Ma Weiyan swore on his honor, and then hurriedly took a few drags, leaving just one or two for him.
"Brother Ma, you promised to save a few puffs for me," the young man said urgently, as he opened the cargo truck. The supplies stacked in the back weren't much; given the current number of people, they would last maybe three days at most.
But without any hesitation, he took bread and water to the children on the coach bus.
At that moment.
They stood by the roadside, nibbling on bread, their gazes stretching far into the distance. Everyone wore a somber expression, an indescribable anxiety, reflective of their uncertain future.
"Ah, what should we do from here on out?"
A survivor sighed. Though the bread in hand smelled good, thinking about the apocalypse robbed it of any appeal.