Soaring Together

Tom's plan was simple, and he explained it briefly to Uncle Wei and the others, and they understood immediately.

The sofa had been blown down from upstairs by the previous typhoon. All they needed to do was tie the dog's body to the sofa and let the typhoon carry the body downstairs.

Uncle Wei asked, "But a dog weighs thirty to forty pounds. How can we carry it with the sofa?"

Tom stomped on the back of the sofa forcefully. "Half of the sofa is exposed outside the railing. We don't need the sofa to be blown far away. We just need it to lose balance and fall."

"Oh," Boyo suddenly realized, "we rely on the sofa's descent to bring the dog down. But what if the dog's body gets stuck on the railing?"

"As long as the dog's body leaves the ground, we leave the rest to the typhoon. Of course, I can't guarantee a hundred percent success. In the end, the sofa might fall because it gets stuck on the railing, leaving the dog's body here. The success of this part depends on luck. And to complete this task, we need a few things."

"What things?"

"Thick rope! Not the ones we make in our camp, but real thick ropes, the ones we used before we downsized. The dog's body is too heavy for our handmade ones to pull. And then, large pieces of oiled paper. To increase the wind resistance of this sofa, otherwise, just relying on the hope that the typhoon will blow it away again is not very realistic."

"Thick rope, there's a grocery store at the street corner!" Boyo was in charge of collecting supplies, and his memory was excellent. He immediately remembered the grocery store with the mutated rat scent.

"And for the oiled paper, it's in the room on the east side of the third floor."

Upon hearing that the supplies were readily available, Tom nodded in satisfaction.

But Uncle Wei raised a question, "Tom, the typhoon is strong. It might carry the sofa and the dog away, and our camp might be in trouble. The door won't close, and people won't be able to stay. I think the typhoon will come later tonight. To complete your plan, we need more hands to move most of the supplies."

Tom smiled, "Tie another rope to the dog's body and attach the other end to the door handle. When the dog flies away, it will close the door for us."

"Right!" Uncle Wei laughed heartily. "Tom, you're clever!"

"Half of this relies on arrangement, and the final outcome depends on luck. So you need to make sure those old ladies and kids in the camp move as much of the supplies as possible to the next room. When the typhoon comes, everyone should hide in the next room to avoid the dog not being blown away or the door not being closed. If we fail, we can only temporarily abandon these supplies and move them to the third floor after the typhoon passes."

Uncle Wei sighed, "That's all we can do."

Let's get to work; the typhoon could arrive at any moment. Uncle Wei immediately summoned everyone, and Tom explained his plan. Boyo divided the manpower on the spot, and they cooperated to carry out the tasks.

Tom led a team in worn-out Street Zero armor to collect thick ropes from the grocery store, while Boyo led another team to the room on the east side of the third floor to get oiled paper. Skinny and a group of nimble-handed people modified the wooden sofa, waiting for Boyo to return with the paper to finish it.

The elderly, the weak, and the sick had already been moved to the room next door, which Uncle Seven had originally occupied. Although this group was the smallest, with Tengmumu's wood, their efficiency was not inferior to that of the young people.

Speaking of which, although Tengmumu was slow, he wasn't stupid. When the big dog attacked, it immediately crawled under the cabinet and hid securely. It wasn't until Tom woke up that it lazily crawled out.

With clear goals, their actions were efficient. Tom, clad in worn-out Street Zero armor, led everyone to collect the ropes from the grocery store, and it took them two and a half hours to return with the ropes. By then, the wind had already picked up, and it was already dark at 5:31 PM.

Boyo and his team had already set up the scaffolding with bamboo poles and were preparing to cover it with oiled paper.

According to Tom's design, they needed three pieces of oiled paper sails, each mounted on the top, side, and bottom parts of the sofa. The angle of the sail frames was slightly downward, redirecting the wind's thrust downward to help push the sofa down.

By this time, the wind was getting stronger, and the sail frames had to be installed by Tom climbing up in his worn-out Street Zero armor. Although the movements were slow, only this heaviest set of armor could ensure he wouldn't be blown away by the wind.

Tom worked for another hour, only finishing installing the upper and side sails. By then, the wind was too strong. It was estimated that he and the armor would be blown away together if he tried to install the lower sail, so he gave up.

After checking to ensure the frames were sturdy enough, he pulled the rope mechanism and unfurled the oiled paper sails. If he had opened them earlier without installing them, both he and the armor would have been blown away like kites.

Large raindrops pattered down, and Boyo's team successfully tied the thick rope, as thick as a human head, tightly around the dog's body, with the other end tied to the sofa.

