Chapter 81: Terminus
The afternoon sun made the ruins of Macon City appear pale white.
The railway hub in the distance resembled a giant steel skeleton, with rusty rails peeking out from among the weeds. Several abandoned wagons lay askew on the switches, their graffiti eroded beyond recognition by wind and rain.
Terminus's main building was a two-story cement structure, dusty and gray, with windows boarded up and only a few firing holes remaining.
The gate was made of iron bars painted black, but the paint was peeling badly, revealing dark red rust underneath.
Merle and Sean crouched on the barbed-wire fence along the highway halfway up the mountain, each holding a pair of binoculars.
Umbrella Corporation's high-tech gadgets could magnify images so clearly that you could see the pores on a person's face from hundreds of meters away.
"He's picking his nose," Merle said.
"I saw it," Sean replied, his voice muffled.
"He took it out, looked at it, and then put it in his mouth."
"Can you shut up?"
Merle lowered the binoculars and grinned.
"Maybe other people's boogers have a unique flavor?"
Sean turned his head and looked at him expressionlessly.
His eyes seemed to say: Did you come here specifically to disgust me?
Merle laughed even harder, then raised the binoculars again and continued watching.
Two men stood at the entrance of Terminus, both dressed in cheap camouflage uniforms with rifles slung across their shoulders. They stood awkwardly, one leaning against the doorframe and the other squatting on the ground smoking.
After finishing his cigarette, the squatting man flicked the butt away, stood up, stretched, and then squatted down again.
Sean turned his binoculars toward the warehouse area.
Several corrugated iron warehouses stood side by side, their main gates tightly closed, with only one side door open.
Someone came out from inside, pushing a handcart piled with several woven bags, the contents of which were unknown.
The man pushed the cart to the entrance of another warehouse, unloaded the goods, and went inside.
One person in and one person out—very ordinary.
Sean lowered his binoculars and rubbed his eyes.
"That's it? A regular survivor base? The boss told us to observe them for any inhumane behavior. How are we supposed to observe them? Run in and ask if they're doing anything inhumane?"
Merle chewed on a blade of grass, then spat it out.
"It's understandable if you can't figure it out. Just do what the BOSS tells you to do. Why think so much? Anyway, we're not being asked to kill anyone or capture anyone alive."
Sean glanced at him.
Merle tilted his head and raised the binoculars again.
"Why don't you go and make contact with them? Try to get their opinion and see if they have any anti-human tendencies?"
"You go."
Sean said, "I'll cover you from here."
"Coward."
"You think you're brave? Go ahead and do it."
"I am the commander-in-chief. You are the deputy, so you lead the charge."
"The commander-in-chief goes first, with his deputy providing cover."
The two men glared at each other, then simultaneously raised their binoculars and continued watching.
The fifty team members leaning against the vehicles behind them were practically growing weeds from waiting.
Someone yawned and got kicked by the person next to him.
"Something's up."
Merle's voice suddenly lowered.
Sean's binoculars focused on the gate.
Several survivors walked over from the other side of the road: two men and one woman, dressed in tattered clothes and carrying bulging luggage.
They walked to the entrance of Terminus and exchanged a few words with the two guards.
One guard pointed inside and gestured as he spoke.
The survivors looked at each other, relieved smiles appearing on their faces. They nodded and went inside.
Sean followed them with his binoculars.
They walked through the gate, crossed an open space, and headed toward the gray-white main building.
Halfway there, a group of people suddenly poured out of the side door of the warehouse next door.
Seven or eight men armed with sticks and machetes charged forward without a word.
Before the survivors could react, they were knocked to the ground.
The woman screamed, then stopped abruptly. She had been struck on the back of the head with a stick and went limp.
The two men were pinned to the ground as fists and sticks rained down on them until they stopped moving within seconds.
A man stood at the entrance of the warehouse.
He wore a dark apron covered in black-and-red stains that obscured its original color.
Blood streaked his face, flowing from his forehead to his chin. It had dried into a hard crust, making it look as though he wore a dark red mask.
He stood there with his arms crossed, looking at the unconscious survivors as a slow smile crept onto his lips.
That smile was not one of joy or pride, but rather—contentment.
A butcher looking at livestock that had just been delivered.
Sean's fingers tightened around the binoculars, his knuckles turning white.
