Chapter 2

The stables reeked of a mixture of moldy hay and years of horse manure, now tinged with an even more nauseating stench of decay. Outside, a dozen or so zombies pounded against the thick, load-bearing wooden walls like tireless machines.

Even if the wooden wall was sturdy enough not to be pushed down for the time being, the dull and dense "bang bang" sound was like a tolling death knell, constantly tearing at the taut nerves.

I leaned against the wooden door, my brow furrowed as I stared at the herd of horses inside the narrow fence.

The dull thud and the smell of death startled these sensitive animals. My old horse, Apache, paced restlessly in circles, its large eyes bloodshot. The spare pack horses nearby were even more frightened, charging back and forth in the confined space, their heavy hooves slamming against the wooden railings with a dangerous cracking sound.

Damn it.

In this barren wasteland, horses are the most valuable asset for survival. Without these means of transportation, walking on foot in the wilderness is tantamount to digging one's own grave. If the dead animals outside are not cleared away quickly, these beasts are highly likely to break their leg bones in extreme panic, or even completely smash through the wooden bars inside the stables.

I must get rid of this trouble outside the door immediately.

Just as I reached for the ladder to go upstairs, a teeth-grinding "crack" sound suddenly came from above.

An extremely withered zombie was actually pushed up the wall by the horde of zombies that were frantically squeezing in from outside, and smashed through the narrow wooden frame of the ventilation window high up!

With a muffled thud, the emaciated body, draped in tattered clothes, fell straight down and crashed heavily onto the haystack in the corner.

The next second, it twisted its joints strangely and got up, its lifeless gray eyes fixed on Mia, who was closest to it and completely unprepared.

"Mia!" Sixteen-year-old Ellie screamed shrilly.

The three children were so frightened that they froze and fell to the ground, their very instinct to run away completely extinguished by fear.

I was seven or eight meters away from the zombie, my hand already on the Python revolver at my waist. But at the moment of drawing the gun, I forcefully restrained my instinct to pull the trigger.

You must not fire.

Firing a gun in such a confined, echoing space would amplify the loud gunshot many times over, absolutely driving the already frightened herd of horses completely insane!

I suddenly exerted force with my feet, my tactical boots crushing the dry grass on the ground, and I darted into the field like a cheetah.

Just as the emaciated zombie opened its foul-smelling, blood-red maw to bite Mia's neck, I had already slipped into its blind spot. I smoothly leveled the Winchester lever-action rifle hanging in my hand, treating this famous gun as a blunt weapon.

The heavy steel stock swung out in a full circle, leaving a whistling sound as it struck the zombie squarely on the side of its face.

"Snap!"

The sound of bones shattering was crisp and pleasant. The zombie's entire lower jawbone was completely smashed by this heavy blow, deformed and collapsed, and several blackened, rotten teeth mixed with thick, black blood splattered onto the wooden pillar. It had completely lost its ability to bite.

I didn't stop. I followed up with a powerful kick to the chest, knocking the toothless zombie to the ground and stepping on its chest.

With a swift motion, he drew his military hunting knife from the outside of his thigh, and with a flick of his wrist, the gleaming blade pierced Ellie's knee and embedded itself precisely into the wooden floor in front of her.

"Do it yourself."

I looked down at Ellie, who was pale and trembling, and said in a voice as cold as ice: "If you don't want to die, then get rid of it."

Ellie was breathing heavily. She looked at the monster on the ground that I was stepping on, which was still writhing and roaring wildly, and then looked into my eyes. She kept shrinking back.

Looking at her frail appearance, I sighed inwardly, but my expression remained unwavering. I'm a rough-around-the-edges cowboy, not a good nanny. If I don't force out the timidity ingrained in this girl, she might kill herself or me tomorrow because she's too afraid to act.

"Tears won't even buy a drop of water in this wasteland!" I said coldly, raising my voice. "If you want me to take you bunch of burdens with me, you'd better learn how to kill. Pick it up and pierce its brain! That's an order!"

Under the pressure of my cold gaze, Ellie finally bit her lip so hard it bled.

She understood this was her "pledge of allegiance" to the group. The girl trembled as she reached out, grasped the cold hilt of the knife, and with all her might pulled it out. She closed her eyes, and with a hoarse scream that was almost a breakdown, she plunged the knife heavily into the zombie's eye sockets.

Black blood gushed out. The rotting flesh stopped twitching.

She did it. My tense shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.

"Well done." I snorted coldly, not looking at her again, and strode up the wooden ladder to the second floor of the stables.

The semi-open hay chute on the second floor was an excellent vantage point. I pushed open the partition and looked down at the hordes of zombies gathering frantically outside.

"Ellie!" I ordered downstairs without turning my head, while checking the ejection port of my rifle. "Go to the compartment and calm those horses down! If you want to keep up with my group, learn how to hide your fear from them as soon as possible."

There was a rustling sound of people getting up downstairs. Although Ellie was still trembling with fear, she obediently walked towards the agitated Apache.

I turned my attention back to the horde of corpses outside.

Instead of firing wildly like a novice, I braced the butt of the rifle firmly against my shoulder. From this high vantage point, it was a one-sided massacre.

"Bang."

A crisp firing sound rang out in the night. The bullet pierced precisely between the eyebrows of the lead zombie.

"Click, splash—"

With fluid, my wrist pressed down on the lever, ejecting a smoking brass cartridge and chambering a new one. "Bang!" Another shot blew half the skull off a second zombie.

Amid the gunfire, the horde of corpses on the outskirts fell one after another like harvested wheat.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a bundle of rough hemp rope hanging above the stable's main gate. At the end of the rope hung a heavy, rusty, abandoned cast-iron farm plow.

A cold smile curled at the corner of my lips, and the muzzle of my gun slightly shifted.

"Bang!"

The high-speed spinning bullet, sparking as it struck the taut, load-bearing hemp rope, snapped instantly.

"Boom—Crack!"

The hundreds-of-pounds-heavy cast-iron plow, carrying terrifying downward kinetic energy, crashed down. Six or seven zombies below, who were crowding together in front of the door trying to pile on top of each other, had their spines broken by the sudden weight, instantly turning into writhing scum on the ground.

The gunfire stopped.

I peered down through the gap on the second floor.

Ellie's small, blood-stained hands were clumsily but exceptionally gently stroking Apache's nose.

Miraculously, under her soothing words, the irritable old horse snorted and gradually calmed down.

Five minutes later, the noise outside the door completely ceased.

I went downstairs, pulled out the bolt, and pushed open the heavy stable door. A pungent smell of blood hit me, and more than twenty corpses lay scattered haphazardly in the courtyard.

I habitually walked to the pile of corpses and used my toes to turn over one of the zombies, trying to salvage some supplies.

The moment the flashlight swept across the corpse's back, my heart skipped a beat.

Deeply embedded in the rotting muscles of that zombie's back was a remarkably modern black composite crossbow bolt!

I crouched down and pulled out the blood-stained crossbow bolt. The arrowhead was of high quality and sharp, definitely not some junk found anywhere in the wasteland. What made my pupils shrink even more was that on the zombie's tattered coat, there was a twisted skull gang graffiti spray-painted in a glaring blue-purple.

My heart sank to the bottom instantly.

This wasn't a random horde of corpses wandering around; someone was using these dead as hunting dogs, driving them to my doorstep to harass and scout ahead.

I stood up, a cold wind brushing against my back.

So, I was prey too.

I turned around and looked at the four figures huddled together in the stable, my gaze unfathomable.