At half past five in the morning, the thick fog outside the bridge tunnel was like a heavy shroud, completely covering the ruins and wilderness.
"Brother, you've worked hard. Get some rest." Zhou Yang walked out of the inner room rubbing his bleary eyes, a trace of sincerity in his voice.
The Gardener wasted no words. He simply scanned the surrounding trap placements, confirming these humans wouldn't do anything stupid while he slept, and tersely uttered a single word: "Alright." He holstered his pistol at his waist and leaned against the coldest corner of the wall, closing his eyes.
For him, deep sleep was a luxury. His cerebral cortex remained sensitive to high-frequency external noises. Any unnatural vibration, and he could draw his dagger and slit a throat within 0.5 seconds.
At 11 a.m., the Gardener opened his eyes precisely on time.
On the makeshift table, Zhou Xili had prepared a simple lunch—thin rice porridge and a bit of pickled vegetables. The Gardener ate expressionlessly, replenishing the carbohydrates needed to sustain his bodily functions.
"Got a vehicle?" The Gardener suddenly set down his chopsticks, his gaze shifting to Zhou Yang.
Zhou Yang and Gao Yuan were clearly caught off guard by the sudden question. Zhou Yang quickly swallowed the porridge in his mouth and hurriedly replied, "Yes, brother. It's in that hidden cave out back. But the tank's almost empty, only enough for a short drive."
He paused, glanced at the Gardener's pitch-black tactical uniform as if weighing something, then added, "But there's a place to get fuel. Since you're thinking of moving, we'll set off after lunch."
The Gardener nodded. He needed mobility. Although it was still a few hours until 3 p.m.—that mysterious "supply refresh" node—he had to reconnoiter the surrounding geography in advance.
After lunch, Zhou Yang and Gao Yuan led the Gardener through a field of rubble behind the bridge tunnel to a vine-covered air-raid shelter entrance. Inside sat a modified pickup truck. The paint was worn, but the engine sounded steady. Gao Yuan tossed a heavy burlap sack into the truck bed—their bargaining chips for trading supplies.
The pickup truck jolted along the rugged mountain road. The Gardener sat in the back seat, motionless as a stone statue.
About thirty minutes later, a lone gas station appeared on the horizon. The convenience store's doors and windows were boarded up with steel plates, leaving only a narrow transaction slot.
As the pickup's engine died, a thuggish-looking hoodlum with dyed, straw-yellow hair sauntered out from the store's side door. He carried a sharp machete, his eyes brazenly sizing up Zhou Yang and the truck.
"Well, well, Old Zhou. What brings you here today?" The yellow-haired hoodlum spat out a blade of grass and chuckled. "Did you bring that pretty little sister of yours for me to see today?"
"Cut the crap, Da Di. Two cans of fuel." Zhou Yang's expression darkened as he signaled Gao Yuan to unload.
Gao Yuan jumped out of the truck and dumped the large sack onto the ground. Several bundles of tender vegetables—a rare sight in the apocalypse—carrots, and two unopened packs of cheap cigarettes scattered across the dirt.
The yellow-haired man's eyes lit up, but he didn't immediately reach for the goods. Out of habit, he peered into the vehicle. When his gaze moved past Zhou Yang and landed on the Gardener in the back seat—dressed in full black special ops gear, wearing tactical gloves, with eyes as cold as a corpse's—his leering grin instantly froze.
That aura... this man had killed, and killed many.
The yellow-haired hoodlum had spent years robbing survivors in these parts and possessed an animalistic intuition for danger. His Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty as he quickly plastered on an obsequious smile, addressing Zhou Yang. "Alright, alright, Brother Zhou. For the sake of our long-standing business, I'll throw in an extra half-can of fuel today. What can I say? We go way back."
He swiftly whistled. Moments later, several other hoodlums ran out of the store carrying fuel cans, hastily loading two and a half cans of gasoline into the pickup's bed. They didn't dare even glance at the Gardener, retreating hurriedly back inside after finishing.
The Gardener watched all this coldly. In his eyes, the only difference between these thugs and zombies was that they hadn't rotted yet.
"Let's go," the Gardener said in a low voice.
Zhou Yang started the engine, and the pickup truck headed back onto the mountain road.
"Brother Gardener, we owe you one back there," Zhou Yang said while driving. "Those bastards are usually ruthless, always shortchanging us. But today they changed their tune."
The Gardener didn't respond. He glanced down at the tactical terminal on his wrist. Time was slowly passing.
14:45.
Fifteen minutes until the supply refresh.
As time passed, a peculiar spatial fluctuation seemed to coalesce around him.
A faint blue light, visible only to the Gardener, flickered around his body. His previously empty tactical vest suddenly grew heavy; several loaded magazines materialized in the pouches. The assault rifle abandoned in the forest now rested silently on his back, its metal surface gleaming coldly.
