Sam took a deep breath, no longer hesitating, and leaped from the edge of the second-floor balcony in a single bound. His movements were swift. The zombies below, who had just been drawn by his attention and were looking up, only saw a dark shadow flash before their eyes, and the tantalizing piece of fresh "human flesh" vanished as if it had never been there. Immediately after, they let out roars filled with regret and frustration, like a pack of hungry ghosts who had missed out on free bacon.
And Sam, at this moment, was like a sprinting machine at full throttle. After landing steadily on his feet, he didn't pause for a second, directly charging towards the entrance of that apartment building. But he didn't choose a straight sprint. Instead, he veered slightly to the side, meeting the closest zombie—a male with long, golden dreadlocks, dressed like a rock musician. That guy must have loved thrashing his proud dreadlocks wildly on stage when he was alive. But now, just as it lunged at Sam with bared fangs and claws, Sam sidestepped at an incredibly sharp angle, his right hand flashing out like lightning, grabbing the end of those dreadlocks.
Then, Sam's waist suddenly exploded with power, his arm muscles bulging. Using the dreadlocks as a "weapon," he swung the zombie into the air and then directly hurled it into the several zombies gathered nearby. With a few dull thuds, the "rock musician," as if performing his favorite stage dive, crashed into the "audience," knocking several zombies off balance.
Sam's gaze, however, never left the direction of the apartment building's main entrance. He was waiting, waiting for the police officer behind the window to come down and open the door. If no one came to let him in, he could only temporarily retreat, find a place to hide, and wait for the "foot traffic" outside to thin out a bit.
Just as Sam casually smashed the heads of two more approaching zombies with his warhammer (System Notification: Zombie Kill x2 Confirmed. Hope Points +10. Quest "Zombie Killer" Progress: 90/100.), he keenly noticed a vague figure appear behind the closed iron gate of the apartment building. It was the officer from earlier.
Sam no longer hesitated and immediately charged towards the main entrance. A considerable number of zombies blocked his path, a dense black mass. But Sam, at this moment, displayed astonishing "professional skills" in navigating through crowded groups—perhaps a benefit from his previous experience maintaining order at the strip club. He suddenly ducked low, like an agile leopard, and with an incredible sliding motion, squeezed through a narrow gap between the outstretched claws and decaying bodies of several zombies. This scene instantly reminded him of many years ago, when he was still a substitute on the football team, during a crucial qualifying match, he had also carried the ball like this, miraculously breaking through the tackle of three strong opponents to score a memorable touchdown.
Screech— The heavy iron gate opened inward a crack. Sam accelerated, slipping through just as the gate was about to close again. But he still subconsciously glanced back at the downed police officer's body across the street… For some reason, he felt the body's posture was a bit strange, as if…
Before he could think further, with a loud BANG behind him, the iron gate had been slammed shut and locked again by the tall, white police officer. Immediately after, the terrifying sound of countless zombies frantically pounding on the iron gate echoed from outside.
"Get inside first," the officer who opened the door said, his voice deep and firm. He was a standard white male, with dark brown hair and rugged features, but what was most striking was his height—Sam estimated this guy was at least two meters tall, a good half-head taller than his own enhanced self.
"You've got some serious moves, kid." The tall officer looked Sam up and down, a hint of surprise and approval in his eyes. "I remember you… you're a new rookie, right? Just joined the precinct?" He spoke as he led Sam quickly up the nearby stairs to the second floor.
"Yes, sir. Name's Sam." Sam had gradually gotten used to this "probationary officer" identity. After all, in this fucked-up apocalypse, it was at least a presentable identity he could use to explain his actions. Of course, it would be even better if he could drop the "probationary" part.
"My God! Charlie was just saying on the radio that a cop rushed in from outside all by himself, I could hardly believe it! It really is you, Sam!" They had just reached the door of a room on the second floor that looked like a temporary command post when the door opened from the inside. A slightly overweight, middle-aged white man in a double-breasted dark blue service dress jacket and a dark tie, with a neatly trimmed beard, walked out quickly. Seeing Sam, his face showed undisguised surprise and concern.
