If Mosilele had been groomed, she would have been a lovely girl who could have dimmed the early spring sun—but now she was presented to the victim with a cruel image of a hideous face, who had just violently smashed the heads of two zombies to pieces with an electric rifle.

But did the poor victims have a choice? Obviously not, no matter what fate will be ushered in after this young lady, it will always be better than entering the belly of a zombie. And it's a lot better.

So the old man with the explosive head endured the bruises on his body and gritted his teeth to keep up with Mosilelle.

There were so many zombies around—far more than Mosilaire had expected.

But she's also excited – because she loves the slight vibrations that come with firing from a charged rifle. The mesmerizing colors of the charged bullets that spew out, the powerful drawings of zombies bursting brains as they splash almost make her feel like she is in control of life and death.

Because the unfortunate guy behind him seems to have been hit and bruised violently when the escape pod crashed, they will be a little slower to return. - Even so, the zombies couldn't keep up with their hurried pace in the moonlight.

Mosilele only needs to be wary of the encirclement that may form, and pass through the middle in time to guarantee her basic safety with the gray-haired fellow.

About half an hour later, Mosilaire and the victim entered the first line of defense of the base through an inconspicuous iron door in the corner, obscured by shrubs, firewood waste, and old orange trees that did not bear fruit.

The heavy protective walls still stand silently around the main body of the base, and anyone who comes can feel truly at ease as soon as they step into the area it protects.

The unfortunate visitor claimed to be an old knife, but no further information was given, and Mosilaire was amusefully unasked - after all, no one who had just experienced a shipwreck would be in a good mood to talk to a stranger - not to mention that there might be his friends and relatives on board, and their fate was now uncertain.

Winnie opened the main door to the base for them - the chute door had been reinforced by Mosilaire after the last zombie attack, and now it was 5mm thick at its thinnest level, enough to defend against a .45 caliber pistol at close range - and Mosilaire had added a few motors to it, so now it was easy to open and close the door by simply activating a small red button on the inside.

If visitors don't take a closer look at the various colors of iron sheets spliced on it, then it naturally has a high-end atmosphere and elegance on this wild planet.

Old Knife didn't seem to be a man of words, but he still had some surprise on his face when he saw the young Winnie and some of the cultivation boxes that could be seen through the half-hidden doors.

After drinking a glass of cold boiled water, he wiped his mouth with his burnt cuffs, and for the first time took the initiative to speak: "I never thought that there were still people living here. ”

"What do you mean?" Mosilaire raised her pretty eyebrows, looking a little confused.

"If you knew that everyone who used to live here had died inexplicably," Old Knife sat down at the table with a gloating smile, "and you might know what I mean." ”

"Did you starve to death?" Hiding behind Mosilere, Winnie showed her head and asked the old knife who was sitting at the table as if he had never eaten in his life, gobbling up a freshly heated package of survival food for Mosilele.

The old knife almost choked, but he shook his head firmly.

Even though Mosilaire and Winnie repeatedly asked, Old Knife only revealed that he only knew about the rumor.

Since childhood, the base has been associated with some of the horrors that have been passed down in the countryside - it is said that those who dare to live here die horrific deaths, so tragic that those who see it will vomit violently for three days and three nights and lose their appetite for some time.

After a perfect meal, the knife tactfully told Mosilele that if he could eat such a great food every day, then he might stay here for a while, which of course Mosilele said without mercy.

The colony is now unable to provide such abundant food, and the outdoor area with meat resources has become dangerous due to the rampant zombies. - Even these packaged survival foods will always be eaten one day.

So Lao Dao immediately generously said that his requirements for food were not as high as he imagined, as long as he could fill his stomach every day - after all, he had nowhere to go now, and even if he insisted on going to the wilderness, it was just to add food to the hungry zombies outside the door.

Before going to bed at night, Mosilaire re-disinfected and medicated the wound that the old knife had temporarily bandaged, and sapped some safflower oil on some of the bruises - the old knife had never seen safflower oil before, and at first thought it was a red wine mixed with pungent spices - he secretly took a sip while Mosilele was not paying attention, and since then he has firmly remembered the lesson that you should not drink anything from outside the world.

Since it was already eleven o'clock in the evening, Mosilaire planned to tidy up the dirty, ruined room for the badly injured fellow to-morrow—and for tonight, Old Knife would probably have to sleep in the barn with Mosileelle and Winnie—unless she could bear Old Knife sleeping on the cold, hard hallway floor.

However, although they slept in the same room, Mosilaire and Winnie deliberately slept in their coats tonight.

The old knife lay on the old straw mat, and under Mosilaire and Winnie was a new mat with the warm smell of the sun. - It's made of almost pure weed, but at least there's a new feeling when you lie down.

In addition, they also had a fluffy duck feather pillow that Mosilele had newly sewn from ultra-fabric for the past two days, which was tough, skin-friendly and very soft - since Mosilere and Winnie used the new pillow, their cervical spine pain has been greatly relieved.

Under the poor old knife's head was a straw bale, the kind of hateful straw bale that was crudely rolled in hay, piercing and hard.