He remembered that a year earlier, residents of King County, Georgia, had reported that a cult was holding ceremonies every night in an abandoned church in the suburbs.
When he led his team inside, the basement had been lit with candles, and totems hung on the walls. A white cloth was spread across a long table, and a young man lay on it with his chest cut open, his heart missing and sewn back up with crooked stitches visible through his skin.
Those believers had called it a sacrifice—a path to eternal life.
He had seen the butcher's smile before.
It was exactly the same as this one.
"Action."
Sean stood up and ordered the fifty team members to get into the vehicles and begin the operation.
Merle clicked his tongue and spat out the foxtail grass.
"Has the police officer's sense of justice kicked in? Going to rescue the kidnapped citizens?"
"You can stay here and keep talking."
Sean's voice was devoid of warmth. "Everyone, surround the front with me."
Merle spat.
"I'm the commander-in-chief! You twenty-five guys with Merle, open your eyes and follow me to the back door."
At the warehouse entrance, the man in the apron—Albert—was inspecting the "goods."
He squatted down, pinched the young woman's chin, turned her face to look at her, then looked at the two men. He stood up and said something to the person beside him.
Several people dragged the three unconscious survivors into the warehouse.
The iron gate closed behind them.
Merle's convoy had circled around to the rear of Terminus.
Several Humvees parked silently outside the wall. The team members jumped out of the vehicles, picked up large pliers, cut through the iron fence, and slipped into the shadows of the warehouse area.
Someone pulled palm-sized discs from a backpack—Umbrella Corporation's high-tech capture nets.
Once unfolded, the disc became a net woven from metal wires. When thrown, it could cover an area of two square meters. Once it touched a human body, it released a powerful electric current that stunned the target.
Merle crouched in the corner and made a hand signal.
The group of about twenty people dispersed and surrounded the three exits of the warehouse area.
Sean had also arrived.
His men pressed themselves against the wall, their guns pointed at the gate.
He glanced at his watch and pressed the radio button.
"Three rounds of tear gas, fired simultaneously."
The muffled thuds of launchers echoed throughout the compound.
Tear gas canisters trailed white smoke as they flew into Terminus's courtyard, bounced upon landing, and began hissing out thick clouds.
Within seconds, the courtyard was covered in white smoke.
Coughs, curses, and hurried footsteps mingled together. Someone rushed out of the smoke and was knocked down by a rifle butt from a team member guarding the door. A capture net flew over him, electricity flashed, and the man twitched several times before lying still.
Sean charged into the smoke with his gun raised.
The visor of the Umbrella Corporation helmet functioned perfectly and was unaffected.
He squinted and saw figures darting around in the smoke. He fired a few shots into the air.
"Crouch down! Crouch down and we won't kill you!"
Some people crouched down, while others kept running. Those who ran were caught in the nets.
Inside the warehouse, Albert was sharpening a knife.
The knife was a butcher's cleaver, and there were several chips in the blade. He rubbed it against a whetstone, one chip at a time.
Alex stood at the door, fiddling with the baseball bat in his hand. The bat was wrapped in wire, and after being used to smash so many heads, the wire had become crooked, so he tightened it with pliers.
Gray sat behind a table with his legs crossed. The three new survivors knelt in front of him, along with four or five others who had already been imprisoned there.
They were bound with ropes and forced to kneel beside a long iron trough.
The trough had originally been used for livestock to drink water. It was shallow and extended from one end of the room to the other.
But now its inner walls were coated with black-and-red stains layered one upon another, like paint that could never be washed away.
Gray stood up, walked over to the young woman, squatted down, and looked her in the eye.
Her face was covered in tears and mucus, and her lips trembled.
"Where is your camp?"
Gray's voice was gentle, as though he were merely asking for directions.
"Didn't you say your companion was sick? How can I give him medicine if you don't tell me where he is?"
The woman opened her mouth, but a middle-aged man next to her suddenly bumped into her.
"Don't tell them! They'll hurt even more people! We're all going to die anyway, so don't say anything!"
The woman bit her lip and swallowed her words.
Gray smiled, stood up, and gestured toward Alex with his chin.
Alex raised his baseball bat and slammed it down onto the middle-aged man's shoulder.
The sound of breaking bones echoed through the sealed warehouse. The middle-aged man screamed and collapsed to the ground.
Alex raised the bat again, this time aiming for the man's head.
A muffled thud came from outside the door.
