Invasion of America

Chapter 139 Ending
Sani and his group rushed out of the town's edge, exhausted. Their lungs felt like they were on fire, their legs felt like lead, and every step they took was extremely painful and required tremendous effort.

The only reason they didn't stop to rest was because the thought of 'supporting the counterattack' was holding them together. They believed that as long as their own convoy arrived, everything would be alright.

But when they finally reached the edge of town, panting and looking up, the view of the road suddenly opened up, their pupils suddenly contracted, and their heads felt as if they had been doused with ice water. Their perseverance was instantly extinguished.

About a kilometer away, thick black plumes of smoke rose from the highway, like banners fluttering in the air to summon the dead.

The once-grand convoy of survivors had been transformed into a string of conspicuous bonfires, raging and crackling.

Under the relentless barrage of heavy machine gun fire, those imposing modified pickup trucks were as fragile as paper, either pierced and cracked, or burned and twisted, revealing their grayish-white metal skeletons.

On both sides of the road, three or four hundred menacing attackers lay sprawled on the ground, some covered in blood and gore, others lying in a sorry state beside the roadside embankments or haystacks.

Everyone's face was filled with terror and confusion; some were even sobbing helplessly on the verge of a breakdown. Others sat blankly by the roadside, panting heavily.

Sani slowed his pace, staggering forward like a zombie. The closer he got, the clearer his vision became, and he felt dizzy, his vision blurred, and his brain ached as if it were being pierced by countless needles.

He tried hard to clear his mind and figure out which part had gone wrong, but the harsh reality was like a boulder pressing on his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.

He clearly realized that everything he had meticulously planned had burst like a soap bubble.

When the apocalypse arrives and civilization collapses, people of the same kind naturally unite closely together in order to survive, forming forces of varying sizes.

In the eyes of white survivors, a deep-seated sense of racial superiority made them make no attempt to hide their contempt and hostility toward other ethnic groups.

When they heard that a group of "yellow-skinned monkeys" in Awoni had risen rapidly and built a force that could not be ignored thanks to prior preparation, their inherent arrogance made them furious.

The existence of this outlier challenged their self-righteous dominance, making them instinctively want to nip it in the bud.

Sani, Lynch, and Scott, these leaders and core members among the white survivors, quickly rallied survivors from several surrounding towns.

They were originally fraught with conflict, but now they have found a common enemy and are eager to completely destroy this emerging team called "Holy Light".

Sani himself, in order to thoroughly understand the enemy's background, did not hesitate to risk infiltrating the "Holy Light" camp, disguising himself as an ordinary "basic laborer" and silently observing everything.

He considered himself a skilled animal trainer, holding candy and a whip in his hand. He could calmly command his hungry, animalistic companions and secretly control the fate of the yellow-skinned monkeys.

"This is North America, North America that belongs to us Americans!"

Sani was convinced of this. He believed that he truly understood the laws of survival on this land, and even began to plan how to manage the "yellow-skinned slaves" who did not believe in God after capturing the camp.
-
After walking for a long time, when they arrived in front of the burning convoy, all of Sani's self-righteous delusions were mercilessly burned to ashes by the burning bonfires in front of him.

He saw Lynch first.

The once robust body collapsed helplessly beside a modified tractor, bright red blood flowing freely and spreading across the road beneath it.

His legs were torn apart by large-caliber machine gun bullets, leaving the muscles as thin as silk and the bones exposed.

He wasn't dead yet; his body was writhing in pain, with tourniquets haphazardly wrapped around his thighs, soaked in dark red blood, but it was all in vain.

After struggling for a short while, Lin Qi's movements gradually slowed down due to massive blood loss, like a stranded fish, futilely moving its lips.

Finally, with trembling hands, he raised one hand, drew his beloved gold-plated pistol, pointed the muzzle at his temple, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

A muffled gunshot brought Lin Qi's suffering to an end. His head shattered like a watermelon smashed by a hammer, his red and white brain matter mixed with blood splattering onto the wreckage of the tractor—a gruesome sight.

Sani continued forward and saw González again.

He was once a vibrant young man, the proud son of a farmer, but now he sat stiffly in the cab of his prized, high-powered tractor, like a broken rag doll.

Sani also recalled Gonzalez proudly showing them the "solid fortress" he had welded himself—a double-layered steel plate, 30 millimeters thick, and a dense armor grille that completely encased the driver's cab.

