Chapter 34: Encountering the Convoy**

After scanning the factory, the Cube discovered a lone survivor—a miracle given the dense zombie population. The factory's entrance sign read: *"Vehicles must present work permits."* Transforming into its off-road mode, the Cube rolled through the broken gate. A zombified security guard in a booth lunged at a rat scurrying from a sewer grate, its roars echoing uselessly.

The factory yard teemed with fifty-odd zombies, their rotting work uniforms flapping. The survivor huddled in a chemical storage building near the cafeteria, surrounded by barrels of industrial solvents. Thermal imaging revealed him crouched in a corner, burning crumpled newspapers.

"Foreman… don't blame me for killing you. You tried to bite me first!" the man muttered, tossing another "sacrificial offering" into the flames. "HR Manager Liu… here's some hell money. Don't haunt me!"

The Cube facepalmed metaphorically. *Humans and their superstitions.*

It located the bulldozer keys on a half-eaten corpse—a former driver whose ribs gleamed gruesomely in the sunlight. Transforming into a stretchable robotic form, the Cube awkwardly climbed into the cab. Steering with extended limbs, it inched the bulldozer toward the gate, zombies trailing behind like confused ducklings.

An hour later, mission accomplished. The Cube parked the bulldozer outside the factory and sunbathed on the asphalt, solar panels drinking in the afternoon glare.

——

Engine growls interrupted the stillness. A convoy of four cars sped up the mountain highway—two German sedans, an American SUV, and a battered Volvo. Inside the lead vehicle, a driver white-knuckled the wheel.

"F*cking nightmare! One minute I'm brushing my teeth, the next—zombie apocalypse!"

In the backseat, a teen girl sobbed into her brother's shoulder. "Jiejie stayed behind… she pushed me into the car…"

A middle-aged man stared at his wedding ring. "My wife… kids… gone. All we can do now is outrun the dead."

The Volvo's driver glanced nervously at his fuel gauge. "Hope that resort up ahead has gas. And fewer freakin' corpses."

——

Unseen, the Cube monitored their approach. *New variables.* It pinged Zhang Xiaowen's visor:

[Convoy detected: 14 survivors (3 armed). ETA to Long Mountain: 18 minutes. Advise preparation.]

Zhang's voice crackled back: "Keep tracking. And stop hijacking heavy machinery without notice!"

The Cube retracted its solar panels. Time to greet the newcomers—preferably before they stumbled into Dahei's patrol route. A territorial German Shepherd with PTSD made for poor diplomacy.

As the convoy rounded the final bend, the resort's scorched sign came into view: *Long Mountain Golf & Survival Club*. The Cube's toy car form waited at the entrance, hazards blinking in Morse code:

*.-- . .-.. -.-. --- -- .* (WELCOME)

The lead driver squinted. "Since when do RC cars have brake lights?"

The apocalypse's first interspecies resort management challenge had begun.