Even the pistol at his waist had its magazine fully replenished.
Neither Zhou Yang nor Gao Yuan in the front seats noticed this.
The pickup truck struggled forward along the bumpy dirt road, its engine groaning under the strain.
"Brother Gardener, where to next?" Zhou Yang asked, steering to avoid a large rock.
"To F University in F City," the Gardener's voice remained calm.
"F University?" Zhou Yang was momentarily stunned, clearly not expecting that destination.
"Brother Yang, I know the way," Gao Yuan said, flicking his cigarette butt out the window. "Used to take back roads there for deliveries. Should avoid the main road hordes."
However, road conditions in the apocalypse were always unpredictable.
An hour later, the pickup truck was forced to stop before a collapsed bridge. The shortcut to F University was completely blocked by countless abandoned vehicles. Layer upon layer of car wreckage formed a steel tomb, interspersed with long-dried bloodstains and severed limbs.
"Uh, looks like we'll have to take the long way around," Gao Yuan said, scratching his head helplessly at the sight.
There was no other choice. They had to turn back.
As time passed, the sky gradually darkened. The dying sun, blood-red, stretched the shadows of withered trees into long, twisted shapes, like countless ghostly hands clawing at the ground. After hours of detours and jolting, everyone's nerves were stretched to the breaking point.
"It's getting dark," Gao Yuan remarked, glancing at the dim woods outside the window. He lit another cigarette to calm his nerves, then turned and offered one to the Gardener in the back. "Brother, want one? Helps you stay alert."
The Gardener waved a hand in refusal. His gaze remained fixed out the window, lost in thought.
After a brief discussion, the three decided to return to the bridge tunnel safehouse to rest. Nighttime in the wilderness was too risky; encountering those mutants would be trouble.
When the pickup truck reached a secluded forest path a few kilometers from the bridge tunnel safehouse, the vehicle suddenly shuddered violently a few times, then the engine died completely, leaving it dead in its tracks.
"Damn, out of gas," Zhou Yang sighed, glancing at the empty fuel gauge.
Surrounding them was a deathly silent forest, only the rustling of leaves in the wind. In the apocalypse, such silence often meant danger.
"I'll go refuel," Zhou Yang said, lighting another cigarette. Nicotine offered him a sliver of security. He pushed open the driver's door, and a cold wind instantly flooded the cabin.
He walked to the back, opened the tailgate, and fumbled for the two spare fuel cans by the weak moonlight. Perhaps due to driving fatigue, or his hands stiffening in the cold wind, his fingers slipped as he lifted one of the cans.
*Clang!*
The heavy can crashed to the ground, rolled down the roadside slope, crashing through bushes with a loud rustling noise before coming to a stop in the pitch-black darkness at the bottom.
"Damn it! Just my luck!" Zhou Yang cursed under his breath, angrily stamping out his cigarette. "Stay in the truck. I'll go get the can."
"Be careful, Brother Yang," Gao Yuan called from inside the vehicle.
"Those blind bastards shouldn't be out this late," Zhou Yang muttered to himself, as if bolstering his courage. He tightened his leather jacket, grabbed his shotgun, and carefully made his way down the slope, stumbling over the uneven ground.
Inside the truck, the Gardener's brow furrowed slightly.
Night fell like thick ink, completely swallowing the wild forest. A cold wind whistled through dead branches and fallen leaves, making eerie sounds like the moans of the dead.
Zhou Yang finally felt the cold metal of the fuel can at the bottom of the slope. The sensation brought him a slight sense of relief. Just as he picked it up and prepared to turn back, the surrounding underbrush suddenly rustled with an extremely faint, unnatural sound. It wasn't the wind. It sounded more like something heavy being dragged.
"Who's there? Who is it?" Zhou Yang abruptly raised his double-barreled shotgun, the muzzle trembling as he pointed it toward the rustling bushes. His heart hammered against his ribs, fear coiling around his nerves like a venomous snake.
No response. Only the eerie sound slowly fading away, as if a silent lure. Zhou Yang swallowed hard. As if possessed, instead of immediately returning up the slope, he gripped his gun and stepped cautiously toward the narrow path hidden behind the bushes.
Perspective shift.
Inside the pickup truck, Gao Yuan had finished his third cigarette, grinding the butt into the floor.
"He's taking too long," Gao Yuan said, glancing at the luminous dial on his wrist. Ten minutes had passed, and the slope below remained deathly quiet.
In the back seat, the Gardener slowly opened his eyes, a cold glint flashing in his green irises in the dark. "I'll go check. What about you?"
"I'll stay in the truck. Or we'll get a ticket," Gao Yuan forced out a poor joke, trying to lighten the oppressive atmosphere. He pointed to the walkie-talkie on the dashboard. "Brother Yang has one on him. If you find him, remember to call in."
