Chapter 3

The next day, I took Ryan and walked the entire factory again from end to end.

The base wasn’t a single building—it was a whole industrial yard. A ring of corrugated metal fencing, over two meters high, surrounded it. There were lookout points at each corner. Inside the fence was a yard, and inside the yard sat the main building, the warehouses, and that row of tin-roofed storage sheds on the eastern side.

The west wall bordered our living area. The east side hugged the storage zone. If either side collapsed, anyone outside could surge straight into the yard.

From the western fence to the eastern sheds, from the main building to the underground cold room—I checked every spot and changed every spot.

I remembered exactly how it had been breached last time.

Which stretch of wall was easiest to blow open. Which side gate was hardest to guard at night. How stupid it was to keep the food above ground. How dangerous it was to keep the armory too close to the main building. I wasn’t guessing. I had watched those weaknesses explode in my face one by one.

So this time, I wasn’t giving them a second chance.

“Ryan, clear all those wrecked cars around the perimeter,” I said, standing on the open ground outside the wall and nudging loose gravel with the toe of my boot. “Don’t leave them cover. We keep two rows of fixed obstacles, placed at the angles I tell you. I want clean fields of fire, not a pile of junk that only looks intimidating.”

Ryan frowned at the dead vehicles wedged around the fence. “All of it? If a zombie pack comes in close, they’ll be right up against the wall.”

“We need to see them before they reach the wall,” I said, pointing toward the cluttered area. “We used to stack too much out here. People could walk up on us and we wouldn’t know. In a fight, they could hide anywhere. Clear sightlines—that’s defense.”

Ryan didn’t argue again. He turned and went to call people over.

Within minutes, a forklift and steel cables were rolling out. They started dragging the obstructing junk away one piece at a time. The open ground widened. From behind the wall, the areas that had been blocked off revealed themselves in chunks, and our shooting lanes became obvious and clean.

I didn’t pause. I went straight to the warehouse.

“Albert, move all the real food into the underground cold room by the end of today.”

I pushed the warehouse door open and swept my eyes over the stacks of crates. “Leave only half the supplies up here. Fill the rest with empty boxes and old cloth so it looks like a full warehouse.”

Albert froze. “All the real food goes down? That’ll make daily access a pain.”

“A pain is better than losing everything in one sweep,” I said. “From now on, this ground warehouse is for outsiders to see, not for us to eat from. If anyone breaks in, this is the first place they’ll rush. I want them wasting half a night hauling out useless trash.”

Albert’s face tightened. He understood. “I’ll arrange it now.”

“And one more thing,” I added. “The real inventory list stays with only three people—me, you, and Ryan. Everyone else moves crates. Nobody asks about totals.”

He agreed immediately and went to pull the logistics team.

I kept moving toward the east side.

The storage sheds there were old, battered, and easy to overlook. But that was the true breach point from last time—the place that had actually been torn open.

That was where Vanessa had guided Marcus’s people in.

She knew the old me too well. She knew I would instinctively stack more manpower on the west wall, because the west wall sat by the living quarters and looked like the obvious main front.

She bet I’d defend the west and treat the east as secondary.

She had been right once.

I stood by the east wall for a long time, replaying the route from that night in my head.

Back then, the zombie herd and a small part of the convoy hit the west wall first and pinned down our main force. Before we could react, the real push came from the east.

I knocked my knuckles against the wall and spoke to Ben, who had followed me over. “Thicken it, but don’t make it obvious. From the outside, it should still look the same—like one blast will open it up.”

Ben nodded. “So we leave it looking soft on purpose?”

“Exactly.” I stared at the row of tin sheds. My voice stayed level. “Reinforce the steel frame inside, then cut firing ports behind the wall and stack sandbags. When they think they can walk up and plant charges, we drop them from inside. Don’t even let them light the fuse.”

Ben blinked, then grinned. “Got it. Let them keep their dream.”

I didn’t answer. I turned and headed for the west wall.

The west side still had to be strengthened—and strengthened in a way that looked convincing.

If Vanessa was sure I’d put my main force there, then I would show her exactly what she expected to see.

Behind the west wall, we built firing positions out of steel plates, scrap metal, and sandbags. A front layer for prone fire, a rear layer for backup shots, and half a meter in between for switching positions.

About ten meters outside the wall, I had Harry lead a team to dig a ditch. Not very deep, but deep enough for a ram truck—or a packed herd—to nose-dive into it. We dusted the top with loose soil and broken boards. From a distance it didn’t stand out, but under weight it would collapse.

Everyone in the factory got busy.

Patrol teams were regrouped. Who held the wall, who rotated in, who moved children and the wounded to the inner layers—everything was written down.

All weapons were checked and loaded, but safeties stayed on. Passwords started rotating daily that very night. Backup fuel for the generator was split up and stored in separate spots instead of piled in one place.

