Chapter 143: A Chaotic Home

Chapter 143: A Chaotic Home

The cop car didn't head that way.

About a third of a mile from the station, Christopher yanked the wheel, turning onto a side road.

Seeing the confused faces in the rearview mirror, Christopher gave a sheepish smile and said, "The police housing complex is just up ahead, and my daughter's still inside. Since we're passing by, I'll grab her."

The barrier at the entrance to the complex was busted, with broken wood pieces everywhere.

Two police cars were parked in front of the building, their roof lights off.

Only one car had someone in the driver's seat, slumped over the wheel with a bullet hole in the temple.

Christopher drove right in. As they parked, James noticed the number "19" on the building in blue and white tiles.

As soon as he opened the door, a zombie in pajamas lunged at him from the flower bed.

It was sneaky, or maybe still had some human smarts. It knew the perfect moment to strike and took its shot. Too bad for it, James' mutant cells were kicking in, guiding him. Without even aiming, he swung his custom knife, slicing the decaying head in half.

Several cars were parked in the yellow line area, their surfaces riddled with bullet holes. Spent shell casings littered the ground, and bodies lay in the road. Some were cops, others civilians, judging by their clothes.

Emily walked up to the nearest body, gripping her knife with both hands, and stabbed it in the head.

He might've already been dead.

Or, infected by the virus, he was just lying there, waiting for prey.

Either way, a stab to the head was the safest bet.

Isabella copied Emily, stabbing a knife into a corpse's head.

She wasn't as lucky. It was a zombie playing dead.

The stab made it open its eyes wide, its upper body rising from the ground. Its hands reached out, its dry lips parted, and it let out a death wail from deep in its throat.

The sudden movement freaked Isabella out.

She quickly let go of the knife, jumping into Emily's arms, shaking with fear.

"Don't freak out, it's already dead."

Emily pulled Isabella over, yanked the knife out of the zombie's head, and handed it back to her. "The first one's always the toughest. Once you get that out of the way, you'll get the hang of it. Let's see who can take down more."

James swung his special knife, slicing a zombie clean in half. He bent down, cracked open the shattered skull, and quickly pulled out a red blotch from the back of its head. Standing up, he glanced at the two girls nearby, a faint smile on his face.

The environment can really change a person. Even the most timid can be forced by harsh reality to toughen up, step by step.

Allan and Kurt kept watch around the police car, while Matthew swung his machete, taking down four zombies in one go. These slow-moving mutants dropped one by one, clearing the way to the building entrance.

Christopher didn't use a gun.

He copied James, switching to a machete.

Yesterday's experience taught him that making too much noise would only bring more danger and trouble.

"You guys wait here, I'll be right back."

James needed time to collect those red blotches from the zombies. He nodded and told Christopher, "You got ten minutes."

Christopher was surprised, then smiled.

Those were the exact words he had said to James over the radio yesterday.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the fourth floor and hesitated for a few seconds in front of the familiar, tightly closed door. He raised his left hand and knocked on the wooden door inside the security gate through the metal bars.

He wasn't sure if anyone was inside, or even if they were still alive.

He decided to come and check on a whim, as he couldn't stop worrying. He always thought he could forget many things, but when the crisis hit, he realized he could never abandon them.

There was no blood on the security gate, nor any signs of it being hit.

They should still be alive.

His knocking was steady, not too light or too heavy.

After about half a minute, Christopher heard someone pressing against the door, whispering nervously, "Who? Who's out there?"

"It's me!"

Christopher felt a surge of excitement, but kept his voice steady, "Open the door, I'm back."

The person inside seemed hesitant. After nearly ten seconds, the door cracked open, revealing the face of a young woman.

She had a somewhat full figure. Even though she was past middle age and had crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, it only added to her mature and alluring charm. Her skin was smooth and elastic. Despite her slightly plump curves, she exuded a special feminine allure. This sense of maturity was an advantage young girls couldn't possess, something only men who had experienced it could truly appreciate.

