Fortunately, the car wasn’t running even lower on fuel; breaking down on the road would have been an absolute nightmare.
Throughout the journey, I had to meticulously swerve around abandoned vehicles, which significantly hampered my speed.
Furthermore, my earlier small experiment received further validation: zombies did not unconditionally approach every human.
On the night of the 17th, Jing Lan had simply parked the car on the road and slept inside, only to wake the next morning to find no zombies waiting nearby to greet him.
The winding road to Bailu Reservoir stretched for hours, and it was only after several arduous hours of driving that he finally neared his destination.
After burying his friend’s body with immense reluctance, Jing Lan could only press on toward his objective, guided solely by instinct.
Upon closer reflection, the feasibility of his provisional plan verged on zero: to locate a seaplane and fly it directly to the rooftop of Keke’s ethnic middle school.
Even disregarding his lack of piloting skills, should he somehow manage to get it airborne (as the AI Deepseek was now disconnected, preventing him from inquiring about flying techniques), landing on the school’s main building would present a host of new problems.
For instance, how would he take off?
The two interconnected school buildings spanned less than 200 meters, a distance barely adequate for landing.
Attempting a takeoff there would likely result in a barbecue party for the zombie students shambling across the playground.
Furthermore, civilian seaplanes typically have small fuel tanks, allowing for only about an hour of flight time.
If that were the case, even a successful takeoff would likely mean no return flight, forcing him to scramble for an impromptu landing spot.
The more he thought about it, the more endless the problems seemed.
It was only then that Jing Lan was forced to admit the truth: his arduous journey to this place was perhaps nothing more than an act of escape.
Despite always believing himself to be a person of deep loyalty and righteousness, in the face of disaster, the most fundamental instinct for survival still held absolute sway.
Even knowing his cousin awaited him there, the thought of hundreds of thousands of ravenous walking corpses still swarming the county town made Jing Lan’s resolve to rescue his loved ones waver ever so slightly.
Perhaps looking at their photos would fortify his resolve.
Pulling out his phone, he began to scroll through photos of himself with his cousin and Ling Yechen, his pace unconsciously slowing.
Those once mundane scenes now appeared as illustrations from a fantasy novel, imbued with an unsettling unreality.
Yet, each time he saw Ling Yechen’s somewhat shy but still handsome face, Jing Lan would quickly swipe past, a flicker of fear in his chest.
It was only when an incoming call flashed across the screen that Jing Lan realized he was wasting precious time.
The owner of the unfamiliar number was a girl with a beautiful voice, a fan of the Four Color Conjecture band who had even doxxed Jing Lan.
Although it was an illegal act, discovering he had a fangirl was, nonetheless, a pleasant surprise.
His mood brightened almost without him needing to think.
Despite the girl’s insistence that it wasn’t a “cry for help,” he still fundamentally agreed to go and assist her.
‘Perhaps they could even become friends.’
However, the girl’s home was quite close to Highway 219, yet considerably far from Keke’s ethnic middle school, suggesting he might ultimately not have the chance to lend a hand.
After hanging up, Jing Lan had a vague sense that something about the call was amiss, but despite racking his brain, he couldn’t quite grasp what it was.
Too much time had already been lost looking at photos; the sky was beginning to darken, and he needed to hurry.
Since Bailu Reservoir Scenic Area was not yet fully developed, the road leading to it remained unpaved and unlit.
Flanking the path were towering nanmu trees and ironwood, interspersed with dense, stout tetrameles.
Their massive, plank-like roots intertwined like coiling dragons, casting deep, ominous shadows beneath the gradually darkening canopy.
While Jing Lan didn’t quite believe that anomalous creatures like “vampire blankets” would appear here, as a primate without night vision, a forest remained a perilous place even without a biological crisis.
After quickening his pace and walking for over an hour, Jing Lan finally spotted the entrance to the scenic area—a rainbow-shaped archway.
Dark stains seemed to mar the ground near the gate.
Jing Lan retrieved the small flashlight he had found in the van, switched it on, and cautiously approached.
Undoubtedly, they were bodies.
Beside the corpses lay bloodstains that had long since dried.
Bending down, he directed the flashlight beam toward one of the heads, revealing a round opening.
On the opposite side, in a direct line, was a smaller exit wound.
A bullet hole.
The question of the weapon was swiftly answered.
On the nearby ground, Jing Lan discovered a tiny bullet casing, slimmer than a pencil, with an indentation along its rim.
.22LR rimfire ammunition.
It was the most widely produced ammunition in the world, extensively used for hunting, sports, and recreation.
A small 5.588mm caliber, it was a classic rimfire cartridge, meaning the firing pin struck the rim of the casing rather than the center.
Its power was modest, with an effective range typically not exceeding 150 meters, though at close quarters, it was more than sufficient for killing.
Jing Lan was intimately familiar with this type of ammunition.
Whenever he indulged his passion at the shooting range, the firearms chambered for .22 rimfire were the most affordable, offering a much cheaper experience than actual military-grade weapons.
A few shots from a Type 81 rifle, for instance, cost hundreds of yuan, and Jing Lan had only tried it once.
Conversely, many rimfire rifles were designed for sport shooting, boasting excellent accuracy, ideal for practice, and with inexpensive ammunition.
Naturally, neither the military nor the police would ever be equipped with such ammunition.
Therefore, these zombies had been killed by a civilian organization.
This was not a good sign.
Although the country also manufactured .22 rimfire ammunition, it was almost exclusively for athletes, with each use requiring strict registration and usage reporting.
Any other use likely involved illegal possession of firearms.
If this was indeed the case, the individuals who had dispatched these zombies might very well be outlaws.
Jing Lan immediately turned off his flashlight and drew his tactical knife.
He first allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the security booth at the scenic area’s entrance before proceeding further into the complex.
Approximately fifty meters inside the scenic area’s main gate stood a wall, which upon closer inspection, proved to be a makeshift barricade constructed from stacked floor-standing billboards, long benches, and discarded timber.
Clearly, such an obstruction wouldn’t deter humans, but it might offer a slight impediment to aimlessly wandering zombies.
What concerned Jing Lan was that, despite its crude and flimsy construction, the wall, as he surveyed it in the dim light, stretched for some forty to fifty meters, completely blocking the entire road.
If the armed individuals who had passed through here earlier were few in number, they likely wouldn’t have expended such considerable effort on building this structure.
As Jing Lan observed the wall extending to a roadside house, he noticed a table beside the dwelling.
On it rested a rudimentary mechanism crafted from glued wood and fishing line, its basic principle involving a handle pulling a fishing line that stretched to the other side of the wall.
The underlying principle was remarkably simple: the transmission of force through leverage, without even the use of pulleys.
Yet, at first glance, it appeared to be a reliable device.
Affixed to the wall beside the table was a piece of paper, bearing the inscription:
“Survivors arriving here, please pull the handle to trigger the mechanism and alert us.
We will send someone to provide assistance.”
Jing Lan was reminded of a plotline from the TV series *The Walking Dead*: in a zombie-infested part of America, people discovered signs indicating a survivor camp at a train station at the end of the railway, promising food.
Upon arriving, guided by the signs, people were immediately offered meat.
Of course, that meat was human flesh…
Jing Lan had no intention of pulling the mechanism.
At the very least, he would infiltrate the area first and assess the situation.