Chapter Thirty-Five: Metallic Frenzy

The convoy advanced at a steady fifty kilometers per hour through the sea of zombies, leaving behind no standing undead in its wake—every single one slain or shattered into pieces, lying scattered across the streets. At this moment, Xie Han truly grasped the terrifying power of the heavy road-clearing machine; it hardly needed the mounted heavy machine gun. The rotating drill at its front alone was enough to render the zombies helpless. Another advantage of the road-clearing machine was its six enormous tires, each three meters high—impossible for any zombie to climb.

Xie Han clenched his fists tightly. "I must get one, no matter the cost..."

The convoy swept through several streets without suspense, charging with imposing force toward their destination—the storage warehouse of Hengda Food Factory. This warehouse was built along a street that wasn't particularly busy, less than two blocks from the factory itself, making it conveniently accessible for collecting premium flour. Yet, things appeared troublesome now; the street in front of the warehouse was too narrow to accommodate so many vehicles.

The middle-aged man atop the road-clearing machine was no fool. Seeing the situation, he issued orders without hesitation: "Clear out all the zombies on this street. Deploy ten vehicles at each end to block the undead; the rest, disperse and secure the intersections. Let the heavy trucks enter the warehouse to load flour. Everyone remember, we have only a dozen minutes."

With the tasks divided, everyone acted as if bullets were free, swiftly exterminating the zombies along the street. They blocked both ends, suppressing the surging undead with machine gun fire.

The warehouse doors were crafted from refined steel, heavy and secured with a smart lock—impervious even to heavy machine gun rounds. But under the drill of the road-clearing machine, the doors were torn apart and then smashed open. As soon as the machine backed away, twenty heavy trucks surged inside. The warehouse was vast; rows upon rows of storage cabinets resembling freezers stretched out as far as the eye could see. The power system seemed to remain functional, keeping the cabinets operating at a basic level to preserve the premium flour within.

The trucks lined up, and seven or eight people jumped off each one, rushing madly toward the cabinets, hauling out bag after bag of fine flour. Such a large warehouse would have had administrators, but now they were zombies. The few undead posed no real threat—once they leaped out, a volley of bullets dispatched them thoroughly.

With only seven or eight people loading each truck, it was nearly impossible to fill them within ten minutes. Thus, many who weren’t assigned specific duties poured into the warehouse, desperately hauling fifty-kilogram bags of premium flour onto the trucks. Driven by adrenaline, everyone exerted themselves beyond their limits, making the heavy flour bags seem weightless.

Xie Han’s battered little minibus was assigned no tasks—no firepower, poor defense, and its size hindered other vehicles’ movements. Unceremoniously, he and his crew were told to stay out of the way. Even when extra hands were needed, no one called for them; it was as if they’d been forgotten.

"What kind of nonsense is this?" Taishan muttered indignantly. Their minibus held nearly twenty people, and yet they'd been overlooked. Had no one noticed the burly men crammed inside? In peaceful times, Taishan wouldn’t have complained—who wouldn’t want to slack off? But now, in the apocalypse, a world requiring mutual aid, there should be no room for selfishness.

Xie Han, however, was unfazed by Taishan’s grumbling. “No assignments? Even better. If someone told us to go block zombies, that would be truly frustrating. If we can loaf around and still get our share of flour, why not?” He shot Taishan a glance. “Enough. Everyone sit tight and focus on our surroundings, not on useless complaints.”

With that, Xie Han closed his eyes, ignoring Taishan and the others. He called out to Zhou Ruomeng: “Ruomeng, bring up the map of Wangtian City for me.” Zhou Ruomeng swiped casually, and Xie Han suddenly felt as though he were standing atop a massive satellite map. At first, he thought the map was real-time, but it turned out to be a static satellite image, which disappointed him somewhat. “Can’t you sneak me a real-time satellite feed?”

Zhou Ruomeng giggled. “I may seem quite human-like, but when it comes to permissions, even I can’t help you. You should be glad to have such a detailed map.” Xie Han shook his head inwardly, smiling wryly as he studied the map. He quickly located their position within the sprawling city. Though not real-time, the map had display functions—select a location, and all building names would appear.

From Xie Han’s memory, back in 2009 Wangtian City ranked among the country’s top ten in size. But now, seeing its scale in 2055, he had to admit the city had grown vastly—more than doubled, with over fifteen million residents. In the modern era, that would mark it as a global metropolis, but in the apocalypse, such numbers only spelled trouble.

After a brief look, Xie Han’s heart stirred. Just one block from their current position, the map clearly marked a branch of the Industrial and Commercial Bank and another of the Bank of China. Xie Han’s pupils contracted. What did those banks represent? Even if their gold reserves weren’t enormous, he was certain a few million’s worth would be inside.

"But how can I get my hands on that gold?" Xie Han felt stumped. Zombies packed the streets so tightly, there was nowhere even to stand, let alone rush through. Most importantly, no one else would wait for him. With only his battered minibus, breaking through the horde was impossible. “Damn it. So close, yet so far—how maddening…”

In just a few minutes, the situation on the street changed. Countless zombies, drawn by the commotion, surged toward the vehicles blocking their way. On those dozen cars, at least thirty heavy machine guns fired, barely holding the undead at bay. As their numbers grew, even that tenuous control became dangerous.

Everyone realized the gravity of the situation—less than a third of the trucks were loaded, and they needed at least ten more minutes.

Chen Liu, who’d been idling beside the minibus, finally sprang into action. Under his command, the King Hummer rolled to the blockade’s edge. From Chen Liu’s vantage point, the zombie ocean surged like waves. “Damn it, Wang Zaitian, you idiots, hurry up! We’re almost overwhelmed…” Chen Liu shouted, and five more King Hummers rolled out, each fitted with eight-barrel heavy machine guns.

“All units ready…” Chen Liu roared. Six eight-barrel machine guns aimed at the tidal wave of zombies. "Fire!"

The barrels spun slowly at first, then became a blur in just half a second. As their rotation reached full speed, the terrifying thunder of bullets drowned out all lighter weapons nearby.

Like the scythe of death, the six eight-barrel machine guns relentlessly harvested the zombies within sight—creatures that could no longer be called alive. Their immense penetrating power unleashed a devastating force. In moments, the surging undead were wiped out. The metallic storm unleashed by the guns swept forward, and within a minute, a clear street two hundred meters long was carved out.

Xie Han’s pupils contracted again. Stunned by the overwhelming power of the eight-barrel machine guns, he gazed at the newly cleared street, and a wild plan began to form in his mind.

(P.S.: I expect many readers will criticize the grain issue in this chapter. I can only say—imagine future storage technology, will you? Assume that future grain reserves can last for years without a problem. If every detail must strictly mirror modern technology, that’s just exhausting. I’ve seen many urban novels where the protagonist travels from the future to the present—how should their technology be explained? So, well…)