Chapter Thirteen: Close-Quarters Combat

As soon as the two of them climbed out of the drainage ditch, the sharp sound of gunfire echoed from the distance. Xu Qiang’s brow knitted in concern. Once he had determined the direction, his expression changed as he said, “This is bad—the shots are coming from the minibus.”

Xie Han didn’t need to think twice to know that Qi Feiwu and her group must have encountered zombies; otherwise, such a concentrated volley of gunfire would never have erupted. Without hesitation, Xie Han and Xu Qiang sprinted toward the minibus.

Xu Qiang’s fears proved correct. From afar, they could see the minibus already surrounded by dozens of staggering zombies, all kept at bay only by the suppressive fire from those inside. Everyone knew, though, that a single automatic rifle and a pistol could only hold off these frenzied monsters for so long.

Sensing the urgency, Xie Han tossed the hundred-pound rice barrel from his shoulder to Xu Qiang. “I’ll rescue them,” he said, not giving Xu Qiang a chance to protest before charging forward with all his might. The inhuman burst of speed left Xu Qiang stunned—perhaps even Dong Tianxiao, the infamous “Devil Instructor” of the old special forces, wouldn’t have been able to match such ferocity. Xie Han’s sheer strength was even more astonishing.

In less than two minutes, Xie Han had reached a point little more than ten meters from the minibus. The wandering zombies clearly noticed him; a dozen of them broke away from the siege and lunged at him instead. Xie Han reached out, and a pistol materialized in his hand from his spatial storage. It was as if this skill were innate—gun in hand, he felt his senses sharpen dramatically. As he pulled the trigger, a slight recoil traveled up his arm, and the bullet howled through the air, blowing away half a zombie’s skull.

“Model 40 pistol: proposed by the Special Police Headquarters in 2038, designed by the Small Arms Bureau, officially adopted by the special police in 2040. Features include low recoil, high power, and large magazine capacity, and it can fire special explosive rounds.” At some point, Zhou Ruomeng’s voice appeared spontaneously in Xie Han’s mind, reciting the specs of the pistol he held.

Until now, Xie Han hadn’t paid much attention to the gun Qi Feiwu had handed him. Upon closer inspection, the Model 40 pistol seemed to inherit some traits of the old Type 54, but in terms of power and range, this future-designed weapon far surpassed its predecessor. The Model 40 boasted a staggering 24-round magazine, belying its ordinary size.

Yet these details were of little concern to Xie Han at the moment. After blasting away half a zombie’s head with his first shot, he was most surprised by his own marksmanship. Despite never having fired a gun before, he found himself preternaturally skilled. When Qi Feiwu gave him the pistol, it had been fully loaded; now, with one bullet spent, 23 remained—more than enough for the dozen zombies barreling toward him.

Xie Han moved quickly, firing almost by instinct. These slow, unthinking zombies were nothing more than walking targets. Shot after shot, he shattered their skulls with unerring accuracy.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about killing these humanoid zombies—each shot felt as if he were executing a living person. But Xie Han wasn’t naïve; in this world, either he killed them or they devoured him. The fateful line had been drawn the moment they’d been infected by the XR virus.

A dozen zombies posed little threat. Though Xie Han felt a twinge of nervousness during his first few shots, by the time he’d gunned down the last of them, a rush of excitement had replaced any anxiety. A sense of exhilaration spread through him, cool and refreshing like iced tea on a summer afternoon.

Seeing that Zhou Ruomeng’s voice still lingered in his mind, Xie Han worried aloud, “Ruomeng, is it dangerous for me to feel this way? Like I could turn into a bloodthirsty killer or something?” Zhou Ruomeng merely laughed softly. “A killer? Remember, what you’re destroying are only zombies infected by a virus—they are fundamentally different from humans. As for your sense of exhilaration, it’s just a natural emotional response rooted in your genetics. The more experience you gain, the less likely you’ll ever find that thrill again.”

Relieved by her explanation, Xie Han let out a breath. As long as he wasn’t becoming a monster himself, nothing else mattered. He checked his ammo—only seven bullets left, enough to keep fighting for a while.

With Xie Han having drawn away a dozen zombies, the pressure on Qi Feiwu and Chu Tianhe inside the minibus eased significantly. But the remaining zombies were relentless, hurling themselves at the vehicle with reckless abandon. If not for Qi Feiwu’s automatic rifle providing covering fire, Chu Tianhe’s pistol alone would never have held the line.

Xie Han wasted no words. With his last seven bullets, he dispatched seven more zombies and cleared a narrow path, rushing into the minibus.

“Ammo—” Xie Han called, ejecting his empty magazine and reaching for more from Qi Feiwu. But to his surprise, her automatic rifle kept firing without pause. After finishing off two more zombies, she replied crisply, “We ran out of Model 40 pistol rounds long ago!”

Xie Han’s jaw dropped. Without ammunition, his pistol was worth less than scrap.

As more zombies swarmed, Xie Han cursed under his breath, tossed the pistol aside, grabbed a steel pipe from the minibus, and leapt back out through the window. He brought the pipe down squarely on the head of a zombie pressing against the vehicle—his strength five times that of an ordinary man, and with all his might behind the blow, the zombie’s skull burst open, spraying black fluid all over Xie Han’s clothes with a stench that was nearly unbearable.

But he had no time to care. The steel pipe whirled in his hands, breaking another zombie’s neck so its head rolled across the road before coming to rest. Xie Han’s combat skills seemed innate—he wielded the pipe almost entirely by instinct. Though his strikes appeared wild, each was efficient and direct, crushing zombie skulls one after another. Within minutes, the siege was broken; those not killed by Xie Han’s blows were dispatched by Qi Feiwu and Chu Tianhe’s gunfire, leaving the ground strewn with corpses.

Only after all the zombies had been wiped out did Xu Qiang arrive, panting and lugging the rice barrel. Xie Han was hardly better off—his gut clenched at the sight of the carnage, and a wave of nausea nearly overwhelmed him.

The ordeal had been intense. Qi Feiwu and Chu Tianhe both collapsed onto the minibus, breathing heavily, while the three elders and three children on board were pale with fright. It was the first time they had been besieged by so many zombies since the outbreak began.

Once everyone had regained some color in their cheeks, Xu Qiang finally asked, “Feiwu, what happened here?”

Qi Feiwu pointed to the nearby fields, where wild grass had been trampled down into a path stretching into the distance toward a faintly visible village. She shook her head and said, “With the grass to muffle their approach, the zombies came silently. If Tianhe hadn’t been on alert, and if we’d noticed them any later, there’s no way our firepower could have held them off.”

Chu Tianhe just smiled. His injured leg still made movement difficult, so he remained at the rear of the minibus. “If Xie Han hadn’t returned so quickly and wiped out half the zombies, I don’t know what would have happened.” He pointed to the vehicle, where a dozen claw marks marred the metal, some gouging right through the sheet metal—a testament to how close to disaster they had come.

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