Chương 120: Exodus

Rainwater, slick with blood, streaked down the heavily dented observation windows of the wheeled APC. The vehicle's camo plating was stained pitch-black from dried gore. Chunks of rotting flesh and coagulated blood were packed tight into the deep treads of its eight massive tires. Mounted on the roof, the 30mm autocannon—a weapon that usually reaped lives like a scythe—had been warped by some monstrous external force, its barrel violently twisted to one side.

A cluster of comms antennas jutted from the front chassis. Most were snapped, their broken lengths drooping limply against the armored roof. Yet, despite its battered state, the APC still exuded the heavy, reassuring presence of modern civilization's raw firepower. Inside the troop compartment, emergency lights bathed the cramped space in a ghostly blue glow. The air was thick with the choking stench of diesel fuel and machine oil.

Several hard-eyed men in military fatigues had the barrels of their standard-issue assault rifles thrust through the firing ports, their eyes glued to the viewing slits above. Deepest in the compartment sat a woman wearing a non-standard uniform. She leaned back stiffly in her seat, clutching a PDA in one hand while forcefully massaging her temples with the other. Her attire lacked the ruggedness of standard combat gear; it looked more like the field dress of a military research division.

Peeking out from under her tactical vest was a shoulder patch reading: Academy of Agricultural Sciences - Biotechnology Research Institute. Slumped in the seat next to her was a young girl, no older than sixteen or seventeen. Dressed in baggy, ill-fitting standard fatigues, the exhausted teenager had passed out, resting her head against the older woman's shoulder. On closer inspection, the two shared a striking resemblance. Hiss—clunk.

With a heavy, grinding groan of machinery, the thick hydraulic rear ramp slowly lowered. The damp, rainy chill from outside rushed into the cabin, carrying the bitter tang of spent gunpowder. The sleeping girl shivered, her brow furrowing. The woman, previously hyper-focused on her PDA, finally looked up toward the opening ramp.

"Colonel Ye, we've cleared the horde zone. Colonel Zhou requests your presence for a briefing." A fully armed soldier stood at the bottom of the ramp, throwing a crisp salute. After delivering the message, he dropped his rigid posture, turning to the soldiers inside the APC with a much looser tone.

"Stand down, boys. We're clear for now. Come out and catch a breather." The tension in the compartment instantly evaporated. The soldiers exchanged glances, pulled their rifles from the firing ports, and sealed the slits. Clapping each other on the shoulders, they filed out into the drizzle.

"Raven, hey... wake up." Seeing the men leave, the woman addressed as Colonel Ye reached over, gently patting the girl's cheek. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. The girl just scrunched her eyelids tighter, shifting away to bury her face into the felt-lined wall of the hull. She showed absolutely zero intention of waking up. Seeing this, Evelyn simply sighed.

She draped a nearby wool blanket over the teenager, secured her own military cap, and stepped off the ramp alone. Once on the muddy ground, she paused, silently staring back at the armored beast that had carried them. When they first rolled out, it looked factory-fresh—every antenna and reinforced glass panel gleaming. Now, it was a battered wreck. Even its intimidating main gun was twisted beyond repair. The rain was light, but the early dawn air carried a biting chill. Evelyn pulled her collar tight.

She forced herself not to think about the gruesome fate of the young gunner who had cheerfully greeted her just yesterday. Her combat boots squelched heavily in the thick mud with every step. A short distance away sat the civilian transport bus. Its windows were spiderwebbed with cracks; several were completely blown out, now clumsily patched with tarps that snapped and violently flapped in the wind. Through the fractured glass, she could see it was packed to the brim with pale, thoroughly numb faces.

"Everyone out! Let's move it!" a young soldier barked, yanking the bus doors open.

"There's a supermarket over there. We're assigning an escort to take you scavenging. The convoy's supplies are running dry. You don't work, you don't eat!" A few other troopers hauled a bundle of spiked steel pipes down from a supply truck, handing them out to the disembarking civilians. Led by a squad with suppressed rifles, the makeshift scavenging party trudged off toward the distant commercial street. Firearms were merely a last resort. Even suppressed, gunshots risked pulling aggro from nearby infected.

They could only be fired when absolutely necessary. The rest of the time, survival relied on thrusting crude spears, as if civilization had violently regressed five thousand years.

"Colonel Ye." A passing soldier she recognized gave a quick nod as he rolled a heavy spare tire past her, rushing toward a truck with a blowout. Most of the convoy's personnel were capitalizing on this rare moment of downtime, frantically performing maintenance on their respective stations. A row of corpses was laid out in a nearby field. Some wore military fatigues; others, everyday civilian clothes. Every body had its wrists and ankles bound with rope, and every forehead bore a gaping, bloody hole.

It was the brutal mark of a spear thrust—the final, grim mercy granted to the infected wounded. Evelyn's gaze lingered on one of the uniformed bodies. She recognized him. He was one of the original squad members who had escorted her out. His surname was Liu. Just yesterday... or was it the day before? He had smiled and told her his wife worked at Linjiang University. He was so sure he'd see her once they reached the Quarantine Zone. She stopped in her tracks, standing quietly for a moment.

Her face was an unreadable mask, betraying nothing except a fleeting flash of bottomless exhaustion in her eyes. Moving past several off-road assault vehicles, she reached the dead center of the convoy. Next to the only relatively intact APC—which served as their mobile command center—a tactical field tent had already been pitched.

"We've lost twelve combat personnel. We can draft replacements from the civvies..."

"The civvies... we lost an entire busload of them..."

"We still have guns, but ammo is practically zero. Hitting that armory only restocked our small arms. Every cannon shell and stick of explosives we use is gone for good..."

"APC Two's main gun is totally totaled. We can salvage a hundred-odd rounds and feed them into APC One..."

"We lost the fuel tanker. Diesel is running in the red..." Listening to the grim status reports filtering through the canvas, Evelyn took a deep breath, threw back the flap, and stepped inside. The tent was choked with a toxic mix of heavy cigarette smoke and the bitter tang of cheap instant coffee. A makeshift command table, built from stacked ammo crates, was draped with a map heavily marked with red strategic lines.

"The only silver lining is the medical supplies on the truck are still solid... But honestly, since we rolled out, we haven't touched much besides cold meds... Colonel Ye." Next to the table, a young man dressed in civilian clothes layered under a tactical vest had been speaking with a somewhat cynical smirk. The moment he saw Evelyn enter, the grin vanished. He lowered his head and silently took a half-step back.

"Evelyn, perfect timing. How is Raven holding up?" Standing at the head of the table was a tall, buzz-cut officer with eyes like a hawk. He was obsessively bending the halves of a snapped pencil in his hands. Seeing Evelyn enter, he offered a curt greeting.