When Lin Feng found Dale Horvath, the old man was out in the open with his battered radio, pacing in slow circles while sweeping through broadcast frequencies one by one.

Lin Feng had to get close before he could hear the steady hiss of white noise.

His steps slowed. He couldn't help marveling, not for the first time, at just how quietly attentive the old man was.

Szzzt... szzzt... szzzt...

"Where did it go? I know it was this channel..."

Dale muttered under his breath, still pacing, still shifting positions to catch a better signal.

"Hey, Dale. Good evening." Lin Feng raised a hand in greeting. "Rick mentioned you picked up someone calling for help over the radio?"

Dale stopped and turned, smiling. "Good evening, Lin. Ah—about that, I think I need a little time to prove it..."

Dale trailed off and sheepishly held up the battered radio, which was doing nothing but hissing.

"No, no. That won't be necessary. I believe you." Lin Feng closed the distance and asked quietly, "Do you still remember what the broadcast said?"

Dale switched off the radio. There was warmth in the old voice, but something anxious underneath it too. "He said he was from Harran. They were surrounded by walkers on top of a tower, needed rescue, and then the transmission cut out."

Dale held up the old radio again. "This old thing has been with me for thirty years. Well, sometimes it throws a little fit." A soft laugh. "Haha."

Lin Feng listened, and something nagged at him. Harran. A tower.

Then it hit him like a lightning bolt, and memory came rushing up from somewhere deep.

Dying Light.

The horror in that world was on a completely different level from anything the Wildfire Virus produced. The infected there bore no resemblance to slow walkers whatsoever.

Even the ordinary ones could climb, sprint, and leap.

Tsk. Drop them into a different universe's threat scale and they'd qualify as elite mobs, easy.

And that wasn't even touching the actual elites. Volatiles. Screamers. True Bombers. Gigantified zombies. Toads.

What the hell. A game crashing into a cinematic crossover?

You couldn't have given me a cleaner transmigration?

It clicked now. Those mutated walkers they'd been running into had nothing to do with the Wildfire Virus. Not natural mutation either. They were Volatiles, one of the most terrifying infected variants in existence.

That name wasn't chosen randomly. In the dark of night, a Volatile was terror given a body.

Fast. Strong. Naturally matte-dark, practically invisible at night. Could scale walls. Took hits like they barely registered.

No wonder they'd barely been spotted during the day. No wonder the shedding, the sunlight aversion, the UV sensitivity. How had he not put this together sooner?

Looking at it now, damn. Merle had walked away from that with his life. Lucky bastard.

Dale had been watching Lin Feng's face cycle through expressions, jaw tight like he was grinding his teeth, and couldn't help asking, "Lin? What's wrong? Are you feeling alright?"

Lin Feng shook his head, a bit stiff about it. There was no good way to explain any of this to the old man. In the end he just muttered something about keeping an eye on the radio over the next few days and making sure to pass along anything that came through.

He left. His retreating figure had, if one was being honest, a distinct air of someone making a tactical exit.

UV light. UV rays.

Lin Feng slowed and glanced toward Eugene's tent, wondering whether Eugene could cobble together UV lamps by hand, wait, no. There was an actual technical specialist right here in camp.

And the whole issue of camp electricity, which had been sitting ignored this entire time, needed addressing too.

There had to be salvageable generators somewhere. Basements of fire stations, police precincts, hospitals, those places would have them for certain. Just a question of size and whether they could be moved.

If that fell through, Andrew could modify something. And if that failed too, try his luck finding a finished unit somewhere.

He was walking fast. Anyone watching could tell Lin Feng's head was somewhere else entirely.

Amy blinked and looked toward Andrea, only to be pulled into a firm embrace, Andrea's voice low at Amy's ear, saying something.

Rick caught sight of it and glanced reflexively at Shane. Their eyes met for a moment, then both looked away.

Rick turned to Glenn. "Glenn—go ask Dale what just happened, would you?"

Glenn nodded and jogged off toward Dale, who was still out there hunting for a signal.

Daryl's brows had climbed into three sharp creases across the forehead. When Daryl looked over at Merle, the smirk Merle always had ready was sitting a little crooked on Merle's face.

Merle caught Daryl looking and got there first. "Don't look at me. Not my damn fault."

"..."

Lin Feng walked over to Andrew and asked, voice low, "Andrew—can you build UV lights?"

Andrew blinked. Then nodded. "Easy enough. High-output or low?"

"Not sure yet. But they need to run continuously through the night."

Andrew turned it over mentally, materials, likely problems, workarounds, then nodded again. "No problem. It's doable. Just needs a little time."

"How long? Three days enough?"

"I'll need a hand. At least two people."

Lin Feng nodded, something in him visibly unwinding. "Done. T-Dog and Otis are yours. If that's not enough, pull in Jimmy and Jim too. However it gets done, get it done fast. This matters."

Andrew didn't ask why. Just nodded and said, steady and flat, "Leave it to me. Two days, and you'll see it burning at night."

Lin Feng nodded and gave Andrew a firm pat on the arm, appreciation without ceremony.

One major problem dealt with. The tension across Lin Feng's brow eased. "Oh, one more thing. A generator. Can you handle that?"

Andrew paused.

Not from uncertainty. From something closer to offense.

An engineer with over a decade of hands-on auto repair, was modifying and building a generator not the most basic thing imaginable?

"What? Is it actually difficult?"

Andrew took a slow breath and laughed despite the exasperation. "It won't be any harder than using a fork."

"...OK."

Fine, make jokes. But was that a dig at him?

