"Damn apocalypse!" Sylas watched the zombies wail and howl in the fire, feeling a pang of melancholy. If not for this apocalypse, everyone would be living their lives peacefully. No one would have turned into zombies, and Sylas wouldn't need to burn them with fire.
The power of the burning gasoline was immense. Sylas had poured a large amount of gasoline, especially around the gas station, where there was already a significant amount of residual fuel. Once ignited by Sylas, a massive fire erupted. The zombies within the fire's range were quickly engulfed in flames.
However, these zombies wouldn't die instantly. They continued to roar amidst the fire. Even Sylas, with his hardened heart, felt a twinge of compassion watching these former humans, now zombies, burn in the blaze.
"Alright, let me put you out of your misery," Sylas murmured to himself. He took out his Desert Eagle and began shooting at the zombies ahead. Sylas was now an expert marksman, capable of hitting a zombie's head with every shot within dozens of meters.
With each gunshot, a zombie's head exploded. However, the power of the fire was far greater than that of the bullets. Most of the zombies were killed by the flames. The task of killing a thousand zombies was quickly completed. Sylas received his reward: Sharpshooter Mastery.
His shooting skills were further enhanced, making him a true master of firearms. Sylas squinted, savoring the improvements brought by the skill. His eyes roamed around, searching for new targets to shoot.
His gaze locked onto a zombie two hundred meters away. At that range, while the Desert Eagle could hit the target, accuracy was uncertain. Nevertheless, Sylas raised his handgun and fired a shot. With a pop, the bullet struck the zombie's chest. Hitting a zombie at two hundred meters was possible with a handgun, but precise shots were difficult.
He switched targets. There was a zombie a hundred meters away. Sylas raised his handgun again, fired, and the bullet flew through the air, hitting the zombie's head with a crack. A headshot from a hundred meters.
In reality, handguns are not suited for long-range attacks; they are more effective in close combat. Rifles are better for long-distance engagements. Even so, Sylas could achieve headshots within a hundred meters using the Desert Eagle. One by one, the zombies were taken down by Sylas's headshots.
Sylas understood his capabilities well. Within a hundred meters, he had a ninety percent chance of hitting a zombie's head. When the distance was reduced to eighty meters, he could guarantee a headshot every time. This was the effect of the Sharpshooter Mastery skill, which greatly satisfied Sylas.
Moreover, the skill's effectiveness was tied to Sylas's own abilities. If his vision and arm strength improved further, his shooting accuracy would also continue to increase.
Having completed his task, Sylas lost interest in killing the remaining zombies. He holstered his handgun and rode his motorcycle towards the police station. The police station was in the city, about seven to eight kilometers from his current location. With the motorcycle's speed, it wouldn't take long to cover the distance.
All along the way, there was nothing but devastation. No living person could be seen, only zombies chasing the motorcycle. Sylas looked at the familiar city before him and felt a pang of heartache. This was where he grew up, and he couldn't believe that in just a month, the city had turned into something resembling a wasteland. Although the city still stood, there were hardly any living people left.
However, Sylas quickly composed himself. After all, feeling down wouldn't save him or humanity. Zombies chased Sylas along the way, but fortunately, the motorcycle was fast enough to ensure his safety.
The police station was now in sight. But looking at it, Sylas sensed trouble. The police station was clearly occupied. The entrance had been reinforced, and the doors were blocked to prevent zombie attacks. Through the windows, Sylas could see armed police officers patrolling inside. This meant the police station hadn't fallen and was being protected by the police.
Sylas felt conflicted. If there were only zombies and no police, he could easily enter the police station to get weapons. But under these circumstances, it was impossible for Sylas to enter and retrieve weapons. His arrival had caused a commotion, and people inside the police station had noticed him. Someone even waved at Sylas, seemingly wanting to communicate.
But Sylas only glanced at them before turning his bike around and leaving immediately.
"Damn it, why did he leave? Couldn't he have stayed to talk?" said Vania, a police officer inside the station, with a look of disappointment.
Vania was a police officer and a local beauty. When the apocalypse hit, she didn't turn into a zombie but became a survivor. Later, under the leadership of the chief and others, they turned the police station into a survivor camp. Currently, it housed over three hundred people.
When Vania saw Sylas, she wanted to talk to him and ask about the situation outside. Unfortunately, Sylas didn't stop and left immediately, leaving Vania deeply disappointed.