Rebirth in the Apocalypse: I Have Unlimited Warehouse Space-Chapter 9 - : Swift One

Bloodied and staggering, Lange slowly made his way out of the villa, his head lowered as if he could collapse at any moment.

At the villa's front gate, Lange's wife and daughter immediately rushed forward as soon as they saw him.

Six-year-old Alyssa let out a loud, piercing scream as she saw the blood covering her father's body.

Lange's wife, Dora, clung to him tightly, crying as she spoke, "Lange, let's leave here, let's go... Please."

Lange shook his head forcefully. "No, we can only be safe here."

"Outside, it's nothing but zombies, and there's no food, no clean water."

Dora sobbed softly, helping Lange toward the makeshift staff dormitory that had been hastily built nearby.

As they passed, the mercenaries and security guards, seeing Lange's battered appearance, stopped in their tracks to watch him. No one wanted to get involved with Lange at that moment, yet they all couldn't help but worry—if it happened to them, what would they do?

Back in the dormitory, Lange struggled to take a shower. After applying some medicine, he lay down for half a day but eventually forced himself to get up from the bed.

"Whew." He let out a long breath.

Lange turned his gaze toward Dora, who was sitting beside him, and forced a faint smile. "Hey, darling, don't worry."

"Listen, I'll give my life to protect you and Alyssa."

"If I don't make it back, remember this—no matter what happens in this manor, don't get involved. Just take care of Alyssa, and stay safe."

"Quincy will take care of the families of those who die in battle. As long as you don't leave on your own, they won't kick you out. Understand?"

Tears streamed down Dora's face. "I... I want us to leave. We need to find a place with no people, no zombies."

Lange smiled weakly and slowly got to his feet. "Take care of Alyssa. If I succeed, our lives will improve greatly."

With that, Lange strode out of the dormitory.

When Lange stepped out of the villa again, ten mercenaries followed behind him, all armed to the teeth, heading toward the manor's entrance.

"Lange, you really shouldn't have come back," said a bald man behind him, his voice low.

Lange shook his head, tightening the straps of his bulletproof vest. "William, you're the team leader. You call the shots when it comes to combat. I'm just the guide."

"You really think that if I die out there, you guys won't have to go out and find that bitch?"

"Little Marshall is Quincy's only child. You think Quincy, now, has any sense left?"

William heard this and grinned. "So what? He's just an old man. If we didn't need a head, he would've been dead a long time ago."

"If he's not being rational, we'll make him rational."

Lange sneered. "Then why don't you just get moving?"

William was momentarily speechless. After a long pause, he finally spoke, "It's those bastards he raised like his own sons, always watching us."

"If it weren't for them, we'd have taken over this manor already."

Lange shook his head. "You're wrong. As long as he's alive, it means this manor still has order. Even if that order is bad, it's still better than having no order at all."

"You want to be the boss, he wants to be the boss, and everyone wants to be the boss. So what's the end result?"

Lange muttered to himself, "The result is, this safe haven, with food and water, will completely disappear."

William heard this and fell silent.

The group slowly made their way to the manor entrance. Seeing the dense crowd and the horde of zombies trapped outside by the barbed wire, they all sucked in a breath.

"Did the whole city of Norton, both the people and the zombies, come here?" William said, rubbing his bald head.

Lange spoke quietly, "The entire population of Norton City is five million, and most of the zombies are still in the city. Those outside probably smelled the humans and gathered here."

"Alright, let's recruit some cannon fodder first. We need to drive into the city—there aren't enough people yet."

William waved his hand, and a team member immediately stepped forward, climbing onto an armored vehicle. He shouted to the crowd, "One bag of bread that's enough for two people. Anyone willing to come with us into the city, come forward!"

"We only need a hundred people!"

In an instant, the crowd surged forward, pushing toward the vehicle.

On the roof of the villa, Quincy, who was watching the scene through binoculars, spoke quietly. "Peter, do you think they'll come back?"

Peter, wearing a suit and still with his hair slicked back in the apocalypse, responded slowly, "You brought their families here during the apocalypse, didn't you do that for this reason?"

"Father, maybe you should calm down. Marshall is dead. We shouldn't risk losing more men just to kill a bitch."

Quincy suddenly coughed violently. At fifty-five years old, he gasped as he spoke. "You're all my children. Even though Marshall left recklessly when he grew up, he and you had a good relationship when you were a child, and you, you're his older brother. Aren't you willing to avenge him?"

"Family, we are a family, do you understand? Peter!"

On the roof, the children Quincy had raised since they were young all lowered their heads.

Peter let out a long sigh, then reluctantly said, "I will avenge Marshall. The ones who killed him will pay the price they deserve."

"But before that, maybe we should first select some of the refugees who can be of use to us. The number of zombies gathering around the manor perimeter has increased again today, and one even jumped over the walls, causing casualties."

Quincy spoke in a detached tone, "I'm old. I don't have much time left. As the successor, do you still expect this old body of mine to handle everything?"

"Child, this is the apocalypse. The old rules no longer apply, but it seems you're still not ready."

"Have you not noticed that the mercenaries have started disobeying orders?"

Peter's face darkened, and no one could tell what he was thinking at that moment.

Elsewhere

After wiping out all the zombies in the building, Clove stepped out of the apartment and deliberately walked toward the zombies on the street.

As he walked, Clove made noise to attract the horde.

He violently pulled a sharp iron rod from a nearby fence, turning it into a makeshift spear. Alone, he faced the oncoming horde and suddenly let out a ferocious yell, "Come on!"

The horde surged forward like a wave, rushing toward Clove.

The street was packed with zombies. Among the masses, Clove could clearly see two evolved zombies moving steadily toward him.

After carefully examining the features of the two zombies, Clove immediately made his judgment.

One was a D-class Swift One, and the other was a D-class Black-armored Zombie.

The former relied on speed, while the latter had a balanced combination of strength, speed, and defense.

In that instant, Clove decided to abandon his firearm and rely solely on his physical strength to fight the horde.

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This was a great opportunity—an excellent chance to unlock his first gene lock!

At this point, the zombies weren't anywhere near the level of mass evolution that would happen in the second year of the apocalypse. Even though a few zombies had evolved here and there, their strength hadn't grown too much.

This was the perfect chance to hone his own abilities!

As the apocalypse wore on, the strength of zombies grew with every meal they consumed.

If a D-class Zombie Lord were to emerge in Norton City, there was no way Clove, with his current strength, would be able to survive and escape the city.

"Ha." Clove took a deep breath, then slowly gripped the iron spear in his hand, charging toward the horde.

With a swift motion, he thrust the spear forward, piercing the skull of one of the zombies.

Clove gave the spear a quick shake. In his hand, it spun, the tip creating a whirl of deadly force that knocked back the approaching zombies.

The surrounding zombies kept roaring, their massive numbers surging toward Clove one after another.

Clove stood his ground like an immovable stone, facing the horde. His iron spear flew up and down with deadly precision, either puncturing skulls or breaking spines with single thrusts.

Time passed, second by second. Wielding the cast-iron spear, Clove moved like a knight from ancient times. No zombie could even come close to him.

Gradually, the corpses of the zombies began to pile up, forming a small mountain around him.

When the growing mound of bodies started to obstruct his movements, Clove slowly began to retreat.

At that moment, a gray shadow came running toward him.