Seeing Jack's grim expression and his continued silence, Jessie grew increasingly desperate, her eyes dimming with despair. The group fell silent, the only sound being the irritating creak of the old tow truck as it trundled along.
They returned to the gas station, and Jack signaled for Carrie to keep the engine running while the three of them stayed in the truck. He s7tepped out alone with his handgun, inspecting the surrounding area.
The old man's corpse was still at the entrance, his burst skull attracting a swarm of flies and other carrion insects. Jack did a quick sweep and found nothing amiss, then waved to the others to signal it was safe.
He walked over to the broken payphone, giving it a thorough check, but it was beyond repair.
Jack had hoped that if the phone lines were intact, he could salvage parts from the junk cars in the pit and cobble together a makeshift phone. But with the lines dead, that plan was impossible; his skills weren't advanced enough to build a radio from scratch.
The three got out of the truck and stood far from the corpse, watching Jack work. Jessie seemed to have calmed down, though she looked at him, wanting to speak but hesitating.
Carrie and Scott, seeing the filthy old man's corpse and remembering the sudden crossbow bolt earlier, had lost all desire to verify if there were indeed human remains in the house. They just wanted to get far away.
Jack deliberately ignored Jessie. He wasn't sure if it was an issue of upbringing or cultural tradition, but Americans seemed to particularly idolize individual heroism. It was as if, in the face of disaster or danger, once a hero appeared, all responsibilities and duties fell on that person.
Concepts like democracy, public interest, and self-sacrifice didn't exist. People took care of themselves, maybe their families, and waited for the crisis to end.
Ordinary people only needed to morally criticize the hero afterward, bringing them down.
Jack had no interest in being a hero. He had done what he could without remorse. He had seen plenty of pretty girls and wasn't about to risk his life for one now. Testing his healing powers by taking a crossbow bolt to the head wasn't part of his plan.
He picked up the old double-barreled shotgun from near the corpse and checked it. It seemed usable, but he wasn't planning to rely on it to fight a bunch of fearless mutants.
He tossed the shotgun to Scott and walked into the metal shed, hoping to find more ammunition. He didn't know if the mutants would ambush them on their way back, and having more weapons was always a good idea.
In a dark corner of the shed, he found a simple wooden rack holding various odds and ends. In a rusty cookie tin, he found a box of buckshot. Just as he was about to leave the stinking shed, his eyes caught something on the shelf.
He picked up a yellowish stone, feeling its substantial weight. This cylindrical piece weighed three or four kilograms. Excited, he moved to a spot with better light.
A golden legend! It was a natural gold nugget, almost free of impurities, radiating a mesmerizing golden glow in the sunlight.
Jack was thrilled, realizing that defeating the mutants had brought unexpected treasure. He continued searching the shelf and found a small cloth bag filled with gold dust.
His earlier suspicions were confirmed. He had wondered how these grotesque mutants managed to stay hidden in the forest for so long. They couldn't survive solely on human flesh and hunting.
They needed a continuous supply of living essentials and had numerous powerful hunting crossbows, which were more expensive than regular firearms. Even a high-end crossbow like the Raven Hannah gave him had an effective range of 200 meters and cost at least three thousand dollars. That money could buy several AR15s or twice as many cheaper AKs.
The reason was that these mutants were guarding an undiscovered gold mine.
Jack pondered briefly before making a decision. Americans loved heroes, and today, he would be one.
He found an empty gasoline can among a pile of gas cans, filled it with the gold dust, and pocketed the gold nugget. He then carried the can outside, casually handing the box of buckshot to Scott as he passed.
"Follow me, I have a plan."
Jessie's eyes lit up slightly at his words, but she still hesitated to speak, seeing Jack's stern face.
Jack went to his Firebird, covered with a tattered tarpaulin, and pulled out his backpack from the back seat. He unloaded the empty magazines from his gun and his belt and handed them to the others, along with a box of hollow-point bullets.
"Help me load these with bullets. Use only these."
Jack didn't believe that even if the mutants were immune to pain, they could still be up and moving after a hollow-point bullet hit them in the torso. If they could, he would have to question whether they were carbon-based life forms.
The three quickly completed the simple task. Meanwhile, Jack retrieved Hannah's Raven crossbow and a bag of bolts from the trunk.
There were only twenty bolts in the bag, but they were top-notch, with aluminum-coated carbon shafts and tungsten steel heavy heads. They were extremely powerful and reusable as long as the fletching wasn't damaged.
"Who can use this?" Jack asked, holding the crossbow case.
"I can. I learned from my father," Jessie said, taking the case and assembling the crossbow skillfully.
Jack naturally slid the gas can with the hidden gold into the trunk and closed the lid.
"Alright, here's the plan."
Jack's face turned serious, and the three held their breath, feeling the gravity of the situation.
"Evan is dead, and Francine might still be alive. If we want to save her and avoid ending up like those bodies in the fridge, you must follow my orders strictly."
They nodded vigorously.
"Give me your phones," Jack said to Scott and Carrie.
He entered the same phone number into both of their phones and handed them back.
"Scott, take the shotgun for protection, and drive the tow truck with Carrie. Head back to the highway and drive towards Las Cruces. Don't interact with anyone on the way. As soon as you have a signal, call this number for help."
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