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

The helicopter flew at an altitude of 3,000 feet for about 40 minutes.

The roar of the engine was reduced by more than half in the sealed cabin, but the continuous, low-frequency vibrations coming from under the seats made everyone's teeth chatter involuntarily.

The cabin was very crowded.

The first Black Hawk helicopter carried twelve people. Apart from He Yuanchao and a pilot occupying the front cockpit, Alice, Jill, Angela, the mother and son, the old pastor, and three lightly injured survivors sat in the rear cockpit.

People were packed together.

Some people sat on the floor, some leaned against the bulkhead, babies were crying, and an old pastor was praying quietly.

The air was filled with the smells of sweat, blood, and the nauseating stench of evaporated aviation fuel.

Angela sat on Jill's lap, her face buried in the teddy bear, her body still trembling.

Alice leaned against the hatch, still clutching the Beretta in her hand. Her eyes were fixed on the small window in the hatch, watching the churning gray clouds outside.

He Yuanchao sat in the passenger seat, the dashboard in front of him his only source of information.

Height: 3200 feet.

Speed: 260 kilometers per hour.

Heading: 15 degrees north of due east.

Oil content: 62%.

The system countdown continued to tick on his retina.

Distance from nuclear bomb delivery - 00:52:17.

"Faster," He Yuanchao said to the pilot.

The pilot's hands were white from gripping the control stick: "Sir, this is the cruise limit. Any faster and the engine will overheat."

"That would be too hot. By the time it cools down, we'll either have already escaped or turned to ash. You choose."

The pilot swallowed hard.

The accelerator was pushed to the floor.

The engine's roar suddenly rose an octave, and the entire helicopter lurched forward as if it had been kicked in the rear.

The speedometer needle slowly climbed to 285.

The fuselage began to resonate slightly.

He Yuanchao stared at the instrument panel while using the system radar to monitor the positions of the two helicopters behind him.

They followed very closely.

The three Black Hawk helicopters, like three iron birds desperately flapping their wings, raced eastward against the gray sky.

Time passed by, second by second.

00:31:44.

00:22:08.

00:15:33.

The atmosphere in the cabin was extremely oppressive. Some people were silently shedding tears, some were motionless with their eyes closed, and some were constantly stroking the cross pendant in their hands.

No one spoke.

At such moments, language is superfluous.

00:08:12.

He Yuanchao turned on the onboard communicator.

"Units 2 and 3, please be aware."

"Eight minutes until bombing. We're currently about—" He calculated in his mind, "—370 kilometers from downtown Raccoon City. Theoretically, we're already outside the safe zone, but the electromagnetic pulse from the nuclear explosion could affect electronic equipment. Prepare for contingencies."

"Unit 2 received."

"Unit 3 received."

00:03:00.

three minutes.

He Yuanchao turned his head and looked back through the side window of the cockpit.

The direction of Raccoon City.

I couldn't see anything. Only endless gray clouds.

But he knew that beneath that cloud, somewhere more than 300 kilometers away, a city that once housed 300,000 people was awaiting its end.

00:01:00.

One minute.

He Yuanchao closed his eyes.

It's not fear.

It is about remembering.

Remember those he didn't have time to save.

Those families who are hiding in basements and waiting for rescue.

Those ordinary people who collapsed by the roadside and will never wake up again.

The lone, blood-stained children's sneaker lay on the curb.

00:00:03.

00:00:02.

00:00:01.

Then--

Its daybreak.

It's not the kind of brightness you see when the sun rises.

A white light suddenly burst forth from behind, from the west, and from the horizon more than 300 kilometers away.

The light was incredibly intense, piercing through thousands of meters of thick clouds and turning the entire sky into a blinding, ghastly white.

Even at such a great distance, even with their backs to the blast center, the white light still illuminated the cockpit as brightly as a midday desert.

The pilot instinctively raised his arm to shield his eyes.

Someone screamed from the rear cabin.

The baby's crying became even more intense.

"Don't look!" He Yuanchao roared, "Everyone close your eyes! Bow your heads!"

The white light lasted for about two to three seconds.

Then it went dark.

He Yuanchao slowly opened his eyes and looked back at the western horizon.

He saw it.

A huge, gray-white pillar is rising from the horizon.

At the base of the pillar were billowing flames and dust, while at the top it was slowly expanding and spreading, like a gray mushroom in full bloom.

Mushroom cloud.

Even from over 300 kilometers away, the cloud was still enormous and suffocating. Within tens of seconds, it rose to an altitude of several thousand meters, its top beginning to disperse as high-altitude air currents blew it away, leaving a long, gray tail.

Someone in the cabin turned around and glanced back.

Then the person sat down on the ground with a "thud," trembling all over.

The old pastor's prayer abruptly stopped. He stared at the mushroom cloud, his lips moving several times, but he couldn't utter a single word.

Angela didn't look. Jill pressed her face against her chest, preventing her from seeing.

Alice saw it.

Her face turned as white as paper in that instant.

Then she turned her head and looked at He Yuanchao.

He Yuanchao did not turn around.

He stared at the sky ahead.

His hands were on his knees.

There was no shaking.

But it was held very tightly.

My fingernails dug into my palm.

About thirty seconds later.

The shockwave has arrived.

Although the force had diminished to a negligible level, it still created a violent air disturbance at this distance. The helicopter was violently shaken several times by the crosswind, and the alarm went off.

The pilot desperately held the control stick steady.

He Yuanchao reached out to help him hold down the pole.

A dozen seconds later, the airflow subsided.

The helicopter has regained stability.

The alarm stopped.

The cabin fell silent.

That kind of quiet is not tranquility.

It is a blankness that comes after all emotions have been completely shattered by a tremendous shock.

He Yuanchao released the control lever.

He glanced at the fuel gauge.

The pointer dropped from 62 percent to 47 percent—that full-speed flight just now burned up a lot of fuel.

Based on the remaining fuel, it should be able to fly for a while longer.

He did the math.

Forty-five minutes to an hour.

Then we need to find a place to land.

He Yuanchao searched for his current location on the system map.

The eastern edge of the Allegheny Mountains.

Below are rolling hills and dense forests. The area is sparsely populated.

In theory, this is a good thing—being away from the city means being away from zombie-infested areas.

But that also means there are no supply points.

He Yuanchao leaned back in his chair.

He looked up at the aluminum alloy skin covering the top of the cockpit.

"He's alive."

He said it softly.

I wasn't saying this to anyone in particular.

Just checking.