Chapter 18

Tang Dao gasped for breath, his right eyelashes twitching uncontrollably as he resisted the blood seeping into his eye sockets. He struggled to stand, clutching his wound, and spoke in a hushed tone, "Go check on Witt and the others, see if they're still alive."

Osborn, watching from the sidelines, was in a state of shock. He had witnessed an opponent being strangled to death with bare hands, even kicked the man's Adam's apple, yet he admitted that this was his first time seeing such a brutal method. Strangling someone like this was perilous; if the enemy resisted, they could retaliate in numerous ways, leaving only the aggressor in grave danger. Osborn initially opened his mouth, but when he heard Tang Dao's command, he quickly closed it and nodded in compliance.

The BTR-40 armored vehicle was sturdy, but the Lao Maozi anti-1 grenade posed a significant threat. While the chances of breaching the vehicle were low, it was still possible.

Osborn placed his rifle back behind him and attempted to open the door. However, it was locked from the inside, making it impossible to open from the outside. Frustrated, he climbed through the driver's seat. Fortunately, both the front and rear positions of the BTR-40 allowed access, although the confined space meant bending over for a man of his nearly 190 cm height.

Inside, the backseat was a mess. It was filled with a multitude of weapons and firearms, including vertically stacked ammunition boxes in a corner. Job's lifeless body lay atop Witt, both of them drenched in blood.

Osborn managed to open the door and dragged them out.

"It's hopeless; the wound is on his neck," the Englishman noted, pointing at Job's neck wound. He raised his gaze to Tang Dao, indicating that it was a fatal injury.

The tire man had perished. Although Tang Dao couldn't be held accountable for the incident, Job's death was a difficult situation to explain.

"Witt is still unconscious," Tang Dao muttered. He couldn't help but curse, "Damn it!" He bit his lip, deepening his furrowed brows. This wasn't the time for contemplation. He took a deep breath, feeling the pain in his forehead, and continued, "Let's clean up the battlefield and withdraw. These guys had some decent weapons; we'll take them as compensation."

Once the BTR-40 had driven away, it was finally safe enough for the curious bystanders to emerge. The intense commotion in the residential area had attracted attention. Someone opened their doors to take a cautious peek, gradually gaining courage.

A courageous 17- or 18-year-old black youth wearing tattered clothing approached the lifeless bodies. He found a dollar bill in a West Asian man's pocket and excitedly showed it off to his friends, but the stony expression on the bill irritated those around him. Soon enough, an argument ensued.

The corpses were stripped, clothes were torn apart, and even the old jeep's tires were removed. Some resourceful individuals retrieved empty mineral water bottles to siphon gasoline from the vehicle's tank. It was evident they saw potential value in this.

As the armored vehicle made its way along, there was no need for signage in the desolate African landscape; goods were sparse, and finding what one needed relied on sheer luck.

Luckily, Tang Dao and his group had a stroke of fortune. After traveling about 800 meters, they spotted a small hotel. However, some external force had caused the sign to tilt. In the lower left corner, there was a picture of a cheerful little bear with the English phrase: "I'm going to school."

Osborn boldly parked the car in front of the hotel and proceeded to carry Witt inside.

The small hotel had a musty smell to it, but it appeared to be clean.

Osborn knocked on the table, his voice somewhat rough. "Is anyone here?"

Hastily, footsteps echoed from upstairs, accompanied by a timid inquiry, "W-what are you doing?"

A little Caucasian girl of about five or six years old appeared on the wooden staircase. She was adorable, resembling a porcelain doll, with big, fearful eyes. She clung to the handrail, clearly scared.

Osborn refrained from uttering expletives he had in mind earlier and instead smiled. His bearded face might not have been handsome, but it managed to form a gentle smile. "Little lady, may I ask where your parents are?"

Tang Dao glanced at him in astonishment, a frown furrowing his forehead as he covered his wound. It was as if he were seeing Osborn in a completely new light, one who had transformed from a brute into a friend of children.

Had God had a bit too much vodka?