Apocalypse: I Can Upgrade Everything

Chapter 201: What Is That Over There?

The old adage “the mountain is in sight, but the horse dies of exhaustion” had never been more literal.

Captain Chu Che had estimated an imminent encounter with the mysterious, massive convoy, but the reality was far more grueling. Half a day had vanished, and the horizon remained stubbornly empty. During their noon reprieve, Chu Che—having spent the entire morning navigating the winding, ruined landscape—sketched a rough map. His brow was furrowed so deeply it formed a permanent furrow of concentration.

Ding Dong’s expression mirrored his, but for a different reason. Her mobile garden was a disaster.

The potatoes she had attempted to cultivate in the back of her van were dead. According to the pre-apocalypse “how-to” videos she’d binged—content where people grew bountiful harvests in simple household trash cans—potatoes were supposed to be the ultimate survival crop. Back at the Second Elementary School, she had even commissioned five specialized planting buckets for this very purpose.

When she acquired her van, she had moved the soil and tubers with the care of a mother tending to newborns. Every day, she checked the moisture, loosened the dirt, and obsessed over their progress. She wanted that taste of fresh earth—a single, clean potato.

She dug into the soil just now, only to find a mushy, blackened mess. The tubers had rotted into a foul-smelling slime.

Ding Dong let out a long, weary sigh. Had the vegetables mutated like everything else? Or was the constant vibration of the moving vehicle simply too much for the soil to handle? Whatever the cause, the realization was a crushing blow.

The convoy survived on scavenged filth. That morning’s breakfast had been dried noodles expired by several months and a jar of chili sauce that was more mold than condiment. When Ding Dong had tossed the moldy jar aside, a survivor had scrambled to reclaim it, calling it “good stuff.”

In her former life, Ding Dong wouldn’t have let such trash into her kitchen. Now, it was a luxury. Most survivors subsisted on stale bread and crackers that turned to dust in the mouth, leading to a wave of gastrointestinal distress across the camp. The fish from Fairy Lake had provided a temporary reprieve, but it wasn’t a sustainable solution. The supplies in the cities were finite, and every scavenging run was a dance with death. Without production, they were on a slow march toward a dead end.

“Sister Ding Dong, maybe that large convoy will have answers,” Sun Qianqian said, watching the one-armed woman sift through the rotten dirt. “They have over a thousand people. They must have figured something out.”

Ding Dong shook her head. “It’s unlikely. Without a permanent settlement, we’re just delaying the inevitable.”

Lunch was more fish. After days of the same oily, smoked protein, the novelty had worn thin.

“Sister Ding Dong, it’s time to eat.”

Zhou Xiaoxiao approached, holding a bowl piled high with fish, the rice beneath completely obscured. Ding Dong’s inner circle had recently expanded to include the girl.

While Chu Che, Iron Lion, and Sun Qianqian all employed dedicated drivers, only Ding Dong and Chen Ye handled their own steering. Chen Ye had unceremoniously rejected every “assistant” who had volunteered—including Xu Lina, who had practically begged for the passenger seat.

Ding Dong, however, had hesitated before accepting Zhou Xiaoxiao’s plea. The deciding factor had been that night at Fairy Lake. Zhou Xiaoxiao had been surrounded by a significant number of Butterfly Fairies. As Chu Che noted, those ethereal spirits were drawn to purity and kindness. While her numbers didn’t rival Iron Lion’s or Sun Qianqian’s, she was leagues ahead of the “vacuum zone” that followed Chen Ye.

The former Zhou Xiaoxiao had been a white swan; the current version was humble mud. Yesterday, when she had begged for the driver’s position, she looked like she was about to collapse. The moment Ding Dong said “yes,” the girl’s eyes had turned a watery, bruised red.

The loss of her sister in the sandstorm and the destruction of her car had broken her. Before the world ended, Zhou Xiaoxiao moved in a different dimension than the people in this convoy. They would have only ever seen her glamorous face on a screen. Now, she wore drab, oversized rags, blending into the background like a shadow.

She kept her head down, avoiding eye contact. She was painfully avoidant, speaking only when necessary and doing everything possible to remain invisible. At five-foot-seven, she likely weighed less than 80 lbs. The vibrancy she once possessed—that spiritual qi that made her a star—had vanished. If she were cast in a drama today, she wouldn’t even be fit to play an extra.

People often forgot she existed. Even Chen Ye barely spared her a thought. Without her car, she had been forced to live on the school bus, a place where rules were the only thing preventing her life from becoming an unspeakable nightmare. Ding Dong taking her in was her only tether to something better.

“Captain! Captain! Look… what is that over there!”

The shout tore through the camp, shattering the quiet clink of bowls and chopsticks. It was a voice filled with raw, unadulterated terror—the kind of sound a person makes when they see something that defies the laws of nature.

It was a cry of panic, disbelief, and absolute horror.