Transfer Mission

Successfully incorporating the survivors from St. Joseph's Nursing Home, Umbrella Corporation's staff suddenly expanded by 36 people.

In the early days of the venture, Leon handled everything himself, spending several hours just to interview every single person there.

Among these 36 people, 12 were elderly with no ability to work. Six of them could still barely move around on their own, while the other six relied entirely on wheelchairs to get by.

Excluding the elderly, the remaining 24 people consisted of 17 men and 7 women—all ordinary folks you'd see every day in life.

Leon searched high and low but only managed to scrape together 5 technical workers: two nurses, one welder, one lathe operator, and one auto mechanic—all fairly standard laborers.

At least the original leader here, Aji, was quite capable. He brought six young people willing to fight and joined the Security Department, pushing the number of fighters under Leon's command into the double digits.

The remaining 13 people had neither the courage to fight nor any solid skills. They were all assigned to the Logistics Department, where tedious and exhausting labor awaited them like manual work. But hey, at least it was safe, right?

Leon was fairly satisfied with this outcome. If this were a gacha game, it was like he hadn't spent a single cent but got 36 free pulls, landing one Blue Card—the combat-type Aji—five Green Cards for ordinary technical workers, thirteen White Cards for laborers, and, well, twelve Black Cards for patients.

No S Cards or SSR Cards, but the sheer quantity was enough. It was basically free loot.

With the personnel matters settled, before Leon could even take a short break, his pretty little assistant Amy walked over with a notepad in hand.

"Boss, I've noticed a problem."

Leon gave a faint smile. "What's up?"

"We drove five vehicles over from the Quarry, and Mr. Aji's people have three. Those eight cars can't fit all 40-plus of us, let alone the sick elderly who need the medical equipment here. That stuff takes up a lot of space."

"We're going to need more trucks."

Leon looked at Amy with a hint of surprise, not expecting this girl to think of such a thing.

"You're absolutely right, Miss Amy. Thanks for the reminder." He pretended he hadn't thought of it himself, giving his little assistant a word of praise.

Proper recognition helps the leeks grow strong.

"Please go fetch Mr. Glenn and Mr. Aji for me."

"Then go tally up how many people we have here who can drive a truck."

"Got it, Mr. Castor." The pretty girl left with a smile on her lips.

A few minutes later, Glenn and Aji came over to Leon.

"Boss, what are your orders?"

Leon greeted them warmly and said, "Gentlemen, I have a task for you two."

"You two know the terrain around here better than anyone in our group."

"Our team needs a lot of trucks."

"I'd like you to scout out the locations of nearby trucks and, while you're at it, look for clear roads."

"No fighting—stay stealthy. You can observe from the rooftops of certain buildings. Your safety comes first."

"Find at least ten trucks. Work out the details between yourselves."

"It's 2 PM now. Can you finish before dark?"

Glenn and Aji exchanged a glance, took a light breath, and said, "Yes, boss. We'll get it done."

Leon nodded with satisfaction, pulled two cigars from his pocket, tossed one to each of them, and patted their shoulders. "Good. Do well. I'll record your merits this time, and there'll be rewards when we get back to base."

"Accumulate merits, get promotions and raises. I have high hopes for you."

Watching their retreating figures, Leon felt a swell of emotion. Having capable subordinates was great—it saved a lot of effort.

Another five minutes passed, and Miss Amy came over carrying a steaming cup of coffee and some pastries.

"Boss, I've finished the tally. Out of our 48 people, excluding the elderly and children, 30 can drive. Twelve of them can handle large trucks, and the other 18 can drive smaller vehicles."

"I also arranged for Ms. Quinn to catalog everything valuable in the nursing home. She'll have the logistics staff organize it before dinner."

America's car ownership rate was really high, and cars were cheap. Practically every adult knew how to drive.

Enjoying the coffee and pastries Amy had brought, Leon was quite pleased. His little assistant was smart and perceptive—even without being told, she knew what needed to be done.

"Good. Miss Amy, please notify the Merle brothers and have them bring the combat team to see me."

"Got it, boss."

A little while later, Merle and Daryl arrived with six combat personnel.

