As they reached the entrance to Atlanta, Mori switched off the engine, and the two of them got out and continued on foot. They didn't dare act as recklessly as they had in the small town. There were too many zombies in the city; if they stirred them up, even the gods wouldn't escape their doom.
Mori led the way with Big Viper in hand, while Kirk followed with a police pistol. Mori had already warned Kirk that unless they were in grave danger and Mori gave him permission, he wasn't to fire, in case it attracted a horde. It was best to use a knife in close combat.
Kirk said he'd never used a knife before and was feeling a lot of pressure. So Mori had no choice but to teach him some knife skills again. To his surprise, Kirk discovered he'd acquired a second passive skill: [Basic Small Knife Mastery].
[Basic Small Knife Mastery] Level 1: Improves mastery of small bladed weapons used in close combat, such as daggers, long daggers, military knives, and wrist blades. Damage increased by 5%, speed increased by 5%.
Kirk became even more convinced that Mori was a gold mine, and grinned as he stuck close to him.
The two of them quietly crept toward the back entrance of a building on the street. They couldn't get any farther ahead, so Kirk peeked out. Just like in the Original Drama, it was a huge intersection. An American M1A1 main battle tank—the proud symbol of the United States of America's invincible armed forces—was parked imposingly by the roadside. But its driver had died on the tank's massive cannon, his corpse hanging from the barrel, eaten to pieces.
The protagonist, Rick, had already been here. His horse was still being torn apart and devoured by the zombies. The blood and fresh meat had drawn nearly every "person" in the city. They had blocked off the intersection and were still pouring into it.
At the zombies' feet, beside the tank, was the large bag of guns—rifles and shotguns, all conspicuous as could be. That was what Mori and Kirk had come here for.
"That's it." Kirk pointed excitedly.
"Mm." Mori narrowed his eyes. "Go get it."
"Sure. Hm? What did you say?" Kirk jumped.
"I said go get it. The bag of guns."
"You want me to go?" Kirk stared at him in disbelief. "Shouldn't you be the one to go?"
"Of course not. Why do you think I taught you how to use guns and knives? So you'd stop being dead weight. It's time to show me what your training has accomplished." Mori gave him a cold smile. "If you won't go, then we're done. You can fend for yourself. Now choose."
"Are you kidding me?" Kirk cried. "My Agility's so low the zombies could kite me all day!"
"That's your problem. The difference between you and them is that you still have this." Mori pointed at his head with a sneer. "Use it while you still can."
What else could Kirk say? He kept watching.
In the original story, after Rick was surrounded by zombies, he'd hidden beneath the tank and then climbed inside. Luckily, a Korean man named Glenn helped him by drawing the zombies' attention away, and Rick escaped.
How was he supposed to get that damn bag of guns?
As Kirk watched, a plan suddenly came to him. He pointed behind them, and Mori followed.
"I need to find a zombie."
"Be my guest." Mori shrugged.
A small pebble struck a white-collar woman zombie in the distance, drawing its attention. Then, after a series of stones lured her closer, the "lady"—who hadn't been dead for long and still had traces of her former beauty—walked into a small alley. Two thugs with evil intentions, hiding in the shadows, attacked her from behind and knocked her down. They took turns killing her—not that she was alive to begin with—and then hacked her apart and pulled out her organs. The poor "her" never came back out. (The zombie shouted, "You two beasts! I'm already dead, and you still won't leave me alone!")
Kirk threw up again, and violently. Mori really did have a sick streak!
A moment ago, Mori had forced him to kill a zombie with his own hands. This was his first time using a dagger, and the sensation of the blade entering rotten flesh had been bizarre. He knew rationally that it wasn't human anymore, but it wasn't badly decomposed and its face was mostly intact. He'd actually had to stab it in the head, splattering rotten brains all over his face. Then Mori had made him gut it and dig out its organs. He was starting to get used to the powerful stench of zombies, but this time he'd had to tear one open himself. Rotten innards, guts, filthy blood—he'd gotten it all over himself. The stench was unbearable, and even the ruthless Mori had kept his distance.
"Wouldn't have guessed, you idiot. You actually thought of this trick. But if they realize you're not one of them, I'm not saving you." Mori chuckled. "You were pathetic just now, acting like a little girl. You'd better get used to it."
Kirk was still retching bile. He replied crossly, "That's fine. If I die, I'll come find you tonight."
