Armed Train in the Apocalypse

Chapter 679 - 399: This Is War (Part 2)

The number of zombies wasn’t high; there were more corpses, all kinds of corpses, with deaths manifesting in a myriad of forms.Some had been shot, some stabbed, and others hit by vehicles, then piled up like garbage across the camp, gnawed into pieces by passing Evolution Beasts.

Roughly estimated, this camp had about four to five hundred people, men, women, old and young, and not a single survivor.

The air was suffused with the scents of blood, scorching heat, and a deeper smell of decay.

The alert team silently sent the unaltered scene photos and data to the train’s front, and everyone who saw this scene felt a weight in their chest, as if a mass of water-soaked old cotton stuffed their airways, making breathing difficult, yet heavily clinging there.

Onward to the east.

After about sixty kilometers, a second camp appeared within view.

This one was much larger, established along a segment of a shattered highway frontage road. The fractured roadbed formed a natural barrier, with various debris and makeshift defenses piled on both sides, yet at this moment, this fortress-like road had become a massive graveyard.

From afar, you could see scattered bodies stretching deep into the wilderness.

The moonlight was pale, casting those lifeless bodies in a rigid gray-white. Broken limbs and remains scattered everywhere; some Evolution Beasts and birds were startled by the train, darting away, with one carrying half an arm disappearing into the dark grass, the scent of death in the air growing more intense, almost tangible.

According to Lian Jin, this was a small faction that had numbered over a thousand people half a year ago.

The search result remained suffocating, not a single survivor.

The traces of destruction were more violent, many shacks completely burned, fortifications demolished with brute force, and the wounds on the corpses indicated they had undergone a more brutal massacre.

Wen Biao was leading the search, heard his subordinate’s call, and rushed over, a sustained friction sound emanated from a tin house.

"There might be survivors!"

Wen Biao said loudly, then eyed his subordinates, who understood and raised their guns toward the inside.

Cautiously, they pried open the door, looking around, the messy room held only a rusty iron bed.

On the bed was a female zombie locked with chains, her mouth sealed, her bare body covered in horrifying bite marks and scars caused by various objects, her wrists and ankles worn to mere skeletal rods, the friction noise originating from there.

"Brother Biao, this zombie has a nice figure..."

A subordinate glanced, saying lewdly.

But after waiting for a while without Wen Biao’s agreement, instead came a heavy slap that left him dazed.

The subordinate sat down heavily, feeling his teeth loosen.

Unyieldingly looking up, Wen Biao’s dark gaze reminded him of the few leaders killed by him that day, and he instantly closed his mouth fearfully.

Wen Biao crouched, pointing his thick finger at his subordinate’s head, grimly said, "Think about what jokes are and aren’t acceptable, and whether you need your head if you can’t. Got it?"

The latter nodded like a pecking chick, face showing fear, "Brother Biao, I’m wrong, I’ll never dare again next time."

Someone quickly handed over a cigarette to mediate, "Brother Biao, don’t be mad, this kid is so foolish, we’ll beat him later."

Wen Biao stood up, cast a sinister gaze toward the others, "Don’t get upset after a few good days, without the train our fate wouldn’t be better than theirs."

Then pointed coldly at the female zombie inside the room, "I don’t want to use your relatives as a comparison, but as far as I know, you all have female relatives alive, and we all have damn blood running through us, accumulate some virtue for yourselves."

Everyone’s face turned displeased, looking toward the man on the ground with disgust.

Although this bunch following Wen Biao weren’t good people, not seeking moral heights, just surviving. But everyone was born of parents, who doesn’t have sisters? Telling dirty jokes usually is another matter, but at this moment uncontrolled speech might get you beaten to death lightly!

Wen Biao said nothing further, drew his pistol, entered the room, the muzzle almost touching that zombie’s forehead.

A gunshot echoed deafeningly within the tin house.

The struggling also ceased.

Leaving the room without turning back, "Light it up."

Turning away, Wen Biao vaguely understood something.

He actually witnessed many such scenes, without the Train Conductor, he might have been one committing violence too. But he wanted to blend into the train’s system, naturally adhering to its rules.

This had nothing to do with morality, merely a choice made for survival, but after that slap, he felt soothed thoroughly.

Indescribable, yet inside felt delight, even more than being with several women!

After a simple search, reported the situation to the train, upon approval, drove toward the train’s departing direction.

The coming trek, they saw two more destroyed small camps, one formed only by a few tents and several abandoned buses as a temporary settlement, equally unspared.

This was only along the railway, the scenes visible within their linear advance.

Were they to conduct a fan-shaped search, within this vast and chaotic border region, how many camps sharing the same fate are still unknown.

Yet the oppressive atmosphere felt tangible, overshadowing every carriage.

He Jie wandered between the train’s front and the war room, occasionally glancing at the intelligence gathered by squads and drones, occasionally caressing the gun barrels and ammo chains, this man was unusually silent compared to his usual self, not roaming his territory like a bear awakened from hibernation, nor scolding the unlucky passionately.

Yet this silence only made the officers’ hearts tremor with fear, even easing the tension toward the impending war.

"Knock, knock!"

A knocking sound rang out, He Jie lifted his eyelids slightly, "Enter!"

Their brats wouldn’t knock, clearly someone has matters needing him.

The door opened, to He Jie’s surprise, standing outside wasn’t a soldier nor Hu Shuo or other officials, but a ragged military-clad Ding Hui, his slender frame standing straight, saluting, his eyes like two black beads staring at him.

He Jie stood up, awkwardly returning a salute.

Due to discarding that uniform, they always deliberately avoided this motion, gradually the salute on the train also evolved into a gentle tap on the left shoulder.

Not out of dissatisfaction, but subconsciously feeling unqualified.

"What’s the matter?"

He Jie’s voice was slightly hoarse.

Ding Hui approached, handing over a slip of paper with both hands.

"Request to rejoin the team!"

The four lead letters pierced into He Jie’s eyes like needles, leaving his eye sockets red.

Not requesting to battle, but requesting to rejoin the team.

Looking at the earnest recognition in the man’s eyes before him, He Jie inhaled deeply, solemnly accepted the note, strived to lift the corners of his mouth, propped up his eye corners with apple muscles, crisply returned a salute.

"Approved!"

...

After an almost uninterrupted high-speed drive through the night, near dawn, the darkest and coldest moment, the Armed Train finally reached its destination — the company base where Ding Hui and his comrades were stationed.

This place was situated on high terrain, overlooking a relatively open valley, a critical point controlling nearby routes, further ahead was the boundary post they defended.

The main structure of the post remained relatively intact yet eerily silent, no lighting, no enemies, only wind whistling through damaged windows.

In front of the post beneath a metal flagpole lay a harrowing scene, two men hung there.

Their hands were bound behind, necks looped inside rough rope circles, the circle’s other end tied to the pole’s horizontal rod.

Their deaths long occurred, gun wounds and explosion-rent wounds visible even from afar to He Jie.

Yet they still pieced together the bodies, hung them here.

Not for torture.

But for humiliation.

Lian Jin clenched his Iron Fist tightly, injuries showing signs of splitting, blood soaking bandages.

"They are courting death."

He Jie’s raised face was exceptionally serene, "This is war."