Chapter 5: Thorn Path and

The carriage was filled with a faint smell of blood, sweat, and rusting metal. Ellie stood like a silent stone statue at the only breach in the carriage, her short crossbow resting on her knees, her hawk-like eyes scanning every inch of the wasteland beyond through the gap. The wind moaned, and occasional cries of unknown creatures in the distance added to the desolate silence.

Lin Mo leaned against the cold wall, his body aching with pain and exhaustion like a parasite clinging to his bones. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandages from his arm and chest; the wounds had reopened during the earlier fight, their edges swollen and oozing a dark yellowish fluid. The manual’s description of infection sent shivers down his spine.

“I have to treat this…” he gritted his teeth, pulling the last bit of drinking water from his system space and, through searing pain, rinsed the wounds again. The icy water made him shudder, but the burning sensation seemed to ease slightly. He rebandaged the wounds, moving clumsily yet with intense focus. Ellie’s words—“Infection. Death.”—hung over him like a sword.

After finishing, his gaze fell on the dark red chunks of radiation wolf meat. Hunger burned like fire, his gut screaming in protest. The manual had warned clearly of the extreme danger of mutated meat—but the water purifier sparked a desperate idea.

He carefully cut off a small piece of wolf meat, placed it in a dented metal can filled with filtered wastewater from the purifier, and submerged it. He couldn’t be sure if this crude soaking would remove radiation or toxins, but it was the only “purification” method he could think of. Better than nothing!

Once done, overwhelming exhaustion finally crushed him. He could no longer hold up, curling into the corner as his consciousness plunged into darkness. Just before slipping into unconsciousness, he thought he saw Ellie turn her head slightly, glancing at him—her gaze still cold, yet perhaps… slightly less indifferent than before?

His sleep was restless. The throbbing pain of his wounds, the sudden chill of the wasteland night, and fear of unknown dangers clung to him like nightmares. He dreamed of the company’s sterile cubicles, of the radiation wolf’s glowing green eyes, of Ellie’s emotionless crossbow bolts…

After an indeterminate time, he was awakened by the smell of food—or rather, the acrid scent of burnt protein.

Opening his eyes, the carriage was dim, the sky seeming to edge toward dawn. Ellie had somehow built a small makeshift firepit in the corner using stones, and a small piece of wolf meat sizzled over the faint flames, its edges charred black. Had she cut the meat herself? Was she unafraid of radiation or toxins?

Lin Mo snapped his head to the metal can where he’d soaked the meat. The water had turned murky and reddish; the meat’s color seemed… slightly lighter.

“Awake?” Ellie’s voice came, still hoarse but less dry, perhaps from the water she’d consumed. She didn’t turn, focused on turning the meat. “Your meat, soaked. Eat a little. Won’t kill you.” Her tone was flat, stating a fact without emotion.

Lin Mo’s heart jolted. She’d seen? And she knew this method? He grabbed his piece of meat, sniffed it—the sharp, metallic stench of radiation had noticeably faded. Following Ellie’s example, he found a metal skewer, threaded the meat onto it, and held it near the weak flame.

The meat was half-raw, tough and dry, with an indescribable charred smell and a faint earthy odor, chewing like sawdust. But hunger was the best seasoning. Lin Mo forced himself to chew slowly, fighting nausea; a faint warmth traveled down his throat, easing some of the chill and weakness. Ellie ate her portion silently, moving swiftly and efficiently.

After this revolting but vital “breakfast,” Lin Mo felt a little stronger. His wounds still ached, but showed no signs of worsening. The purifier had produced more water; he sipped cautiously, the cool, sweet liquid soothing his parched throat like an oasis in the desert.

“Go,” Ellie said, rising and extinguishing the firepit with clean, decisive motions. “This place isn’t safe. The blood smell is too strong.”

Lin Mo had no objection. He quickly disassembled the purifier, stowing it along with the water jug, the precious survival manual, the remaining seeds, and soil conditioner into his system space. The rusty knife remained gripped tightly in his hand. He looked at Ellie. “Where to?”

Ellie’s gaze fixed on the distant haze, where faint silhouettes of larger, beast-like ruins loomed. “West. There’s a place—maybe an old water tower.” She paused, then added, “Maybe the Blood Claws are there.” When she said “Blood Claws,” Lin Mo felt a palpable, icy wave of murderous intent radiate from her, as if the temperature inside the carriage dropped.

Blood Claws? Lin Mo recalled the manual mentioning that name—a notorious band of raiders. Did Ellie have a grudge against them? He didn’t dare ask.

The two left the subway wreckage that had offered brief shelter and immense danger. Ellie led, moving lightly like a ghost through the ruins, skillfully avoiding soft sand and metallic debris that might clatter. Lin Mo struggled to keep up, his wounds slowing him with every step.

Though silent, Ellie didn’t abandon him. She paused frequently, scanning the surroundings, waiting for him to catch up. Once, she silently pointed to a nearly invisible metal trap half-buried in dust. Lin Mo broke into a cold sweat—it was almost certainly a predator trap!