Skinny and the others had also completed the connection from the dog to the door handle outside the clinic.

The elderly, weak, and

 sick had already been moved to the room next door, which Uncle Seven had originally occupied. Tom checked the ropes on the sofa in the wind and rain and nodded in satisfaction.

"Abo, take everyone to the next room and double-check the doors and windows to make sure they're closed. I'll stay here."

"Why don't you come inside?"

"I want to stay here to ensure the mechanism's success."

"You said half of it relies on luck, and we've done enough. Even if we fail, we can move to a new room. You're the most important person in our camp!"

Boyo was a little anxious. "Even if we fail, we can move to a new room. You're the most important person in our camp!"

"I must stay; it's the part of the effort! Hurry, I have to stay. Don't worry, even if we fail, I'll be fine hiding in the back room!" 

"Then I'll stay with you!"

"No, the camp needs you. If there's an emergency, Uncle Wei won't be able to handle it. Go now!" Tom was deeply moved, patting Boyo's shoulder, and Boyo could only nod reluctantly. "Be careful!"

The door to the adjacent room had long been closed, leaving only a crack. After everyone had entered, Boyo checked the surroundings once more. He then gave Tom a thumbs-up before finally sliding into the room and closing the makeshift door panel.

Tom, clad in worn-out Street Zero armor, stepped into the clinic and approached the body of the field dog. While they were tidying up the aftermath, they had also dug out the crystal from this large dog... it was even bigger than the one they had dug out from the body of the bamboo leaf green snake. But Tom hadn't had a chance to look at it, as he was busy setting up these mechanisms.

The strong wind gushed in from the doorway, sending many scattered stones and debris flying around, some even hitting Tom, making a dull thud against his iron armor.

Tom plucked out a dog hair, holding it in his hand, and sat down in a corner near the door.

As the wind grew stronger, not only did small objects inside the house fly around, but even some chairs were blown over. The fur on the dog's body churned like black waves, and Tom heard the sound of the oiled paper sails outside, flapping in the wind. He stood up and cautiously made his way along the wall towards the door. During this time, a glass bottle fell from the window sill above his head, narrowly missing him. The splattering glass shards were even more dangerous; if he hadn't lowered his faceplate, he would have been pierced.

Finally reaching the door, he leaned against it and looked outside. He saw the oiled paper sails on top of the sofa bulging in the typhoon wind, and the wooden sofa began to sway slightly downward.

"Here it comes!" Tom knew that success or failure depended on this moment. As long as the sofa was pressed down, it would drag the dog's body downstairs, and then the door would be closed automatically, completing everything perfectly.

But just at that moment, a violent gust of wind blew the door inward with force, and the door slammed against the wall and bounced back, causing the small metal door underneath to pop out and get stuck on the thick rope connecting the sofa to the dog.

As a result, the heavy dog's body and the metal door were stuck together, holding back the falling sofa. Tom couldn't hear the sound of the sofa hitting the ground; it must be hanging in mid-air, with the huge tension tightening the rope.

With such a strong typhoon, the hanging sofa would definitely sway, increasing the tension. The door here was also stuck, and the old wooden door trembled slightly due to the tension. If this door broke, the safety of the camp would be compromised, and they would have to evacuate.

Tom gritted his teeth and, with heavy steps, approached the base of the door. He picked up his butcher knife and used six times his usual strength to pry, trying to release the rope stuck by the metal door.

One tug, two tugs, and on the third tug, the rope instantly loosened. It immediately pulled the dog's body up, and at the same time, Tom, who was underneath the door crack, was blown up into the air.

"Wow!" Tom was thrown into the air, caught in the powerful gusts. In mid-air, he grabbed onto the dog's fur, then tightly held onto his body, avoiding being blown away by the wind.

As the dog passed over the railing and was pulled down by the sofa, Tom also fell down with them.

He inserted the butcher knife into the wound on the dog's abdomen, clawing at the dog's fur with one hand as they fell.

As soon as they landed, he heard a loud bang from the second floor, which should mean the door was successfully closed. Since he was on the dog's body and the wind was blowing fast, it cushioned part of the impact, and he bounced on the ground twice, unharmed.

But the wind was too strong. He had just landed and was blown over a few times. He reached out again, grabbing onto the edge of the exploded wound, his legs swinging in the air. It was all thanks to his hands clutching onto the dog's body that he wasn't blown away.

Tom, wearing worn-out Street Zero armor, curled up in the wound he had created himself, panting heavily, enduring the strong smell of blood.