Chapter 35: Acid

The front of May’s T-shirt had turned semi-transparent from her still-damp hair. Beneath that wet black fabric, the faint outline of something white could be seen—two pointed little cat ears.

Through the rearview mirror, Ray’s hand that had been resting on the steering wheel clamped down hard. He saw every detail with perfect clarity. It felt like a silent, lethal provocation aimed straight at him.

The residual fire left by the pollen roared straight up to the crown of his head.

"All of you, stop fucking staring!"

Ray strode from the front of the cabin straight to the back. He planted himself in the doorway, eyes cutting across Mitch and Alex’s faces like blades.

"Mitch, you and Alex take front watch. Ace, check the AC. Jack, get in the passenger seat and keep an eye on the road."

The order left no room for argument. He cleared the cabin in seconds.

"Tch. Boss, what are you even planning to do?"

The men exchanged glances. None of them were happy about it, but no one dared push their captain’s temper right now.

Only Ray and a still-oblivious May remained.

He walked right up to her, yanked a dry towel from nearby, and tossed it onto her head.

"You planning to die by not drying your hair?"

The towel covered her vision for a second. Before she could react, a pair of calloused hands clamped over it and began scrubbing her scalp with rough, almost aggressive force—as if he were trying to peel the skin right off her skull.

May swayed under the onslaught, letting out soft protests. "Ray... that hurts... be gentler..."

Ray’s hands paused. They still rested on top of her head. Through the towel, he could clearly feel the shape of her skull. The cabin was quiet except for the sound of their overlapping breaths.

Looking down, he could see the slender, vulnerable line of her neck exposed by the way she tilted her face up... and the wide collar of his own T-shirt that offered a clear view of what lay underneath.

His breathing grew heavier again.

His hands stayed on her head, the heat of his palms seeping through the towel until her scalp tingled.

"Boss, why are your hands so hot?"

May tipped her face upward.

Ray pulled his hands back, gave the towel two more rough tugs across her head, and muttered, "Shut up."

He turned and strode back to the driver’s seat, adjusted the backrest fully upright, and locked both hands onto the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.

The RV rumbled back onto the highway. The only sound left in the cabin was the dull roar of tires crushing asphalt.

May pulled the towel off, glanced at the tight line of the man’s jaw in the rearview mirror, and felt pure delight bloom in her chest.

[System, did the points from that just land?]

[Ding. Sensory-level physical contact with Strategy Target No. 1 "Ray" detected. Reward points +20. Current total points: 20.]

She tossed the towel onto the bed, wrapped the oversized black T-shirt tighter around herself, and sat cross-legged on the giant pink round bed, tapping her chin as she did mental math.

The RV rolled onto the highway ramp.

Outside, the scenery shifted from abandoned streets to barren wasteland. Dry yellow grass grew higher than the windows. Overturned cars occasionally blocked the middle of the road.

"Toll station ahead."

Ray’s voice came from the front, completely flat. "Stay sharp."

Mitch sat in the passenger seat, flipping a lighter between his fingers. "Something’s off. The road’s too quiet."

"There’s something up ahead."

Theo’s gaze cut through the windshield.

Ray eased off the accelerator. The vehicle slowed.

Five hundred meters ahead, the highway ramp was completely blocked by more than a dozen wrecked heavy trucks. Only a single narrow gap remained in the middle—just wide enough for one vehicle. Standing beside that gap were two monsters.

One was covered in pus-filled blisters, its skin a sickly yellow-green. Its mouth was large enough to swallow a watermelon whole, and it was currently vomiting toward the sky. The other looked like an enormous ball of flesh, its belly stretched translucent and filled with sloshing green fluid.

"What the fuck are those?"

Mitch put the lighter away and reached for the gun at his waist.

"Acid Eater. Big Stomach."

Theo’s voice stayed even, as if he were reading from a manual. "One spits concentrated acid. The other is tanky and can summon ordinary zombies."

Ray didn’t slow down. "Hold on. We’re going through!"

The moment the words left his mouth, the Acid Eater spun around, jaws yawning open, chest cavity contracting hard.

Pfft—

A mass of green liquid crossed dozens of meters and slammed dead-center into the RV’s windshield.

Sizzle—

A harsh, corrosive sound filled the cabin. White smoke rose from the bulletproof glass. A fist-sized depression burned into the once-clear surface in seconds.

"Fuck!"

Mitch cursed and lunged for the steering wheel. "Stop! The glass is melting!"

Ray slammed on the brakes. The vehicle pitched forward under the sudden inertia.

"Ace, can we use explosives?"

Ray’s eyes stayed locked on the two approaching monsters, killing intent boiling in their depths.

Ace pulled a steel ball from his pocket, tossed it once in his palm, and smiled. "Too close. One blast and the vehicle goes with them."

"Then we shoot!"

Ray kicked the door open. The crater in the bulletproof glass was still sizzling; acid streamed down the front of the vehicle and left the bumper pitted and smoking.

"Out! Spread out!"

He jumped down first, combat knife reversed in his grip. His black boot crushed the skull of a zombie on the asphalt.

Mitch hauled his sniper rifle out of the passenger side, scrambled behind the highway barrier, and set up the gun while cursing nonstop.

"Fuck these acid-spitting bastards—I hate them the most!"

"Acid Eater’s effective range is fifty meters. Concentration can melt through three millimeters of steel plate."

Theo circled around from the rear of the vehicle, a surgical scalpel in each hand. "Don’t take it head-on. Find cover."

Before the words fully left his mouth, the yellow-green blistered monster opened its jaws again.

Pfft—

A second acid glob arced through the air and hit an abandoned metal drum on the road. The drum was burned clean through on contact, hissing with white smoke.

"Fuck!"

Mitch ducked. A droplet of acid mist burned a small hole in the brim of his hat. His face went iron-blue. "My hat!"

Ray didn’t answer. He was already charging.

He slipped through the gap between two wrecked trucks, drove his combat knife into the eye socket of an ordinary zombie, used the pull to spin, and kicked another lunging one clean off its feet.

The movements were brutal and clean.

Theo stayed three steps behind and to his left. The scalpels flipped between his fingers; every cut landed precisely on the soft cartilage of a zombie’s throat. Two ordinary infected collapsed at his feet, heads nearly severed.

"Big Stomach’s moving in."