The ship's crash site was about 1.5 kilometers away from the base in a straight line, which was not very far, and it was only ten minutes away on the plains on a clear day, but Mosilaire, who was deep in the wind and snow, had a great time moving forward.

The biting cold wind and sharp ice ballast could not completely block it, and even the layers of cloth could not completely block it, and Mosilaire could only crawl on his hands and feet, trying to stay in the right direction as his vision became increasingly blurred.

As she slowly advanced, some terrifying and strange figures gradually appeared in the violent snowstorm, and most of the bodies of these zombies were frozen by the cold air current, and finally became one terrifying sculpture after another in the snow storm.

A handful of guys who miraculously retained their mobility struggled towards the ship's crash site, unsure if they were attracted by the flames and the sound of last night's explosion.

Mosilaire wasn't too worried about being spotted by them, as the raging blizzard largely obscured their body and voice, and their movements were laughably slow due to the low temperatures—to be honest, Mosilaire's 130-year-old great-grandmother was faster than them in pushing a wheelchair with one hand, and much faster.

But the closer you get to the crash site, the denser the zombies around Mosilaire become, because of the burning of the shipwreckage, their decaying and dry bodies are also moistened by the hot air, so they can be much more flexible than the unfortunate ones who are unfortunate enough to freeze on the periphery.

So Mosilele was more cautious. As she continued to move towards her goal, she could suddenly feel a wave of warm air rushing towards her face.

The burning heat caused a large area of snow in the vicinity to melt, forming a huge snow pit with a radius of nearly 100 meters around the wreckage.

Lying on the edge of the snow pit, Mosilaire, who was warm and wanted to doze off, squinted at the dense shadows of the zombie gentlemen below.

These brainless creatures were all gathered in front of the remnants of the ship's main body at this time, and although they were scurrying around without direction or destination, they were still roughly circling around the burning main body.

Combined with the terrifying wails that erupt from the rancid vocal cords from time to time, the uninformed would think that this is nothing more than a group of wealthy businessmen from the Empire throwing some kind of bullshit bonfire in the ice and snow.

As for the cacophony - please, have you ever seen any nouveau riche sing well?

Mosilaire looked around, trying to find supplies that had been thrown away with the impact of the ship's crash.

Food, medical supplies, and electronics were all important, as were electrical tape, repair tools, and defense equipment, or she could pick up mugs, carved fries, a bed with soft futon, or anything else she liked.

— Mosilaire is an electrical engineer who might be able to fix simple appliances with the right tools and materials — and she notices a lot of power generation around the base, from snowflake-covered solar panels to towering wind turbines with still rotating blades.

If she could really restart the basic power system at the base, she should be much more comfortable than she is now. - At least she doesn't have to worry about the firewood for heating anymore.

As long as there is electricity, and then connected to the appropriate resistor or graphics card, the sufficient heat out of thin air will definitely fill her cold heart, right?

With the bionic eye on his right, Mosilaire quickly planned his route. Generally speaking, these valuable artificial eyeballs, which are linked to organic neural networks, have some night vision and have a focusing ability that far exceeds that of biological eyeballs.

In a hurry, she only planned to rush down the slope as fast as she could, grab everything she needed and return to the top of the slope and rush back to the base - it wasn't a perfect plan, but it was simple to execute - at least in mind.

Looking at the faltering, twisted, terrifying-looking zombies at the bottom of the pit, Mosiliel's heart pounded.

She took several deep breaths, filling her lungs with cold air as she said warm words to herself so that she could calm down.

Eventually, she made up her mind and stepped out of her right leg.

The slopes weren't too steep, but Mosilaire soon found that she couldn't stop her pace,—— and the sheer inertia was pushing her to run faster and faster, as if she had told a lie and could only repeat your mistake endlessly with a bigger lie.

The runaway horse turns into a comical, colossal disaster – Mosilaire tries to prevent it from happening, but she tripped over herself as she reached the halfway point.

Rushing forward, Mosilaire tumbled down the slopes, transforming herself into a fluffy Christmas snowman by the time she was thrown to the bottom of the puddle.

Fortunately, the snow was very thick, and there were no angular stones in front of her.

Mosilaire scrambled up from the snow in shock, but she didn't seem to be harmed in any real way—except for her spear being broken in half.

Optimistically, at least she came down soon,—— faster than she expected.

Taking advantage of the fact that her zombies had not yet gathered, Mosilaire untied the wooden spear that was only more than half a meter long, broke through the zombies' death encirclement and ran to his destination undisguisedly.

Even though the ankle-length snowflakes were severely hindering her progress, it took her only a short time to get to the supplies scattered on the ground, and she struggled to find the well-preserved resources and put them in the large bag she had sewn and knitted - although it was ugly and uncomfortable to carry, it had a lot of capacity and could hold more things - not to mention that it was her only bag, so there was nothing to be faulted with.

