Chapter 204: Staying Overnight
Kevin Keane had barely finished saying, "Thank you so much for graciously deciding not to eat me," when the Big Pink Frog seemed to understand. Its already watery, massive eyes blinked, a hint of reddish mist lingering at the corners, before it let out a soft, squishy sound at him, "RIBBIT~"
The call carried an obvious tone of coquettishness, drawn out long as if acting cute for Kevin, giving off the distinct impression that since he had held it, it was going to stick with him no matter what.
Everyone in the vehicle burst out laughing. Luna Dawson laughed so hard she clutched her stomach, and Aaron Palmer was slapping his thigh in pure amusement.
Hector bounded over to the Big Pink Frog gleefully. Mimicking how he petted Rollo, he gently stroked the Pink Frog’s smooth back with his small hands. "Do we need to give it a name?" Hector asked, his little face tilted upward as he continued petting it, his eyes sparkling.
Aaron Palmer was the first to raise his hand and voice an opinion. "Isn’t that simple? It’s big and fat, so just call it Big Fat Frog. It’s easy to remember and perfectly fitting!"
"What kind of decent person gives a girl a name like ’Big Fat’?" Luna rolled her eyes at him, her tone brimming with disdain. "That sounds awful."
Rhonda Dawson gently stroked the Pink Frog’s chubby, pink cheeks and said softly, "It’s entirely pink, so why don’t we call it Pinky? Purple Bean was also named after its color; this name suits it best."
"RIBBIT!" The Big Pink Frog seemed to understand. Its eyes instantly lit up as it stared straight at Rhonda, even leaning into her hand on its own accord. It clearly approved of this name immensely.
And just like that, Pinky happily joined the Sunset Squad, becoming a cute little member of the team.
The convoy continued its steady advance. Between the constant bumps along the road and the lingering chill, everyone felt bored and uncomfortable despite sitting inside the vehicles.
The rhythm of the return trip was the same as when they came. Every hour of driving was followed by a ten-minute stop to allow for shift changes and bathroom breaks. For the rest of the time, they could only stay in the confined cabins until the sky turned dark, at which point the convoy officially halted to set up camp.
Along the way, Luna’s spiritual power had continuously spread outward without interruption, while other Third Rank Spiritual System Superpower Users in the convoy assisted with the reconnaissance. Relying on this dual-layered detection, the main force could always spot small-to-medium zombie hordes in advance. The Special Operations Team and the firearms convoy would then deploy defensive lines ahead of time, swiftly crushing these threats and ensuring the convoy’s safety to the greatest extent possible.
They also encountered a minor hiccup during the journey: a massive patch of mutated pumpkin vines had sprawled across the middle of the road. The vines were intertwined and tangled, bearing no less than a thousand gigantic pumpkins.
The officials once again opted for communication, dispatching two Wood System Superpower Users from the main force who could communicate with plants to negotiate. Escorted by his grandfather, Rhonda Dawson, and Purple Bean, Hector tagged along. With Purple Bean—a Fourth Rank mutated plant—present, both Hector and the other young girl capable of communicating with flora were able to converse with the pumpkins much more smoothly.
Ultimately, the group successfully obtained the pumpkin vines’ permission, and the convoy was able to pass safely. Following the rise in temperature, the behavioral logic of these mutated animals and plants truly opened everyone’s eyes. Fortunately, although the first few days of the migration were filled with constant twists and turns, they managed to get through them safely without any real harm.
Three days later, the convoy drove for another full day. As the sun gradually set in the west, they once again halted to make camp.
As soon as the vehicles came to a steady halt, Luna rode Rollo into the air above the convoy, immediately getting busy with the task of distributing supplies. Every time the survivors from the safe zone saw Luna soaring through the air on the massive, chubby dog, they would cast curious glances her way, repeatedly astonished by this Fourth-tier Space Superpower User who could distribute supplies out of thin air.
Among the crowd, Sharon Sloan nearly shattered her teeth out of jealousy. It wasn’t until after the mobilization meeting, when Vance’s squad vice-captain mentioned it, that she finally learned the Sunset Squad’s captain had already advanced to the Fourth Rank. No wonder they had dared to directly challenge them, the representatives of OmniCorp, earlier.
