Northeast of Atlanta, at the third intersection.
Wu Fan's car was stopped.
Not zombies, but the military.
Three hummers were parked across the middle of the road, with M249 light machine guns mounted on their roofs.
A dozen Soldiers in full combat gear formed a roadblock, their guns aimed at every vehicle attempting to pass.
Further away, two coils of concertina wire were stretched out, leaving only a narrow inspection point open.
"Stop! Turn off the engine!"
A Soldier rushed over, the muzzle of their gun almost poking into the car window.
Wu Fan raised both hands: "Friendly, I'm a police officer."
"Everyone is friendly now!"
The Soldier didn't even look at his ID, directly pulling the car door open: "Get out! You're being requisitioned now!"
"Wait—"
Wu Fan was dragged out of the car. Before he could even steady himself, a shield was shoved into his arms, followed by a baton.
He looked down at the items in his hands, then looked up at those Soldiers who were also holding riot shields and batons, with their M4s and M249s slung on their backs, or positioned in trenches made of temporary sandbags, and there was even a tank with its engine off—
"What the hell is this madness?"
Wu Fan's eyes widened.
No wonder it fell so quickly. So the will of the world caused these natives to lose their intelligence, and this is the reason for the rapid collapse of the world?
With so many guns and ammo, they aren't using them, and instead are using riot shields and clubs?
At least give me a machete!
What's the use of this junk? It's just feeding the enemy!
At this moment, a military hummer drove over, and a military doctor in a white coat jumped out and headed straight for the passenger seat of the police car.
Maddie was carried out by two Soldiers; her leg was swollen and purple, and her face was as pale as paper.
"She was run over by a car; her leg might be broken," Wu Fan said hurriedly.
The military doctor checked her briefly and waved a hand: "Put her on the truck and send her to the rear hospital."
"Wait!"
Wu Fan was anxious: "You can't send her to the hospital! Those who have been bitten will be infected and will soon turn into zombies that bite people!"
"Shut up!"
A stern voice came from behind.
Wu Fan turned and saw a white officer wearing the rank of Captain walking over with long strides.
He was about forty years old, with a crew cut, a clean-shaven chin, and eyes as sharp as an eagle's.
"You Asian police officer, you are under my command now."
The Captain's voice was loud enough to shatter eardrums: "Return to your post, fulfill your duty, and stop those rioters!"
"Sir, those aren't rioters, they are—"
"I know what the hell they are!"
The Captain interrupted him, his hand already resting on the M9 pistol at his waist: "But look behind you!"
Wu Fan looked in the direction he was pointing.
Behind the intersection, a dense crowd was gathering. Not zombies, but living people.
Men, women, children, the elderly; some were carrying luggage, some were pushing shopping carts, and some had run out wearing only pajamas and slippers.
They were screaming, crying, and shoving, surging like a tide toward the roadblock set up by the military.
"These people want to rush through."
The Captain's voice was as cold as ice: "Other states have fallen just the same. They think there is salvation there, but there isn't. There's only more of those things. Now, we can only control the number of infections. If they aren't infected, let them run for their lives; if they are, lock them up."
Wu Fan opened his mouth.
"So, your task is simple."
The Captain pointed to the defensive line ahead: "Stand there, use what you have in your hands, and stop anyone from crossing that line. Whether it's a living person or one of those things."
"But—"
"If you dare to run away..."
The Captain drew his pistol, and a Soldier nearby pressed the barrel of his gleaming M4 against Wu Fan's chest: "I will execute you like a deserter. Do you understand?"
Wu Fan stared at that gun, then looked at the Captain's eyes.
Those were not eyes that were joking. Those were eyes that had experienced combat and would truly pull the trigger.
"Understood..."
Wu Fan said, gritting his teeth.
The Captain holstered his gun, turned, and walked away: "Get back to the front!"
Wu Fan gripped the shield and baton in his hands and walked toward the defensive line.
There were a dozen Soldiers standing sparsely along the defensive line.
Calling them Soldiers was a stretch; in reality, they looked more like fresh recruits—some still had acne on their faces, and their hands were shaking as they gripped their shields and batons.
Two hundred meters behind them, those experienced veterans were manning heavy weapons, their guns pointed at—at them?
Wu Fan suddenly understood.
They were using these recruits as human shields.
If the zombies rushed over, these recruits were the first line of defense.
If the refugees rushed over, these recruits were also the first line of defense.
No matter which side rushed over, these people would be the first to die.
And those veterans' guns, rather than being pointed at the enemy, were pointed at the backs of these recruits—to prevent them from running away.
It was fucking cold-blooded. But it was also fucking realistic.
Wu Fan walked over to a young Soldier who looked slightly calmer; the kid was nineteen at most, with blond hair and freckles on his face.
"Hey."
Wu Fan lowered his voice.
The blond Soldier turned his head, saw his police uniform, and was stunned for a moment: "You're a police officer?"
"Yes. Listen, later, if those things come, remember one thing—only hitting the head is useful."
The blond Soldier blinked: "What?"
"Those so-called rioters are already dead."
Wu Fan stared into his eyes: "They feel no pain, they don't get tired, and shooting them in the body is useless. Only attacking the head will be effective. Once the head is crushed, they will fall."
The blond Soldier was stunned for a few seconds, then laughed.
My God, he actually laughed.
"Do you know what you're saying?"
The blond Soldier said in that relaxed tone typical of young people: "It would be faster to just shoot their heads off with a gun, rather than stupidly poking their butts—uh, poking their heads—with a stick?"
He laughed at his own humor.
Wu Fan looked at him and suddenly felt sad.
This kid hadn't seen a real zombie yet.
