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The supermarket was only a short distance from the roadside, and in no time, Willett found himself back at the edge of the road. The electric car's greatest asset was its quietness; even as Willett zoomed onto the road, he failed to draw the attention of a few nearby zombies. As he was about to turn the vehicle toward the city center, a dark silhouette caught his eye.

It was a zombie dressed in a police uniform, its flesh viciously torn from neck to thigh, exposing the spine at the back of the neck. Most notably, its right hand was clutching a black handgun. Willett recognized him as the police officer who had once sprinted past his home. The officer had been agile, but luck hadn't been on his side when he was ambushed by zombies lurking in the shadows and became one of them. Now, the black handgun in the zombie's grasp was what truly captivated Willett.

"Gulp!"

Willett swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the firearm. Guns were a man's fascination, second only to women, and Willett was no exception. A lifelong firearms enthusiast, he had rarely handled guns due to strict national regulations, only occasionally firing a few shots at a range. But now, a real handgun lay within reach, stirring an undeniable excitement within him.

Without a moment's hesitation, he gunned the electric car's throttle, charging towards the zombified officer. The zombie, sensing something amiss, began to shamble towards Willett. But it only managed a few steps before a bright flash of white light severed its head from its body, which then crumpled to the ground, motionless.

Willett nonchalantly wiped his machete and approached the fallen zombie with a surge of excitement. He forcefully snapped the creature's fingers to retrieve the handgun. Just then, the sound of the collapsing body caught the attention of the other zombies in the vicinity, who turned and began to shamble or crawl in Willett's direction.

With no time to spare, Willett frantically searched the zombie's body with his left hand, not out of any perverse curiosity, but in desperate search of the most crucial component for the handgun—bullets.

As the encroaching zombies drew nearer, Willett's search yielded results: he found a small black pouch on the police zombie's waist. He tore it open to discover it brimming with bullets, their yellow sheen indicating a full supply. Clearly, the officer had anticipated danger and carried extra ammunition. There seemed to be plenty, enough for Willett's immediate needs. But as he silently celebrated his find of bullets and the handgun, the horde of zombies finally closed in. It was time to leave.

Willett swung his leg over the electric scooter, stashed the handgun and bullets in its basket, fired up the engine, and hit the throttle. With the moans and pursuit of zombies at his back, he sped toward the city center.

In just five or six minutes, Willett found a secure nook on 8th Avenue. The area was cordoned off for construction, encased in a thick layer of sheet metal. He excitedly parked the scooter, crouched at the base of the wall, and eagerly began to inventory his loot, unwilling to waste another minute.

As he admired the sleek black revolver, he confirmed his suspicion: this was indeed the new model officially issued to the Depridge Police Force in 2006—the 92 revolver handgun. He remembered poring over the news at the time, scrutinizing the gun's specifications and features. Given that it was being deployed in his hometown, and as a firearms aficionado, he couldn't help but familiarize himself with it.

The 92 police revolver represented the department's first foray into independently developing a law enforcement weapon. The design was finalized in late 2005, with the research and development strictly adhering to the prescribed standards.

The 9mm police revolver boasted superior overall performance. Beyond the inherent advantages of a revolver—ease of operation and the ability to clear misfires—it excelled in shooting accuracy, maneuverability, weight, adaptability to various ammunition types, reliability, and safety, placing it at the forefront of similar weapons.

This gun could chamber four distinct types of ammunition: the 2005 police 9mm revolver bullets, rubber bullets, training bullets, and the BF-071 (red) and BF-072 (blue) 9×17mm marker rounds. The standard 9mm bullets were low-energy lethal rounds, while the rubber bullets were designed to incapacitate. Thus, the gun could serve a multitude of purposes. The ability to fire various types of ammunition from a single weapon, all while meeting tactical performance standards, was unprecedented in revolvers and a distinctive feature of this weapon system.

The 9mm police revolver had also undergone rigorous environmental testing, proving its reliability across a range of conditions, including normal, low temperatures of -40℃, high temperatures up to 50℃, angled shooting, rain, and sand exposure.

The 9mm police revolver is known for its high reliability and longevity. When subjected to comprehensive life assessments, it boasts a remarkably low failure rate compared to other domestically equipped firearms in China.

Operating the gun is safe, thanks to the inclusion of a mandatory safety catch, a drop safety feature, and a cylinder position safety mechanism, ensuring the weapon's security during use, storage, and transport.

For improved aiming in low-light conditions, the sights are coated with fluorescent powder.

