Chapter 20: Battle
The sky gradually darkened. The forest grew increasingly deep.
Caesar sat in a camping chair, watching the pitch-black woods. The birdsong and insect chirping his ears could catch had become very sparse.
The camping chair was positioned on top of the RV, allowing him to observe the entire camp.
He swept a glance over the camp's current layout.
The side of camp bordering the forest had a row of vehicles. These were for blocking walkers.
Both flanks of the camp were blocked by the cargo truck and some pickups, piled with various debris, built very solidly so walkers couldn't charge into camp from the gravel roads on either side.
The cliff side was left open. Caesar and those participating in combat would fight walkers in this arena.
To reduce the walkers' attack range, Caesar had people pile up stones and other materials to create a corridor.
If walkers charged fast enough, they could directly vault over the vehicles blocking the forest and rush straight off the cliff.
Non-combatants entered vehicles on both sides of camp, doors locked tight—under normal circumstances, walkers couldn't open them.
As the walkers continued not to appear, the moon climbed into the sky, and the camp's atmosphere grew increasingly tense.
Quite a few people were fighting drowsiness. Combined with doing physical labor all afternoon, fatigue was overwhelming them.
Caesar didn't call out to wake them. Rather than waking them now, they'd startle awake then slowly fall asleep again anyway.
His fingers lightly tapped the handle of his hand axe. Caesar's half-closed eyes suddenly opened, his gaze sharp as a torch looking toward the deep forest.
Late at night, Caesar actually couldn't see much, but his ears could hear faint, subtle sounds.
Sure enough, the next moment, countless pebbles struck empty cans with tinkling sounds.
Drowsy eyes instantly snapped awake. People scrambled to grab weapons and stand up.
Those who woke immediately roused the people around them.
Caesar shouted, "Walkers incoming! Light the fires!"
Merle and Daryl held torches and ran quickly past the vehicles blocking the forest.
Each vehicle had torches soaked in gasoline that ignited immediately.
Flames leaped, illuminating a small area of forest. Twisted figures could be faintly seen among the trees.
Daryl and Merle exchanged glances. Daryl dropped a line and charged forward.
"Stay alive."
The walkers had no tactics, no fear. Their attention temporarily drawn by the torches, they swarmed the abandoned vehicles one after another.
Claws grabbed at vehicles, climbing upward.
Before they could touch the torches, a crossbow bolt shot out, striking a walker dead center.
The walker's body flipped and fell back into the herd.
This crossbow shot was like a signal horn. Several people with handguns and rifles opened fire.
For a moment, muzzle flashes erupted, bullets flew, blood and flesh splattered.
Not many in camp knew how to shoot, and even fewer had good marksmanship. Most bullets struck walker bodies but couldn't hit vital points.
However, firearms made tremendous noise, giving other camp members a sense of security that cold weapons couldn't match.
Non-combatants in vehicles on both flanks pressed against reinforced windows, watching the shooting crowd, their eyes shining.
Shooting didn't accomplish much, but it raised morale.
Glenn was among those shooting. His marksmanship could be called one of the worst.
His reloading movements weren't smooth either. Often it took several shots to kill one walker.
In contrast was Daryl, who despite using a crossbow had high killing efficiency and didn't waste a single bolt—every shot achieved results.
After several minutes, Caesar raised his hand signaling Daryl to cease fire.
Caesar understood that continuing this way, who knew if they could kill all the walkers, but the camp's ammunition would definitely be exhausted.
"Prepare for close combat!"
Caesar rallied with raised arms.
Daryl ended the first wave of battle and brushed past Merle. Merle's mouth split into a grin—in the firelight he actually looked considerably more heroic.
"Little bastards, follow me!"
Merle held a torch in one hand and a machete in the other, shouting loudly, looking exactly like a bandit chieftain.
His rallying power was quite good too. The people he led all shouted excitedly, charging forward with Merle.
Without long-range suppression, walkers climbed onto vehicle roofs, reaching for torches.
Suddenly, flames licked up walker bodies along their clothing and flesh.
The flames rose extremely fast, igniting nearby walkers standing hand-to-hand and foot-to-foot in a chain reaction.
As it turned out, those abandoned vehicles were all coated in gasoline. Although the quantity wasn't large, it allowed a large swath of walkers in front to become soaked in gasoline.
This gave the flames an opportunity to burn rapidly.
Even corpses long dead, when touched by flames, would quickly blacken and char.
A connected mass of walkers, bodies aflame, joints beginning to char, flesh beginning to shrivel—no matter what, they couldn't climb over those few abandoned vehicles.
Merle led his people, beating fallen dogs, taunting like villains as they fought.
"Little bastards, bite your daddy! Come on, your daddy's meat smells delicious!"
"Come eat your daddy. Hey, you're actually eating—I'll smash you to death..."
"Die die die!"
"Hahaha, honey, I avenged you!!"
"..."
Perhaps from constantly fleeing without fighting walkers, suppressed emotions vented madly.
Merle watched the people beside him, each one acting crazed, wielding weapons like berserkers, frantically hammering walkers.
One or two had already chopped the walker heads in front of them into mincemeat but still wouldn't stop, their eyes tinged with blood-red.
Fortunately this portion of walkers had been weakened by flames—otherwise with this fighting style, they'd definitely lose some people.
As Merle and his group continued killing, their experience grew richer and their actions became more fluid.
Seeing this batch of walkers nearly slaughtered clean, Caesar looked toward Rip standing in the RV's shadow and gave him a look.
Turning his head, Rip had already disappeared.
Caesar grabbed his axe and loudly issued an order. "Let walkers in—close the door and beat the dog!"
With the order given, Merle and his group no longer tangled with walkers.
Merle ran to the edge of the blocking vehicles, casually tossing down torch and machete, shouting to those beside him, "Pull together!"
With a roar, several people pulled together, yanking on thick hemp rope.
Not just them—on the other side, Daryl led people pulling rope together too.
The middle section of abandoned vehicles slowly opened, as if saying "please enter the trap."
Walkers didn't care about such things. Their main tactic was charging blindly—heads down and forward!
Sure enough, walkers rushed in. Walkers fell.
Below the opened abandoned vehicles, first came a trip wire, then a shallow pit filled with various sharp barbs—broken branches, steel spikes, and so on.
Walkers lined up to advance, hurrying urgently to their deaths.
Black blood flowed down. Bodies piled layer upon layer. The shallow pit gradually filled.
Walkers behind trampled over predecessors' corpses, advancing to attack.
Daryl led the ranged team, climbing atop vehicles on both flanks. Only by ensuring their own safety could they output damage properly.