Chapter 58 — Unexplained Extra Points
Merle sat in the office chair, stretching his legs so far forward that the tips of his boots almost reached Wu Fan's desk.
A cigarette hung unlit between his fingers as he gestured wildly while complaining about the farms he had visited that day.
"The first place was a cattle farm. The barn was full of bones—barely any cattle left. The second was worse. The warehouse potatoes had all sprouted; the shoots were knee-high and everything had rotted. The smell was unbearable."
He paused, twirling the cigarette between his fingers.
"The third one was the most ridiculous."
He exhaled slowly.
"There was some kind of nest in the barn. I opened the door and they all flew out at once—straight at my face. If I hadn't reacted fast enough, they would've pecked my eyes out."
Wu Fan ignored him.
Standing in front of the Georgia map, he studied it in silence, a cigarette hanging from his lips. His finger slowly traced a route across the east side of Atlanta.
Merle had marked several locations in red. When connected, they formed a curved arc around the eastern outskirts of the city.
"The zombie horde came from this direction," Wu Fan said calmly.
He drew a line southwest along the highway.
"It moved along the highway and swept through the farms you visited. No one has maintained those places for three months. Livestock either escaped or died. Crops rotted in the fields. There's nothing left worth salvaging."
Merle scratched his head.
"What about the northwest side? I haven't checked there yet."
"We'll go tomorrow," Wu Fan replied. His finger shifted to an empty region on the map. "Stick to the country roads. Farms are usually hidden along them, away from main highways."
Merle nodded, then slipped the cigarette back into his pocket without lighting it.
He rubbed his fingers together and grinned.
"Boss, do you still have that Lotus you got from Xia Country?"
Wu Fan opened the drawer and tossed a white box over.
Merle caught it and looked at it. The packaging featured a white dragon with claws extended, covered in Chinese characters he couldn't read.
"Lotus is gone," Wu Fan said. "Take this instead. Twenty-five points will be deducted from your salary."
Merle grinned.
"A new brand? Looks rare."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"Boss, I'll bring back something good next time. Crops that can actually be planted."
The door closed.
System Anomaly
Wu Fan sat back down and activated the system panel.
He froze.
Then frowned.
The displayed points had increased by nearly ten thousand compared to when he had left the base.
He stared at the number for several seconds to confirm he wasn't mistaken.
Pressing the intercom, he asked, "Amy, are Rick and the others back?"
"They're back. They've been back for a while," Amy replied.
"Bring me their mission report."
When Amy entered, she had a strange expression—like she was holding back laughter.
Wu Fan took the report and flipped to the first page. His expression slowly turned odd.
The report was written by Glenn. The handwriting was messy, but the content was clear.
After reading, Wu Fan said quietly, "Red Queen, pull up Rick and Glenn's helmet footage."
Operation Playback
The screen split into two views.
Left: Rick's perspective.
Right: Glenn's perspective.
Wind and footsteps filled the audio.
Glenn had followed "a wise suggestion" and modified a van with a high-powered speaker system mounted in the cargo area.
He took a breath—and hit play.
A wave of heavy metal music exploded through the speakers.
Even Wu Fan instinctively leaned back.
The Sound Trap
From Rick's perspective, he lay prone on a warehouse rooftop, sniper rifle resting on the railing, scope aimed toward the freight station.
The music echoed across the empty industrial zone.
Within seconds, movement began.
Shadows emerged from between containers, rail gaps, and overturned freight cars.
One.
Ten.
One hundred.
More and more Walkers poured out, drawn like iron filings to a magnet.
They surged toward the sound source, clustering, stumbling, colliding into one another in a chaotic mass.
Rick remained steady.
He adjusted his scope and shifted his aim slightly.
His team of ten was already in position across surrounding rooftops. Every barrel pointed outward—not at the center, but at the edges of the swarm.
This was not a frontal assault.
It was controlled execution.
Suppressors thudded softly in rhythm, like distant hammer strikes.
One shot. One fall.
Another shot. Another collapse.
The horde was being peeled away layer by layer.
Meanwhile, the speakers continued blasting music.
Walkers spun, confused, unable to locate the source of their target.
Smoke grenades detonated on the opposite side. Thick gray clouds spread, pushing portions of the horde in new directions.
Snipers fired again. More Walkers fell.
Vehicles circled the perimeter, retrieving stragglers and clearing gaps.
Total Collapse
The footage fast-forwarded.
Day turned into night, then back into morning.
By the end, the freight station was carpeted in gray-white corpses.
The remaining Walkers were isolated and eliminated one by one.
Silence returned.
Wu Fan turned off the screen.
The office fell completely quiet.
Only the faint wind outside remained.
He leaned back and stayed silent for a long time.
A New Method
Glenn.
That timid Korean delivery worker who usually kept his head down and spoke little.
Now he had coordinated a sound-based swarm tactic—using noise to gather, smoke to redirect, and snipers to systematically eliminate thousands of Walkers without a single casualty.
Wu Fan picked up the report again.
Every detail was carefully recorded: route planning, timing, equipment list, team assignments, even a hand-drawn map showing sniper positions, sound truck placement, and retreat paths.
Flawed handwriting.
Flawless execution.
He set the report down and walked to the window.
Searchlights rotated slowly across the outer wall. The town lay silent in the night.
New residents would only begin moving in tomorrow.
Wu Fan returned to his desk and reopened the system panel.
The points were still there.
Still nearly ten thousand more than yesterday.
His thoughts began to shift.
Sound systems.
Sniper coordination.
This method was not limited to freight yards.
Atlanta was large—industrial zones, commercial districts, logistics hubs.
All of them were usable.
He picked up a pen and marked several circles on the map.
North industrial park.
Eastern commercial zone.
Western logistics center.
One by one.
He extinguished his cigarette and turned off the desk lamp.
The room fell into darkness, except for a pale rectangle of moonlight on the floor.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, Merle would head out again.
The day after, Glenn would return to the freight station.
And after that…
His thoughts drifted off before the plan was fully formed.
He fell asleep.