Completely oblivious to the fact that his own question had been the original insult, Lin Feng turned and headed for Rick, waving Shane over on the way.

He didn't mention Dying Light. He focused on the Volatiles, what they were, what they could do.

Between his rundown and Shane's confirmation of the details, Rick understood fast enough why Lin Feng's face had gone dark like that.

"So this thing is a night predator."

"That's one way to put it. Which is why starting tonight, every guard post gets doubled up, two people minimum, both in body armor, both carrying shotguns. Shane, you're on rotation duty. Make sure there's at least one high-capability fighter on every shift."

Shane's jaw tightened. A short nod. "No problem."

Lin Feng clapped Shane on the shoulder, easy and offhand. "Go light on the drinks tonight. We've got an operation tomorrow."

"...Noted."

➤ Next: Before Departure — Face to Face

Chapter 74 - Before Departure — Face to Face

Early the next morning.

Lin Feng had barely slept a wink, mind grinding away all night on the question of Dying Light.

The Tower's traceurs were practically ready-made scouts. Scavenging supplies across the city, slipping out for intelligence — those people were good at both. And the main leaders, Brecken and Jade, were genuinely decent, with the moral compass to match. Folding them into the camp wouldn't be the hard part.

The hard part was figuring out how to reach The Tower in the first place, and how they'd get out.

Dale's sudden loss of contact yesterday hadn't been a radio problem. Communications in Harran had already been cut off. Add the high walls surrounding the city, and Harran was practically an island.

As for going in to extract them personally, Lin Feng had zero interest in that.

Tempting as it was, throwing his own people into that kind of risk wasn't something Lin Feng was willing to do. If they wanted out and found a way to come, he'd welcome them. If they didn't, nothing was lost.

For now, wait and see. Today had exactly one objective: kill the Volatiles.

God only knew how long those things had been out there. Given enough time and enough food, they actually evolved. That wasn't a theory, that was a problem.

Lin Feng rubbed his face, pulled on his gear, and ducked out of the tent.

He stretched and glanced toward the distant watchtower. T-Dog and Orion were still up there on watch. He gave them a small nod.

A yawn. Then he grabbed his toiletries and walked over to the nearby well to wash up.

The cold water hit his face like a slap. It helped.

By the time Lin Feng dried off and turned back, Amy had tumbled out of a neighboring tent, hair everywhere, eyes half-closed, the picture of someone who had absolutely not finished sleeping.

Amy scrubbed both eyes, squinted against the backlit silhouette of Lin Feng walking over, and managed a smile. "Morning, Lin."

"Morning. Why didn't you sleep in a little longer?"

"Couldn't really fall back asleep. Heh."

Still smiling, Amy seemed to remember something — and dove straight back into the tent.

Lin Feng stopped. Blinked. What the hell was that about?

Inside the tent, Amy grabbed the small mirror, took one look, and immediately pressed both hands over a very red face.

Oh no. I should have brushed my hair before going out.

Outside, Lin Feng didn't spare it another thought. He went down the line waking up today's team, then got to work heating the canned rations. Time wasn't going to wait for them. Nobody knew where those Volatiles had gone to ground, if they had to clear multiple ridgelines to find the nest, there'd be no time to rest on the other end.

Orion came off sentry duty and drifted over, eyes landing on the warming cans with barely concealed hunger.

Cold rations were edible. Hot rations were a different thing entirely.

Lin Feng clocked it immediately and fished a sealed bag of bread from beside him, holding it out. "Tide yourself over."

Orion took it without hesitation, tore it open, and started eating. "Just us?"

"Just us. Quality over quantity. Anyone without the stats would only slow things down."

Orion's jaw paused mid-chew. A measured look at Lin Feng, then one slow nod.

Maybe this place was actually worth sticking around for. At the very least, the person running it wasn't dead weight. Out here, that mattered. It was the difference between lasting and not.

The rest of the group finished washing up and drifted in, forming a loose circle. Almost every eye settled on Lin Feng as he prodded the fire.

"Barring surprises, those things should be back in their nest by now. Could be an abandoned cabin, a cave, maybe a small town — any of those are on the table."

"They're fast. Even in full daylight they're not slow, so nobody gets comfortable out there."

"One rule for this run: don't count your ammo. Direct fire, full coverage, wipe them out completely if we can."

"And stay safe."

Slurp. Slurp.

The sound didn't fit. Heads turned.

Merle.

Somehow, at some point, Merle had quietly helped a can out of the pile and was already most of the way through it.

Merle looked up. "All that fussing and you're just saying kill 'em clean, right?"

"..."

"..."

Lin Feng stared for a moment, genuinely unsure whether Merle had gotten sharper or had simply always been like this.

Daryl said nothing. Just quietly pulled out a can, stabbed a fork into it, and started eating, a silent, unambiguous vote in Merle's favor.

"Alright. Eat up. When you're done, grab your gear and we move out." Lin Feng paused. "Pack two days of food. We might not be back tonight."

A wave of the hand. Everyone dug into the simple, slightly greasy breakfast without further ceremony.

Half an hour later they were loaded up, weapons in hand, piling into the pickups. The trucks rolled out and didn't look back.

The engines woke Abraham from a dead sleep. Abraham shoved halfway out of the tent and looked, just in time to catch the taillights and the receding figures of Lin Feng's crew disappearing down the road.

An operation. Without calling for Abraham.

Am I not worthy?

Three mental question marks, one right after another. Abraham sank back with a distinctly sour expression.

➤ Next: Hitting Them While They're Down