Chapter Three: The Trap

Rex wasn't a fool.

He knew the scavengers were lying, and he knew I hadn't attacked them, because judging from those two "Crawler" corpses, if I'd really wanted them dead, they wouldn't have made it back alive.

But he didn't care—it actually played right into his hands. He wouldn't allow any uncontrolled factors to exist around here.

And I possessed great strength and apparently consciousness—for him, this was undoubtedly a threat.

...

When I heard the gunfire, I was crouched on the ruins north of the canyon, gnawing on an expired can.

Actually, by now, I could barely digest normal food anymore.

I just wanted to maintain this habit of eating, even if it was just going through the motions—at least it represented that I was once human.

The gunfire was intense, mixed with human screams.

These days, screams were as common as gunshots.

I continued gnawing on the can.

Then I heard crying.

A child screaming at the top of their lungs with that kind of real, complete despair.

...

The canyon was a massacre scene.

A dozen people, some with kitchen knives, some with hunting rifles—their magazines nearly empty.

They had their backs to the cliff face, compressed into a corner by easily a hundred zombies.

These were civilians.

One small figure crouched in the corner, clutching a screwdriver—looked barely in their teens, thin, wearing adult-sized clothes.

The lead man, blood covering his face, roared into the radio:

"Base! Base! We need support! Repeat, we need support!"

Rex's raspy voice came through the radio:

"Boys, support won't make it in time. I'm calling in missiles. The area will be covered in three minutes."

"General! We can still break through! Please give us ten minutes!"

"Sorry. It's too late."

Brief silence.

"The camp will remember you."

The lead man stood frozen, his radio dropping to the ground with a clang.

"Fuck!"

The kid with the screwdriver started crying.

I stood at the canyon's edge, watching all this, my fingers slowly tightening.

...

I'd planned to circle in from the side, disperse the zombies, then quietly leave.

But I noticed three abnormally large creatures in the horde.

"Berserkers."

These mutants weren't controlled by my pressure. They couldn't receive any signals—only had the primal instinct to tear and kill.

I watched one of them lunge straight at the kid with the screwdriver.

I didn't have time to hesitate.

...

The instant I landed, I pounced on the "Berserker's" back, grabbed its jaw with one hand and its neck with the other, and snapped its spine.

The other two turned toward me. I had no weapons—just my two hands.

Actually, I wasn't sure these hands still counted as human hands anymore. Maybe "claws" was more appropriate.

The whole process took maybe three minutes before I'd dealt with all three "Berserkers."

I was covered in black blood, slowly straightening up, emitting a low sound toward the still-churning horde around me.

A frequency emanating from deep in my chest—low, spreading, carrying an indescribable sense of oppression.

The hundred zombies all stopped at once.

Then they prostrated themselves.

One by one, the entire horde lay flat on the ground, emitting fragmented, fearful whimpers, slowly retreating toward both sides of the canyon.

The group of survivors stared at me blankly.

No one spoke.

I turned to leave.

The lead man's voice was hoarse as he stumbled forward a step: "Wait!"

"Who... who are you?"

"You saved us!"

"Who the hell are you?"

...

Just then, the buzzing of a drone filled the sky above the canyon.

I stopped.

A glint of light reflected from a sniper scope on a distant high ground—a position 380 meters from the canyon entrance, with a clear view of the entire area.

The entire battle—he'd seen everything clearly.

The radio crackled to life with Rex's voice:

"Oh my God. Look what I see!"

"Cancel the bombardment immediately! Everyone listen up—bring me that monster! Now!"

"With him, we can unlock the secret of the zombies! This is our real hope! All units assemble immediately! Go!"

The survivors in the canyon looked at each other.

I watched the lead man slowly raise his gun.

One by one, then everyone raised their guns, pointing them at me.

Including that kid with the screwdriver, both hands trembling as he held it up, tears still wet in his eyes.

I looked at them.

I should probably be angry, but I just felt tired.

I lowered my head and saw the bite mark on the back of my hand from three years ago.

Rex's voice still echoed from the radio, full of enthusiasm, like a savior.