In the past, OmniCorp had always thrown its weight around in the safe zone, and all eyes had been focused solely on them. But now, things were different. Noticing his sister’s shifting mood, William Walsh gently squeezed her hand. His tone was flat, yet it carried a trace of sinister ruthlessness. "Don’t be in a rush. There will be plenty of opportunities in the future."
As he spoke, his gaze was fixed intently on the person and beast in the sky, a sea of dark, indiscernible emotions churning in the depths of his eyes.
The campsite where the convoy slowly came to a halt was situated right next to a small town. The houses in the town were simple red-brick and concrete structures with basic furnishings. On the way here, the main force had already completely cleared out the zombies in the area, leaving behind a temporary sanctuary for the exhausted migration fleet.
Once the vehicles were parked, over half of the survivors opted to cram together in the cars to save on charcoal and endure the night. The other half disembarked one after another, dragging their heavy footsteps as they retreated into their assigned houses to rest. The originally silent town was instantly filled with a dense chorus of footsteps, coughing, and hushed conversations.
Over the past few days of camping, the evolutionary charcoal Luna distributed had consistently been more than enough for the entire main force to use. Since the apocalypse, wildly overgrown mutated trees could be seen everywhere. Coupled with the fact that the base had completely chopped down all mutated plants within its borders, timber resources had actually become abundant. As a result, the authorities had stockpiled a massive amount of evolutionary charcoal, specifically intended to help the official teams stave off the bitter cold of the night during expeditions.
Although temperatures had now risen to a few degrees above zero, the nighttime chill remained biting. Many survivors voluntarily huddled close together to rest, using each other’s body heat for warmth. The cramped rooms were packed tightly with people, their breathing intertwining, conveying a sense of banding together for survival in desperate times. However, the melting ice and snow increased the humidity in the air, making it feel even more damp and bone-chilling than before.
Compared to the extreme cold of minus twenty or thirty degrees previously, at least almost no one would freeze to death now, but the fatalities during the migration had never ceased. Those with weak constitutions couldn’t withstand the continuous days of bumping along the road, hunger, and cold; people were dropping dead every single day.
Every time they set up camp, someone could always be seen huddled in a corner, silently bidding farewell to a deceased family member or friend. That mute sorrow was far more heart-wrenching than any loud wailing.
In front of an abandoned red-brick house at the entrance of the town, the concrete ground was still frosted with the chill of the night dew. A grandmother in her sixties sat stiffly on the floor. Her thick cotton-padded jacket worn over a down coat couldn’t fend off the freezing dampness seeping up from the ground, but she remained completely oblivious to it. She merely clung desperately to the lifeless body of her husband in her arms.
Her arms were as thin as dry twigs, yet she used every ounce of her strength to wrap them around her husband’s back. Her fingers dug into his down jacket, which had been slashed open in several places by Aberrant Beasts and was leaking feathers. Her husband’s face had turned a bruised purple, and a trace of dried blood lingered at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were tightly shut, making him look as if he had merely fallen asleep.
In his ice-cold palm, he still clutched half a piece of a compressed biscuit he had been reluctant to eat. The biscuit had been squeezed out of shape, its crumbling edges seemingly still bearing the fading warmth of his hand.
The grandmother’s eyes were terrifyingly hollow, glued to her husband’s face without so much as a blink. Her pale lips trembled slightly as she muttered over and over again, "If you had just held on a little longer, we would have reached Kensington... We promised each other that once we got to Kensington, we would find a warm house to live in... Why couldn’t you wait for me...?"
Her voice was soft and hoarse, like it had been rasped by sandpaper, scattering at the slightest gust of wind.
A small circle of people had gathered around them. No one dared to speak loudly. Someone quietly turned their head away and wiped the corners of their eyes with a rough sleeve. Low sighs mingled with the biting wind, gently swirling around the empty entrance of the town...
Aside from the helplessness of life, aging, illness, and death, the migrating convoy was also rampant with the darker aspects of human nature—looting and fierce fighting over resources.