The Apocalypse Took Everything, This Time I Hoard It All First

Chapter 105: Chapter 105: Passing the Buck

"Boss! This is so damn frustrating!" Saul Eaton looked as if he was severely constipated. His fists were clenched tight. "Did Brother Drake die for nothing? That bitch is still playing innocent, and Ron Rivers is a complete idiot for actually protecting her!"

Sitting in the backseat with his eyes closed, Luke Locke traced his fingertips over Sean Palmer’s urn. He replied in a low voice, "We enjoy the highest treatment from the Military Command."

But anyone who knew him well understood that his words were full of helplessness and resentment.

He wanted to avenge Sean Palmer more than anyone, but right now, he couldn’t disobey orders.

Hugh Palmer, who was driving, also felt depressed. "The highest treatment just means we have to follow the lieutenant general’s orders and protect two morons! If it weren’t for those two burdens, Brother Drake would never have died!"

Saul Eaton spoke up hesitantly, "When we were in the neighboring city, I saw a lot of privately formed squads. They had a lot of freedom. Our team has lost its freedom and safety, and damn it, now I don’t even have any fight left in me! We can’t even avenge Brother Drake. This is just too pathetic!"

Luke Locke opened his eyes, which were filled with exhaustion and helplessness. He looked out the window, his grip tightening on the urn in his hands.

He knew his brothers felt frustrated, but he had to listen to his superiors, forever shackled by orders.

"As soon as we get back to the base, I’ll submit a report and apply to take everyone to live a different kind of life!"

For the first time, his voice revealed a hint of vulnerability, yet it carried an unquestionable determination.

"Alright!"

"We’ll listen to you, Captain!"

Nearly an hour later, the walls of the Kensington Base finally emerged from beyond the horizon, coming into view from afar like a towering steel barrier.

The golden-red afterglow of the setting sun spread out gently, coating the continuous towering walls with a warm halo. Instead of looking intimidating, it gave this safe fortress built to defend against zombies a sense of stability and warmth.

The outer walls of this massive apocalyptic base, designed to accommodate tens of millions of people, had already taken shape.

The fifteen-meter-wide reinforced wall foundation was cast from high-strength reinforced concrete. The inner layer was embedded with impact-resistant steel plates, while the outer layer was welded with dense, spiked steel meshes and barbs. Observation holes and firing ports were also reserved along the wall.

At this moment, a section stretching for hundreds of meters was still undergoing intense construction to increase its height. Workers were busy installing brackets for high-voltage power grids atop the wall.

The area within ten or so kilometers of the wall had been thoroughly bombed and cleared. The field of vision was completely unobstructed, forming a natural alert buffer zone.

Countless guards dressed in camouflage uniforms were stationed across the sentry booths, trenches, and atop the walls themselves, all holding automatic rifles.

Each sentry post was equipped with high-powered binoculars and man-portable air-defense missile launchers. Interspersed among them were firing points mounted with anti-aircraft machine guns, their muzzles pointed in various directions, weaving an impenetrable net of vigilance.

Dozens of giant crawler tower cranes stood like steel titans in the construction area inside the walls. Their jibs rotated continuously, accurately hoisting bundles of steel rebars, prefabricated slabs, and large building materials to their designated locations.

Thousands of construction workers wearing hard hats were scattered across various work surfaces. Some were tying steel bars, some were pouring concrete, and others were installing protective guardrails and power grids on top of the walls.

Welding sparks flickered in the sunset, intertwining with the faint sounds of artillery bombardment in the distance. Instead of causing panic, the sight made the blood of everyone in the vehicle boil with excitement.

Susan Vaughn looked at this behemoth cast from reinforced concrete, the shock spilling from her eyes. The apocalypse had only begun three months ago, yet the Kensington Base had already reached such a massive scale!

She had made the right bet!

As long as she made the man beside her entirely devoted to her, his status guaranteed she would never have to worry about food and clothing in the future. Even Crystal Cores would never be in short supply!

The two-kilometer buffer zone just inside the walls was neatly lined with various heavy weapons specifically designed to target zombie hordes. Like a squad of guardians on standby, they formed the base’s first core line of defense.

