Chapter 79: Walkers?
Caesar believed there were smart people at both ranches who could see his ambitions toward them.
Thinking it over, Caesar felt there was no need to rush.
What comes too easily isn't a good deal. Better to wait until both ranches really couldn't maintain themselves anymore, then negotiate when they came seeking him out.
Caesar nodded and said: "I understand. We won't rush. Their current situation can still hold. We'll wait until the residents' desire to leave the ranch reaches its peak and they clash with the leadership."
"At that time, to avoid being held accountable themselves, they'll definitely seek our help."
"That will be the opportunity!"
Caesar's patience was soon rewarded.
Several days later, a riot broke out at Horus's ranch.
The night was like a curtain, pitch black, impenetrable.
Ranch nights were exceptionally dark, with only a few buildings showing firelight inside.
Outside the warehouse, Connor sat on a chair, his rifle propped against the ground. The brow under his cowboy hat was tightly furrowed. His hand gripped tighter.
He swept his gaze around the surroundings.
Over twenty torches were stuck nearby, illuminating the area around the warehouse. Over a dozen cowboys had guns at their waists, their sharp eyes watching in all directions.
But farther out, though it was equally within the ranch, it was terrifyingly quiet—like thick ink spreading, dark and profound.
Connor looked at that boundary between light and dark, his eyelids twitching.
As a captain under Horus, with most of the senior leadership collectively missing, he'd been forced to become temporary leader.
These past few days, he could deeply feel the hatred and greed in the eyes of the residents below when they looked at him. He could also feel the thick malice.
But Connor had no choice. Could he really just throw the warehouse open?!
That would mean everything would be snatched away by these residents. Connor also had a wife and children. Other combat members also had families.
Connor couldn't disregard his companions for a moment of kindness.
Moreover, Connor released a portion of food each day to the residents below, letting them eat their fill.
But what he got in return was the residents' disdain, as if... this food was rightfully theirs.
Connor didn't understand, but he could feel the residents' emotions building up more and more. They could barely hold back.
If not today, then tomorrow.
The next moment, an arrow flew out and embedded in the warehouse's wooden planks, making a humming sound from excessive force.
Connor looked up and immediately shouted: "Enemy attack! Alert!"
At the same time, Connor stood up and raised his rifle, aiming toward where the arrow had come from. He fired a shot right at the source.
A flash of light—the bullet shot out, echoing with a scream.
The cowboys also immediately raised their guns and fired in that direction. Under the dense bullets, blood and screams mixed continuously.
In the firelight, Connor saw many familiar faces.
Soon the gunfire stopped. The cowboys began changing magazines, their eyes still watching the darkness.
Blood meandered out, flowing from the darkness. Connor looked at that glaring red, grabbed a torch, and threw it in that direction.
Whoosh—flames burned up.
They'd just fired many shots, consuming almost everyone's entire magazine.
Yet they'd only hit a few people. Those few lay on the ground with staring eyes, looking at the sky.
Connor immediately turned his head, his large hand pointing: "Don't cluster together. Spread out!"
Connor felt something was wrong when he saw those corpses. Those few were the ranch's most hated, most obsequious people on normal days, but now they'd been thrown out to draw fire.
So where were the others?
In the darkness, points of warm light appeared. Torches were lit one by one.
Connor looked toward the light. It was actually all the other ranch residents.
They stood densely packed, surrounding the warehouse in a circle. On their silent faces burned inexhaustible anger.
There were too many people. Connor froze.
Almost all the residents had come—a full fifty or sixty people. They'd surrounded the warehouse.
The possibility of Connor repelling them wasn't high anymore.
A path gradually opened in the crowd. An old man walked out—that was El, who could make various herbal medicines and had high prestige.
El looked at the elevated Connor. His aged face held no mockery or color of victory, only saying flatly: "Connor, you should admit defeat."
"Distribute this food to the other residents, then everyone can survive together properly. Wouldn't that work?"
Connor lowered his head, meeting El's gaze.
After a long while, Connor finally raised his head and laughed fanatically: "I finally became ranch owner with such difficulty. You want me to distribute the food?"
"On what basis?"
"Do you think you're any different from those cattle and sheep? You're nothing but penned livestock who can only create value for us. Otherwise you'll be killed and eaten."
"Just with that junk in your hands, you think you can make me submit? Impossible."
Connor spread his arms wide, his face flushed red, spittle flying as he spoke, as if he wasn't at all afraid these people would come up and tear him apart alive.
Connor's tone became puzzled as he asked: "Why can't you just willingly work hard for the ranch? Why do you demand compensation from us? Didn't we let you survive?"
"And guaranteed your safety. Can't you just be obedient penned livestock?"
Connor's face under the torchlight was twisted and bizarre.
Watching this monster twisted by power in just a few short days, El had nothing to say.
He just felt that perhaps Connor had always been a pitiful wretch who extremely craved power. Having finally obtained power, he'd lose it so quickly.
El shook his head and stepped forward: "We will not submit."
El's attitude was the attitude of the other residents. They also stepped forward several paces.
The disparity in numbers between cowboys and residents was huge. The cowboys stepped back several paces, shrinking beside Connor.
They also didn't dare believe that residents normally docile as lambs could be so unyielding now.
Connor said with a dark expression: "You don't think I won't dare shoot, do you?"
He raised his gun, aiming at El.
Immediately, a burly man blocked El's front. With his neat short hair and holding a shotgun, he completely blocked El solid and firm.
"Frank Castle?" Connor's expression was extremely ugly.
Frank had been a soldier. After retiring, he'd settled in Black Pine Valley. On normal days he was a good man, routinely helping people.
Precisely because of this, after the apocalypse, facing Horus's tyrannical authority, Frank had also been ganged up on by several people multiple times.
Frank's eyes were sharp as an eagle's, piercing and unconcealed. He looked at Connor, wanting to speak.
Several screams pierced through the crowd, spreading across the entire ranch.
Frank's expression changed. He wanted to charge over, but there were too many residents blocking him.
Standing at a high position, Connor could see more clearly.
It was those few who'd been shot dead—they'd actually stood up and turned into walkers.