He still thought this was just an ordinary riot, thought the military's arrangements were reasonable, and thought the club in his hand could solve everything.
He didn't know how insane this world was.
In the early days of the apocalypse, decision-makers always seemed to lose their intelligence.
They feared public opinion, feared responsibility, and feared the military being filmed firing on "civilians."
So they would use the most stupid methods to delay, until everything was beyond saving.
By the time they finally allowed them to open fire, the Soldier losses were already so great that they couldn't assemble effective firepower.
Then they were swept away by the zombie horde and wiped out.
"Listen..."
Wu Fan scanned left and right, starting to look for an escape route: "If you can make it back alive, remember what I just said. Hit the head, only the head—"
Before he could finish, the commotion on the street suddenly escalated.
The crowd's screaming turned into shrieks of agony.
In the distance, those figures with strange gaits appeared.
At first it was a few, then dozens, then a dense mass.
They staggered and moved stiffly, their bloody maws wide open, moving toward the living.
The clothes on their bodies were tattered, stained with dark brown blood.
Some were missing arms, some had holes in their stomachs, with intestines dragging on the ground.
But they were still walking. Still searching. Still hungry.
"Ready—"
On the defensive line, a Sergeant Major raised his hand.
The Soldiers raised their guns, the sound of safeties clicking off rising one after another.
Wu Fan stared at the group of zombies getting closer and closer, then looked at the terrified refugees behind him, and then at the dark muzzles of the veterans' guns two hundred meters away—
His gaze locked onto a spot ten meters to his right.
A small alley.
There was an iron gate at the entrance of the alley, and the small door on it was left ajar.
That was it.
Twenty meters.
The zombies entered the twenty-meter range.
Wu Fan took a deep breath, and then—
He rushed out.
"Hey! You guy! Don't charge!"
The blond Soldier shouted from behind.
"He's crazy, he's really brave,"
another Soldier muttered: "When he gets torn apart by the rioters later, I hope he doesn't regret his impulsiveness."
Wu Fan ignored them.
He rushed into the horde of zombies.
Shield in front, baton in hand.
His body was faster than his brain—five years in the gym hadn't been for nothing, and running five kilometers every day hadn't been in vain.
Like the protagonist in a Ma Dong-seok movie, he slammed the shield into the zombie in front, and swung his baton with all his might onto the head of the second one.
Bang.
A dull thud, like hitting wet wood.
The zombie wobbled but didn't fall.
It hadn't died long ago, so the skull hadn't rotted yet; it was as hard as stone.
Wu Fan didn't have time for a second strike.
The third and fourth ones were already lunging at him.
He dodged the clawing of one, held his shield against the chest of another, and pushed forward with all his strength.
He was surrounded.
A dozen zombies surrounded him, their mouths dripping with black blood opening and closing, their gray-white eyes staring fixedly at him.
Wu Fan's heart was pounding, and adrenaline made his movements faster than usual.
He stopped trying to go for headshots and instead used his shield to bash open a path, inching his way toward that small alley step by step.
Five meters. Three meters. One meter—
"Ahhh—!"
He roared, slammed the shield into the last zombie blocking his way, then suddenly threw away the things in his hands and squeezed sideways through that slightly ajar iron gate.
Clang!
He shut the door. Outside the iron gate, the faces of a dozen zombies were pressed against the mesh, their rotting hands reaching in and clawing desperately.
Wu Fan panted heavily, his legs weak, his back against the wall.
He heard the sounds coming from outside—
"Hey, that guy ran away!"
"Damn it, I even admired his courage; turns out he's a coward!"
"Don't just stand there, those rioters are rushing over! Get ready to welcome their 'enthusiasm'!"
Then, gunfire erupted.
The sound of M4 automatic fire, mixed with shrieks, cries, and that inhuman roaring.
Wu Fan didn't look back.
He turned and ran deeper into the alley.
Behind him, those sounds grew more distant, but another kind of sound grew closer—
The rustling sound of footsteps.
Many.
Wu Fan looked back, and his scalp instantly went numb.
At the other end of the alley, a dense mass of zombies was pouring in.
They saw him, and their speed suddenly increased, like a pack of sharks that had smelled blood.
Wu Fan turned and ran.
At the end of the alley was a fire escape, made of iron, rusted, but still usable.
He jumped up, grabbed the bottom edge of the stairs, and climbed up, pushing off the wall with his feet.
Just as he climbed halfway up, a hand suddenly grabbed his ankle.
Wu Fan looked down and saw a face with a mangled jaw staring up at him.
One of the eyeballs of that face had already fallen out, hanging outside the socket, the mouth was still moving, and the teeth were clicking.
Wu Fan kicked that face.
It didn't come off.
A second kick. A third kick.
Finally, the hand let go.
That face disappeared into the horde of zombies below.
Wu Fan scrambled onto the stair platform, lying flat on the metal plate, panting heavily.
He looked down—
The entire alley was filled with zombies.
They were squeezed together like a tin of sardines, countless hands reaching upward, trying to grab him.
Among those hands, some had nails that had fallen off, revealing white bone; some were still painted with nail polish; some were wearing wedding rings.
Wu Fan's heart was beating as if it wanted to burst out of his chest.
Cold sweat had soaked through his entire police uniform.
Watching zombies on TV is one thing.
But being there in person—that's a different feeling.
It's the feeling of every cell screaming to run away.
It's the feeling of the brain completely stopping its thinking, leaving only instinctual reactions.
It's the fear that wells up from the bone marrow when you see those things that were once human, but are no longer human.
Wu Fan lay on the stairs, shaking for a full minute.
He started looking for useful items, searching for wooden planks to build a bridge to connect to the roof of the adjacent building.