Chapter 11: Shortage of Manpower
CDC Roof
The morning sun shone on the concrete, dispelling the chill of the night.
In the distance, the Atlanta skyline was still shrouded in a light haze. Occasional gunshots drifted through the wind—the last resistance of survivors or those who had already given up hope.
Wu Fan leaned against the water tank on the roof, looking at the five people standing in a row in front of him.
Fully armed.
Black combat uniforms, bulletproof vests, helmets, knee and elbow pads.
Each piece of equipment bore a red Umbrella Corporation logo.
USS—Rapid Biochemical Response Team.
It was just a name, but it carried weight when worn.
"From today onward, you are Umbrella Corporation security personnel."
Wu Fan's voice was calm. "I don't expect you to become special forces, but you must master basic survival skills."
The five stood straight, listening.
From left to right:
Brock, a 40-year-old bald former construction worker, strong and aggressive.
Marcus, 23, quick and agile.
Dylan and Kyle, cousins in their early twenties, familiar with firearms from farm work.
Sandra, 32, a former National Guard soldier—the only one with real military experience.
"You must practice shooting until you master it," Wu Fan continued.
He lifted an M4, inspected it, then handed it over.
"But guns alone are not enough."
He drew a machete from his waist.
"Bullets run out. Guns jam. But this—" he raised it slightly, "is your last line of survival."
The five focused on it.
"A Walker's weakness is its head," Wu Fan said. "No matter how many times you shoot its body, it won't die unless the brain is destroyed. So aim for the head. In close combat, decapitate. And if it's still moving—finish it."
Brock nodded. "Understood, boss."
"Pick your weapons."
The five stepped forward and selected rifles, pistols, and shotguns. Sandra checked her M4 with practiced hands.
"Install silencers," Wu Fan reminded them.
Within minutes, they were ready.
Wu Fan walked to the edge of the roof.
Below, dozens of Walkers wandered around the CDC grounds, drawn by earlier noise.
Some lay scattered in the distance, remnants of previous battles.
"See that one in the blue shirt?" he said.
Brock stepped forward and aimed.
Silenced shot—thud.
The Walker staggered but did not fall.
"Head," Wu Fan said.
Brock corrected his aim and fired again.
The Walker collapsed.
[Kill Walker +10 points]
A notification appeared in Wu Fan's mind.
He smiled faintly.
The team continued firing in rotation. Silenced shots echoed across the rooftop as Walkers fell one by one.
Wu Fan checked the system panel.
[Current Points: 2470]
[Employee Loyalty: Brock 97%, Sandra 96%, Marcus 93%, Dylan 92%, Kyle 91%]
Good.
But not enough.
Five people were still too few.
More manpower was needed—for security, logistics, and future expansion.
"Stop."
The shooting ceased.
"You've trained well," Wu Fan said. "Starting tomorrow, we'll begin field operations. Remember: safety first. Don't take risks. Retreat if necessary."
"Understood!"
The five left the rooftop.
Wu Fan remained, looking toward Atlanta.
A location came to mind.
The mine.
CDC Basement Laboratory
Researchers gathered around an isolation chamber.
Inside, a Walker was strapped to a metal table, struggling weakly.
Dr. Edwin Jenner studied the scan results.
"Incredible," he said. "The cerebral cortex is completely necrotic, but the brainstem is still active. The virus preserves instinctive functions."
Dr. Green added, "It replaces higher brain activity—memory, emotion, logic are gone. Only hunger and movement remain."
"Project Wildfire went wrong," he said quietly.
"Can it be cured?" Wu Fan asked.
Dr. Green shook his head. "Not after full infection. Only early intervention before brain invasion."
Wu Fan nodded.
"Continue research. Vaccines or treatment—anything that increases survival chances."
"Yes, boss."
As he turned to leave, he asked one more question.
"Their weakness is the brain, right?"
Dr. Jenner looked up. "How do you know?"
"Guess."
Wu Fan left.
One week later.
The five stood on the rooftop again, calmer, more skilled.
"This week, each of you killed at least a hundred Walkers," Wu Fan said. "Your marksmanship has improved."
Pride appeared on their faces.
"But this is only the beginning."
He pointed to a black armored vehicle below.
Red Umbrella logo on its side.
"We're going out today."
"Where?" Brock asked.
"Near Atlanta."
"The mine."
Sandra frowned. "What's there?"
"People," Wu Fan said. "Survivors."
He started the engine.
The armored vehicle rolled out of the CDC.
Behind them, Walkers followed faintly.
Ahead—new survivors to recruit.