"Sorry, I have amnesia. Who are you…?" Sam really couldn't be bothered to explain why he was here or the series of events that had transpired, so he just threw out this classic excuse, one that probably ranked in the top 10 worst reasons for not recognizing someone after transmigrating.
"What? Amnesia?!" Both the tall officer and the portly middle-aged man were stunned by Sam's answer. The tall officer was the first to react, saying in an incredulous tone, "Amnesia so bad you forgot Chief Benjamin of our own Calgary Police Service? Sam, your amnesia is truly thorough!"
"Haha, don't tell me you woke up, found yourself in this uniform, and then remembered nothing, kid?" The police chief named Benjamin laughed heartily, a hint of teasing in his tone. "That would be exactly like some a low-rent, third-rate novel plot."
[Alright, Chief Benjamin, you hit the nail on the head.] Sam silently affirmed the statement in his mind.
"But you're truly amazing, Sam. I can't believe you made it in from outside alone. And where did you get that hammer?" Chief Benjamin's smile faded somewhat, replaced by a touch of gravity. He praised Sam, then his tone shifted, asking urgently, "What's the situation outside really like? The army? When will they arrive?"
"Hello, Chief." Sam replied calmly. "The hammer was a gift, I guess. And honestly, I'm not too clear on the specifics myself. I didn't see any military presence on my way here."
"Yeah…" The Chief sighed heavily, the worry on his face almost palpable, like an invisible smoke ring he had just exhaled. "If those monsters are as numerous as Charlie said, then the army… they'll probably be a long, long time coming."
"Damn it!" The tall officer beside them—Charlie—cursed under his breath, his voice low but filled with suppressed anger and helplessness.
"Excuse me, I think I got something in my shoe, I need to shake it out." Sam suddenly bent down, untied the lace of one of his police boots, took it off, shook it vigorously, and then slowly put it back on, as if the tense atmosphere around him didn't concern him at all.
Chief Benjamin watched Sam's unhurried actions, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly, but he quickly regained his composed demeanor. He spoke, "Well, Sam, since you're so capable, right now we might… really need a big favor from you."
"Oh? What favor, Chief? Just name it." Sam finally finished tying his shoelace, stood up straight, his tone still nonchalant, as if the Chief were merely asking him to go downstairs and buy a cup of coffee.
"Help us… draw those zombies outside away. Let us drive out of this hellhole!" The Chief's words had barely left his mouth when the amiable expression on his face vanished instantly, replaced by an icy resolve. He sharply raised the hand he had been keeping behind his back—a pistol suddenly appeared in it, the dark muzzle aimed steadily at Sam's head. And Charlie, beside him, raised his gun almost simultaneously, his movements practiced and synchronized.
"Is this… considered workplace bullying, Chief?" Sam slowly raised his hands, one still gripping the warhammer, his face showing no sign of panic, even a hint of a mocking smile. "If so, can I file a complaint with the union and then apply for labor arbitration?" He knew the current situation was far more dangerous than dealing with those two street thugs earlier. These were professionally trained police officers, and the distance was a bit too far; he had no confidence he could resolve this as easily as before.
"You've got quite a sense of humor, kid." The Chief's facial muscles twitched, seemingly annoyed by Sam's fearless (or perhaps, clueless) attitude. "Seriously, Sam, in normal times, with your personality, you'd probably be quite popular with your colleagues at the precinct. And drop that damn hammer."
"Oh, then you must be the kind of boss who gets called an old bastard and an asshole behind your back by other cops every day." Sam retorted casually.
"Shut up, rookie!" The Chief's face darkened, but a cold smirk played on his lips. "Your legs are pretty nimble, aren't they? You run fast too. It's simple. You just need to run out that door, draw the attention of those zombies around the police car outside, and buy us a little time. That's all."
"Like… that officer named Lester, who's lying next to the police car right now?" Sam's gaze shifted to the window, his tone calm. "Shot in the leg first to be used as bait to attract zombies, right?"