People began to realize I wasn’t acting on impulse. Even the few young men who complained the loudest usually were quietly following Ryan through drills—position swaps and covering fire.

Once they lay down behind the two-layer firing points on the west wall and looked out at the cleared shooting lanes, their faces changed.

They used to think thicker walls meant safety. Now they understood the real line wasn’t the wall—it was sight, position, and reaction.

By evening, I climbed up to the roof again.

From above, the factory no longer looked like it had a few days earlier. The ground warehouse still sat in the most obvious place, fat and tempting like a target. The entrance to the underground cold room, on the other hand, was half-hidden under clutter—anyone unfamiliar wouldn’t even glance twice. The two-layer firing points behind the west wall had taken shape. The east side still looked loose from the outside, but inside I had hidden a line of guns. Even the escape tunnel had been checked again: clogs cleared, locks replaced, so that if we ever had to use it, no one would get trapped inside.

I watched the people moving below. The weight in my chest grew heavier—and steadier.

They weren’t burdens. They deserved a harder defense.

And Vanessa would come test it soon.

Day after day passed, and I kept the timing of her return in my head like a nail.

Four months later, as night pressed down, I issued the final orders. “Shut off half the lights in the main building and yard ahead of time. Double every outer-wall post. Randomize shift changes. Load every weapon. Move the children and the elderly to the inner layer. The reserve squad sleeps in their gear—three bell rings and everyone moves.”

Ryan stood beside me, writing it all down. When he finished, he asked quietly, “So it’s tonight?”

I stared toward the broken road at the edge of the wasteland and didn’t turn around.

—

Vanessa stood in Marcus’s camp, and she looked like a different person.

She no longer wore the old jacket that smelled of dust and engine oil from the factory base.

Now she wore clean, fitted combat gear, the cuffs neatly tightened.

She stood over a crude map spread out on a table, calm as if she were handling routine work.

On the map was the outline of our factory: the west wall, the east storage zone, the main building, the warehouse, the drainage ditch. She had marked them all with a pen. Every line, every corner—she knew them.

Because she had lived there. She had watched Ethan build it piece by piece.

When she pointed out weak spots, there wasn’t a hint of hesitation.

“Here.” She tapped her pen on the eastern storage zone. “It’s old. The panels and the skin are worn. Explosives will bite easiest. Once you break in, you’re close to the ground warehouse and the generator room. Shortest route to push.”

One of the men leaning over the map asked, “What about the west wall? Isn’t that thinner?”

Vanessa smiled faintly, and the smile carried a clear trace of contempt. “The west wall is thinner, but Ethan will defend it. The living area is there—kids, wounded. He won’t leave it open. If you pile your main force on the west, he’ll fight the hardest.”

She paused, as if recalling something, and her tone turned lighter—colder.

“He cares too much about those people. And because he cares, he’ll make the stupidest mistake: he’ll stack his limited manpower where he can’t bear to lose.”

“I know him better than you do,” she said. “He still doesn’t understand that the base he built was a joke from the start. Collecting useless people, splitting supplies, talking about rules—pretending it means something. In the apocalypse, resources should be concentrated in the hands of those who can survive, not wasted on ordinary people.”

There was no anger on her face as she said it. Only calm.

As if she weren’t betraying anyone—only correcting an experiment that should have ended.

In her eyes, Ethan’s problem had never been lack of ability. It was lack of clarity.

In her heart, those people weren’t teammates. They were consumption.

“When you get inside, don’t waste time clearing every room,” Vanessa continued. “Take the warehouse first. Cut the power. Then lock down the inner gate. Once Ethan realizes the front can’t hold, his first instinct will be to pull people back. He’ll try to protect the kids, the wounded, the seed group. That’s when you cut him.”

Someone handed her binoculars. Vanessa took them and glanced toward the factory.

The lights were dimmer than usual. The silhouette was quieter too, like it had tightened its guard in advance.

But after a short look, Vanessa lowered the binoculars again, writing the change off as Ethan’s usual nervous caution.

She was gone; the base would be shaken. Extra vigilance was normal.

No matter how much he tightened up, though, in her mind it was still just a survivor camp trying to look tougher than it was. It couldn’t possibly become a fortress that could withstand a warlord’s push.

She turned to the convoy preparing in the dark, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly.

She climbed into the rear command vehicle. The window was half down, and she raised the binoculars again.

The convoy began moving through the darkness. The headlights were covered, leaving only vague shapes rolling forward.

On the factory roof, I saw the movement too.

Ryan asked under his breath, “They’re here?”

“They’re here,” I said.

I climbed down and moved to the east side, took the rifle, and settled behind the firing slit.

Inside the command vehicle, Vanessa lowered her binoculars.

As the vehicles closed on the east, she raised her hand and made a downward signal to the assault team.

“Attack.”

At the same moment, I aimed at her tire and squeezed the trigger.