She was Christopher's wife, Aurora Rivera.

To be precise, his ex-wife.

"Aurora, open the door quickly."

Christopher was excited; everything indicated that his loved ones were unharmed and not infected by the virus.

He couldn't wait and whispered urgently, "Hurry up, there are monsters everywhere outside. I have weapons, and a few colleagues, the car is right below, we need to leave now."

Aurora was very surprised. Her eyes lit up with hope. This was probably the best news she had heard since yesterday. She quickly agreed, hurriedly unlatched the door, and opened the security gate to let Christopher in.

After closing the door, Aurora grabbed Christopher's strong arm tightly, her voice trembling with excitement as she asked, "Is it really safe outside? Are we leaving now?"

Christopher nodded, his eyes scanning the room anxiously, "Where's Bianca? Get Bianca out, we're leaving together."

A flash of panic crossed Aurora's eyes, and her expression became unnatural. She lowered her head, trying to hide her fear, "Bianca... I sent Bianca to her grandmother's a few days ago."

Christopher was puzzled.

Bianca was the daughter he had with his ex-wife, and his biggest concern.

A man has to give up some things for his career and sense of duty, especially a police officer.

As the head of the detective squad, a very important position, only the most experienced and capable could hold it. Christopher couldn't remember how many promises he had made to his wife, but the times he actually fulfilled them could be counted on one hand.

During holidays, he was never home. Whenever a case required it or orders came from above, Christopher was always the first to rush to the scene. He often came home late at night, and to avoid waking his sleeping wife and daughter, he would sleep on the couch in the living room. Before dawn, he would leave again.

There was no other way; this was his job, his profession. To protect the safety of the majority, he had to give up his family and happiness.

Bianca's questions were always the same.

"Dad, when will you come home?"

"Dad, when will you take me out to play?"

"Dad, when will you have dinner with me?"

Christopher couldn't answer any of them. His schedule was never fixed, and criminals didn't commit crimes according to the police's timetable.

Over time, busyness became a habit, and the office replaced the bedroom.

His wife couldn't stand this life and filed for divorce. She was very determined at the time: "You never come home, how is that different from being a widow?"

Christopher didn't explain. Besides signing the divorce papers, he didn't know what else he could do.

He left the house to Aurora and Bianca. It was a small compensation for them.

To be honest, Christopher didn't particularly like Aurora. It wasn't that she lacked the understanding and support typical of police spouses, but since their marriage, Aurora had always been surrounded by men, with various rumors and gossip.

Christopher didn't have time to discern the truth. At that time, he always thought that as long as Aurora was willing to stay with him, he could forgive any mistakes or issues.

After all, his job was too demanding, and he felt he owed her.

Now, she said Bianca was at her grandmother's. Was it true?

Bianca was the person Christopher cared about most in this world.

Aurora's explanation wasn't unreasonable, but the timing was too coincidental. Usually, Bianca went to her grandmother's on weekends, and today was Thursday.

Christopher's gaze fell on his ex-wife.

She was wearing a stylish short skirt, with a blouse unbuttoned at the collar, and light makeup on her face. Although she seemed panicked, it was clear that the zombies outside weren't her only source of fear.

Christopher looked up and glanced towards the inner room, asking calmly, "Is someone here?"

He heard some movement and saw shadows in the bedroom. The house wasn't big, and there wasn't much space to hide.

A middle-aged man with an awkward expression walked out. He was about 5.7 feet tall, with a straight posture, thick eyebrows, and gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, exuding a mature and elegant demeanor typical of his age. However, his thin frame made him seem somewhat frail.

He coughed, stepped forward, smiled, and extended his right hand to Christopher, "Hello, my name is Vincent Woods."

Vincent's clothes were a bit disheveled, as if he hadn't had time to straighten them. He was wearing slippers, his belt was loosely fastened, and he looked excited, with a hopeful gleam in his eyes.