Chapter 009: Flight for Survival

Wang Dawei shakily raised his hand, and Han Xue hurried forward to grasp it. To her horror, she discovered his arm was coated in a layer of viscous, blood-red fluid—it was blood. Her pupils contracted; blood was seeping from his pores. This was no good omen.

Steadying herself, she plunged the syringe into his arm and administered the sedative. The events of the day had been overwhelming; she needed composure to face what was ahead. Yet the dose seemed powerless. Wang Dawei grew increasingly distressed, the medication having no effect.

Zhou Yirong closed his eyes and sighed. If this continued, Wang Dawei was as good as dead.

"Increase the dosage. Keep injecting!"

"How much?"

"Nine more syringes!"

Han Xue's eyes widened. "Are you sure? Nine more? That could kill him!"

"If you don't, he dies anyway—he'll be crushed by that heart!"

Han Xue fell silent. She hadn't participated in the ancient heart research, so Zhou Yirong held absolute authority in this matter. She drew out nine more vials, administering them in two rounds. In total, ten sedatives entered Wang Dawei's veins; even a wild beast would be subdued by such a dose.

Once he slipped into unconsciousness, Han Xue cleaned the blood from his mouth, then retreated.

...

When humans transformed into beastfolk, they retained intelligence, but communication with humans was impossible. The twenty beastfolk before them were such creatures. After dragging Old Chen from the bulldozer, they conferred among themselves. Then, they began searching the town for hidden humans.

For them, the hunt was simple—smash doors and windows with their fists, enter, and kill anyone found inside.

Screams, wails, and cries erupted throughout the town, turning it into a slaughterhouse.

Zhou Yirong fastened his seatbelt, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other poised on the car key, ready to start the engine. Two beastfolk were already approaching.

Breaths inside the vehicle grew tense. Han Xue quietly picked up a pistol, her hands trembling. She had held scalpels, dissected corpses, but never touched a gun, much less killed with one.

Zhou Yirong glanced at her, gave a bitter laugh. "This is it. Our journey as fugitives begins..."

They came closer—fifty meters. Thirty. Only twenty left.

The jeep roared to life, and the dozen beastfolk outside turned as one towards them.

Zhou Yirong's scalp tingled; he slammed the accelerator, and the jeep shot forward.

Howls erupted as the nearest beastfolk chased after them.

"Quick! Faster! They're gaining!"

Thirty yards. Fifty. Eighty...

Zhou Yirong pushed the jeep to its limits, racing down the narrow rural road at over a hundred miles per hour. He dared not go faster; any more speed would spell their doom in a crash.

Han Xue's pale face was drained of color, her hand clutching the pistol soaked with sweat.

The jeep's roar attracted even more beastfolk—dozens, then twenty, then thirty, then more.

Watching the rearview mirror fill with pursuers, Zhou Yirong felt his skin crawl. How many were there? Surely the previous twenty weren't all.

Half an hour later, the jeep entered the desert. The road deteriorated—though still paved, it was aged and broken. The car jolted violently.

Over fifty beastfolk still pursued, relentless, as if the chase would never end.

Just then, the car's radio crackled with static, and a voice came through. Both Han Xue and Zhou Yirong froze—it was Professor Han Yi.

"Where have you two run off to, you little rascals?"

"Old man, where are you?" Han Xue's voice trembled with tears. For the first time in her life, she tasted such hardship—she was on the verge of collapse. But she didn't cry. The beastfolk still chased them; she couldn't afford to lose control.

"The capital has stabilized!" The radio broadcast a message of hope, and the two inside felt a surge of relief.

"Not all infected turn into beastfolk—the current rate is 26.5%, but it's still rising."

They listened in silence, eyes on the ever-present threat outside.

"Ah! Watch out!" Han Xue suddenly screamed.

Two beastfolk appeared at the jeep's side, slamming into it violently. The vehicle rocked, the rear compartment swaying dangerously, close to overturning.

"Where are you? What's happening?" came Professor Han Yi's anxious voice through the radio.

Zhou Yirong gripped the steering wheel with both hands, turning desperately to steady the car. But more beastfolk caught up—two, then three. One leapt onto the roof, pressing its monstrous face against the windshield.

Thunderous crashes—the road ahead vanished from sight, and the jeep lost control.

At high speed, it flipped, rolling 360 degrees across the concrete before plunging headlong into the desert.

Han Xue lost consciousness instantly.

Zhou Yirong, luckier, only suffered a fractured left arm, but remained awake.

Yet sometimes, consciousness is a cruel gift.

More beastfolk swarmed around, encircling the vehicle in a dense mass. Fifty? No, far more—at a glance, Zhou Yirong counted at least a hundred.

Shaking, he reached for the seatbelt, unfastened it, and painfully took the pistol from Han Xue's hand.

He wasn't thinking of resistance; that was futile. Trapped in the desert, surrounded by a horde, survival was impossible unless he was superhuman.

But he was not.

"What happened? What was that noise? Are you in danger?" Professor Han Yi's voice came through the radio, mingled with chaotic shouts from other staff.

Zhou Yirong sighed, aimed the pistol at Han Xue's temple; a single pull would end her life.

He hesitated, then shifted aim to her heart.

This girl was far too mischievous—if she ever learned in the underworld that he had shot her in the head, she would surely give him trouble. Better the heart; at least she'd remain beautiful.

He picked up the walkie-talkie, took a breath, and spoke in a low, resigned voice. "Teacher, perhaps I was wrong..."

"You finally speak! Enough nonsense, tell me what happened—I'll send troops to protect you!"

"No need... It's too late... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought Xiao Xue along. Forgive me..."

He chambered a round, and, with resolve, pulled the trigger.

Xiao Xue, farewell...

Bang!

A massive fist crashed through the window, slamming into Zhou Yirong's right arm. He howled in pain, tears streaming down his face.

His right arm hung limp.

It was over. Over.

Zhou Yirong trembled all over, blaming his own indecision—now even death would not come easily.

The beastfolk, having smashed through the window, grasped the roof and, with a sudden burst of strength, lifted the entire jeep.

Bang!

Another crash—the car was hoisted then slammed back to the ground.

Zhou Yirong was tossed around inside, finally smashing his head against the dashboard, and slipped into unconsciousness...

Roars of triumph echoed from the beastfolk, proclaiming their victory.

The car, like a football, was kicked and battered from side to side; inside, the occupants had fallen silent, their fate unknown.

A dust storm swept the sky, waves of heat rolling across the desert.

The sands seemed to whisper to humanity: all things return to dust; death holds no terror. Why struggle?

Shifting sands mirror the passing years; the ocean becomes fields.

Time, tranquil and serene, transforms into grains of sand, watching this world from the endless, desolate sea.

Whether it weeps or laughs, all is rendered meaningless.