Not only others, but after several days, the soldiers and he himself had not eaten a single grain of food. Although the stabbing pain in his intestines and the cramping of his stomach constantly tempted him to reach for the biscuits, he always rushed to the water tap, opened his mouth wide, and filled his belly with heavy, cold water, forcing himself to sit in front of the rations bag and guard it vigilantly.

　　"Protecting the lives and property of the people is our duty, and this is also the greatest responsibility of a soldier—"

　　This was the only belief in his mind, and also the first lesson every soldier of the Republic received upon enlistment.

　　A week passed, and the situation in the air-raid shelter became increasingly dire.

　　Few people spoke; the survivors no longer discussed various topics related to escape as they had at the beginning. Most of their time was spent lying on the cold ground, staring blankly at the gray cement ceiling above, drool unconsciously dripping from the corners of their mouths, their eyes hollow and lifeless. They looked just like living corpses.

　　Theoretically, it takes a long time for a person to starve to death. But under the threat of physical hunger, few can resist the mental confusion brought on by the body's negative effects.

　　If reinforcements didn't arrive soon, they would no longer be able to hold on.

　　Many people began to gather together, whispering about all sorts of things that could be used as food. People started gnawing on their nails and hair; some even developed a strong interest in their previously excreted feces, while more and more people discussed which companions in the shelter should be eaten first...

　　The soldiers still guarded the dwindling food supplies with their lives. Under David Bolton's strict orders, only those on guard duty and the physically weak were allowed to have ten grams of rations dissolved in water.

　　Escaping was nothing but a luxury. With mutants roaming the streets at all times, there was simply no chance for survivors. The moment a living person appeared, they would swarm like vultures circling dying prey, tearing the person into countless pieces of flesh and bone.

　　To avoid accidents, David Bolton gathered all the women to his side. At least, under the protection of weapons and bullets, the chances of them being eaten by men were greatly reduced. Even so, every time he woke from sleep, he would see a terrifying green light, like that of a hungry wolf, shining from the eyes of those frail women.

　　Women are people too. When starving, they would eat men all the same.

　　"If reinforcements don't come soon, we'll have to go out and look for food. Even if it means death, we must let these people survive—"

　　Fortunately, the very next morning after David Bolton said these words, the sound of rapidly spinning helicopter blades came from the sky outside the observation hole.

　　Three massive "Nighthawk II" vertical take-off and landing transport aircraft circled in the air. As they gradually descended, dozens of soldiers in gray-green camouflage uniforms, with yellow-red five-star emblems on their chests and left arms, jumped out of the open cabins. They quickly set up their weapons on the ground, using buildings and objects on the street to form simple fortifications. Within minutes, three streets leading in different directions were completely sealed off, the thick, intimidating barrels of their guns aimed dead-on at the empty ends of the roads.

　　"Quick, rush out! Our reinforcements are here—"

　　Amid David Bolton's hoarse shouts, one by one, thin black figures surged out from the opposite ends of several streets. The long-legged mutants were using their unique physical advantages to approach at a speed unimaginable to humans.

　　"Boom—"

　　A dull sound erupted from the newly constructed position. Following the direction of the sound, a mutant more than a hundred meters away staggered and fell to the ground, its terrifying black head blown to pieces by the powerful impact of the bullet.

　　"Hold the line! Get everyone onto the planes, now—"

　　David Bolton saw clearly that the shooter was a young warrant officer. He held a G180S heavy sniper rifle level, and every time he pulled the trigger, a mutant's upper body would be completely blown away.

　　His rate of fire was extremely fast, and under his control, the heavy sniper rifle was even more agile than an ordinary assault rifle. Especially with that incredible accuracy, it was simply unbelievable.

Chapter 7: The Defensive Line

　　Having fought mutants before, David Bolton knew very well that except for the head and heart, these creatures had no other weaknesses. Especially with their high-speed running and agile movements, trying to target their vital spots through a scope was an extremely difficult task. Even a well-trained elite sniper could probably only maintain half their usual hit rate.

　　But the rules of experience clearly did not apply to this warrant officer. The G180S, weighing over ten kilograms, felt weightless in his hands; he didn't even need any support, relying solely on the strength of his arms to hold the heavy sniper rifle level in front of him. With each pull of the trigger and the accompanying dull sound, the swarm of mutants rushing from the end of the street would erupt in clouds of blood mist.

　　"Quick, rush out—"