Luring Away the Horde

Glory Avenue, Commercial Street.

Leon sat in a blue-gray Ford Mondeo, lighting himself a cigar.

Since arriving in this world, he had grown almost addicted to cigars—rich and mellow, with a captivating aroma. A single gentle puff brought him physical and mental pleasure, a transcendent sort of bliss.

Before Leon could set off, Daryl walked over again and said softly:

"Boss, let me handle this instead."

"If Merle finds out I let you do something this dangerous, he'll mock me for a whole month."

Leon stared intently at Daryl's face for a moment. This young man was about his age, but beneath that dull, fierce exterior lay a sincere heart. He patted Daryl on the shoulder and said earnestly:

"Next time, Daryl. You're not ready yet. Once you've truly adapted to this world, I'll rely on you more."

Daryl was silent for a few seconds, met Leon's eyes, and nodded. "I'll remember that, Boss. Next time, let me go."

The blue-gray Ford sedan drove into the commercial street under everyone's watchful gaze.

Cruising down Glory Avenue, Leon observed his surroundings while carefully maneuvering around obstacles on the road.

The shops here were uniformly decorated with a refined, minimalist style—transparent glass doors and windows, bright-colored walls and floors, vivid spray-painted signs. It all fit the tastes of modern young people perfectly.

Coffee shops, bubble tea stores, KFC, department stores, an Apple Store—a wide variety of businesses, everything one could need.

Wandering the streets were many young zombies in suits and bright attire.

Before the disaster, this must have been a bustling commercial hub popular with young people.

There's bound to be plenty of good stuff here, Leon thought. Soon, he drove the car to number 108.

Arriving at the designated spot, he quickly reversed the car, ramming aside two zombies that tried to close in.

With his right hand, he cranked the car's music player to maximum volume and switched it to external mode.

This car was one he'd picked out in advance—it had a music playback function, like the speakers a square-dancing auntie would use.

A classic rock song by The Rolling Stones, "Paint It, Black," suddenly exploded through the street.

I see a red door and I want it painted black

No colors anymore, I want them to turn black

...

The deafening music instantly roused every nearby zombie. They lifted their ugly, twisted, rotting faces, swayed their bodies, and staggered toward the blue-gray Ford.

Leon didn't accelerate. He kept the car in low gear, coasting, pausing and speeding up by turns, luring the zombies to follow him slowly.

He honked the horn a few times now and then. Soon, a massive, pitch-black horde of corpses had formed behind the blue-gray Ford.

Leon led them past the Interstate Highway intersection, past the gas station, past the Walmart Department Store, past 168 Glory Avenue.

After more than ten minutes, the Ford had driven three or four kilometers. Fifty meters behind the car, a colossal horde of nearly a thousand zombies had gathered—flailing their claws, howling wildly, packed shoulder to shoulder, almost filling the entire street.

Leon drove and observed, adjusting the car's direction. He took a pre-prepared stone from the passenger seat and gently pressed it down on the accelerator.

Then he opened the door, rolled out, and scrambled away from the car.

The driverless vehicle continued its slow advance, leading the horde to who knows where.

This was a trick he'd learned from Old Merle in the TV series.

He didn't dare linger. After rolling out, he immediately dashed toward a house with its door wide open.

No sooner had he entered than two roars came from the living room. Two zombies in home clothes had spotted him.

Without a second thought, Leon pulled a silenced pistol from his waist.

Pew! Pew! Pew! Pew!

Moving as he fired, he emptied four or five bullets into the zombies' heads, blowing them to the ground.

He quickly made his way to the back of the house, only to find, to his dismay, that it had no back door—no way to slip out unseen.

Fortunately, they used large-pane sliding windows. Without time to overthink, Leon pulled open the window latch, hunched over, and climbed out.

At last, he was completely out of the zombies' sight.

Leon let out half a sigh of relief. He skirted the path the horde might take and headed back toward Glory Avenue via another street.

Three or four kilometers on foot, while dodging zombie harassment and avoiding large groups.

Hiding, sneaking, fighting—it took nearly an hour before Leon finally returned to the vicinity of 168 Glory Avenue.

Leon experienced firsthand just how dangerous it was for an ordinary person to survive in this kind of world.

After traveling such a distance, even someone like him—with unique abilities and a physique already near the peak of an ordinary human, a cheater—felt exhausted. His clothes were splattered with filthy blood and shreds of flesh.

He noticed the road ahead was blocked by a red heavy truck. A dozen or so zombies were clawing and pounding uselessly at its metal exterior, unable to scratch it.

Looks like Glenn and the others have already finished their task.

Leon thought it over and decided to play it safe. He didn't charge head-on into the zombie horde again—the four-meter-tall truck was hard to scale without tools.

After another hour of running, he finally made it back from the Interstate Highway entrance to Rongguang Avenue Commercial Street.

As he entered the street, Daryl and the others were still in the middle of their fight.

Daryl, Glenn, and T-Dog were all wearing police-grade riot gear for protection, each wielding half-meter-long machetes. They formed a simple defensive formation, coordinating with one another, advancing and retreating in turns as they battled seven or eight zombies.

Scattered across the pavement of the commercial street were dozens of zombie corpses, clearly their handiwork.

Silently approaching their position, Leon launched an attack from the flank. He drew his silenced pistol, emptied a magazine, and helped them finish the fight.

When the battle ended, Daryl, Glenn, and T-Dog all let out a collective sigh of relief.

Glenn, being the more outgoing type, shook out his numb arm from the exertion. His eyes lit up with admiration as he looked at Leon, who was drenched in blood and grime, and said:

"That was incredible, Boss. You just used a single car to lure away hundreds of zombies."

"Maybe we could use that method to draw all the zombies out of the city."

Leon pulled a few cigars from his back pocket, tossed them to the group, and lit one for himself. He shook his head calmly and said:

"It's not that simple, Glenn."

"Zombies are attracted by sound, which makes them cluster easily, and they can be led away by noise."

"But by the same token, as long as we make any slightly louder sound, they'll gradually be drawn back."

"Atlanta's local population is over half a million. Add in the residents from surrounding areas and the city's transient population, the number of zombies in the downtown core is estimated to be over a million."

"If we don't kill these zombies but instead choose to lure them away and let them linger near us..."

"Sooner or later, we'll be completely surrounded and trapped here by a million zombies."