Merle was as enthusiastic as ever, a grin on his face as he called out, "Boss, what are your orders? Old Merle is always ready to serve."

Daryl gave Leon a stiff nod but didn't say a word.

Leon wore a gentle smile and handed each of them a cigar. He caught a whiff of alcohol on Merle—probably had a little drink earlier—but didn't comment. Instead, he said, "We're expecting a fight tomorrow. Today, I'm taking everyone to get familiar with how to deal with these zombies."

"Go grab your gear. Meet at the back gate in ten minutes."

The crowd was somewhat confused, but still responded in unison:

"Got it, Boss."

Ten minutes later, Leon changed into a set of leather clothes and pants suitable for exercise, and met up with the weapons and combat team at the street behind the nursing home.

He casually observed the surroundings, then led the group to the ruins of a construction site.

The ruins weren't large, piled with waste soil and rocks, surrounded by tall walls with no passage through, and over thirty zombies wandering nearby.

Leon nodded, finding the spot suitable. He turned to the combat team and said:

"Stay here and watch. Don't make a move. See how I deal with the zombies."

Four days had passed since he arrived in this world. He had gradually adapted to this apocalypse. Without fear of the zombie virus, he no longer felt much terror toward these monsters—only deep-seated disgust and hatred from the heart.

Under the gaze of the other combat members, Leon pulled a plush toy from his pocket and tossed it into a corner of the ruins.

The plush toy hit the ground, and cheerful children's music began to play.

Jingle bells! Jingle bells! Jingle all the way!

The thirty-plus zombies on the ruins were involuntarily drawn by the music. Their movements paused, and they began to shuffle one by one toward the corner.

Leon stood still, pulled a pistol with a silencer from his waist, raised it level with his eyes, and moved while shooting at the zombies' heads.

Pfft! Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!

Twelve bullets blew apart nine zombie heads.

After emptying one magazine, he calmly swapped in another.

Keeping a distance of about ten meters from the zombies, Leon's accuracy reached roughly seventy percent.

Pfft! Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!

After two magazines were spent, over a dozen zombies had fallen.

By then, some zombies had reacted to the noise. They turned to look at Leon, their eyes seeming to gleam with ferocity and greed.

Leon's face was expressionless. He holstered the pistol at his waist and pulled a meter-long cleaver from behind his back.

Watching the zombies slowly approach, a strange energy flowed gently through Leon's body. He swung the blade in a sweeping arc, lopping off the heads of the two nearest zombies, then used the momentum to chop downward, splitting open another zombie's skull.

After killing three zombies in a row, Leon didn't recklessly press forward. Instead, exploiting the zombies' difficulty turning around, he circled half the horde, found two isolated zombies on the periphery, and picked them off.

With the open terrain, the clumsy zombies couldn't even touch the hem of Leon's clothes. After circling a few more times, another five zombies were taken out individually.

After alternating between pistol and cleaver, only seven of the thirty-plus zombies remained, clustered together, still chasing Leon with no fear or hesitation, snapping their jaws.

Leon didn't continue fighting with the cleaver. He took aim and hurled it like a spear, piercing through a monster's brain. Then he observed for a few seconds, found a platform about a meter high, vaulted onto it, and scrambled up.

On the platform, he waited leisurely as the zombies surrounded it.

Without a foothold, these mindless monsters couldn't climb the platform at all. They crowded together frantically, reaching out their arms toward Leon, clawing uselessly at the air.

Standing on the platform, Leon pulled out his pistol again, swapped in a new magazine with a relaxed demeanor, and shot them one by one like hitting fixed targets—every bullet a headshot—killing all the remaining zombies.

After the fight, Leon leisurely lit a cigar and walked over to the combat team under their gazes of admiration, fear, or disbelief.

His tone was casual, as if he had just brushed off a speck of dust:

"This is lesson one. I'm telling you, these monsters aren't scary. They move slowly, have no intelligence, and only know how to bite."

"Aside from the easily fatal virus, their combat ability is even worse than a stray dog."

"Don't be afraid of them. As long as you use the right methods, every one of you can kill dozens or even hundreds of this trash."