A loud shout woke Zheng Cheng.
He looked at surprise at the figure in front of him: a man in a khaki uniform, a straw hat on his head, and puttees wrapped around his calves.
In his hand, he held an old rifle.
The bayonet was already fixed to the muzzle.
"Kid! Don't worry, with me here, no scum will harm you!"
"Uncle, are you...?"
Zheng Cheng asked in surprise, but the man had already charged at one of the degenerates, piercing his chest.
"Hahaha, little scum! Come at me!"
"Son of a...!"
"Die!"
"Thump!"
With each shot, the uncle killed one degenerate after another - more than a dozen in total.
However, their numbers far exceeded his. He was knocked to the ground by one of them.
A large mouth bore down on his arm.
The rest of the degenerates swarmed him, biting and clawing.
"Uncle!"
Zheng Cheng shouted desperately, wanting to help, but for some reason, he couldn't move.
It felt as though a multitude of strong hands were holding him back.
"Kid! Keep away!"