The raised section at the back of the armor’s neck basically covered the back of the neck, the back of the head, and the ears—it gave people an incredible sense of security.
Li Jiangbing and the others who didn’t have armor couldn’t stop touching the backs of their own necks whenever they looked at someone else’s armor.
Li Jiangbing wrapped a towel around his neck.
Everyone, whether they had armor or not, wrapped towels around their ankles too.
Because even the armor only protected the legs—it didn’t protect the ankles. And there were bound to be baby zombies in the hospital, since it had obstetrics and pediatrics departments.
These were all hard-learned, bloody lessons.
When they arrived at the hospital, they didn’t head for the outpatient clinic. The virus had broken out on a Saturday night—at that hour, the outpatient lobby should have been empty.
People would have been crowded in the emergency room.
They headed straight for the ER.
Hospital corridors weren’t very wide, which wouldn’t be good for close-quarters combat.
They used the same strategy as when they’d cleared the parking garage: lure the snakes out of their hole.
They used a loudspeaker with a pre-recorded track—no idea who Gao Yuxuan had found, but someone tone-deaf was singing a pop song completely off-key.
The speaker was set to loop. A person in armor carefully approached, turned on the switch, tossed the speaker onto the steps, and ran back.
The fighters outside formed a semicircle and waited.
Sure enough, the off-key singing immediately attracted the zombies inside the building.
The main entrance was similar to Buy Duo Duo’s—double glass doors.
Before long, they could see zombies charging from inside.
Smack—!
Even though the glass had anti-collision strips on it, the zombies didn’t know what those were. The ones in the lead were, of course, second-generation zombies—fast-moving—and they slammed straight into the glass.
Everyone winced: “Ewww—”
Because the original zombies, mutated in the first wave of the virus, were generally intact and clean.
But second-generation zombies had mutated after being bitten or scratched by original zombies. Many of them had obviously been attacked by more than one original zombie at the time—so they had multiple wounds on their bodies.
When they slammed into the floor-to-ceiling glass, they left a disgusting, smeared mess.
But second-generation zombies weren’t smart enough to look for a way around. Their paths were always straight lines.
If there was an obstacle, they’d jump over it. If they couldn’t jump over it, they’d just power through.
A bunch of second-generation zombies slammed against the glass. Everyone watched as the glass spiderwebbed with cracks, then finally shattered with a crash.
That was the inner layer of glass. Then the outer layer went through the exact same process.
Finally, the zombies burst out.
In broad daylight, under the clear sky.
The humans raised their shields and weapons, roaring as they charged forward.
The battle for Renxin Hospital had begun!
The armor was incredibly effective. It directly elevated the humans’ combat capability.
After a fierce battle, the fighters took down all the zombies they’d lured out.
But the hospital corridors were long, with twists and turns. Although they’d drawn out a lot of zombies earlier, there were still more deeper in the corridors.
Some armored fighters bravely went inside to make noise, attracting another wave of zombies, then sprinted back out to lure them outside to be dealt with.
They did this over and over, trip after trip, until they’d finally taken care of nearly all the visible zombies in the ER corridors.
Once the humans had killed all the zombies that had rushed out and fought their way into the hospital, things actually became much more comfortable.
Because the hospital’s air conditioning was running.
For a hospital of Renxin Hospital’s caliber, regulations required the AC to run 24/7, with a maintenance team available around the clock—at least four people during the day and at least two at night, ready to handle breakdowns at any time and perform regular maintenance.
It was clear that Renxin Hospital normally did an excellent job maintaining its AC system—it had been running unattended for two full weeks without breaking down.
Everyone was drenched in sweat, but the moment they stepped into the hospital, they were instantly cooled down.
The corridors were clear of zombies, but every single exam room had to be swept one by one—especially those with closed doors.
Sure enough, there were stragglers.
Then came the ER pharmacy, the offices, and the lab. The restrooms and stairwells couldn’t be overlooked either.
You could generally guess where people would have been in the hospital on a Saturday night.
Several hundred people couldn’t all cram into one place anyway—there wasn’t room to move.
After clearing the ER area, they passed through the connecting corridor and arrived at the empty outpatient lobby. The group began to split up.
Jiang Cheng gave a special reminder: “Be careful with the babies in the obstetrics ward.”
The people assigned to the obstetrics ward acknowledged the warning.
Jiang Cheng turned around to go her own way. She’d only taken two steps when Mo Li suddenly jumped out of her bag.
