Chapter 3

I threw the graffiti-covered crossbow bolt hard into the haystack at Ellie's feet. The crisp sound of metal hitting the ground was particularly jarring in the deathly silent stable.

I stared down at her, my tone icy cold: "How many people are hiding in the woods outside? Don't tell me you stumbled upon them while lost."

Ellie's eyes darted away, her pale, thin hand instinctively clenching her trouser leg as she stammered, "I...I don't know, we were just passing by..."

"Save your breath." I scoffed coldly, interrupting her mercilessly, and took a step closer with an imposing aura.

A shadow fell over her thin face. "Four unarmed children have survived in the wasteland until now? You're nothing more than bait thrown out by those raiders to trick people into opening doors, or to lure zombies through minefields."

The lie was ripped apart in front of her, and Ellie's face instantly turned deathly pale.

Her younger siblings behind her were trembling with fear, not daring to even breathe.

"If you don't want to die, and you don't want them to die, then spit out a single word." I coldly retorted, without a trace of sympathy in my eyes.

For them, the truth is the only ransom for the wasteland bait.

Ellie bit her lip so hard that blood seeped through it, but she remained stubbornly silent.

She was afraid to reveal the truth because, once she lost her usefulness, the fear made her believe that this was just another test from the predators.

I clicked my tongue in annoyance, deciding not to waste any more time interrogating him.

I walked to a corner of the stable, tore off a few bundles of burlap, and began to wrap the horse's hooves.

It was a delicate task, requiring the noise of the horses' hooves hitting the ground to be minimized so that a silent evacuation could be carried out at night.

Under the dim light of the oil lamp, Ellie suddenly froze.

I didn't just bandage my own Apache horse; I put special cushions on all three horses.

When she realized that I had reserved seats for them, she finally spoke up.

"It's a gang... the 'Ghouls,' the most vicious group in this wilderness. There are more than thirty of them, and they love to use homemade explosives and flames to block the exits."

I didn't stop moving, but my brow furrowed into a tight knot: "Fire attack? Damn it."

The wooden stables were just dry piles of firewood. Surrounded by the heavy firepower of twenty or thirty people, a direct confrontation would surely result in certain death.

The only way to survive is to break out while the chaos is at hand.

No sooner had he finished speaking than a very faint sound came from not far away.

The gang's outpost has arrived.

I immediately gave the children a look, signaling them to roll into the deep manger, while I hid in the darkness behind the door.

The door hinges turned slowly and heavily, opening a crack. A henchman had barely poked half his head through the crack when the leather lasso I flung out, like a venomous snake emerging from its hole, tightened around his throat.

"Pfft."

There were no screams, only the muffled sound of a sharp blade slicing through a blood vessel in the neck. I yanked the body inside the door, then shoved it into the haystack. The entire double kill was swift and clean, so fast that even my companion outside the door didn't notice.

After waiting for a while without a response, the rioters outside lost their patience. Several figures carrying kerosene lamps and torches quickly approached, attempting to set the house on fire.

"act recklessly."

I quickly pushed open the ventilation window on the side of the attic. The Winchester rifle was propped up on the wooden beam, its sights gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

Bang!

Instead of firing directly at the crowd, I accurately shot and shattered the kerosene lamp in the hand of the leader of the rioters.

With a muffled bang, the oil poured over the heads of four or five people around me like spilled lava. Before they could even react, I gave them any time to react and repeatedly struck the trigger.

Flames shot skyward, exploding into clouds of blood mist amidst the chaos of the rioters.

“Horse a horse!” I growled at Ellie.

I kicked the charred back door of the stable apart, the lever of the Winchester rifle flashing past my wrist.

I fired two shots, forcing back several raiders who were trying to flank me from the side. I kicked the spur hard, and Apache's strong muscles tensed instantly, carrying me like an arrow into the night.

"Don't turn around! Keep your body low to the ground!" I shouted sharply ahead.

Sixteen-year-old Ellie clung tightly to the reins, her younger sister Mia burning with fever in her arms; on the packhorse beside them, Bobby and Leo, two boys, were frantically scrambling to their feet.

Behind us, the firelight of the farm was about to completely engulf the night sky, and the main force of the "Ghoul" gang, like a pack of jackals smelling blood, relentlessly pursued our trail with hysterical curses.

The crudely made bullets kept whistling sharply in the night wind.

I lowered the brim of my hat, a cold mockery flashing in my eyes.

This group of arrogant scum completely forgot the supreme law of the wasteland: after sunset, unrestrained noise is tantamount to handing an invitation to death.

The sound of twenty or thirty warhorses galloping wildly and the indiscriminate gunfire carried for kilometers on the night wind. Large numbers of dormant wandering zombies along the way were being rapidly awakened, and countless rotting bodies were frantically converging on this scene, drawn by the noisy chase.

But before these readily available "hounds" could be deployed, the crisis first erupted from within us.