"Even if they spray me with a machine gun, they couldn't possibly hurt me!" Not long ago, this young man was smiling confidently.

The harsh reality, however, slapped everyone hard in the face.

Armor plate welding is a delicate technical skill. Faced with the relentless bullets of large-caliber machine guns, seemingly solid welds are as vulnerable as tofu.

Now, Gonzalez's upper body has disappeared, leaving only half of his torso leaning helplessly against the seat.

The only way to identify him was by his bloodied half-face, as if glued to the broken car window, his distorted expression frozen with the fear and despair of his dying moments.

Sani, like a lost soul, continued to walk slowly through this land of death.

He saw more familiar or unfamiliar companions, lying haphazardly in pools of blood like harvested wheat, already devoid of any signs of life.

The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and the nauseating stench of blood. Those who had survived lay motionless on the ground, their hands covering their heads, their eyes vacant as they awaited their unknown fate.

Alas, Sani could no longer walk. He had to admit his defeat and simply drew his pistol, intending to end his life.

Just then, the sound of vehicles approaching came from the direction of the town. More than a dozen modified pickup trucks sped over and braked suddenly in front of the burning road.

Omar, a black man, hung on a pickup truck, then jumped off after it stopped. Clutching a wooden stick that appeared out of nowhere, he shouted menacingly, "You despicable, ignorant fools, you must surrender now!"

Sani had always looked down on this black man. Having already decided to commit suicide, he wouldn't care about any attempts to persuade him to surrender. Instead, he scoffed, "Black men are just unreliable."

Omar stepped forward, swung his stick, and smashed it down on Sani's head with a 'whoosh,' shouting, "Shut up! From now on, you are a white slave, and I will be your overseer."
-
The smoke had not yet completely dissipated, and the air was still filled with the smell of burnt blood. Just half an hour after the battle ended, Zhou Qingfeng appeared on this ravaged highway.

The attack came suddenly and ended just as quickly and brutally.

The approaching convoy was completely suppressed by six Warthogs circling at low altitudes.

The dozen or so heavy machine guns on board weren't exactly powerful firepower, but the barrage of bullets was devastating, tearing the convoy trying to approach Avoni into pieces, turning them into burning scrap metal.

Trucks from the camp arrived quickly and unloaded a group of "basic laborers." They operated the captured tractors to drag the wreckage of vehicles that were blocking the road to the side, clearing a barely passable path.

Then, they silently operated the excavator, picked up shovels and spades, and dug simple graves on the side of the road to hastily bury the bodies that had lost their lives.

When the prisoners were counted, the number was quite large, exceeding 150, the vast majority of whom were white. What to do with these people became a major headache. Release was definitely not an option.

Taking them in would be like planting unstable bombs in a camp. Executing them all would be too wasteful in terms of labor demand.

After a brief discussion, Kangus made an unexpected suggestion—the camp was currently facing a severe labor shortage, so why not take control of these prisoners and make them serve as white slaves?

Kangus himself was white, and his suggestion really surprised the "Holy Light" team.

Faced with the questioning looks from the crowd, he smiled frankly and explained, "I'm saving them. If Victor were to give the idea, he probably would have ordered them all shot long ago."

As for how to "control and use" these prisoners, Kangers proposed a simple and brutal method—to manage slaves in the same way that prisoners are managed.

He mentioned the ankle bracelets used by the police on some parolees, the kind of shackles that are difficult to break by conventional means once they are on.

By connecting two ankle bracelets with a chain, a lightweight yet effective shackle can be made, which can greatly restrict the prisoner's ability to move.

"What if they run away?" someone asked.

Kangus shrugged. "Which prisoner doesn't want to escape? They'll definitely try. If they do, we'll just catch them; we have a car anyway."

But then he changed the subject and said seriously, "However, we need to clearly tell them the sentence, whether it's one year, three years, or five years."

The slaves needed something to look forward to; otherwise, they would either revolt in despair or commit suicide. As long as the camp could provide basic necessities, they wouldn't dare to escape easily in the short term, in order to survive.

As for the specific management work, Kang Geer volunteered, saying that he could take full responsibility.

Zhou Qingfeng and Xiao Jinlang discussed it and both felt that the situation was quite frustrating. In the post-apocalyptic environment, there seemed to be no perfect solution.