Song Jingshuo called out: “Hey! Your cat!”
Everyone felt that this was no time for a little cat to be causing trouble.
Because in the movies, whenever this happened, the female lead would panic and run after her pet, which would then get a bunch of her companions killed, and she’d end up being the only one surviving while clutching her cat.
Fortunately, Jiang Cheng wasn’t a movie female lead. She didn’t seem surprised at all, and said casually: “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine.”
Everyone was astonished.
Jiang Cheng loved her cat so much that she took him everywhere she went—everyone was used to that by now. So why, in such a dangerous environment, was she suddenly so unconcerned about his safety?
Of course, Jiang Cheng couldn’t say: My little cat can transform into a black panther and kill a second-generation zombie in one bite.
Besides, Mo Li had communicated with her telepathically before jumping out. He wanted to go scout around.
Compared to humans, Mo Li was faster, more lethal, and had maxed-out evasion. There was no need to worry.
In an environment like a hospital, he actually had more advantages than humans.
Go ahead.
Jiang Cheng: [Let me know if there’s danger.]
Mo Li: [Meow!]
The people assigned to the obstetrics ward all felt they’d drawn the short straw.
Infant and toddler zombies were the last thing anyone wanted to see.
After killing so many zombies, people gradually became numb, subconsciously no longer seeing these human-shaped things as “human.” It was only when infant and toddler zombies appeared that people were jolted awake from that numbness.
Those whose bones weren’t yet strong enough to support walking, so they crawled forward on the ground—they had once been adorable little human babies.
But even with that mental preparation, the hellscape of the hospital’s obstetrics ward was beyond imagination.
Because the babies in obstetrics weren’t ordinary infants or toddlers—they were newborns.
Normal postpartum mothers were only allowed to stay in the hospital for three days, so these were all newborns less than three days old, frozen forever in that state.
They couldn’t even crawl.
Their method of moving toward fresh flesh was to arch their backs and flop.
Like fish stranded on the shore—tiny, one after another, with pitch-black eyes, flopping their way toward you.
Their bodies slapped against the floor: smack, smack, smack, smack.
Men who had killed so many zombies they thought they were fearless were all shocked into stepping back.
Someone vomited.
But there was no escaping it. The “little fish” wriggled closer and closer, and in the end, people could only crush them one by one.
No one knew if they were boys or girls.
No one knew if they’d been given names.
They’d heard that if you had a name, you could be reborn as a human in your next life.
Something else happened in the obstetrics ward—dangerous, yet not dangerous.
A full-term pregnant zombie was killed and fell to the ground. As people stepped over her body, a fetal zombie wriggled out from between her legs, arching and flopping.
Another round of shock.
Fortunately, it had no attacking power—one swing of a weapon took care of it.
After sweeping that ward area and confirming there was not a single “living” zombie left, everyone retreated as if being chased by demons.
No one had the courage to look back for even a second longer.
From early morning to afternoon, thanks to the new armor, no one was injured.
If only they’d had this armor sooner.
Jiang Cheng had just finished clearing the orthopedic ward with her team, and they were about to move on, when she suddenly felt a tug in her senses and turned her head.
Sure enough, Mo Li had appeared.
Mo Li stood in the corridor looking at them: “Meow.”
Jiang Cheng was slightly surprised. She walked over, crouched down, and placed her hand on his head: [Where?]
Mo Li: “Meow~”
He turned and took a few steps, then looked back.
Jiang Cheng said to everyone: “Looks like there’s something. Let’s go check it out.”
Everyone was puzzled.
Li Jiangbing said: “Wait, you understand cat language?”
Jiang Cheng said: “Animals are naturally attuned to humans. You’ll know once you’ve spent enough time with them.”
Li Jiangbing thought back to when he used to play with Little White downstairs, and it seemed like Little White’s owner had said something similar.
That little animals were like children who couldn’t speak.
People who kept pets seemed to treat them like their own kids.
The group followed, half-doubting, half-believing.
After Jiang Cheng sent him a telepathic [Lead the way] , Mo Li stopped looking back and led everyone straight in one direction.
“Huh?” someone said. “This is the outpatient area.”
In theory, the outpatient area should have been empty on a Saturday night. They’d focused on sweeping the ER and the wards—they’d only check the outpatient area after those main areas were cleared.
Mo Li led them directly to the escalator landing.
The escalators in the outpatient area naturally weren’t running on Saturday night, so they had to walk down themselves. Everyone followed Mo Li down to the next floor, heading in one direction.
