The rotten smell seemed to have substance, sticking sticky in the nasal cavity, and every breath was like swallowing a ball of moldy cotton.
Su Zhe leaned against the mottled wall, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his eyes fixed on the camouflage-painted iron box not far away. Military cans, in this apocalyptic world where food is more scarce than gold and chastity, this box is enough to support a small team with half a month's rations.
"Haozi, hurry! Get this box of things away, we can't stay here for long." Su Zhe lowered his voice, every word showing exhaustion. He and Li Hao had been searching the abandoned No. 3 Hospital for nearly two hours, and the ubiquitous "fog of depravity" made people's nerves tense all the time.
"I know, Azhe, what are you in a hurry for?" Li Hao's voice came from the other side, with a weird smile that Su Zhe didn't hear, "With you here, what are you afraid of? You are our Dinghai Shenzhen."
Su Zhe didn't reply. He is indeed the planner of the team, the one who can calculate the optimal survival path in desperate situations. But this ability also made his spirit like a bowstring stretched to its limit. He was so tired that he never really relaxed from the moment the disaster broke out.
