Chapter 3

Ever since that night I traded three boxes of sausages for gasoline and batteries, and gave the half-headed zombie the codename "Old Ghost," this absurd cross-species trade has become a daily occurrence at Red Lion Supermarket.

Thanks to the batteries and gasoline Old Ghost managed to get, the supermarket's backup lights finally came on. But in the apocalypse, light also meant risk. Fortunately, Old Ghost became my most bizarre yet most reliable "supply channel."

Its intelligence was increasing at a terrifying rate almost every day. In less than a week, it evolved from only being able to utter single words to being able to engage in simple bargaining with me.

"Two bags of flour in exchange for this batch of antibiotics." I kicked the yellowed flour bags outside the roller shutter door and stared intently at the medicine box in Old Gui's hand.

Old Ghost's one eye darted around slyly, and a cracking sound like sandpaper scraping came from his throat: "Add... more... water."

A storm raged within me. This monster had actually learned to raise prices on the spot!

"Including the water purification tablets, deal." I gritted my teeth and tossed out half a case of whiskey.

Old Ghost grabbed the bottle and roughly kicked the first-aid kit in. Not only that, the day before yesterday he even traded the price of two boxes of luncheon meat for a machete and a double-barreled shotgun.

Sarah huddled in the corner, watching me do business with the monster, too scared to even breathe.

But by the evening of the fifteenth day, the situation had changed.

Heavy footsteps sounded again outside the door. Old Gui threw in a tattered military travel bag, which slammed onto the tiles with a loud thud.

I unzipped the jacket, and my heart skipped a beat—two blood-stained heavy bulletproof vests and three empty magazines!

The old ghost's withered finger pointed straight south, and his single eye revealed an unprecedented anxiety.

“Man…gun…explosives,” it croaked out a few words.

Is it warning me? Are there armed militants with explosives to the south?!

Before I could ask any further questions, the ground beneath my feet suddenly began to tremble violently.

"Boom—!"

A deafening roar came from the emergency exit in the southwest corner of the supermarket. The entire load-bearing wall instantly collapsed, covered in spiderweb-like cracks!

Amidst flying bricks and stones, a yellow bulldozer covered in black and red blood crashed through the wall. Thick diesel exhaust fumes mixed with dust instantly filled the supermarket.

Sarah's scream pierced our eardrums.

The bulldozer bucket crashed to the ground, and seven or eight men, their faces contorted with rage, stormed in, stepping over the rubble. The burly man at the head of the group had half his face covered in twisted burn scars, and he carried a homemade spiked club studded with rusty nails.

"Look at all this good stuff!" Scarface's greedy eyes swept across the rows of shelves, finally fixing on me.

He has no intention of negotiating at all.

"Chop the men up, take the women, and loot all the supplies!" He spat out the toothpick in his mouth, raised his spiked club, and charged straight at me!

Only seven or eight steps away! I didn't even have time to cock my shotgun; I could only watch helplessly as the bloody nail magnified in my pupils.

In that life-or-death moment, I made the most insane decision ever. Instead of retreating, I whirled around and roared hysterically at the still-open front door:

"Old man! Get rid of all these scumbags! All twenty kilograms of bacon in the warehouse are yours!"

A cold wind suddenly rushed in.

The scarred man grinned maliciously: "Scared out of your wits? Calling a dead man to save you?"

"roar--!"

A piercing, soul-shattering roar instantly tore through Scarface's mockery.

In the old ghost's last remaining eye, a bloodthirsty red light suddenly erupted, like that of a hungry wolf. It didn't even use the main entrance; instead, like a heavy tank, it smashed through the remaining glass display case!

Immediately afterwards, five or six stinking zombies, like black lightning bolts, filed in through the broken window frame.

Scarface's smile froze completely on his face.

Before he could even turn his spiked club around, Old Ghost had already smashed into his chest like a cannonball.

"Pfft!"

The rotting yet iron-hard claws pierced directly through Scarface's heart. Blood splattered onto the ceiling like a fountain. He didn't even have time to scream before he was pinned to the ground.

This is not a battle; it is a one-sided slaughter.

The bandits frantically swung their machetes, hacking wildly at the zombies' shoulders. But these monsters felt no pain! They lunged forward, enduring the blades, and bit off a bandit's throat.

Less than five minutes later, the screams stopped abruptly. The last robber lay in a pool of blood, his throat completely ripped open.

The ground was littered with severed limbs and the heavy stench of blood was nauseating.

Old Ghost stepped over Scarface's mangled corpse and slowly turned his head. His single, blood-stained eye stared intently at me.

The system's cold, impersonal notification tone sounded precisely on time:

[Beep—Transaction agreement reached. Please pay your reward.]

I forced down the acid churning in my stomach and strode to the warehouse freezer. I dragged out two large crates of frozen bacon and slammed them down in front of Old Gui with a loud bang.

"I mean what I say. It's all yours." I gripped the shotgun tightly, my knuckles turning white from the force.

The old ghost didn't even glance at the fresh, fleshy corpse on the ground, but hoisted the bacon over its shoulder. It let out a low hiss, and with its blood-dripping henchmen, turned and disappeared into the darkness outside.

I stared at the huge gap in the wall, my heart pounding—this chaotic battle had brought me to my senses; in this collapsing world, food alone wouldn't last long.

I need real force.