As they walked, they came across four or five zombie corpses on the ground.
“Which team came through here?”
Someone bent down to look at a zombie’s neck: “What broke this?”
But Jiang Cheng knew at a glance that Mo Li had bitten through them. Keeping a straight face, she said: “Never mind that. Let’s go check up ahead.”
The person bending down quickly straightened up and followed the group.
Mo Li stopped at the doorway of a room—a treatment room.
The wooden door had scratch marks on it, even cracks. It had clearly been attacked by zombies.
Everyone guessed it had been those few zombies they’d just seen.
Some team must have passed by, made some noise, drawn the zombies over, and dealt with them.
Jiang Cheng wasn’t about to tell them that the one who had “just happened to pass by” was actually Mo Li.
Jiang Cheng reached out and knocked three times on the door.
Everyone held their breath.
But no sound came from inside.
Jiang Cheng knocked three more times and called out: “Is anyone there?”
As soon as she spoke, a voice suddenly erupted from inside—urgent, excited: “Someone’s here! Someone’s here!”
“Are you the police?”
“Is it safe out there? What about the monsters outside?”
So there was a living person. Jiang Cheng’s little cat was truly impressive—he’d actually managed to find a survivor.
But this person… how had he survived?
Jiang Cheng said: “It’s safe out here. Open the door.”
The sound of furniture being moved came from inside. After a moment, the door cautiously opened a crack.
Seeing that there really were no monsters outside, the person finally relaxed, opened the door fully, and trembled with excitement: “Are you here to rescue me? What’s going on with those monsters? Are there still monsters outside? So many people turned into monsters—so many!”
He wore a white coat—he was probably a doctor.
He moved excitedly toward Jiang Cheng, but he reeked. Li Jiangbing subtly used his shield to block him: “Is there anyone else? Just you?”
It wasn’t just him—the whole room stank.
It was a terrible smell—like feces, like rotting meat.
“Ah…” The man hesitated.
Jiang Cheng gave a signal, and someone went in to check.
This was a treatment room—very small. From the doorway, you could see to the far end at a glance. But there was another door inside—an inner room.
The person checking kicked the door open. The room inside was also tiny.
The first person went in. A few seconds later, he backed out.
The person next to him glanced at him, puzzled, and also went in for a look. He too came out almost immediately, leaning against a table and retching.
Li Jiangbing barked: “What’s going on? What happened?”
The first person who went in had a stiff face and didn’t speak—or couldn’t.
Another person went in, let out a startled “Holy shit!”, and backed out.
The one who had been dry-heaving couldn’t bring anything up. He wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, stared at the doctor, and told everyone: “He ate people.”
One sentence. It answered the question that had unconsciously formed in everyone’s mind: How did this person survive?
Two weeks.
There was a sink in this treatment room—he could drink tap water. But a person couldn’t survive on tap water alone. He needed food.
Even if medical staff had brought snacks, they wouldn’t have lasted two weeks.
So that was it. He’d eaten people.
Jiang Cheng and Li Jiangbing both went in for a look.
There was a lot of feces in the inner room. A naked corpse lay on the floor. Judging from the clothes nearby, it was probably a nursing assistant.
All the flesh had been cut off, exposing white bones. The parts that hadn’t been cut away had rotted—no wonder the room stank so badly.
The cut meat hadn’t all been eaten yet. It was stored in the refrigerator meant for cold medications. But the fridge could only refrigerate, not freeze—too much time had passed, and the meat was far from fresh either.
“I had no choice—I was starving to death.” The male doctor broke down in tears. “There were monsters outside the door. Every time we made a sound, they’d scratch at the door.”
“He died, and I was starving too. I really had no other choice. That’s why I ate him.”
He pulled at his hair, putting on a show of anguish, trying to elicit sympathy.
But Jiang Cheng asked: “How did he die?”
He’d prepared for this question. He’d been preparing it ever since the nursing assistant died.
Tears and snot streaming down his face, he sobbed: “He was bitten by a monster. I tried to save him, but he’d lost too much blood. I couldn’t save him. I’m useless! I’m a doctor—I couldn’t save anyone!”
But he couldn’t keep crying for much longer.
Because all these people in their strange white plastic armor were staring at him with blank faces.
They all gripped their weapons tightly—steel pipes, kitchen knives—the business ends pointed at him, on guard.
The male doctor’s sobbing stopped abruptly.
He couldn’t understand it. He’d performed flawlessly—so why had his lie been seen through?
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