Count To Death

In a square, crowds of civilians desperate to escape swarmed in, with hundreds of thousands lining up anxiously, waiting for those ahead to be cleared.

A large number of soldiers, armed with heavy weapons and wearing solemn expressions, watched over the masses closely, strictly forbidding any behavior that might spark unrest.

Several beams of light swayed as searchlights illuminated the entire square, while countless people staggered and moved slowly toward a checkpoint set up in one corner of the plaza.

At the checkpoint, thousands of well-equipped U.S. Army soldiers stood at the ready.

The inspectors, holding devices that emitted a constant beeping sound, carefully scanned every civilian who passed by, then would raise a hand and shout, "This person is safe—move on!"

Immediately afterward, several soldiers with rifles aimed at the civilians' heads signaled them to proceed through the checkpoint.

One after another, John Carter slowly approached the checkpoint.

A dull, piercing pain began to flare up in his thigh, forcing him to stoop over involuntarily.

A middle-aged man in front of him asked with concern, "Hey, friend, what's wrong?"

John Carter looked up, his brow furrowed, and replied slowly, "It's nothing—I haven't eaten in over a day, and I'm starving."

The middle-aged man, showing a hint of sympathy, reached into his pocket and offered him a piece of chocolate, saying, "Here, have some—being hungry is no fun, haha."

With no time to refuse and indeed starving from over a day without food, John Carter accepted the chocolate, letting its sweet flavor burst across his taste buds, and mumbled, "Thanks, brother!"

The middle-aged man patted his shoulder, smiled, and turned back to join the queue.

Gazing at the incessantly beeping instrument, John Carter's heart was filled with unease.

Just days earlier, for reasons unknown, the United States had erupted into an unprecedented biochemical disaster, turning countless people into zombies.

Before arriving here, he had been scratched by a zombie.

According to government reports and everything he had witnessed on the way, he was sure that within twenty-four hours the virus would burst forth, transforming him into a zombie.

John's wound was a result of his girlfriend's betrayal; at an air duct, his girlfriend, desperate to buy herself more time to escape, had pushed him right into the midst of a horde of zombies.

He had barely escaped with his life from that zombie horde, though not without injury.

Yet, in the face of such dire straits, who wouldn't cling to a shred of hope?

Maybe a vaccine would be developed to counter the virus, or perhaps he was naturally immune.

Though humans are social creatures, there are always some who prefer isolation; yet when the entire human world is about to be engulfed in apocalypse, who dares to hide at home and wait for the encroaching terror and darkness?

John Carter was no different—he longed to return to a normal human society, secretly hoping that all of this was merely a nightmare from which he could awaken to find a bright, sunny day.

But when he again heard the beeping of that device and the soldiers shouting, "This person is safe, you may pass!", accompanied by countless searchlights sweeping over him and the roar of helicopters overhead, he knew all too well that this was no illusion.

As the line in front of him inched forward, the device suddenly emitted a series of urgent short beeps, and its beeping grew frantic!

With a sudden "crash!", the well-disciplined soldiers turned their guns on a civilian undergoing inspection.

The bald soldier holding the device stepped back in fright, his voice trembling as he shouted, "Attention, everyone—this guy is infected!"

At once, several rifle-bearing soldiers leaped away like rabbits, quickly distancing themselves from the man in the black suit who looked like a white-collar worker.

The man in the black suit began to cry out loudly, "No, no, God, I was only grazed by a zombie—just a little scratch. I won't be infected, let me through, let me go!" 

Before he could finish speaking, he tried to break through the checkpoint.

A brave soldier immediately rushed forward, striking the man with the gun butt, knocking him to the ground.

Then, stomping heavily with his high boots and pressing the gun against the man's forehead, he roared, "Shut up, you worthless scum!"

The man in the black suit cried out pitifully, "No... let me through, let me through!" ignoring the soldier's command.

"Now what, Captain?" the soldier asked as he stood on top of the black-suited man's head.

"What can we do? May God welcome him—kill him!" replied the officer nonchalantly while sipping his coffee, his chiseled face completely emotionless as he made the decision.

Barely after his words, the soldier swiftly racked his gun with a "clack," aimed at the man's temple, and sneered, "Kid, whether you meet God or Satan, tell 'em I said so!"

Terrified by the threat of death, the man in the black suit trembled and struggled desperately.

Seeing the soldier about to finish off the man, John Carter rushed forward and shouted, "Stop! He's still human!"

Perhaps his shout was more of a plea for his own defense.

Deep down, John Carter couldn't help but sigh in despair.

"You have no idea—if he isn't killed now, then once he turns into a zombie, who will kill him? He'd tear your guts out!" sneered the soldier, his tone laced with sarcasm as he noticed John Carter's police uniform.

Furious, John Carter quickly pressed the barrel of his gun against the soldier's throat and shouted, "Let him go!"

At that moment, a group of fully armed soldiers turned their guns on John Carter, as if any sudden move on his part would result in his head exploding into a mess.

An officer, who had been quietly seated in the shadows, strode out and shouted angrily at John Carter, "The President has ordered that anyone who appears to be a zombie or infected must be killed on sight! This is the only way to save humanity! Kid, put your gun away and don't cause trouble here!"

Just as John Carter was about to retort, the black-suited man, who had been underfoot, suddenly began to tremble violently, foam bubbling from his mouth—clear signs that he was on the verge of turning into a zombie.

Without hesitation, the soldier fired several shots—"rat-a-tat-tat"—and instantly killed the man, the sound of gunfire plunging the scene into a somber silence.

The officer taunted John Carter, "See? Had I not killed him, he would have turned into a flesh-eating zombie by now!"

Meanwhile, other checkpoints also began to detect suspected infected individuals, and the soldiers, choosing to act first, started shooting—regardless of whether the person had truly turned into a zombie.

Suddenly, John Carter felt an overwhelming terror welling up inside him—he could sense that the world once belonging to humanity could no longer accommodate someone like him, who was on the brink of becoming a zombie, even though, at that moment, these people were still called "human."

Amid the crowd, a silent girl collapsed in a state of mental breakdown, tears streaming down her cheeks.

After a long moment, the girl struggled to her feet and, with a look of shock on her face, said to John Carter, "Thank you, but our lives are already over."

A soldier stepped forward, attempting to inspect the girl, but she waved him off, saying, "No need—I've already been bitten by a zombie!"

After showing her wrist, horrifically marred by bites, the soldier was taken aback and looked to the officer with confusion over her voluntary approach.

The officer's gloomy eyes gave a slight nod, and the soldier understood immediately.

Then with a quick "clack" as he racked his gun, the soldier swiftly aimed at the girl's head.

The girl offered a bitter smile and said mournfully to everyone, "I didn't want it this way either. May God bless you…"

With a crisp "pop!" the sound of a gunshot sliced through the air as the girl's body collapsed instantly.

That shot left John Carter trembling with shock.

Perhaps influenced by the girl's act of choosing death, several young people slowly stepped forward, stood by her side, and bowed their heads in silent mourning.

The soldiers then turned their gaze back to the officer, whose somber eyes betrayed a hint of reluctance.

He gritted his teeth, nodded once, and turned away, unwilling to face the tragic scene any longer.

"Rat-a-tat-tat!" With a series of gunshots, those young people—each and every one of them having once been bitten by zombies—offered their lives that moment, alongside the girl, for the sake of humanity's survival.