Zombies equipped with rebar were fierce, but it was still difficult to fight against numbers.
The route was littered with zombie corpses.
The force of more than a hundred zombies kept advancing. The defense teams with three zombies were constantly being overwhelmed, the ferocious attacking zombies tearing them into pieces.
"Unfortunately, the police zombie died too early."
If the police zombie were still alive, and the electric chainsaw hadn't been destroyed, he could take out many zombies by himself. The combat power of the chainsaw would be a killer in this narrow space.
Unfortunately, the only chainsaw on the construction site was cut in half by the Tyrant earlier on.
In the whole area, there was only one construction site, and the rest was bustling commercial districts. This was the central area of the city, with high-rise buildings and shopping malls everywhere. Where could Lu Chuan find another chainsaw?
Previously, Lu Chuan could only view up to a one-kilometer range.
Beyond this range, Lu Chuan did not dare to let the zombies wander. This world was dangerous and the appearance of Lickers or Tyrants would kill his zombies in an instant.
But…
The god of war existed at all times.
Zombie 41 stood on the route and held a sharpened machete in his hand. He was a basketball player with a height of 1.9 meters, enough to stand out from a crowd.
His muscles had explosive force, and although the surface skin had decayed, it did not affect his performance at all.
These kinds of zombies, which were naturally taller than other zombies, were far stronger than ordinary zombies in terms of power. He carried a machete, standing like a god of war.
"Roar…"
Basketball player Zombie 41 roared and the machete in his hand slashed.
The machete passed through the air with a cold light.
Sharp and powerful.
With this, zombies that rushed in front of him were split into halves by the brute force, falling to both sides.
The murderous scene made Lu Chuan clench his fists. "Good job, that's it."
The second zombie rushed over, baring his teeth and brandishing his claws.
Zombie 41 held the machete in both hands and slashed fiercely.
His head was chopped off, and it fell onto the construction site. The black liquid around his neck flowed desperately, but his body fell to the ground, motionless.
The attacking zombies struck fearlessly and pounced frantically.
One cut, another cut.
The sharply polished machete gave the attacking zombies a vivid lesson, teaching them the drastic difference between steel and flesh.
With the power of Zombie 41, no matter what zombies came, they would be met with a slash.
Some of their skulls split, some were cut in half at the waist, and some had their whole heads chopped off.
Either way, it was a fatal injury to the zombies.
The route forward was lined with corpses from the attacking zombies.
Basketball player Zombie 41 was like the god of war, he didn't rest at all and killed mechanically, even with dozens of zombies in front of him.
The zombie corpses piled up like a small hill.
The declining number of incoming zombies meant that success was near.
......
Tens of kilometers away from the city…
A survivor stronghold appeared on the horizon.
This stronghold had an astonishingly huge wall, twenty meters high and six meters wide.
From a distance, it was a fortress.
Above the wall, there were people patrolling. A team of five people walked on the six-meter-wide wall, looking sharply in the distance, searching for any possible danger.
Anyone that could survive the apocalypse to become a warrior was definitely not a simple person.
The majority of their equipment was improvised firearms and crossbows.
At the bottom of the wall, there were some scattered zombies wandering around, and from time to time, they would rush to the wall and try to climb.
Those who patrolled didn't pay attention to these actions at all.
Given their number, it was absolutely impossible to climb the 20-meter-high wall. Without the accumulation of hundreds of thousands of zombies, it was difficult to pose a threat to the wall.
Standing on the fence, they could see the tall, hazy city buildings in the distance.
"Clear the zombies, a convoy is about to leave."
With a loud shout, the people who had just been on patrol immediately took their weapons and gathered at the gate of the fence.
Some of these weapons included crossbows and homemade rifles.
Bang!
Shua!
Different sounds were produced, and the scattered zombies below each raised their heads and fell down.
The bullets from the rifle lifted pieces of decaying meat and black liquid from the zombies' heads. The strong crossbow, on the other hand, inserted an arrow into the skull, causing the zombies to tremble and fall.
With the pressure of survival over several years, anyone who could become a survivor warrior was definitely an elite sniper.
The dozens of zombies that had surrounded the gate of the wall were cleared in seconds, falling to the ground.
Don't be surprised: there was an international metropolis tens of kilometers away, and some scattered zombies would appear nearby every day. Even if they killed them, there would still be some wandering over the next day.
Over time, the survivors become accustomed to the constant stream of zombies.
Every time a convoy set out, they would clean up the zombies around the door, so that they would not threaten the inside of the stronghold when the door opened.
After the zombies were cleared, the gate of the stronghold opened immediately.
A convoy of different vehicles roared out from the gate, heading toward the city dozens of kilometers away.
The fleet was made up of different types of vehicles.
There were police cars, trucks, buses, a cash transport truck, and a few tall SUVs. These cars, without exception, had been modified and possessed a sturdy and fierce appearance.
For instance, the entire bus was welded with steel bars and was like a moving steel castle.
The trucks in the convoy were equipped with the shovel of a forklift at the front, and coupled with the trucks' horsepower, they were absolutely ferocious.
Without the supply of parts, no one cared about the car type, as long as it could be driven.
In the blink of an eye, the team drove away, leaving only dusty smoke rising into the sky.
There were teams like this almost every day.
As long as they could find valuable items, in this world where resources were somewhat imbalanced, it could bring them a lot of benefits.
"Five zombies for one black bun."
A leader yelled at the gate of the stronghold, which immediately drew a large, enthusiastic group of people. Ten people were quickly selected, and they dragged these dead zombies to a large pit hundreds of meters away, throwing them in.
They were called the corpse cleaners, and they cleaned up the corpses of five zombies for one bun that could keep them alive for a day.
The stronghold wasn't small, it was basically like a small town.
The streets inside were deserted.
Under many building eaves were people with numb faces and hollow eyes. They stayed under the eaves like corpses, as if everything outside had nothing to do with them.
Occasionally, there were voices calling out for workers, and it made these numb people go crazy.
Sometimes they would fight each other for a job or a meal.
In the apocalypse, human lives were worthless, and people would die every day because of this kind of fight. No one cared about death; the dead would be treated like trash, tossed outside the city.
In the center of the stronghold town, there were bursts of cheers.
A place that was transformed into a corpse arena was overcrowded, with people yelling frantically one by one.
In the field…
A sturdy man held a dogleg knife. He bent over slightly and panted into his knees.
In front of him was a strong man covered in armor, carrying a meteor hammer.
The fighting arena was actually another version of animal fighting, but instead of beasts, zombies were pitted against each other. More often, humans were pitted against each other.
Every time, there would always be tens of thousands of survivors here. Living in this crisis-ridden apocalypse, they were always tense and needed to use this method to vent their emotions.
Whether it was man against zombie or man against man, it would always be bloody here.
Every day, someone would die here and there would be miracles being created.
For a bite of food, many people would bet their own lives here.
Those who lived today might be killed by the next challenger, becoming a corpse that no one would take another look at.
"Ahh!"
With a crazy roar, the strong man strode toward the brawny man in armor with determination on his face.
He knew that it would be difficult for him to defeat this opponent, but from the moment he stepped into the arena, there was no turning back.
This was a survivor stronghold that was filled with despair and insanity; it was also a representative of the thousands of survivor strongholds and bases.
In the survivor stronghold, everyone was desperate and going crazy to stay alive. If they didn't want to starve to death or be killed by someone else, they had to squeeze out whatever they had to live.
Survivors who'd lasted more than five years were like wild beasts, crazy, cruel, and cold.
This was the law of human nature in the apocalypse.