In order to sew the bag, Mosilaire took out all the materials that she would have used to make a blanket for herself.

From time to time, there will be scattered zombies trying to capture her while she is gathering resources, but their fate usually doesn't match the light-hearted and witty tone of the book - after all, it is still difficult for people whose heads are burned by shackled plasma bombs to go to heaven.

Although Mosilaire rarely uses a gun, she feels that she seems to have some superhuman talent in this area.

It's a pity that as time passed, more and more zombies with chaotic consciousness noticed the appearance of Mosilelle, an uninvited guest, and finally pushed and converged into a wave of dense corpses that she absolutely could not stop.

She simply put away her charged rifle, knelt on the ground, carried the bag to her chest, and tried to stuff every package of survival food scattered in front of her into her broken bag.

All the useful resources she could discern were frantically retracted by Mosilelle, even as the terrifying wails of the zombies behind her grew louder and closer!

She still grabbed bag after bag of food, picked up piece after piece, and fell into irrational hunger like a blinded gambler.

She could almost feel the vicious gaze of the zombies behind her—they were so eager to tear fresh blood food to fill their never-ending horrible hunger and bloody greed!

But these foods, these medical supplies, are the only thing Mosilaire can rely on to survive the seemingly never-ending blizzard, and every time she squeezes a bag of survival food that is frozen as hard as iron into her bag, her life will be extended by one more point!

She's greedy, she's desperate, she's fearless!

It wasn't until her bag could no longer hold a bag of food or a single piece of it that Mosilaire finally came to her senses from this endless madness.

She could already smell the stench of corruption coming from the zombies behind her.

Trembling uncontrollably, Mosilaire quickly picked up her bag and tried to climb back up the snowy slope around the tide of corpses to get back on—but the sound of a cat meowing from a ruin caught her attention.

The sound was so familiar to her that Mosilaire could clearly distinguish the weak moan under the wild roar of the zombies.

Peanuts, will they be peanuts?

The roar of the zombies behind her almost burst her eardrums, their sluggish brains were getting more and more excited, and their staggering steps were becoming more steady and powerful, and once caught, she could almost foresee the desperate and terrible end!

Mosilaire bit her lip and stood there for several seconds, but finally rushed to the wreckage from which the sound came from.

Poor little peanut was buried under a front armor plate twisted by the huge impact, and his left hind limb was also firmly pressed down by several heavy pieces of iron mixed with steel bars and electrical circuits.

Mosilaire put his hands under the armor plates, his weak body trembling in fear.

The zombie frenzy behind them is approaching, their twisted and crazy figures twisting and deforming in the hot firelight, and densely projecting on the armor plates, like the shadows of demons dancing in hell!

Mosilaire closed his eyes, forcing himself not to look at the terrifying shadows that were layered on top of each other.

For a moment, she thought about letting go of the iron plate, abandoning the peanut and turning and running away to be a coward—a shameful coward—but at least she would survive.

But when she caught a glimpse of the hope revealed by Peanut's bright and beautiful green eyes, Mosilaire's conscience rejected the terrible and heartless idea.

He is Peanut's hope, and the only hope that can save him from the monstrous flames and endless corpse tides.

In particular, there is a longing in Peanut's eyes - the desire to survive - how similar it is to himself.

Even though both arms were shaking violently uncontrollably, and the torn muscles were exerting great pain on her at this time, she did lift the steel plate,—— the shattered metal fell to the ground with a clatter, and the wires that were wound into a vague revelation were also pulled apart by her—it was incredible!

With his heart pounding, Mosilaire quickly took the dying peanut in his arms and struggled to crawl up the snowy slope.

Fortunately, the stiff joints and limbs of the stupid zombie are not suitable for crawling, otherwise there will be another elaborate chase on the snow.

Some of the zombies at the bottom of the pit didn't know how to bend down and lower their center of gravity, and they would fall awkwardly before they took a few steps up the slope, and these clumsy fools kept repeating this action, and soon fell completely into a ball, only to howl angrily at Mosilaire at the top of the snow pit.

Mosilaire sprinted in the direction of the base following the mark she had left behind, her heart pumping out of fear that made her forget all her pain and fatigue.

She had never felt so happy running freely with the wind - she felt as if she had outrun the wind and waves, outrun the blizzard, and even outrun time and the ubiquitous, shadowy death!

Infiltrating the base, Mosilaire dragged a mottled, rusty iron plate over the gap, blocking the darkness, snow, and wind out of the hallway.

She's finally back – through the blizzard, and making it safely to her den with the lucrative loot,—— bringing back our adorable cat, Peanut.