more eerie.
Meanwhile, Yun Tao is driving down another long street. His foot presses hard on the accelerator as he weaves through the chaos, the pickup truck roaring as it draws the attention of zombies. Their guttural cries echo behind him, and when he glances back, he sees three cars chasing after him.
Yun Tao makes a sharp turn, veering the truck into a narrow alley. The path ahead is packed with zombies, a wall of decayed bodies blocking his escape. His face pales, but he grits his teeth, slamming the accelerator and charging straight into the horde.
The three cars following behind also plunge into the wave of zombies. The noise of engines and crashing bodies draws even more undead to the scene.
The last car in the convoy suddenly jerks to a halt. It seems to have some kind of automatic obstacle detection system, but that hesitation proves fatal. In the brief moment it stops, the swarm descends upon it, engulfing the car in a sea of rotting flesh.
These zombies aren’t the slow, shambling undead of a few days ago. Something has changed. Their hearing has become more acute, and their ability to summon others is now terrifyingly effective.
One zombie’s groan—its haunting ho-ho-ho—can summon a companion from a block away. Those summoned will then groan in turn, drawing more and more of their kind. The result is a chain reaction, one block of zombies attracting another until they form a relentless wave.
Tonight’s zombies are faster too—not quite running, but no longer hindered by the sluggishness of their earlier forms. They move with purpose, their strides nearly matching the walking speed of an adult man. And their collective coordination turns what might have been a manageable group into a small tide of corpses, flowing through the streets with deadly intent.