Trap Truck

September 18, outskirts of Richmond County, Georgia.

On the wide, silent outskirts, a convoy of over a dozen vehicles sped along. At the front was a black modified heavy Jeep, followed by four military trucks, with eight large cargo vans bringing up the rear.

Leon smoked a cigar, gripping the steering wheel with one hand as he weaved around obstacles on the road at high speed.

In the passenger seat beside him, Kevira held an M41 assault rifle in both hands, leaning slightly forward with the barrel out the window, firing single shots.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

She wore a red-and-white tight stab-resistant suit, her marksmanship deadly accurate. Any zombie that came within thirty meters of the Jeep on the road was instantly taken down. With each shot, her fiery red high ponytail gave a slight tremble.

Leon drove while stealing glances at the girl's full, curvy figure. The pair of soft mounds pressed oval-shaped against her arms always managed to draw his attention involuntarily.

In less than a month since her recovery, this girl had already brought her body back to its pre-injury level.

Her healthy, wild physique radiated feminine charm at every moment.

She was fiercely competitive. After being recruited by Leon into the Security Department, she immediately challenged every member—whether in hand-to-hand combat or firearms—and not a single one could beat her.

This left the tough guys in the Security Department deeply embarrassed, and they trained even harder than usual.

After emptying three magazines without a single miss—most shots hitting the head—Kevira wore a slightly proud smile. She casually tossed the smoking rifle onto the back seat and gave Leon a smug wink.

"See? I told you I wasn't lying. My shooting's always been top-notch."

"Sure, you can beat me easily in a fight, but if we were enemies, you'd be dead by my gun first."

Leon's face remained expressionless as he said, "Girl, you've seen how fast I learn. I've only been handling guns for three months. I'm confident that in another six months, you won't be able to match me in marksmanship either."

A mischievous grin crept onto his face.

"And by the way, you're getting a little cocky. Your ass isn't sore anymore, huh? Looks like I didn't spank you hard enough yesterday."

Kevira instinctively covered her rear, her cheeks flushing slightly, a hint of allure coloring her sky-blue eyes.

"Hmph, that's because you're a total freak. In three months, your physical condition has improved by at least a tier since I last saw you. That's not something training alone can achieve—I know what I'm talking about."

Leon didn't dwell on the topic and instead shifted the conversation. "That Wex Outdoor Supply Center you mentioned—is it the biggest gun store in Georgia?"

Kevira nodded, pulling a yellow sun hat from somewhere and putting it on as she explained, "You outsiders might not know this, but in America, all big gun stores are set up outside towns. They don't call themselves that outright—usually, they go by 'Outdoor Supply Center.'"

"This Wex Outdoor Supply Center is privately owned. I've been there a few times. They usually stock around 2,000 long guns, a bit more handguns—maybe 5,000 or so. Plenty of variety, but the total value doesn't exceed 100 million dollars."

"Of course, since it's called an outdoor supply store, they sell more than just guns—crossbows, field tools, camping gear, and some military equipment that's legal to sell. They've got it all."

Leon nodded, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind. Three months had passed—who knew how much of the gear had already been taken by others.

But soon, his concern vanished.

Outside a massive building bearing the sign "Wex Outdoor Supply Center," a dense cluster of abandoned vehicles and thousands of zombies filled the area. From a distance, it looked like a dark, seething mass. No survivors would dare go there to grab supplies.

Leon was pondering how to deal with the zombies when he suddenly felt a soft, warm pressure on his arm, along with a fresh lemon-like scent.

Kevira pressed her body against his arm, a playful glint in her eyes, and asked with a light laugh, "Big shot, what's your plan?"

Leon ignored her and instead picked up the radio in the car. "Black Ant Unit, move out!"

At the boss's command, the eight large cargo vans at the rear of the convoy quickly pulled to the front, then turned around and reversed in a line toward the zombie horde.

When they were less than fifty meters from the horde, the rear doors of the cargo vans automatically rolled upward, revealing empty cargo bays.

The zombies, hearing the noise from the trucks behind them, turned their attention to the eight massive vehicles.

Just then, lively music blared from the cargo bays—a tune every American knew: "Jingle Bells."

Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way!

The loud, unmistakable sound immediately riled up the nearby zombies. They scrambled to climb into the bays, and in less than half a minute, over sixty zombies packed each one like chicks returning to a coop.

Clang!

The heavy doors slammed shut, sealing off the zombies inside from those outside.

A few seconds later, a loud buzzing sound erupted from within the bays. Three high-power rotating meat cleavers, resembling giant fans, slowly descended from the ceiling, their cutting range covering nearly the entire space.

The zombies inside, excited by the noise above, waved their arms, craned their necks toward the descending blades, and roared with their terrifying cries.

Then, within a dozen seconds, their heads were sliced into chunks by the cleavers.

After about two minutes, the rear doors opened again. Conveyor belts at the bottom of the bays began running, dumping dozens of headless bodies out, clearing the spacious compartments.

Completing one cycle, the drivers inched the trucks forward slightly to make it easier for more zombies to enter.

The zombies, utterly fearless, filled the bays again in just a few dozen seconds.

And so it went: crawl in, dump headless bodies, crawl in, dump headless bodies.

Eight trucks could carry away several hundred zombies per cycle. Gradually, after a dozen or so rounds, the rate at which zombies surged forward could no longer keep up with the trucks' processing speed. The once-dense horde had already dwindled by about half.

All that remained were eight rectangular mounds of headless corpses, a sight that stunned everyone present.

Kaelvin's eyes gleamed as he breathed softly, saying:

"Such a clever approach. If this method were widely adopted, even if the world had billions of zombies, humanity could still claim victory."

Standing on the other side of Leon, Colonel William's face was a mix of shock, delight, and fury.

The middle-aged officer couldn't help but slap himself, drawing blood from the corner of his mouth as he growled under his breath, "Damn it! Bastard! Such a simple solution—why didn't the military think of it? Why didn't I think of it?"

"All those brave soldiers—they died for nothing!"