But Old Knife was lucky—especially when compared to his companions who died in the tragic accident. So Lao Dao was very satisfied, and he was glad that he had met this pair of friendly and lovely civilized people, one big and one small, rather than those uncivilized ignorant cannibals who had a fight with the zombies outside.

The next day, Old Knife was woken up by Winnie, and when he opened his eyes in a daze, he found that she seemed so interested in her exploding head that both eyes barely took their eyes off it.

With the old knife's approval, Winnie happily grabbed his fluffy exploding head—it felt soft to the touch, wonderful, like clouds in the sky.

Today's breakfast was a pot of fragrant broth in front of us—something Mosilaire had made from frozen duck and smoked jerky left over from last time.

Their previous outdoor activities had allowed them to accumulate a lot of food in the warehouse, and although the meat was only a few dried hare meat killed by improvised traps, starchy wild cassava and cattail root were collected in large quantities in their cold storage. - Mosileelle, who bravely fought with grouse, sparrows, and elk, also dried the uneaten raspberries into sweet and sour dried fruits, and the poor wild leek sprouts in the southern col were also roasted into a delicious vegetable soup with tender dandelions and greens.

The food is good, and the life is comfortable. So Mosilaire, who was scared of hunger before, gained two pounds in less than a week because of cold wild vegetables and wild potatoes that could not be eaten. Fortunately, at least Winnie and Peanut are a little fatter.

Poor old knife is injured, so this is mainly to replenish the old knife that is in urgent need of recovery - Mosilaire and they naturally got some light, and they all got a bowl of fragrant broth - please don't worry about our little cat peanut, it also ate its own portion.

This duck broth was made by Mosilaire before going to bed last night. Therefore, this pot of duck meat has been simmering for nearly ten hours.

Although Mosilare only added some salt and sugar to enhance the flavor, the specially placed duck bones have already melted into the soup after a long period of boiling - which makes these duck broths with the distinctive smoky flavor of the jerky unusually delicious, and the meat is almost as soft as marshmallows.

It took a long time for the old knife, who was sipping the broth and intoxicated by the smell of the broth, to come to his senses—not to blame him, for Mosilaire's cooking was well known in her circle—though the gluttonous high-class ones would usually feast on her elaborate delicacies while mocking Mosilaire's hobby without leaving a trace. Probably they think that being a cook is not comparable to the noble hobby of being a pianist or a dancer.

Even a plate of fried greens that Mosilere and Winnie had to savor yesterday was like a dumpling that had never seen the world, which made Mosilere wonder if he hadn't eaten anything decent in his previous colonies or towns. - but she didn't dare to ask, for fear of evoking the sad memory of the old knife again.

At breakfast, Mosilaire bluntly asked the old knife what he was good at, whether he had some professional skills that would be useful to the colony, etc.

The old knife took a sip of broth, hesitated for a moment before answering Mosilelle: "Me?" I'm a researcher. ”

Seeing that Mosilaire raised his eyebrows, the old knife hurriedly added like a crappy salesman: "Oh. Naturally, I am also capable of some rough work. Believe me, I can do a lot more than you think. ”

Lao Dao was afraid that her knowledge and skills would not be able to play a role in this dilapidated base, which didn't even have a laboratory, and she would be expelled from her - well, it seems that Lao Dao is obviously unwilling to use his body to feed the zombies outside - not to mention that the zombies can't eat at all.

But she deliberately pursed her mouth, intent on teasing this guy with an explosive head, who was completely different from the stereotypical and serious old men in the white coat she remembered, "Well, but you don't know, our food has always been very scarce. So, I'm sorry to let me rudely ask you to leave here in the afternoon. ”

The old knife didn't speak, just sat down on a very ugly and uncomfortable dining chair with a dead face and didn't speak, and after drinking the broth, he was ready to leave the table and pack his things - although he had nothing to pack at all - he just felt that he was going to die, how could a wounded guy who was about to turn his fiftieth birthday have a chance to survive in this zombie-infested continent?

He wouldn't blame Mosilaire for his ruthlessness, for he had seen enough human settlements in the past few years that had been completely destroyed by lack of food—that most of the impregnable fortresses that could withstand the hordes of corpses had been dismantled from within by starving civilians in a frenzy. And those who have lost their minds and started eating people will soon be eaten alive by the zombies who have invaded the colony after temporarily filling their bellies - ironically, but it is true.

Food is one of the hard currencies in this apocalyptic world, and no gathering place would be willing to raise an idler.

But a voice like heaven soon sounded from behind his lonely figure, and threw his heart, which had sunk into the trench, up the mountain again.

"Gee, I'm so sorry, but it seems like we have a state-of-the-art lab that is short of researchers. If you will,—— congratulations, Mr. Dao, you've been hired by us – and as the principal investigator of our one-person research team. ”

"Of course, your salary will be paid to your plate every day in the form of food." The ecstatic Old Knife turned around and saw Mosilele's wicked, treacherous smile of under-beatenness—Old Knife swore that if it weren't for Miss Mosilele's friendly, gentle lady, he would have punched her in that round lovely face—even if he might not have beaten her.

He was so proud of his gentlemanly demeanor.