Then a creature more zombie than the zombies themselves walked out onto the streets of Atlanta.
Kirk slowly mimicked the zombies' gait, inching toward the horde.
A few zombies wandering outside approached him and sniffed. They seemed to decide he stank too much, and left in disappointment.
Kirk was overjoyed. To be honest, he would've been lying if he said he wasn't afraid. He was perfectly imitating the way a zombie's legs trembled—but in his case, his legs were actually shaking. Sweat poured off him.
The farther he went, the more zombies there were. They were bound to jostle against each other, and he had no idea whether his human scent would give him away. But the arrow was already on the string; there was no backing out now.
There were too many zombies. Though Kirk dodged from side to side, an overeager passerby knocked him down. The fellow had been shoved over while fighting for food, and took passerby Kirk down with him. The best part was that the intestine Kirk had draped around his neck like a scarf went flying.
This is bad! Kirk thought. Afraid to look up, he crawled to retrieve it. That rotten, reeking intestine suddenly seemed more appealing than the German sausages he loved.
Unexpectedly, a nosy zombie picked up the intestine and took a couple of bites. Maybe it had a taste for the disgusting; it seemed to think the intestine was a lot like its favorite food from when it was alive. (Kirk thought, It's not German sausage, is it?) It began chewing with gusto!
Kirk cursed inwardly. What kind of person is this? It doesn't even spare one of its own kind.
He had no choice but to keep walking.
But good things never came in pairs, and bad things always came in threes.
The zombie with the taste for the disgusting had discovered a whole new world. It chewed on its "German sausage," followed it back to the source, and tracked Kirk by scent.
Kirk groaned inwardly, but didn't dare break into a full run. That would only get him killed faster. He had no choice but to keep shuffling along, only a little faster now.
But this food-loving zombie was not only relentless; it had probably been a racewalker when it was alive. It caught up and lunged for Kirk's neck.
Kirk nearly wet himself and shouted. Every zombie turned to look at him.
Luckily, the gourmet had been aiming for the lump of something—maybe kidney or liver—hanging around his neck. It snatched it, took a taste, and spat it out.
Kirk was on the verge of breaking down, but he could only keep moving forward. There wasn't much left of his disguise now.
The "gourmet" had no intention of letting him go. It came closer again, this time taking the other length of intestine Kirk had wrapped around his waist for cover. It seemed especially fond of intestines.
Kirk could see more and more zombies around him twitching their noses as if they were thinking. They were very sensitive to the smell of the living.
Kirk didn't want to turn into one of them, so he kept shuffling along. At last, he reached the bag of guns and eagerly went to grab it.
But the "gourmet" was so impressed by Kirk's taste that it decided anything he picked up had to be the finest stuff! So it caught up again, playing the part of a robber and trying to steal the bag of guns from Kirk.
Kirk was out of luck once more. He didn't even have the five Strength points of an ordinary man. How could he wrestle a bag away from a racewalking gourmet whose strength had increased after death?
In the distance, Mori was laughing so hard he was rolling on the ground. That idiot.
If his life didn't depend on it, Kirk might've laughed too. This guy must've been a comedian when he was alive. Even as a zombie, he had a real talent for entertainment!
But, but Kirk was in the middle of several thousand bloodthirsty, flesh-eating monsters! Something so ridiculous had to happen to him right now!
Kirk managed to wrest the bag of guns away again and hurried toward the outskirts.
The gourmet chased after him once more. The surrounding zombies had grown deeply suspicious of Kirk, crowding around him with cold suspicion—like Americans back when they were alive, questioning whether an Asian person was really an American citizen.
Kirk watched the good situation fall apart right before his eyes, all because of this guy's mouth, and anger surged through him. He pulled a police shotgun from the bag and shoved it into the "gourmet's" foul, ravenous maw.
"I'll give you a mouthful of buckshot, you son of a bitch!"
Then he angrily pulled the trigger!
The gourmet's final meal was over. His jaw separated from the rest of his head, and his skull burst into pieces that sprayed in every direction. His dentures even flew onto the McDonald's sign by the roadside. At least he'd died doing what he loved.
Then Kirk started running for his life!
Just like the guys who'd robbed a bank and were carrying tens of millions of dollars—he ran for it!
He ran and fired until the shotgun ran out of shells, then used it to smash zombies as he charged straight ahead.
