Chapter 37 – Refugee Camp
Thirty miles southwest of Atlanta.
A refugee camp.
Although it was called a refugee camp, it looked more like a heavily guarded military detention zone.
Barbed wire fences surrounded the entire area. Watchtowers stood at every corner. Armed soldiers patrolled the perimeter in steady formation.
Inside, thousands of survivors were packed tightly into rows of tents under the scorching midday sun.
No shade.
No comfort.
Only waiting.
A long line stretched across the dirt ground as people slowly shuffled forward, holding metal trays, plastic lids, or even broken wooden boards to receive food.
At the front, soldiers in dirty aprons scooped thick grayish paste from a large bucket.
Thud.
One ladle per tray.
Then a hard piece of bread was thrown beside it.
A middle-aged man frowned as he looked at his portion.
"What the hell is this?"
No one answered.
The people around him kept eating in silence.
He walked toward a nearby soldier.
"Hey! We're American citizens! This is what you feed us? I want to file a complaint!"
The soldier didn't respond.
His hand slowly moved to his rifle.
The man raised his voice even more.
"I pay taxes! You can't treat us like this—"
Bang!
A gunshot cracked through the camp.
The man froze.
A hole appeared in his chest.
His mouth opened, but only blood came out.
He collapsed.
Screams erupted.
People scattered, but there was nowhere to run—barbed wire surrounded everything.
The lieutenant who fired the shot calmly lowered his pistol.
"Anyone else want to complain?"
Silence.
Only fear remained.
Drag the body away.
The order was simple.
Two soldiers carried the corpse out beyond the fence while the man's wife screamed and then slowly collapsed into sobs.
Inside the command building, officers stood by the window, watching everything.
"This can't continue," a colonel said hoarsely.
Morale was collapsing.
Order was thinning.
And communication with higher command had been lost for a week.
A major gave a bitter laugh.
"The President is gone. The government is gone. And we're still pretending there's structure."
No one answered.
Then—
A soldier shouted from outside.
"Helicopter approaching!"
Everyone rushed to the window.
A gray-green transport helicopter circled the camp.
Hope instantly ignited below.
"It's supplies!"
"They're here to rescue us!"
"Finally!"
People waved their arms desperately.
But the helicopter did not land.
It hovered for a moment…
Then slowly climbed.
And left.
The cheers turned into screams.
"COME BACK!"
"DON'T LEAVE US!"
Anger replaced hope in seconds.
The colonel narrowed his eyes through binoculars.
Something on the helicopter caught his attention.
A symbol.
Red and white.
Hexagonal.
Like an umbrella.
"That's not ours," he muttered.
"Identify it."
No one had an answer.
Over Atlanta.
The Puma helicopter cut through the sky above a city already lost to death.
Below, millions of walkers filled the streets like a moving gray ocean.
Wu Fan sat in the cockpit, eyes cold and focused.
Then he smiled faintly.
A military camp.
Well-organized.
Well-armed.
Perfect.
But not the time yet.
He pulled the stick.
The helicopter descended toward the city center.
"Boss, what are we doing?" Glenn asked from behind.
Wu Fan didn't answer.
Instead, he flipped the weapon safety switch.
Eight anti-tank missiles armed.
The targeting system locked onto a dense street full of walkers.
"Fire."
Whoosh—BOOM!
The explosion swallowed the street in fire.
Dozens of walkers were thrown into the air.
Glass shattered across nearby buildings like rain.
Whoosh—BOOM!
Another strike.
Whoosh—BOOM!
And another.
Whoosh—BOOM!
Four streets turned into burning ruins.
The system flashed rapidly.
[Kill Walker +10, Points +100]
[Kill Walker +10, Points +100]
[Kill Walker +10, Points +100]
Wu Fan glanced at the panel.
19,760 points.
Still not enough.
He was about to fire again when—
"BOSS!"
Glenn suddenly shouted.
"Over there!"
Wu Fan turned his head.
Figures on a rooftop were waving desperately.
Not Rick.
Not Sean.
Strangers.
He ignored them.
Then Glenn shouted again.
"Six o'clock!"
Wu Fan looked again.
Two figures stood on a rooftop.
Black tactical uniforms.
One tall, bearded.
One muscular with a buzz cut.
Rick.
Sean.
Wu Fan's expression changed slightly.
A faint smile formed.
He pulled the control stick.
The helicopter turned toward them.