Courtyard House: I fish in the heavens, a professional bird abuser.

The smoke of battle has not yet cleared.

He Yuanchao stepped over a zombie corpse at his feet—stepping on the protruding intestines with a sickening "plop" sound—and then walked behind the counter, as if the shop owner had returned to inspect the place.

"Is there any stock left?"

He bent down and rummaged through several drawers under the counter.

Most of them have been cleared out.

But hidden in the corner were two boxes of 9mm Parabellum pistol ammunition, pressed under a stack of old newspapers.

He Yuanchao took out the ammunition box and weighed it in his hand.

"Fifty shots each."

He tossed one of the boxes behind him.

"then."

Jill instinctively reached out and caught it.

The box felt heavy in her palm.

Nine millimeters. That's exactly the caliber of her Beretta 92F.

"you--"

"Don't thank me." He Yuanchao didn't even turn his head, continuing to rummage through the ammunition. "Saying thank you in a place like this is too pretentious. We should use this time to quickly reload the magazines; the guests outside won't wait for us to finish our pleasantries before coming in."

Jill glanced at the ammunition box in her hand, then at He Yuanchao's back as he crouched behind the counter rummaging through things.

She opened the ammunition box.

His fingers skillfully loaded the bullets into the magazine one by one.

"Click, click, click."

The sound of the plucking was very rhythmic.

Peyton, using an aluminum tube salvaged from the shelf as a crutch, limped over to Jill. His face was pale and flushed, and cold sweat constantly beaded on his forehead.

"Jill, do you believe this man?" Peyton's voice was low, and he kept glancing at He Yuanchao out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't believe you." Jill's answer was crisp and decisive. The magazine was full, and she pushed it into the gun with a "click".

"But I believe in bullets."

"He gave us bullets; at least for now, he's not the enemy."

As for the future—

Jill tucked the gun back into its tactical holster on her waist.

"We'll talk about it later."

He Yuanchao pulled out a hunting dagger from behind the counter. The blade was six inches long, single-edged, and the handle was covered with non-slip rubber. It was of average quality, but in the apocalypse, having a handy knife was already a blessing.

He tucked the knife behind his waist.

Stand up.

"Alright, that's enough. We can't stay here long. The gunfire was too loud; all the carnage within a few hundred meters will be converging on this side."

He walked to the shattered shop window and glanced outside.

really.

In the distance, several swaying figures could already be seen moving in this direction.

The speed is not fast, but the quantity is increasing.

Five, eight, a dozen or so...

Like sharks that have smelled blood, they are slowly gathering.

"Do you have a car?" He Yuanchao asked Jill, turning around.

"Yes." Jill pointed towards the back door. "There's a police car parked in the back alley. It's still drivable, but it's low on gas."

"How far can it run?"

"Approximately... fifteen to twenty kilometers."

He Yuanchao did some mental calculations.

Twenty kilometers.

It's reached the edge of the city.

But it wasn't enough to get out of Raccoon City.

The city's blockade extends forty kilometers away, where the Umbrella Corporation and the military have set up roadblocks and checkpoints. Getting out with just a police car and a few guns is a pipe dream.

However, the most urgent matter right now is not leaving the city.

I need to find a safe place, catch my breath, and clear my head.

"Go through the back door," He Yuanchao decided.

"Go southeast, there's a church over there—I saw it on the road just now."

"A church?" Peyton frowned. "What use is a church?"

"Thick walls, heavy doors, small windows," He Yuanchao counted on his fingers, "Much sturdier than this run-down gun shop. If we go in and lock the door, it should hold out for at least a while."

"and--"

He paused.

"Churches usually have basements."

"The basement means a backup exit."

"In a godforsaken place like this, never get yourself stuck in a dead end."

Jill glanced at him.

The man spoke with such composure that it didn't sound like he was discussing escaping; it sounded more like he was formulating a work plan.

Clear and logical.

The logic is rigorous.

Moreover, every decision carries a decisiveness that comes from experiencing countless life-or-death choices.

This is no ordinary person.

Jill has been a STARS member for so many years and has worked with many commanders, but those who can remain so calm in such extreme conditions can be counted on one hand.

"OK."

Jill tugged at the buckle on the shoulder strap of her bulletproof vest.

"I'm driving."

"You sit in the passenger seat. Payton is in the back."

"Any objections?"

"No." He Yuanchao shrugged. "It's your car, you decide what to do with it."