After careful consideration, they decided to temporarily adopt Kangers' suggestion to set the prisoners' "sentence" at one year, and then evaluate the situation based on the specific circumstances after one year.
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The next step is to plunder and seize all the resources of the surrounding towns.
The survivors of this attack included almost all able-bodied young men around Awoni who could take up arms. Their annihilation instantly plunged four or five surrounding towns into a power vacuum.

Those towns must have accumulated a lot of supplies that the survivors had desperately hoarded, as well as the pitiful people who had survived the disaster.

A simple interrogation revealed that many of them were young women in dire need of "nourishment".

One of the main reasons the "Holy Light" team left their closed shelter was to address the increasingly serious "yin-yang imbalance" problem within the organization.

The number of women taken in in Awoni Town was very small, less than ten, which was a drop in the ocean for the team's internal distribution and far from satisfying their restless desires.

Time was of the essence, so Zhou Qingfeng immediately selected a few trembling prisoners as guides and led thirty or forty armed men, all carrying guns, into a modified pickup truck and headed straight for the nearest town, Bantu.

A long-endurance drone with a long wingspan hovered above the convoy like a silent falcon, providing all-around aerial surveillance.

Upon learning that they were going to 'rob women,' the modified pickup truck floored the accelerator, and the vehicle sped across the wilderness like a wild beast, with everyone inside the truck in high spirits.

In less than half an hour, this group of armed men, like a pack of hungry wolves, fiercely pounced on Bantu town, which was more than 20 kilometers away.

At this moment, the remaining survivors in Bantu Town are gathered in the slightly dilapidated church in the center of the town.

An excited-looking priest was leading a group of twenty-odd young women in a low prayer before a weathered statue of Jesus, trying to boost morale.

A radio was placed on the altar in the center of the church to maintain a continuous communication channel with the convoy heading to Avoni.

An hour ago, they received news that everything was fine, and the convoy had successfully approached Awoni town and was about to storm the lair of those yellow-skinned monkeys.

But in an instant, a piercing noise suddenly erupted from the calm radio waves, followed by chilling cries for help, desperate wails, heart-wrenching screams, and muffled explosions.

The various sounds intertwined, like terrifying demonic sounds coming from the depths of hell, instantly shattering the last remaining hope in the church, replacing it with endless fear and despair.

The radio broadcast lasted for four or five minutes, then fell silent, and no one responded no matter how many times they called.

The solemn prayers inside the church abruptly ceased, the candlelight before the statue of Jesus still flickered, but everyone's mind went blank, as if their thoughts had been sucked into a vacuum.

The priest leading the prayer seemed rooted to the spot, his gaze vacant, his once devout face now filled with bewilderment.

The women who were praying together looked up in alarm like startled birds, glancing around anxiously, their low sobs particularly clear in the silence.

“Our parishioners have been called by the Lord and are resting in heaven,” the priest’s voice was low and hoarse. He lowered his eyelids sadly, as if he had foreseen something. “Next, it will be our turn.”

With trembling hands, he pulled a brown medicine bottle from his robe pocket, stroking its rough surface, and said with a desperate yet calm tone, "I knew this day would come, so... I made some preparations."

He staggered down from the platform, tilted the bottle, and a few white pills rolled into his withered palm, which he then distributed to every woman in the church.

A young woman asked fearfully, "Father, what is this?"

“Child, Judgment Day has come, and this world is full of suffering,” the priest said in a voice so gentle it was almost a whisper.

He walked around in circles, distributing all the pills, then returned to the podium, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with compassion. "Now...we are about to return to the embrace of the Lord."

The women clutched the pills tightly in their hands, each with a different expression.

Some had blank stares, as if their souls had left their bodies;
Some looked around, trying to find a glimmer of hope;
Some were already in tears, silently accepting their fate.
Others wore a numb resolute expression, as if they had lost the strength to resist.

The priest himself had nothing in his hands. He simply used a low, seductive tone to persuade the women present to take the pills as soon as possible, as if that was the only way to peace.

In the suffocating silence, a sudden, ear-piercing screech of brakes came from outside the church, startling the stunned women.

Immediately afterwards, the heavy wooden church door was kicked open with a loud bang, sending wood chips flying everywhere.

In the blink of an eye, a group of fierce-looking armed men surged in like a tide, instantly occupying the entrance to the church.

The priest on the pulpit suddenly raised his voice, shouting hoarsely, "This is God's dwelling place, and no outsiders are allowed to trespass! You..."

Zhou Qingfeng, who led the charge, raised his hand and fired a shot, then curled his lip in disdain and said, "I am God."

(End of this chapter)