Zombie Apocalypse: Reborn With A Farming Space Chapter 880 880: The Herders ( 12 )

~3 minute read · 665 words
Previously on Zombie Apocalypse: Reborn With A Farming Space...
Richard Tolstoy sneaks from his quarters to meet his mutant team at the cliff, discussing the hunt for the Herder Borislav Morozov and the body-damaging devil seeds. He dispatches young Matt, with invisibility powers, carrying a black crystal message to Commander Lustin Volkov and his father. The Phantom Team, eavesdropping from below, reveals themselves, confirms identities, and proposes alliance: mutants probe inside the mine, Phantom aids externally. A skeptical mutant's doubt draws Phantom's ice needles perilously close to his eye, dropping him to his knees in terror.

Frowning at the commoners, the foreman declared, "Today, each of you must mine a total of 500 grams of crystals, or you won't get any food."

Not allowing them time to absorb the words, he swung his hand and commanded, "Send them down!"

Guards obeyed the order by aiming weapons at the commoners, driving them to descend the ladders.

Upon hitting the pit's bottom, they spotted hordes of laborers already toiling away. Gaunt frames bore eerie purple bruises and dark veins. Pallid faces glared with bloodshot eyes.

The sight of the newcomers barely registered; the workers droned on, mechanically extracting crystals lodged in floors and walls.

Confronted by this nightmare, the commoners grasped the torment awaiting them. Escape flickered in their minds, but the chance had vanished.

Refusing to linger, one commoner dashed for freedom. A guard fired the instant he bolted.

BANG!

"Argh!"

The shot ripped through his thigh, gouging a gory wound. He crumpled to the ground, shrieking in agony.

"This is your warning. Next time someone runs, the bullet hits your head. Now start working!" the guard snarled coldly.

Terror gripped the commoners, forcing them to grab tools and labor. The tool-less resorted to fingers or jagged rocks to pry out the black crystals.

Mining 500 grams had seemed simple. Yet hands-on effort revealed the crystals' unyielding hardness, surpassing metal.

Encasing soil and stone proved equally tough. Tools struggled mightily; fingers or stones offered no hope of easy extraction.

Daylight faded as workers slaved on. At 7 o'clock evening, a piercing siren wailed across the site, signaling shift change.

Laborers hauled baskets or pails of black crystals to the weigh station. Lines snaked as guards measured the hauls.

Quota met? They claimed a chunk of tough black pancake plus a cup of water.

Overachievers scored an bonus pancake slab and extra water. Shortfalls yielded zilch but a half-cup to barely sustain life.

Fresh workers filed in as the weary exited the mine. Guards marched the fatigued back to their quarters amid nonstop operations.

These quarters were battered buildings from Red Cliff Base's former residents. Vast destruction spared only the housing zone.

Guards frisked each body before entry, hunting smuggled black crystals. Inspections cleared, workers shuffled to rooms for scant rest.

Unlike survivor bases, herders packed 20 into single-bedroom flats. Larger units crammed even more. Guards claimed the grandest apartment; Herders took the condo.

By 9 o'clock nightfall, in a shadowy apartment room, bodies lay packed on the floor. Eyes shut, murmurs persisted.

Among new arrivals sat a Level Four water-type mutant. The youth beside him slipped a tiny black crystal over, whispering, "Brother, you're a mutant, right?"

The mutant nodded, questioning, "Why give this to me?"

Licking parched lips, the youth replied, "Brother, guards say this crystal holds more energy than a zombie crystal core. I'm ordinary, can't use it."

"Worthless to me, but treasure for you. Willing to trade a cup of your water for this crystal?"

The mutant then inquired, "How long have you been here?"

"I've labored here over 20 days. My body's failing; escape looks impossible. Still, I crave some comfort before the end."

Studying the youth's bloodshot gaze and ashen face, the mutant nodded slowly.

Dull eyes sparked to life in the youth.

His strength had ebbed lately, quotas unmet for days. No solid food; half-cups of water alone staved off death.

Two days max remained, he sensed. A full stomach before dying would spare him hungry ghost status.

Food swaps unlikely, extra water thrilled him.

Crystal traded, full water cup in hand. Sipping deliberately, a pancake piece dangled before him.

Gaze lifting, he spotted the mutant offering half his spare pancake. Gratitude swelled, yet he refused.

Shoving it back, he hissed, "Brother, keep it yourself. If weakness strikes you one day, this could extend your life."

Mutant crammed the pancake down, retorting, "You may accept death here, but not me. I'll escape before then."