"Fine."
The Gardener wasted no words. He pushed open the door. His black tactical boots landed on the leaf-covered ground with almost no sound. He closed the door behind him and instantly melted into the night.
Gao Yuan watched through the window as the tall figure disappeared into the shadows down the slope. Only then, by the reflection of moonlight, did he notice the menacing-looking assault rifle strapped to the Gardener's back.
"When did he get that big gun..." Gao Yuan's fingers trembled, ash falling onto his pants. He didn't bother brushing it off, a nameless chill rising in his heart.
Down the slope, the Gardener advanced swiftly along the dirt path. His Black Watch tactical night-vision goggles allowed him to clearly distinguish the chaotic footprints on the ground—left by Zhou Yang. They were panicked and growing deeper.
"How far did this guy go?" the Gardener muttered under his breath, quickening his pace.
After about five minutes, a dilapidated wooden cabin appeared at the edge of the woods. It stood alone in a small clearing, surrounded by waist-high weeds. Its windows were dark holes, like a single eye watching visitors.
The Gardener approached the door and gave it a gentle push. The rotten wood emitted a teeth-grating creak as it slowly swung open.
Inside, the air was thick with a nauseating smell of blood and decay.
"Anyone here?" The Gardener raised his pistol, pressing his body against the wall as he advanced step by step into the interior.
Suddenly, a low, indistinct muttering came from an inner room. It sounded like some ancient incantation, or the ravings of a madman.
The Gardener's eyes narrowed. He moved swiftly, kicking the door open.
In the center of the room, a rusty metal stove glowed with flickering flames, illuminating a hunched back. It was an old man with white hair, standing before the stove, his back to the door, continuously mumbling something.
The Gardener didn't fire immediately. His gaze was drawn to a blood-soaked shotgun on the floor—Zhou Yang's gun.
The moment he crouched to examine the weapon, the old man—who had been facing away—suddenly twisted his head around at an angle that defied human joint structure. His face was covered in black veins, his eyes completely blood-red. The old man, now holding a rusty fire axe he'd produced from nowhere, let out an inhuman roar and swung it viciously at the Gardener!
The strike was lightning-fast and utterly without warning.
An ordinary person would have been decapitated on the spot. But the Gardener was Black Watch.
As the axe blade was about to connect with his head, his left hand jerked upward, the pistol in his grip intercepting the axe handle with a hard metallic clang.
"Fuck," the Gardener couldn't help but curse.
The immense force numbed his hand, but he didn't pause. Using the momentum, he threw his body sharply to the right.
The old man's strike missed, his body stumbling forward from the inertia.
In that split second, the Gardener's right hand shot toward his back like lightning. The assault rifle was in his grip instantly, the safety flicked off by his thumb as he drew.
*Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!*
The suppressor's muffled reports sounded especially heavy in the cramped room.
One bullet drilled precisely into the back of the old man's head, exploding in a spray of red and white. Two more followed in a triangular pattern into his back, utterly destroying his spine and heart.
The old man's body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. It twitched a few times, then lay still.
After confirming the target's death, the Gardener didn't let his guard down. In a corner of the room, he found a floorboard that had been pried up, revealing a staircase leading underground.
An even stronger smell of blood wafted up from below.
The Gardener descended the stairs. In the dimly lit basement, he found Zhou Yang.
The man he'd shared a meal with just hours ago now lay in a pool of blood like a heap of ruined meat. His abdomen had been slit open with a sharp tool. His thigh bone was twisted at a grotesque angle, clearly smashed by a heavy object.
The Gardener stepped forward and crouched down to examine him.
"Ugh..." Zhou Yang wasn't quite dead, but his clouded eyes had already lost focus. With great effort, he rolled his eyes toward the Gardener. A flicker of hope appeared in his gaze before a torrent of bloody froth gushed from his mouth.
"Take... take care... of her..."
These were his last words to the world. After uttering them, his head lolled to the side, and his breath ceased completely.
The Gardener looked at the face with its unseeing eyes and was silent for a moment. He didn't speak, merely reached out and slowly closed Zhou Yang's eyelids.
Then, he drew his pistol and, without hesitation, fired a single shot into Zhou Yang's forehead.
*Thwip.*
It was to prevent mutation, and the final mercy the Gardener could offer Zhou Yang.
At that moment, the walkie-talkie attached to Zhou Yang's corpse crackled with a burst of harsh static, followed by Gao Yuan's heart-rending scream:
"Ahhhh! *Bang! Bang!* Monster! Don't come any closer! Ahhhh!"
Gunfire, crashing sounds, and screams mixed together like a symphony from hell. A few seconds later, everything fell into dead silence, leaving only the "shhh" of static from the walkie-talkie.
The Gardener stood up, gave the walkie-talkie in his hand a cold glance, then crushed it.