It wasn't gunfire—it was the sound of explosions, muffled and repeated several times.
Gray turned his head, Albert stopped sharpening his knife, and Alex's baseball bat froze in midair.
The door burst open.
White smoke billowed inside, choking people so badly they could barely open their eyes.
Someone shouted, "Tear gas!"
People coughed. Others ran.
Gray pulled a pistol from beneath the table, but before he could raise it, something flew out of the smoke, struck him, and exploded—a net.
The electric current pierced through his skin like ten thousand needles stabbing into his bones.
His hands and legs no longer obeyed him. It felt as though his entire body were being gripped by an invisible giant hand. He convulsed several times and collapsed to the ground.
Alex swung his baseball bat and charged into the smoke, striking something, but was immediately tackled by several people.
Albert raised his butcher knife and saw a man emerge from the smoke—wearing a black combat uniform and holding a gun pointed directly at Albert's face.
He froze.
The knife remained raised, but his fingers trembled.
"Drop it."
The voice was not loud.
Before Albert could react, a taser shot from the other man's weapon struck him, causing him to convulse violently. The knife clattered to the ground.
Sean glanced around the warehouse.
Concrete troughs, bloodstains, survivors kneeling on the ground trembling, and the middle-aged man lying on the floor with a crushed shoulder.
His gaze lingered on the young woman.
Her pant legs were wet; it was unclear whether she had urinated from fear or if blood from the trough had soaked into them.
Sean looked away and walked over to Gray.
Wrapped in the net, Gray curled on the ground, still twitching.
"Take them all."
Sean pressed the radio button. "Leave no one behind."
The battle was over by the time Merle entered through the back door.
He looked at the people on the ground wrapped in nets like silkworm cocoons, then looked at Sean and cursed.
He crouched down, lifted a net, and revealed the twitching face underneath.
"That's it? Too weak."
He stood up and shouted to the team members behind him, "Tie them up tightly and stuff them into the vehicles. Alive—the BOSS wants them alive."
The area outside the warehouse and inside the courtyard had been secured.
More than a dozen prisoners were bound hand and foot and stuffed into the backs of the Humvees.
Some were still coughing, some were still cursing, and some had already fainted.
Sean stood at the warehouse entrance, looking at the concrete trough, and lit a cigarette.
Merle walked over and lit one as well.
"You said you'd seen something similar before?"
Sean nodded silently.
"Sir! We need you to check the cold storage!"
Merle and Sean exchanged puzzled looks before following the group into the freezer, where they were instantly stunned.
Rows upon rows of meat skewers...
Enough to make anyone's scalp tingle.
"So this is what the BOSS meant by inhumane? Why not just kill these damn cannibals? Why bother capturing them?"
Merle cursed loudly.
Sean replied casually, "I don't know, but we have to complete the mission."
The two men stood at the door, finished their cigarettes, and then set the cold storage on fire.
The flames quickly spread through the warehouse.
The team members loaded the last few prisoners into the vehicles.
The five or six rescued survivors huddled in the corner. Some were still crying, while others had already stood up and were asking the team members for water.
Sean turned back toward the convoy and looked at the young woman.
She crouched on the ground, hugging her knees and burying her face in her arms, her shoulders trembling.
He walked over and crouched beside her.
"What's your name?"
The woman looked up, her eyes red and swollen and her lips chapped.
"Jenny... Jenny."
Sean nodded. "Can you stand up?"
She tried, but her legs gave way, and she sank back down.
Sean held out his hand. She grabbed it, stood up, swayed for a moment, and then steadied herself.
"Are you from the military?" she asked.
"Umbrella Corporation."
Sean released her hand. "I'll take you somewhere safe."
The convoy started moving.
The Humvees drove out of Terminus one after another, rolled over the gravel road, and turned onto the highway.
In the rearview mirror, the gray-white building grew farther and farther away. The warehouse door stood wide open, and raging flames consumed the structure, sending thick black smoke billowing into the sky, visible for miles.
Sean sat in the passenger seat with his eyes closed.
Merle drove behind the truck, apparently arguing with someone over the radio.
The survivors got off halfway through the journey. They also had a sick companion. Sean gave them urgently needed medicine and told them that their base was near the CDC in Atlanta. They could come if they wanted to join.
The survivors were very grateful and said they would come with their companion once he recovered.
...
A/N: Thanks for reading!
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