But the road up front was too narrow. After charging a few dozen meters, he couldn't get any farther. The zombies ahead were packed together like a crowd at Wangfujing in Xidan, Beijing.
"This is it for me!" Kirk groaned.
Suddenly, a motorcycle charged in, its powerful engine roaring as it crushed zombies and sent them stumbling. It headed straight for Kirk.
"Mori!" Kirk cried, tears in his eyes. "You finally came to save me! I'll never call you a white-skinned pig again—"
But the rider was wearing a helmet. He snatched the bag of guns from Kirk's hands and tried to take off—without Kirk!
Kirk was furious. He grabbed the bag and shouted, "Help! I'm being robbed! Motorcycle gang! Mori, you white-skinned pig! Police! Cops!"
The whole place fell silent. The zombies were obviously trying to remember what a motorcycle gang was, what the police were, what a white-skinned pig was, and what cops meant. They were confused.
The rider hesitated. Kirk leaped onto the motorcycle. "If you don't want to die, get moving!"
The motorcycle roared away.
Kirk was thrown onto the ground, bound hand and foot.
A lot of feet were trampling him. Kirk knew the rider wasn't Mori, and figured someone else had kidnapped him. He cursed inwardly. I must've offended the gods of misfortune. What did I do to deserve this? Why does everyone keep putting their filthy feet on me?
A man with a Spanish accent said, "What should we do with him?"
"Kill him!"
Then Kirk heard the sound of a gun being cocked. A sudden idea came to him. From the accent and the fact they were in Atlanta, he realized who the man was and shouted, "Don't shoot! I'm a prophet!"
After a moment of silence, a gun butt came down on him, and blood poured from his nose.
"Nima Prophet!"
"How did you know I'm Nima Prophet?" Kirk decided to play along and act mysterious. "You're Guillermo!"
"Hm?" Someone hauled Kirk to his feet. "How do you know my name?"
"Not only do I know your name, I know what trouble you're in." Kirk, the Nima Prophet, got carried away. "Your grandparents are in this nursing home. You're short on medicine, food, clothes, guns, and ammunition. So you risked your lives to steal guns, right? You didn't expect to run into me, so now you've decided to rob me instead?"
"Let him go," said a trembling old woman's voice.
They took off Kirk's hood, and he saw a young Black man and an elderly woman. The young man said, "Grandma, we can't trust this liar! He's no prophet. We can't take the risk. We have to kill him!"
"Guillermo, I know he's not a prophet, but he brought us guns," the old woman said with a smile.
"Those are my guns!" Guillermo exploded.
"He found them first, and he knows our situation. He's a godsend." The old woman still smiled.
Guillermo had no choice. He motioned for the young people around them to leave.
The old woman took Kirk, the Nima Prophet, on a tour of the nursing home. Just as Kirk already knew, things were bad here. The elderly residents could no longer get around, and the younger people couldn't bear to leave them behind to die, so they'd held out here together. The residents were being cared for reasonably well. There were doctors, nurses, and guards here. They were managing fairly well.
Kirk also saw the Plot Character kidnapped by Guillermo: Green, a Korean-American. He was helping care for the elderly here, too. It looked like Rick and the others hadn't come to get Green yet.
In the Original Drama, Green had been kidnapped by Guillermo while trying to retrieve the bag of guns. This time, Kirk had completed the task he'd left unfinished.
Kirk approached Green and brought up Mori. Green's expression changed dramatically. But Kirk also mentioned Rick and the others. Green was still somewhat suspicious, but he more or less accepted Kirk's claim to being a "prophet."
Then a commotion came from the front!
Are the zombies attacking, or has Rick found this place? Kirk was startled. In the Original Drama, Rick and his group had found this nursing home. They'd planned to fight their way in to rescue Green and take back the guns Guillermo had stolen. But after seeing how miserable things were here, Rick magnanimously gave half the guns to the nursing home, then left with Green.
A perfect ending, right? But! Kirk had seen the scenes the director cut. In reality, the nursing home still fell in the end! The kind old woman was devoured by Guillermo after he turned into a zombie!
That was how harsh reality was. Even with weapons, the nursing home wasn't strong enough to hold off the raging horde of zombies!
The person Guillermo had brought in was Mori. He and the two Daryl brothers were both skilled trackers, so they'd followed the motorcycle's trail here.
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