At this point, Brenda changed into spare jeans and a shirt she found in the wreckage of the RV.
She stood beside Lynn's body, covered with a sheet, her hands clenched into fists.
Damian stood silently beside her, their shadows stretched long by the setting sun.
Damian broke the silence first, pointing to the faint outline of the mountains in the distance. "When I was exploring the mine earlier," he said, "I discovered an abandoned town on the other side. If those deformed people have a base, it's most likely there."
He paused, then added more quietly, "So your father and the others are probably there too."
He took the revolver from the deformed corpse, expertly checked the cylinder, and handed it to Brenda along with a few spare rounds before continuing, "I plan to go to that town and see if Bob and the others are there. I'll try to rescue them."
"You stay here," he said. "Wait for me—"
"I'll go with you."
Brenda suddenly interrupted him, her voice hoarse and thick with anguish. "Please… don't leave me alone. I beg you!"
At this, Damian frowned. "This isn't a picnic. Those deformed people—"
But before he could finish, Brenda's tears welled up again. "Take me with you," she pleaded. "I won't be a burden! Please… don't leave me alone."
Damian scratched his head in frustration, then finally sighed in resignation. "Fine. But stay close to me and obey my orders absolutely. Don't fire unless it's absolutely necessary—gunfire will attract more monsters. Tie your hair up, and don't make any noise on the way."
Relief flooded Brenda's face. She immediately stopped crying, gave a hurried nod, and offered a small, grateful smile.
Following the path they'd taken earlier, the two easily passed through the abandoned mine.
As soon as they stepped out of the mine's cool darkness, a wave of heat rushed over them once more.
In the distance, across the barren plain, the outline of a small town—eroded by wind and sand—was faintly visible through the sweltering haze.
The town was even more desolate than Brenda had imagined. Most of the wooden buildings had collapsed, and the few still standing looked ready to crumble at any moment.
On the dirty, chaotic streets, rusty cans and broken bottles were scattered everywhere, and here and there, dried blood stained the ground.
"This doesn't look like it—" Brenda began.
But Damian suddenly spun around and clamped a hand over her mouth.
His eyes were sharp as knives. He pressed a finger to his lips. Brenda's breath hitched—and then she noticed it: a faint, pungent odor hanging in the air.
He released her mouth and made a quick gesture: Stay close. Watch your step.
Brenda nodded and mimicked his movements, carefully stepping over debris to avoid making any sound.
As they ventured deeper into the town, the stench grew stronger.
After turning a corner, Damian abruptly changed direction and moved cautiously toward a relatively intact wooden house about fifty meters to his left.
The structure looked no different from the other huts—except its windows had been boarded up, blocking any view inside.
Though she didn't understand why, Brenda followed without hesitation.
But as she drew closer, she finally sensed something off about the cabin. Even from a distance, the sharp, coppery stench of blood hit her nostrils.
Ten meters from the wooden house, the smell of blood was so strong it was almost tangible.
Just then, Damian suddenly turned and made a "wait" gesture to Brenda before drawing a machete from his waist.
He leaped into the wooden hut, the blade glinting coldly in the dim light.
Inside the unassuming structure, dozens of human legs hung from the ceiling, arranged neatly like slabs of pork in a slaughterhouse.
In the corner, a pile of white bones lay heaped, and half a torso dangled from blacksmith hooks. The floor was caked with thick, dried blood—so thick that every step threatened to stick to the soles of one's shoes.
Two deformed men stood around a central iron table, while the Carter family was bound nearby.
Judging by his build, the deformed man wielding the cleaver was even taller than the one Damian had encountered in the mine. His face was covered in crude stitches, and a grotesque tumor obscured his right eye.
Without hesitation, Damian rushed inside and immediately rolled forward, driving his machete straight toward the back of the cleaver-wielder's neck.
But the deformed man reacted with astonishing speed, parrying the strike with his cleaver. Sparks flew with a sharp clang!
"Aba aba aba…"
Faced with Damian's sneak attack, the Bone-Cutting Deformed Man roared in twisted excitement.
Hearing the commotion, the second deformed man snatched two butcher hooks from the chopping board and charged at Damian.
Whoosh—!
The black iron hook sliced through the air. Damian ducked just in time, but the tip grazed his back, tearing open a bloody gash.
Hiss—
He gritted his teeth against the pain and slashed backward, his machete severing three of the hook-wielder's fingers at the root.
Giggle…
The deformed man didn't flinch—instead, he cackled wildly and swung his remaining hook in a wide arc.
Damian leaned back, and the hook whistled past, missing the tip of his nose by a hair.
Bang!
He seized the opening and drove a hard kick into the man's abdomen. The deformed figure staggered backward.
In that same instant, the Bone-Cutting Deformed Man launched a surprise attack, driving his cleaver straight for Damian's neck!
Whoosh—
At the last second, Damian sidestepped. The cleaver buried itself deep into the wooden wall.
He struck without delay—the machete lanced forward like a venomous snake, piercing the deformed man's shoulder.
Roar—!
Crimson blood spurted out as the man howled in agony.
Seizing the chaos, the hook-wielder lunged again, his twin hooks whirling in a dense, impenetrable frenzy.
Damian was forced to retreat, his heel catching on a corpse. He nearly fell.
Bang!
The iron hook whipped toward him—a filthy, rusted barb narrowly missed his left arm before slamming into the floor.
Without hesitation, Damian slashed downward, severing the hook's handle. Off-balance, the deformed man stumbled forward.
Damian struck like lightning—
Pfft—!
The hook-wielder's head soared into the air, and a foul-smelling geyser of blood erupted from his neck. The headless body twitched a few times before collapsing into the pooled gore.
Roar! Roar! Roar—!!
Witnessing this, the Bone-Cutting Deformed Man bellowed in rage and suddenly lunged toward the cutting board in the corner.
Just as Damian moved to pursue, the man grabbed a baby from the slab—Doug's daughter, Catherine!
"Woo-wah! Woo-wah! Woo-wah…"
The infant shrieked in terror as the deformed man pressed his cleaver against her fragile neck.
Giggle…
Holding the infant in one arm and the rusted cleaver in the other, the deformed man retreated with a sinister grin, his lone eye gleaming with malevolent glee.
Damian, machete still raised, locked eyes with him and spoke in a voice colder than ic
e:
"If she lives, you'll die a peaceful death. If she dies… every one of you ugly freaks—neither man nor ghost—will be torn limb from limb."
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