They trudged for half the day. The wasteland was monotonous and oppressive: endless ruins, cracked earth, twisted metal skeletons. The sky remained that suffocating leaden gray. Along the way, Ellie’s sharp eyes spotted several dark green, cactus-like succulents growing in metal crevices. She deftly sliced off thick leaves with her knife and squeezed out their viscous sap, gesturing for Lin Mo to apply it to his wounds.

“Old trick. Stops bleeding.” The sap cooled his wounds, noticeably reducing pain and inflammation. Lin Mo again felt the depth of this wasteland girl’s invaluable survival knowledge.

As evening approached, they finally reached the place Ellie had described: a relatively open depression, dominated by the rusted, skeletal remains of a massive water tower, half-collapsed, its twisted supports pointing skyward. Around it lay scattered low shelters built from scrap metal and concrete blocks, most long since ruined and abandoned.

“Here,” Ellie whispered, crouching low, using the shadows of ruins to move swiftly. Lin Mo tensed, gripping his hatchet, mimicking her stealth as he followed.

They circled the abandoned shanty area. Ellie examined everything meticulously—ground tracks, air currents, even using the tip of her crossbow to lift rubble. Finally, she stopped before a relatively intact shelter. Built against half a concrete wall, its roof was a slanted metal sheet, and its entrance hung a tattered, oil-stained canvas curtain.

Ellie signaled Lin Mo to stand guard, then gently pried open the curtain with her crossbow tip and slipped inside. A few soft rustling sounds followed. Soon, she emerged and nodded to him: “Safe. For now.”

Lin Mo followed. Inside, the shelter was cramped and dark, reeking of dust and rust. The floor was packed earth. In the corner lay rotting wood and rags, and a stone firepit long cold. Most exciting of all: beside the firepit stood a half-meter-tall, heavily rusted but otherwise intact metal barrel! Perfect for storing water!

“Here,” Ellie said, her tone carrying quiet resolve, as if claiming ownership. “Clean it. Water…” She pointed outside. “Lowest point of the depression—might have pooled water. But… it’s filthy.”

Lin Mo understood instantly. This broken shelter, clinging to the half-wall, was their temporary base! It was dilapidated, yes—but infinitely better than sleeping in the open. And with the barrel, they could store more purified water!

Hope—a long-forgotten feeling—surged in Lin Mo’s chest. He immediately set to work, enduring his pain as he and Ellie cleared out trash, hauling away rotting wood and rags, leveling the ground. Ellie went outside to keep watch and scout for water.

When Lin Mo finally righted the heavy metal barrel and wiped off its thick layer of grime, staring at its relatively intact interior, a sense of “home” began to form. He stepped outside. The dying light of the sun (if that murky descent could be called sunset) painted the ruins in an eerie crimson hue.

Ellie stood atop a nearby elevated concrete slab, scanning the horizon. Her silhouette, against the dimming sky, looked slender yet unyielding.

Lin Mo walked over beside her, gazing at the desolate depression and the water tower ruins, a surge of determination rising in his chest. He pointed to the tiny shelter. “From today on, this is our base. Let’s call it… ‘Hope Outpost’!”

Ellie didn’t turn. Her grip on the crossbow tightened slightly. She fell silent for a few seconds, then spoke in her usual hoarse voice: “Names mean nothing. Living is hope.” Her gaze, however, drifted toward the western hills beyond the depression—rolling, mist-shrouded ridges—her eyes holding a deep, buried pain.

At that moment, Ellie’s ears twitched. She suddenly dropped low, yanking Lin Mo down with her.

“Shh!” She pressed a finger to her lips, her eyes sharp as blades, fixed on a shadowed area at the depression’s edge, blocked by a massive concrete slab.

Lin Mo’s heart leapt into his throat. He followed her gaze.

From the shadow, three figures emerged slowly. They wore mismatched armor stitched from scrap leather and metal plates, their bodies marked with grotesque red claw totems. In their hands they carried crude spiked clubs, machetes, and a rough double-barreled shotgun. The leader, a bald, burly man with a scar like a centipede across his face, stared at them with cruel, predatory hunger.

On his shoulder, a vivid, dripping claw emblem glowed ominously in the dim light.

“Hey, little rodents!” the bald man barked, his voice grating and foul, revealing yellowed teeth. “Found a new nest? Named it something fancy? ‘Hope Outpost’? Hah! Too bad—your luck’s run out! This land belongs to the Blood Claws! Hand over your food, your water, and that little girl!”

Blood Claws! Raiders! They’d found them so fast!

Ellie’s body tensed instantly, like a coiled panther. Cold, tangible killing intent radiated from her as she slowly raised her crossbow, the blue-tipped bolt aimed squarely at the bald man.

Lin Mo felt ice flood his veins. The Hope Outpost had barely been established—and already faced its cruelest trial. He stared at the three monstrous raiders, then at Ellie beside him, a feral she-cat ready to strike. His rusty knife felt heavier than ever.

The wasteland’s law revealed itself once again, in the most brutal way possible—fight, or die.