The pitch-black artillery barrels gleamed gently in the afterglow, all aimed toward the outskirts of the base. Each muzzle was capable of unleashing blanket bombardments on gathering zombie hordes in the distance.

Susan Vaughn watched with immense excitement and tightly grasped Ron Rivers’s hand. "Ron, it’s a good thing I have you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even know how to survive."

Ron Rivers was pointing fingers at the inspectors as if he were a leader inspecting their work. Hearing the gentle female voice, he acted like a man completely bewitched and immediately squeezed her hand in return.

"With me here, you have nothing to worry about. Hmph! The Grant boy is somewhat useful, at least. I’ve been out for over half a month, and he’s managed to build the walls quite decently."

Susan Vaughn was confused. "The Grant family? Who’s that?"

Ron Rivers curled his lip and said with deep resentment, "Elder Grant’s son, Francis Grant."

He then added through gritted teeth, "A guy like that only knows how to put on a fake act. Let’s not talk about him."

Susan Vaughn gently squeezed Ron Rivers’s hand and leaned into his embrace. "Okay, then we won’t talk about him."

However, her gaze drifted into the distance, a flash of absolute determination gleaming in her eyes.

After everyone underwent inspection, the vehicles drove out of the buffer zone. Swaths of temporary prefabricated houses, supply warehouses, and emergency roads were being rapidly laid out. Transport trucks rolled out from the depths of the base one after another, continuously delivering impact-resistant building materials, power grid equipment, weapons, and ammunition to the frontline of the wall construction.

Just as Susan Vaughn was immersed in her beautiful fantasies of the future, the static crackle of the walkie-talkie sounded once more.

It was Luke Locke’s deep, hoarse voice. "Head straight to the Sixth District command center. We’re meeting with Chief Rivers."

The setting sun slowly sank, its afterglow shining through the gaps of the tower cranes, scattering over the busy crowds and steel equipment, and casting long, warm shadows.

Outside the Sixth District command center building.

Saul Eaton and the others got out of the car, pacing anxiously back and forth in front of the military off-road vehicles.

The fierce north wind howled, whipping up a flurry of snow dust. After an unknown amount of time, a towering figure standing at one meter ninety walked out of the base’s temporary command building.

He wore a thick camouflage training uniform with a worn black tactical padded vest layered over it. His solid muscles created distinct contours, radiating a steady yet forceful aura that practically oozed testosterone.

He lazily took out a cigarette and skillfully flicked his lighter. The flame flickered in the wind, so he cupped his hand around it. Lighting it as he walked, he took a deep drag and exhaled a smoke ring. The white mist rapidly dispersed in the freezing air.

His tense back and shoulders slowly loosened, his taut muscles finally relaxing. Even the heavy atmosphere brought by the bitter winter and the high state of alert seemed to ease a fraction.

Saul Eaton and the rest hurried over and surrounded their captain, eagerly bombarding him with hushed questions.

"Boss! How did it go?"

"Is it done?"

"We’re off the hook, right?"

Luke Locke looked at this group of young soldiers, a rare hint of relief in his voice. "Let’s go! We’re heading to the Sixth District armory to fill up our four trucks!"

Hugh Palmer couldn’t hold back. "What about Young Master Rivers?"

"I didn’t even have to bring it up. They’ve been dissatisfied with us for a while now. They initiated it themselves, saying they want to form their own squad of Superpower Users. We’re completely done with them!" Having said that, Luke Locke’s brow smoothed out completely.

Upon hearing this, Saul Eaton literally jumped for joy. "Oh yeah! Damn it, we finally shook off those two stinking morons!"

For some reason, a sudden trace of reluctance rose in Byron Bell’s heart. But before he could even begin to process it, Saul Eaton started shaking him frantically in celebration. He was instantly overcome with a wave of dizziness, and that tiny sliver of reluctance was completely shaken out of his mind.

Seeing everyone’s relieved expressions, Luke Locke relaxed his features. He patted the urn in his arms and announced in a clear, ringing voice, "Get some good rest. You all have a week off!"

"Alright!"

"This feels so damn good!"

With light, eager steps, the men climbed into their vehicles and drove off toward the armory.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!