Chapter 96: Discussion
The temp camp was huge, or at least it looked that way, with tents scattered all over the place.
The folks in the refugee camp? No tents for them. When Wellington and his crew rolled in, they saw these blank stares, everyone just eyeballing the newcomers with cold, dead eyes. The only time their faces showed anything was when they glanced past the team to the management bureau's troops. That look? Pure resentment and anger, but it quickly turned into helplessness and despair.
From the moment they got picked, they knew what was coming.
After setting up the tents, Wellington checked out the people in the distance, the ones without tents, just sitting around looking lost. No surprise there. Throughout history, even when things were super desperate, people would rather starve than fight back against the chains holding them down. Just like now, knowing they were just sacrificial lambs, they wallowed in self-pity and accepted their fate, never thinking to stand up and fight back.
The management bureau played it smart. They spread the word that as long as people didn't die, they could move into the central town later and live a life guaranteed by the organization. If they had family, they'd get half the food rations. Those in good shape could join the army.
Maybe that's why the thirty thousand people didn't want to resist: as long as they didn't die, they could enjoy some wealth and prosperity.
Sure, some thought about resisting, but those who did only met one end: death. How could unarmed folks stand a chance against soldiers with guns? Hundreds probably died for that reason. With so many examples, those thinking about resisting just buried those thoughts and accepted becoming a human wall the next morning.
Wellington had Nathan, Oliver, Gavin, and Lucas with him. They brought half the key members from the small oasis, and the management bureau knew what kind of guy Rick was, so they didn't push too hard. Caleb and Rick were left to handle things back at the oasis.
Sitting around in the tent, the five of them drank water in silence. This mission was a long shot, especially since they were half-sacrificial lambs, making it even riskier. No one was sure they'd make it back. Fighting zombies, even getting hurt, was a form of death.
"Gavin, go check it out."
Gavin got what Wellington meant, nodded, chugged his water, and left the tent.
No one said a word after that. Wellington half-closed his eyes, lost in thought. Oliver stared at Wellington's face, getting a sense of what was up. No one wanted to die in Greenfield City. Either the management bureau's troops would be buried there, or they would. It was a one-way street, no room for both.
Even if they made it out of Greenfield City alive, the management bureau wouldn't want the armed forces of the various teams threatening their rule. Execution was a given.
But most of the folks in the teams didn't get it. They were all hyped up and blinded by the sweet promises the management bureau dangled in front of them. Maybe they thought that if they fought hard and made it out of Greenfield City alive, they'd become some kind of war heroes, maybe even officers.
Not long after, Gavin came back to the tent, looking dusty and beat. He sat down and said quietly, "Their officers are having a meeting, talking tactics and targets for looting."
Nathan got a bit ticked off and said, "An important meeting like that, and they don't let us in? It's obvious we're just their pawns, to be used however they want."
The combined teams had over ten thousand people. Sure, their weapons and gear were all over the place and couldn't match the management bureau's elite, but they wouldn't be much worse off against zombies. To hit Greenfield City, these ten thousand people were a big help. But now, by keeping the teams out of the loop, it was clear they wanted these ten thousand people to just follow orders.
Wellington didn't mind and instead cracked a small smile.
The management bureau's arrogance was playing right into his hands. The more they acted like this, the more the conflicts between them would stand out, which would be good for him later. In Wellington's view, the management bureau messed up from the start, not because they used the teams' forces, but because they didn't integrate them and appoint leaders at different levels. The teams were now like a loose pile of sand, not fit for their military meetings.
They couldn't possibly gather over ten thousand people and hundreds of team leaders for a meeting, right?
Greenfield City was totally inland, with salt coming from coastal areas and inland salt lakes, the nearest being hundreds of miles away. The only places with salt, besides the supermarkets' transit warehouses, would probably be some big hotels with some stock.
The salt in big hotels wouldn't be much, and without proper storage, it wouldn't be convenient to store salt, so that probably wasn't their target. So, without thinking too hard, it was clear their target was the supermarkets' transit warehouses. Only in those places would there be large amounts of packaged salt. They just needed to hold out for two or three months, and the crisis caused by the salt and fuel shortage would be sorted.
To others, a map of Greenfield City was hard to get and super valuable.
But to Wellington, it was like $5 a piece, as many as he wanted. Plus, he had satellite maps of Greenfield City on his phone, accurate down to every place, every little corner, and every building. Compared to the management bureau's paper maps, his were way better.
After spreading out the map, everyone gathered around, tossing around their thoughts on the management bureau's possible targets.
"Their targets are these two places. Think about it, what should we do?"
Everyone got what Wellington was thinking. No one wanted to die, so there was no talk of rebellion or betrayal. They were just looking for a way to survive. But the current target was tough. They'd face endless zombies in front and the management bureau's ten thousand soldiers behind, with little hope from either side.
Because of this, everyone stared at the map, frowning, with no ideas for the moment.