The firearm has been officially designated as the "2005 Police 9mm Revolver." It has a 9mm caliber, an overall length of 186mm, a barrel length of 75mm, and a capacity of six rounds. The standard bullet velocity is 220±10m/s, with an effective range of 50 meters, and a failure rate of less than 1%. It offers both single and double-action firing modes and is designed to last for over 3,000 rounds. The accuracy, measured by the R50 to R100 standards, is exceptional. Overall, this revolver is incredibly practical, not only for its ease of operation and maintenance but also for its superior accuracy and durability. Other firearms might succumb to the elements after just a month or two of exposure, but the outstanding performance of this revolver ensures it remains functional.

Willett then began to count his ammunition. Despite the modest size of his waist bag, it held a surprising quantity—125 bullets in total, which brought a smile to his face. He was well aware that using firearms in the city center was tantamount to suicide, as the loud gunshots would draw swarms of zombies. However, the gun's primary purpose for him was not to fend off the undead, but to confront other humans. Indeed, his experiences in the supermarket had taught him that in a post-apocalyptic world, humanity's darker aspects become more pronounced and unrestrained. His youthful appearance and a machete alone were hardly intimidating to others. But now, armed with this revolver, he felt confident that few would dare to challenge him, given the prevalent fear of firearms over melee weapons. He couldn't predict what the future held, but he was certain that where there were people, there would be conflict. He had no desire to become a leader, nor did he wish to be expendable fodder. Securing this gun was, therefore, of utmost importance to him.

After reloading all the bullets into his waist pouch, he secured it tightly around his waist. He then slipped his handgun into the inner layer of his clothing and checked his reflection in the electric scooter's mirror. From the outside, there was no hint of the handgun concealed at his waist. This was ideal; a secret weapon like a handgun should remain hidden unless absolutely necessary.

Humming a cheerful tune, Willett hopped back onto his electric scooter. His uncle's house wasn't far now. No matter the traffic congestion, he could weave through on his scooter, estimating his arrival in under twenty minutes. All the while, he silently prayed for his family's safety.

Navigating around the chaotic traffic and increasing number of zombies, Willett reached his uncle's building in Depridge. He noticed that the closer he got to the city center, the thicker the zombie presence became. Having already dodged several groups, he had no choice but to park his scooter. He slipped through the district's back entrance and approached his uncle's building, machete in hand, and entered.

His uncle lived on the 22nd floor, and without an elevator, it was a long climb. Reaching the landing, he took a deep breath, relieved to have arrived. On his way up, he encountered numerous zombie corpses, each with a sizable gunshot wound to the forehead. This puzzled him. Who had cleared all the zombies in the building? The military or private security? Mulling over this, he reached his uncle's door, ajar, which sent a pang of worry through him. Why was the door open? Could something have happened to his uncle?

Willett rushed inside and began a thorough search, but found nothing. The place was slightly disheveled yet bloodless—a good sign. It meant his uncle hadn't been injured there. But where could he have gone?

In his uncle's bedroom, Willett stumbled upon a white note pinned under the telephone. He snatched it up and read.

The note revealed that at the onset of the zombie chaos, the government had dispatched the army to evacuate the residents of these buildings, home to some of the most influential and powerful individuals in Depridge. The government had prioritized their safety. As the outbreak worsened, even the military wasn't immune to infection, and the crisis neared an uncontrollable point. With the city's dense population, the decision was made to evacuate by cruise ship from the river towards Riemsall. The situation there was reportedly under better control, and the mountainous terrain of the Ba Shu region offered a potential stronghold. They had departed the day after the outbreak began, nearly two months ago. His uncle had left the note hoping Willett would find it and not worry, at least knowing where he had gone. Although his uncle doubted Willett could safely arrive and read the message, it was a lingering hope he had left behind. Alongside the note, pressed under the phone, lay a set of black car keys.

Willett studied the letter in his hands over and over, lost in thought for quite some time before he could gather his wits. He felt a mix of sorrow and joy. Joy that his uncle was likely safe under the military's protection, but sorrow at the realization that he now faced the daunting task of making his way to Riemsall. He didn't have a boat to take him there, and even if he did, he wouldn't know the first thing about operating it!

"The journey is long and fraught with challenges," he sighed wearily, glancing at the string of black car keys. He mentally traced the rough path from Depridge to Riemsall, his heart sinking at the thought of the long and arduous trek ahead in his quest to find his relatives.

The immediate priority was to escape the city and the swarming hordes of zombies. After that, he would figure out how to reach Enurg and reunite with the main forces.

He clung to the hope that it would be the safe haven his uncle described in the letter. Yet, as he pondered this, a nagging sense of unease began to stir within him.

In a world ravaged by apocalypse, could such a sanctuary truly exist?