Chapter Thirty-One: Firearm Rental

“Damn, that blond brat isn’t planning to run me over during tomorrow’s hunt, is he?” That was Xie Han’s first thought. If that massive roadbreaker really did charge at him, his little minibus would surely be ground to dust by those enormous drills—there’d be no need for the terrifying metal storm mounted on top. But Xie Han quickly dismissed the idea; with such overwhelming strength, surely the blond youth wouldn’t stoop to picking on someone as insignificant as himself.

Still, Xie Han felt an uneasiness about tomorrow’s hunt. Judging by the current vehicle modifications, nearly everyone had upgraded their cars with heavy firepower. With close to a hundred cars fitted with machine guns, this was likely the most formidable hunting force ever assembled since the hunts began. With such strength, even a horde of over a hundred thousand zombies would pose little trouble. Could it be they’d all agreed on some plan to act together?

Quietly, Xie Han slipped over to King Hummer and, grinning, pulled out his soft Chunghwa cigarettes, handing one to each of the six men modifying the vehicle. “You guys are really going all out with these mods, huh?” The burly man who’d been so brash earlier grinned, stuck the cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and took a long drag before blowing perfect smoke rings. “Damn, this is a fine smoke. Kid, since you offered me this, I’ll give you a word of advice: you’d best back out of tomorrow’s hunt.”

So it really was going to be different from usual. Xie Han quickly asked, “Big brother, may I have your name?” The big man shot him a sidelong glance and snorted. “On the street, folks call me Chen Six. You’re a stranger—when’d you get here?” Xie Han smiled. “Just arrived yesterday. The whole family’s been starving, and those few steamed buns weren’t enough, so I thought I’d try my luck outside for some supplies.”

“No wonder you’re a new face,” Chen Six muttered. Xie Han patted King Hummer’s steel flank; the cold metal said everything about its power. “Brother Chen, what’s this about tomorrow’s hunt?” Chen Six chuckled and gestured to the fleet of modified vehicles. “Look sharp, kid—any one of these could tear your minibus apart. Guess you haven’t heard: our target tomorrow is a food factory in the city. There’s at least dozens of truckloads of premium flour stockpiled there.”

The news stunned Xie Han. He frowned. “The city? If the zombies are disturbed, tens or even hundreds of thousands could pour in within half an hour. Are you sure this intel’s reliable?” Chen Six shot him a glare. “Of course it is. The tip came from a former supervisor at that factory. If it wasn’t solid, why would we bother? Most of these heavy weapons are rented—if there’s no flour, we’ll all be out of luck.”

“And if you succeed, how will the spoils be divided?” Xie Han asked, glancing worriedly at the chaos of the workshop. Chen Six glared at him again. “Divide? Hmph. With your busted minibus, you won’t get much. Hell, I don’t know why we need so many people. Just kill the zombies, grab the goods, and run. Simple. Kid, you’re not dealing with a few hundred or thousand zombies this time—it’s tens or hundreds of thousands. Your minibus has no power, no firepower, and the body’s as thin as paper. You think you can withstand zombie claws?”

Xie Han laughed awkwardly; he knew Chen Six meant well. Against a handful of zombies, the minibus could break through, but in a massive horde, it wouldn’t stand a chance. Still, he wasn’t afraid—with so many powerful vehicles leading the way, it should be safe enough to follow behind. Even if a few zombies got through, they wouldn’t be a real threat.

Chen Six took a long drag of his cigarette and cursed, “Quit grinning. You’re lucky you ran into me—anyone else wouldn’t give you the time of day. And if you’re really not afraid of dying, you’d better rent a few machine guns now. There’ll be more zombies than you can imagine. Rifles and pistols will be useless.”

Xie Han had to admit he was right. Tai Shan’s men each carried a gun, but they were all just pistols—not much use for a major operation like this. So, he didn’t hesitate further. He handed Chen Six the rest of his pack of cigarettes, then hurried toward the hunting operations office. Whether vehicles or firearms, everything was handled there.

It was nearly five o’clock. The rental office was quiet, with only two staffers inside, idly playing on their handheld computers. When Xie Han entered, one of them stood up. “What do you need to rent?” The tone was hardly friendly, but in this base, Xie Han knew it was about as good as you could expect. So, he kept his peace and said, “Looking to rent a few machine guns.”

The staffer, as if expecting this, tapped a few times on his handheld and handed it over. “All available models are listed, with prices for both guns and vehicles.” Xie Han took it. This was his first time using a post-apocalyptic handheld computer—only palm-sized, yet far more powerful than anything from the old world. Its terrifying one-terabyte hard drive, multi-core CPU compatibility, and two-hundred-hour battery life put ordinary computers to shame. Of course, these weren’t his concern right now. He browsed the gun listings—each model had a photo and details, even current stock.

He quickly saw that nearly all the machine guns were rented out, especially the heavy types—not a single one left. Only seven light machine guns remained. He checked the submachine guns; thankfully, there was still plenty in stock. The price was two and a half kilos of premium flour per day, and a full set of two hundred and four magazines was just one kilo of flour. So, renting a submachine gun for a day would cost only three and a half kilos.

It wasn’t that Xie Han didn’t want a light machine gun—starting with those, a deposit was required. Chen Six’s eight-barrel rotary heavy machine gun required a staggering one hundred kilos of premium flour for the deposit, plus thirty kilos per day in rent. And those multi-barrel heavy machine guns burned through ammo like a bottomless pit—up to six thousand rounds per minute, with each thumb-sized bullet costing two kilos of flour per hundred rounds.

“He’s insane…” That was Xie Han’s only comment on Chen Six. Given the ammo expenditure, this operation would cost Chen Six at least a hundred kilos of flour—who knew if the reward would be worth it? As for Xie Han, all he could do was sigh; at least the submachine gun was affordable. He rented ten, along with two thousand rounds.

After registering, the staffer helpfully warned, “Submachine gun rounds are pretty scattered; they’re not ideal for zombies. It’s hard to hit the head, so the kill rate’s low.” Xie Han had expected that. He just smiled. “It’s fine, I’ll stick with the submachine guns.” He was only tagging along for scraps, anyway—he wasn’t even sure he’d get the chance to fire.

There were plenty of vehicles available for rent too, even King Hummer among them. But for someone like Xie Han, the rental and deposit for such a vehicle were out of reach—only the bigger teams could afford them. It was a bit depressing; why did those other teams show up with a fleet of great cars while he was stuck with a rundown, nearly broken minibus? It was enough to make anyone lose heart.