"Oh? You figured it out?" Officer Charlie grinned, a smile devoid of any remorse. "No choice, who asked that kid to be the slowest? Besides, after we got into the apartment, we even put a bullet in his head to make his death less painful. Consider it an act of mercy."
"That was truly a last resort, with no other options." The Chief seemed to still want to justify his actions. He sighed and continued, "The situation was too critical then, that giant monster… And, Jackman, he really couldn't get away himself. Rather than being eaten alive by those monsters, it's better for him to buy us a chance to escape. He died for a cause, in a way." He no longer looked at Sam, his tone becoming cold and unyielding. "Now, do you want us to break your legs and throw you out, or will you walk out on your own?"
"Alright, I give up." Sam's right hand loosened, the warhammer dropping with a heavy thud. He continued to hold his hands up, a helpless smile on his face, as if he had truly surrendered.
"That's more like it." Just as Chief Benjamin finished speaking, perhaps thinking Sam had truly yielded, his gun arm, possibly from holding it up for so long, trembled almost imperceptibly. For an instant, the muzzle shifted, no longer pointing at Sam.
Now.
In the next instant, Sam moved. He seemingly drooped his head in resignation, but at the same moment, his right foot shot out, the toe precisely kicking the heel of the police boot he had just "shaken sand out of"—he hadn't tied it tightly at all. Then, with incredible force and angle, he flicked his foot upwards. The heavy, mud-caked police boot, like a cannonball, whistled through the air, spinning, flying straight at the face of the tall officer Charlie, who was closest to him.
"What?!" Charlie never expected Sam to pull such a move. By the time he reacted, the foul-smelling boot was already right in front of his face. He instinctively jerked his head aside, simultaneously pulling the trigger in panic. BANG! BANG! BANG! Three bullets fired wildly, hitting the floor.
And Chief Benjamin, startled by this sudden turn of events, immediately raised his gun again, trying to re-aim at Sam.
But Sam gave him no such chance. At the same instant the police boot flew, he lunged forward like an arrow. His target was Charlie, momentarily off balance from dodging the shoe. He slammed hard into Charlie's chest. The immense impact sent Charlie staggering backward uncontrollably, directly into the line of fire of Chief Benjamin's gun. Sam then used his shoulder to pin Charlie's body firmly, using him as a mobile "human shield".
BANG! BANG! Most of the bullets Chief Benjamin fired hastily slammed into Charlie's back, creating two bloody blossoms. One bullet, due to the angle, even grazed past Charlie's neck, then narrowly scraped Sam's cheek, leaving a burning, bloody gash.
"Ugh!" Sam roared, ramming Charlie's body hard into Chief Benjamin. The combined weight of the two men, over four hundred pounds, crashed like a massive meteor into the Chief's relatively portly abdomen. Even more critically, at the moment of impact, Sam's right hand formed a fist, and using Charlie's groin as a cushion and leverage point, he delivered a vicious, precise punch to the Chief's soft lower belly.
"Waaah—!!" Chief Benjamin let out an inhuman, piercing scream, a sound more tragic than if his own father had died. He felt as if his internal organs had been displaced by the punch and collision, an indescribable pain, like being impaled by a red-hot iron rod, shooting through his lower abdomen. His entire body arched like a cooked shrimp. He instantly lost all strength, his gun clattering to the floor, his muscles spasming violently from the excruciating pain. And Charlie, serving as the "human shield" in front of him, after a short groan mixed with pain and relief, his head lolled to one side, and he stopped breathing completely.
"Mr. Chief," Sam shoved Charlie's lifeless body aside, wiped the blood trickling from the scratch on his face, a demonic smile spreading across his own. He bent down, picked up the Chief's dropped pistol, expertly checked the magazine and safety, then gently pressed the cold muzzle against Chief Benjamin's forehead, which was contorted in agony. He spoke in a friendly tone, as if chatting with an old friend: "I think… we can have a friendly, private conversation now, don't you agree?"