Chapter 56 Probing the Depths

"Boss, care for a cigarette?" Zhao Qiang quickly realized that these people were just like him: in the current world, money was too stiff to even use as toilet paper.

Hearing that there were cigarettes, a greedy light instantly appeared in the eyes of the group. Seizing the moment, Zhao Qiang quickly opened a pack of Zhonghua cigarettes, handed them out one by one, and shoved the remaining major portion of the pack straight into the sniper's pocket.

Lighting up the cigarette and taking a blissful drag, the group looked at Zhao Qiang with much friendlier eyes. The sniper patted Zhao Qiang on the shoulder and said, "Kid, you know how to play the game. We'll drop the matter about the bullets; this stuff is much more valuable than bullets." With that, he shook the cigarette in his hand while his greedy gaze remained locked on Zhao Qiang's backpack.

"I am truly sorry." Zhao Qiang unzipped his backpack and tossed it in front of the sniper. The pack was empty except for a few vacuum-packed bread rolls and a couple of bottles of purified water. The CF07 was hidden safely in a compartment at the very bottom. Zhao Qiang's cooperative behavior had gradually lowered their guard; the sniper merely glanced at the weapon-concealed pack before tossing it back to Zhao Qiang. "That's all of it. That was the only pack of good cigarettes I had, and the rest aren't worth bringing out in public." As he spoke, Zhao Qiang pulled half a pack of crumpled Baisha cigarettes from his own pocket and casually pulled one out to light.

Soon, Zhao Qiang grew familiar with this bunch of fellows. The sniper's name was Hu Qinghan. Having served three years in the military, he used to be the sharp-shooter of his platoon before being discharged following a brawl. After leaving the army, Hu Qinghan used his connections to join the urban management force. Relying on his daring, aggressive nature and the experience he accumulated in the urban management ranks, he had successfully survived the outbreak of the apocalypse.

"Kid, do you know how to shoot?" Hu Qinghan asked. For a guy all by himself to dare wander alone through a world full of zombies armed with nothing more than two small machetes, his physical prowess shouldn't be too shabby.

"I do!" Zhao Qiang replied with an expression of excitement. "Air rifles, paintball guns, pellet guns—I played with all of them frequently. Back home we even had an M4, though none of that is any use now. Boss Hu, is that the former Soviet SVD in your hands?"

"You really look like a country bumpkin who has never seen the world." Hu Qinghan, won over by the cigarette, spat a thick glob of phlegm onto the ground. "This is an 85-sniper, domestic-made. The Russian stuff is better than this piece of junk." Hu Qinghan was speaking the truth. For cost-saving reasons, the Type 85 sniper rifle was not equipped with dedicated high-precision sniper rounds, and the scope and rifle could not be properly integrated. Due to weapon recoil and vibration, the scope frequently loosened, and the 4x magnification scope fell short of modern warfare requirements.

"Hehe, I still prefer using the AP. One shot per kill in the game, talk about satisfying." At this moment, Zhao Qiang acted like an utter novice, yet his performance immensely satisfied Hu Qinghan's vanity. "You're clearly an amateur. The SVD is military-grade with a maximum range of 1,300 meters. That AP you mentioned is just a police toy with a range of only 600 meters—not even half of the SVD's."

Seeing Zhao Qiang's expression of utter adoration, Hu Qinghan grew increasingly smug. "Tell me, Brother Zhao, wandering around like this isn't a long-term solution. Have you ever thought about finding a place to settle down?"

"I'd love to," Zhao Qiang said with a bitter smile. "Look at me, I've only got two crappy blades in my hands, no guns and no bullets. Who would be willing to take me in? Unlike Boss Hu, who has both skills and a gun. No matter where you go, everyone's fighting to recruit you."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Hu Qinghan said, clearly enjoying Zhao Qiang's words as his lean face creased into a full bloom of wrinkles. "Brother Zhao, I see your reflexes are quite good. What do you say, interested in joining us?"

"Me?" Zhao Qiang asked. "Can I?" He really had been quite popular lately; wherever he went, someone wanted to recruit him—first the fangs, and now this bunch of clueless petty thieves.

"No problem at all," Hu Qinghan replied, patting his chest. "As long as you follow Brother Hu and behave, I guarantee you'll be eating and drinking like royalty from now on. As for weapons... hey, you there! Yes, get your ass over here!" Hu Qinghan shouted, pointing at an armed subordinate so emaciated he looked like skin and bones.

Hu Qinghan snatched the Type 81 assault rifle from the man's hands, fished two magazines out of his trouser pockets, and then kicked the unlucky wretch aside. After yelling a few loud curses, he turned back, shook the semi-antique rifle, and said, "Look, don't you have a gun now?"

"By the way, you mentioned staying for the night earlier—where were you originally planning to go?" Hu Qinghan unloaded all the rounds from the rifle before handing the empty firearm to Zhao Qiang.

"The Survivors' Alliance," Zhao Qiang said nonchalantly.

Hu Qinghan burst into laughter once again.

"Is it that funny?" Zhao Qiang asked with a puzzled expression.

Hu Qinghan pulled out a cigarette, placed it beneath his nose, and took a deep sniff. "Brother Zhao, out of respect for this tobacco, I'll let you in on a secret: there is no Survivors' Alliance. We just made that up to fool those pathetic plebs."

A cold snort echoed in Zhao Qiang's heart, though the smile on his face grew even brighter. He immediately whipped out his lighter, stepping in front of Hu Qinghan to light the cigarette for him. "Brother Hu, you don't say? They talked about it with such convincing detail, how could it be a hoax?"

Hu Qinghan let out an eerie chuckle and pointed toward the tattered survivors. "What do you think we rely on to feed this many people?"

"Please enlighten me, Brother Hu," Zhao Qiang said, nodding and bowing while masking the chilling glare in his eyes.

In Hu Qinghan's eyes, only those capable of fighting zombies were worthy of surviving in this world. Those timid, cowardly plebs, aside from consuming vast amounts of food, were at best a group of human-shaped machines. Every day, Hu Qinghan assigned various tasks to the survivors, ranging from the initial construction of perimeter walls to all the miscellaneous chores across the entire work site—virtually all completed by these survivors, for which their daily reward was merely a tiny packet of fried flour.

"Telling them there's a Survivors' Alliance is just giving those folks a glimmer of hope. Charging fees? My ass. That damn alliance is probably finished anyway, and besides, we just needed to borrow their name." Hu Qinghan wore a look of utter contempt; the fees were nothing more than a front for extorting wealth.

"What if someone actually manages to gather everything?" Zhao Qiang's voice began to cool.

"Easy." The flesh on Hu Qinghan's face twitched with excitement. "Tell them the prices went up and to come back next time. If they have any complaints, they can talk to the piece in my hands."

"Aren't you worried that the real owners might come looking for trouble one day?" Zhao Qiang asked.

"They've got their hands full with their own problems; where would they find the leisure time to bother with us?"