The three people filed out through the back door.

A black and white Raccoon City police patrol car was parked in the back alley.

The car was covered in dust, but didn't appear to be badly damaged. The windshield had a crack, but it was still relatively intact. There was a dark, unsightly thing stuck to the front bumper; I didn't know if it was mud or something else, and I didn't want to investigate further.

Jill opened the driver's side door and got in.

The key is still in the ignition switch.

She twisted it.

The engine coughed twice, then came back to life with a "whoosh".

"Walk."

He Yuanchao opened the passenger door and got in.

Payton was half-helped, half-shoved into the back seat. The guy's legs were hurting so badly he could barely stand; his face was sallow and his eyes were dark-rimmed.

He Yuanchao's gaze swept over Payton's bandaged calf.

The bandages were wrapped very tightly.

But the edges of the fabric were already soaked with dark red bloodstains.

And that color—

He Yuanchao's pupils contracted slightly.

That's not a normal bright red.

It's a darker red, with a hint of purplish-black.

Ordinary external injuries wouldn't be this color.

unless--

It was bitten.

"drive."

He Yuanchao withdrew his gaze and said nothing.

Jill stepped on the gas.

The police car roared as its tires crushed the debris and rubble on the ground and sped out of the alley.

The car sped along the deserted main road.

The speedometer needle quickly exceeded eighty.

In a city without red lights, traffic police, or even living people, this is the safest speed—fast enough to avoid being caught by hordes of zombies, yet not too fast enough to avoid overturned vehicles on the road.

He Yuanchao sat in the passenger seat, with the shotgun resting horizontally on his lap.

He looked out through the passenger window.

The street scene is rapidly receding.

Every street had a similar scene—overturned cars, shattered glass, and gray figures wandering around the roadside in twos and threes.

Occasionally, one or two corpses can be seen lying on the roadside.

Some of them had already begun to rot, and flies were buzzing around them.

Some of them are still very fresh.

"How long has this city been occupied?" He Yuanchao suddenly asked.

"About... three days." Jill stared at the road ahead, her voice a little hoarse.

"Three days ago, the T-virus spread from the groundwater system to the tap water network. On the first day, some people only had fevers and vomiting. On the second day, the hospitals were overwhelmed—too many people flooded into the emergency rooms, and then the dead came back to life."

"On the third day, the military sealed off the city."

"They said we need to quarantine."

"Actually, it's just preventing people from going out."

"Let us just wait to die inside."

Jill's fingers were white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

He Yuanchao did not respond.

He knew this kind of anger.

In the world of "Bright Sword," he had seen far too many ordinary people who were treated as pawns by the higher-ups.

During wartime, they would say you are the city walls and pillars.

When it's time to sacrifice, they'll just leave you on the battlefield to die.

"Three days." He Yuanchao repeated the number.

Then the corner of his mouth curled up slightly.

It's not because I find it funny.

Instead, he was plotting something in his mind.

Three days.

The city has fallen.

But it hasn't completely rotted yet.

There should still be some parts of the power system still operating.

Although the tap water is no longer drinkable, there should still be water in the fire hydrants.

The goods in large shopping malls and warehouses will not be completely looted—after all, most of the people who looted have already become rotten flesh that no longer needs the goods.

In other words.

The city is now a huge, unattended treasure trove filled with supplies and experimental data...

As long as he has enough firepower and manpower.

That way, we can empty this place out.

In front.

A Gothic-style church spire came into view.

Gray stone walls, colorful rose windows, and that cross that is faintly visible in the smoke and dust.

"arrive."

Jill slammed on the brakes.

The police car screeched to a halt in front of the church.

He Yuanchao pushed open the car door and got out of the car.

He looked up at the church.

The wall is indeed thick.

The door was indeed heavy.

Moreover, from the outside, it appears that this place has not been invaded by zombies—the doors and windows are intact, with no signs of damage.

"Walk."

He Yuanchao patted the shotgun twice.

"Let's go inside and settle in first."

"Then let's have a proper talk—about how to survive in this godforsaken place."

He stepped onto the church steps.

Push open that heavy oak door.

The air inside carried a musty sandalwood scent, mixed with the smoke from burnt-out candles.

The long wooden benches are arranged neatly.

The candles on the altar were still burning.

It's safe here for now.

But He Yuanchao knew.

Safety, in the apocalypse, is always temporary.