Henry Sutton was driving fast, the cabin filled with the roar of the engine and the sharp, piercing sound of tires screeching against the ground. He calmly maneuvered around the various obstacles that appeared on the road, occasionally swerving onto the sidewalk in a reckless dash. Sitting in the passenger seat, Grace Sutton could only grip the handle tightly, her face ashen, silently cursing this guy who had no regard for traffic rules.

　　Along the alleys and intersections, zombies wandered everywhere, searching for edible targets under the sunlight. The approaching armored vehicle made them agitated. These terrifying creatures opened their mouths full of sharp teeth, stretched out their arms, and staggered from both sides of the road, only to be smashed into pieces of bright red flesh and blood under the impact of speeds exceeding eighty kilometers per hour.

　　In Henry Sutton’s mind, every detail of the blueprint replayed. He scanned the road ahead with sharp eyes, silently noting the areas with the densest zombies and the locations of buildings that might be useful to him. Shopping malls, gas stations, supermarkets... Soon, the armored vehicle had entered a community road connected to the main thoroughfare. In front of a street-facing garbage recycling station, Henry Sutton slammed on the brakes and came to a stop.

　　It was a makeshift, simple structure. Blue canopy roof, thin white walls, looking completely out of place among the drab-colored residential buildings around it. From the open doors and windows wafted the unique stench of rotting vegetable leaves and garbage.

　　Grace Sutton watched as Henry Sutton jumped out of the car and dragged out from the garbage room a wooden crate with wheels on the bottom, over three meters long and more than a meter high. When the lid was pried open, she felt as if an invisible hand had gripped her heart tightly—she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

　　This was the second supply crate Henry Sutton had transmitted from the future. Aside from a few sharp hunting knives suitable for slashing, everything else inside was guns and ammunition.

　　Fortunately, this crate had arrived without incident during transmission—two SA80s, two FNC assault rifles, a Barrett disassembled into parts, four Browning pistols, and over 2,600 rounds of various caliber bullets, all intact.

　　Henry Sutton’s choice of drop point was truly unexpected. No one would ever think that deep inside a filthy, foul-smelling garbage room, a crate full of guns and ammunition would be hidden. The inside of the crate had been specially treated for leak prevention. If he hadn’t secured a safe and reliable base, he wouldn’t have rushed to retrieve this batch of weapons.

　　The process of loading the weapons into the car took more than ten minutes.

　　Grace Sutton was surprised and shocked. Accustomed to thinking according to the logic and norms of a civilized world, she knew exactly what these things meant. Once again, she felt fear and panic. But she didn’t know what to do, so she could only follow Henry Sutton’s instructions, expressionless and numb, shuttling back and forth between the car and the crate.

　　She got into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and started the engine. Watching the sun slowly set in the distance, Henry Sutton turned around, squinting as he looked at Grace Sutton sitting beside him.

　　“I’m not a bad person. I’m just doing what I have to do.”

　　After saying this, he slowly released the clutch and pressed down on the accelerator. As the car picked up speed, a cool breeze blew in through the open window.

　　Whether you believe it or not, this was Henry Sutton’s explanation.

　　At least, for now.

　　……

　　Night fell, heavy and deep.

　　Dinner was sumptuous: cabbage with dried shrimp, dry-fried shredded potatoes, pan-fried luncheon meat, pickled mustard stir-fried with fermented black beans, plus a tomato and egg soup.

　　Staring at the dishes on the table, Henry Sutton felt a bit dazed. He rubbed his eyes hard, making sure he wasn’t dreaming.

　　He remembered that on the way back to the bank office, Grace Sutton and he had stopped by a small supermarket and picked up some rice, flour, canned food, and the like. There was only one head of cabbage, its leaves quite rotten, and just a few potatoes. As for the pickled mustard and black beans, they seemed to be a very famous brand of this era—maybe “Lao Gan Ma,” or something else...

　　Henry Sutton was sure he hadn’t picked up any eggs or tomatoes. At that time, he was busy carrying rice and cooking oil to the car. Clearly, this must have been Grace Sutton’s doing.

　　It was simply too extravagant—in the future world, only big shots had the right to enjoy such delicacies. For ordinary people like himself, the concept of food was merely something necessary to sustain life.

　　In Henry Sutton’s memory, “food” was not a broad, general term; it mostly referred to hard, black coarse wheat bread, salty and tough cured meat, and five-milligram standard packs of vitamin granules.

　　Grace Sutton came over carrying two bowls of rice. Induction cookers, woks, rice cookers... these things could be found in many supermarkets and appliance stores. The small solar generator on the roof, though not very powerful, was enough to provide normal lighting and keep various household facilities running.

　　Henry Sutton picked up his bowl and shoveled rice into his mouth in big bites. He ate quickly, but also carefully. If any grains of rice fell onto the table, he would pick them up with his fingers and eat them, not wasting a single one.

　　“Cook a bit more rice tonight. We’ll be busy tomorrow and might not have time to make food.”

　　Grace Sutton nodded silently. Of course, she understood what Henry Sutton meant—surviving wasn’t just about filling your stomach. Clothes, bedding, medicine... if they wanted to stay in this small building, they would need to gather more supplies from the city.