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墨書 Inktalez
Time flowed slowly, quietly passing in the battlefield that was about to be engulfed in smoke. Before Plank and his companions lay a town inhabited by the terrifying Zombies that struck fear into the hearts of people worldwide.
In front of them were thousands of Zombies, and the area was vast. Since this was primarily an agricultural region, most of the buildings were farms and ranches. In a one or two-mile radius, there might only be a few Zombies, but within the town itself, their numbers increased significantly.
A formidable Hummer was parked at the entrance of the town, and sweat had already begun to bead on the trigger of their firearms. They knew that a fight was imminent.
"Hey! Guys, it's just a couple of Zombies. What's the big deal? We risk our lives for a chance at glory and wealth—this is a deal worth making!" Plank maintained his calm demeanor, though the sweat in his palms betrayed him. His heart was anything but tranquil; facing Zombies, who could truly remain calm? It was all just a joke—deep down, they were anything but composed. The turmoil within them was real.
"Captain, how should we proceed? How do we fight this Battle of Time?" A few others gathered around to ask.
They had never fought Zombies before, so how could they know how to tackle this challenge? All they understood was that pulling the trigger meant killing; as for how to kill Zombies, they might as well ask their leader.
Plank was clearly pleased with his nickname. Sailing on the vast ocean was something every man dreamed of. Now, although it was just a title, who knew he couldn't buy a boat someday and sail out to sea? After all, he could afford a fishing boat back then. He just wasn't qualified for a yacht yet. But with so many wealthy people dead, there would surely be yachts without owners. As long as one had money, what couldn't be bought? The prices might even be quite cheap.
"How do we proceed? Of course, we create noise on the streets to lure those Fellows out and then take them down," Plank said as he pulled out a Metal Flask and took a hearty swig.
The others followed suit, taking a few swigs themselves.
It wasn't out of thirst; it was because of one saying: courage breeds courage. On the battlefield, even tough men could turn cowardly.
Only after the battle would they reclaim their trembling legs and truly be able to fight and struggle.
"Come on! Zombies! Let me see your stupid faces!" Plank shouted loudly, and the others began to yell like broken gongs alongside him. They hoped to draw out the Zombies for a fight—even if it meant their own deaths. They didn't want to live under such oppressive circumstances any longer.
Clearly, their plan worked; many of the surrounding Zombies had not tasted human flesh in quite some time. The living either hid in basements or had already escaped the area. The Zombies gathered here were drawn by those hiding underground; they cared little for anything else. As long as there was food, they could scour an area for a month searching for it.
Now, the roars of Plank and his companions had finally provoked them. Shadows of Zombies slowly emerged around them.
However, Plank and the others began to feel a sense of relief. They were just these ugly Fellows, after all; they could take them down.
"Kill!" Plank shouted loudly. The two Machine Gunners beside him immediately opened fire. Their weapons were aimed at the Zombies, and they began to spray bullets.
It was just a dozen Zombies. As soon as they showed their faces, they were torn to pieces, leaving a ground covered in shredded flesh. But soon, it transformed into Zombie Fluid and disappeared.
Perhaps it was only like this that they wouldn’t vomit. Plank even held back the urge to throw up as he continued shooting. He was in the main firing position, and the Optical Sight brought the face of a Zombie right in front of him, as if he could see the bullet pierce through its skull.
Suppressing the feeling of nausea, Plank began a new round of slaughter.
The Machine Gun in his hands kept firing, marking the bodies of the Zombies with traces of death.
Gradually, the number of Zombies decreased. They fought fiercely and savagely, delivering their final blows and burying those Zombies.
The sounds of killing spread continuously; all the Survivors heard it. They understood that what it brought could be peace or death.
In any chaotic moment, those holding guns should never be provoked, for they cared nothing for your life.
The sound of gunfire sent chills down their spines; they awaited that moment to arrive.
In the chaos, Plank charged forward with loud laughter, sounding like a madman. His hands waved continuously, and the crisp sound of bullet casings scattered through the air.
In front of them, thousands of Zombies surged forward. Many of these Zombies had been reinfected, having survived the initial Vital Energy outbreak but not the onslaught from their own kind. The ordinary Zombies turned them all into Zombies as well. As for the bloodthirsty Zombies, they began to evolve; although they had not yet reached the Second Tier, they were already stronger than the typical First-Level Zombie.
Plank and his group were oblivious to all this; they only knew to drive the Hummer recklessly, with bullets continuously depleting from their weapons.
Under the barrage of the Machine Gun, thousands of Zombies fell like wheat being harvested, never to rise again. They were merely a group waiting for slaughter.
The frenzy of Plank and his companions did not last long. The ammunition in their Hummer was limited, and their shooting was not particularly accurate, leading to significant waste of bullets.
Only Zheng Yifan could provide them with enough ammunition.
However, now there were less than ten thousand rounds left. If these bullets were given to the people at Hope Gathering Place, they could make magic happen and might even take down ten thousand Zombies. But Plank and his group were just ordinary people; they lacked precise Shooting Skills and did not possess exceptional physical prowess. They could only ensure that the Muzzle did not shake too much. They even dared not let the Zombies get too close, fearing them.
They were not seasoned warriors who could easily dispatch Zombies; even if one was right in front of them, it would not hinder their shooting.
Plank and his group had their own characteristics: they were numerous. The number of strong warriors at Hope Gathering Place was limited, while the Survivors in Australia were like a vast sea of people. Around Plank, there were several Farmers dealing with Zombies; those individuals wielded even more ordinary firearms, only Submachine Guns in hand, with the aim of clearing out scattered Zombies.
Compared to them, Plank and his group could still be considered somewhat professional.
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