Los Angeles defector

Bad luck

The young lad tilted his head to the side, lying still in the mud pit, not daring to move. Although the layer of mud on his body wasn't thick, leaving gaps near his nostrils and mouth for breathing, he still felt the weight, as if being pressed at the bottom of a mountain. Sensing footsteps approaching, sounding like a dozen or so, getting closer and closer, accompanied by the chirping of birds, this made the young lad's heart involuntarily tighten, as if it had reached his throat, making even breathing more difficult, forgetting the nauseating smell of mud altogether.

*Bang*—the sound of M1 rifle shots echoed from the river.

*Plop*—followed by a muffled groan was the sound of a body tumbling down from above.

Immediately followed by the sound of a Type 38 rifle firing back, along with the increasingly closer and scattered footsteps. The young lad felt as though a pair of boots were already standing beside him, less than a foot away, perhaps half a foot, maybe... Guanyin Bodhisattva, the savior of the suffering, I am just a little beggar, never fired a g*n, let alone killed anyone...

On the pitch-black surface of the river, nothing could be seen. After someone fired a shot into the river, they vanished without a trace. Perhaps they were shot and died in the river, or perhaps drifted downstream with the current. A dozen vampires stood by the muddy riverbank, hesitated for a moment, then finally shifted their steps, moving along the river towards the downstream pier, joining the attacking ranks, disappearing into the night.

Immediately followed by the sound of a Type 38 rifle firing back, along with the increasingly closer and scattered footsteps. The young lad felt as though a pair of boots were already standing beside him, less than a foot away, perhaps half a foot, maybe... God , the savior of the suffering, I am just a little beggar, never fired a g*n, let alone killed anyone...

On the pitch-black surface of the river, nothing could be seen. After someone fired a shot into the river, they vanished without a trace. Perhaps they were shot and died in the river, or perhaps drifted downstream with the current. A dozen vampires stood by the muddy riverbank, hesitated for a moment, then finally shifted their steps, moving along the river towards the downstream pier, joining the attacking ranks, disappearing into the night.

The gunfire at San Juan Ferry Crossing continued, but the footsteps around had long disappeared. Brown finally couldn't stand the overwhelming stench, struggling to raise his head, he glanced around the pitch darkness and whispered, "The vampires are gone." He then shook off the mud covering his body and climbed out of the pit.

The tall man and the young lad also squirmed their way out, moving out of the mud pit, panting heavily. Brown, who emerged first, suddenly grabbed the rifle in a panic, aiming it towards the river.

"Don't panic, it's me!"

First, a low voice came from the water, followed by a dark figure slowly wading through the water—it was Jason.

Brown lowered the g*n, "I say, Captain Jason, you nearly scared me to death. I thought you were..." "You've come back just in time. Let's get out of here."

Jason, shivering, climbed onto the shore. The water was too cold, giving his face a bluish tinge, but it was hard to see in the darkness. "Let's walk upstream along the riverbank first, bypass the vampires, then head north. Hmm, where's the platoon leader?"

Brown turned his head, "Platoon leader, platoon leader, come out quickly, let's go."

After calling out several times and seeing no movement in the pit, the tall man, with a hint of doubt, returned to the pit. He felt for the platoon leader's arm, gave it a tug, but there was no response. He stood there in shock, "Platoon leader! What's happened to you?"

Jason came down and pulled Old Blackskin out of the mud, but Old Blackskin had already become a cold corpse.

Jason's heart sank. Had he buried Old Blackskin too deeply? With a strong effort, he pulled Old Blackskin's body out of the pit and laid it on the ground. In the bewildered expressions of the three men, he reached out his hand and carefully felt over the body. Finally, as he touched the back, Harry's fingers came across a distinct bullet hole, from which no more blood flowed.

Old Blackskin died. When he was running from the shelter towards the riverbank, a stray bullet hit him in the back, something he was aware of. But he was afraid. He feared that if he stopped, he would truly die. He hoped to stay alive, perhaps it was just a flesh wound, maybe not fatal. He kept running, using all his strength, until he stumbled into the mud pit and realized he seemed to have no energy left. Maybe he was just tired. Resting in this pit, when he woke up, perhaps those damn vampires would have left, and maybe he could evacuate with the 107th Division, leaving this cursed place behind.

Jason, Brown, the tall man, and the silly kid numbly placed Old Blackskin back into the mud pit and hastily buried him in the darkness. Contrary to their wishes, Old Blackskin didn't receive a good resting place. He wasn't buried on a sunny hillside; instead, he lay on the dark, cold, damp, muddy riverbank, listening to the unfamiliar river water flowing slowly, heading towards weeping Los Angeles, flowing into the vast unknown...

The dew had condensed into droplets, and dawn was approaching. The gunfire from the San Juan Ferry Crossing had long ceased. Now, the vampires probably had begun unloading their burdens at the dock.

Jason lay against a pile of weeds under the embankment, holding his g*n. He wiped his dirty and wet hands on his shirt, then pulled out a pocket watch from his pocket. With a click, a crisp sound rang out as the watch case lightly bounced up. The light was still dim, making it hard to see the dial clearly. He could only feel the precise ticking in the palm of his hand, the rhythmic and regular slight vibrations that comforted him. It felt like a kind of magic, capable of calming the turmoil in his heart and bringing him peace.

A dark figure quietly crawled out from the dark weeds—it was Big Guy.

"Jason, I've carefully checked the other two sides. There are even more obstacles than here. There's no way we can get through."

Jason closed the pocket watch, holding it tightly in his palm. He nodded without saying a word.

Brown leaned in and whispered, "It's getting light soon, and it's been a long time. I haven't seen those vampires in the front moving out. We can't wait any longer. I suggest we quickly backtrack to the riverbank, find a hiding spot first, and then decide what to do."

The four of them followed the riverbank through the vampire's defensive line, approaching the vampire's crossing point on the west side. Then, under the cover of night, they crawled north. Just as they were about to leave the vampire's control range, they encountered a fixed vampire sentry.

As the battle at the San Juan Ferry Crossing on the east side had already ended, a vampire patrol team of thirteen people stopped on Jason and their escape route, lighting a bonfire and resting on the spot.

About two hundred meters north from where Jason and the others stopped, they could enter the forest, making it easier to slip out of the vampire's control range under the cover of the trees. Now blocked by the thirteen vampires, they had no choice but to stop and wait, hoping they would leave. Jason instructed the big guy to observe both sides to see if there were any openings for the four of them to slip through. The big guy has returned with disappointing news.

"Can't go back to the riverside. When it gets light, there will be more vampires crossing the river. By then, the riverbank might be swarming with vampires. How can we hide in broad daylight? Even if we manage to evade them during the day, by nightfall, the vampire front line will push further north. How can we escape then?"

Brown fell silent after hearing Jason's words.

The big guy took a deep breath, his expression serious. "Jason, we've been through hell and back. We're not backing down now. Let's charge! Whether we make it through or not, at least we tried. Bring it on."

Jason looked at the sturdy figure of the big guy, saying nothing. This was a good soldier—strong, resolute, and straightforward. If given the chance to continue honing his skills on the battlefield, he would undoubtedly excel and become the finest of soldiers, surpassing Old Blackskin and even himself. Yes, often at the end, the simplest and most direct approach might be the best. Before this dark dawn, Jason made up his mind.