The scimitar was very sharp. It took as much effort to cut open a zombie's head as it did to cut open a watermelon.
"Puchi, Puchi..." the sound of the machete cutting into the skull rang out rhythmically for three days and four nights.
There were too many zombies. Even if he had to cut open thousands of watermelons, it would still take more than half a day.
Not to mention those zombies who were constantly thinking about how to share the food with Bick.
Bick would stop to rest for a while after swinging his knife a dozen times. On one hand, it was to relieve the muscles in his arm, so that he would not consume too much at once and cause lactic acid accumulation.
In such a dangerous apocalypse, if the muscles in his arm were strained, or if he was too tired and sore, it would cause irreparable damage at the critical moment.
At the same time, Bick also had to clean up the remains of the zombies to make way for the zombies behind him.
As for when he cut open the skull and chest cavity of the zombies, he couldn't do anything about the black brain matter and the liquid that was mixed with blood.
Even though the smell of the liquid was unbearable, Bick could only continue to complain about his nose.
However, it was a little troublesome when eating. Every time, Bick used the Mcdonald's wrapping paper to carefully wipe his mouth and then wrapped his right hand tightly with the wrapping paper to prevent the food from coming into contact with the liquid.
When eating, he did not care to savor the taste of these extremely precious foods in the post-apocalyptic world.
He wolfed down the food and didn't allow it to be exposed to the outside world for too long.
This wasn't because Bick's germaphobia was acting up, or because he was afraid of being hungry.
Instead, he didn't know how the biochemical crisis in this world happened, or how the zombie virus spread.
What if it wasn't transmitted through blood, but also the digestive system?
And if the zombie virus was transmitted through the respiratory system, Bick wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
However, Bick had transmigrated here for more than a week and hadn't mutated into a zombie yet, so the possibility of the respiratory system spreading wasn't high.
In short, there was nothing wrong with being careful.
Chopping and slashing zombies, cleaning the stone crack, eating, and attracting the surrounding zombies to come over again.
The process was repeated mechanically. Only when Bick was mentally and physically exhausted would he lean against the stone crack and carefully sleep for a short while.
Even when he was sleeping, Bik would wake up with one eye half-open.
He didn't know how many times he shook the self-made "shaker." The shells in the Coke Cup made a crisp clanging sound. After a long time, the zombies that were still not ferocious pounced on him with a whimper.
At first, Bixk didn't react. After all, as the number of zombies killed increased, Bick's heart became numb.
The first day was fine, but the second day, Bik only did everything mechanically.
Moreover, too many zombies died.
When they were cut open, brain matter and unknown tissue fluid covered the entire crevice.
The remains that were cleaned not far away from the crevice smelled really bad under the scorching desert sun.
Bick felt that he was now as stinky as the zombies, the stench of decay and death.
Even with the zombies' keen sense of smell, if Bick did not take out the hot hamburgers from the system space to eat, they would not have any desire for Bick, a human who had the same smell as them.
However, the zombies were still very sensitive to sound. Even if the zombies made their own sound, they would still be attracted to it.
Therefore, Bick used his homemade shaker to make small noises every time to attract the zombies near the giant rock.
When they were close enough, the zombies' sensitive sense of smell could naturally detect that there was fresh blood and flesh in the crack.
Bick shook the cup mechanically and numbly for a long time, but no zombies came. He was stunned for a long time before he reacted.
He suppressed the joy in his heart and carefully poked his head out of the crack. The mountain of zombie remains blocked most of his vision.
Bick thought for a moment and took out a long gun from the system space again, even though the sound of the gun would attract the zombies further away.
But at the critical moment, the gun was still more reassuring than the knife.
He filled the magazine with bullets, pushed the guard, and loaded the gun with a click.
With a spear in one hand and a machete in the other, Bick walked out of the crack carefully. It was impossible for him to go further.
Outside the crack was a mountain of zombies. This was the result of his three days of fighting.
He stuck the machete into the sand by his feet so that he could draw it at any time to fight. He took out the wooden stick that the search team had given him to defend himself and stabbed the debris on the mountain.
The cleaning work wasn't fast. After all, the tools in his hands weren't easy to use, and Bick was even more cautious.
There was once a zombie that was buried under a pile of zombie debris. When Bik was cleaning the zombies behind him, he almost got bit.
After more than an hour, the zombie mountain was cleared to the height of half a man. Bik looked around and couldn't see any more zombies wandering around.
'it seems that all the zombies in this area have been taken care of.' An unspeakable ease appeared in his mind, and Bick almost fell to the ground.
He tried his best to keep himself awake. Bik didn't want to rest here. The mountain of zombie remains was covered with brain matter and tissue fluid. The smell was really unbearable.
Although his nose couldn't detect the smell, it was definitely not a good thing for people to stay in such an environment for too long.
Even if the zombie virus didn't spread through the respiratory system, Bick was still afraid that too many corpses would be exposed to the sun and cause a plague.
"Now, I need to find a safe environment and take a good rest. Otherwise, even if my body can take it, but my mind can't!"
Muttering to himself, Bick decided to follow the route of the zombies in his memory and return to the gas station where he met the search team.
On one hand, the search team's activity was definitely not far from the survivor base. No matter what, it would be safer there.
On the other hand, Bick had sworn that if he could survive, he would definitely teach those who cheated him a lesson.
Under the scorching sun, he followed his memory to return to the gas station. The place was already empty.
Bick did not want to waste time searching the place that had been cleaned up by the search team. Those b * stards would definitely not leave anything useful behind.
Anyway, the system still provided four or five mcdonald's packages, so there was no shortage of food and water in the short term.
"It seems that those b * stards left in that direction? "Bick carefully recalled the direction that the search team left that day and continued to search.
Along the way, the sky was filled with yellow sand and the scorching sun. Even though he was hugging his head with his T-shirt, he still felt that his eyes, ears, mouth, and nose were filled with sand.
There wasn't a single pedestrian or zombie on the road. It seemed that other than the damn sand, there was only Bick.
"Damn it, am I hallucinating from the heat stroke? Or is it my good luck?" Bick looked at a sand dune more than 20 meters away and couldn't help but widen his eyes.