At New District Middle School, over a hundred survivors clustered on the third and fourth floors of the teaching building. Weak from days without food or clean water, they huddled above stairs barricaded with desks and chairs. Below, the first two floors and playground teemed with 300-odd zombies. Mofang circled overhead, scanning the scene.
"Look! A drone! Rescue must be coming!" A supermarket-uniformed woman at a third-floor window sparked commotion.
Mofang's cameras revealed dire conditions: some survivors lay motionless, complicating evacuation. *Too many to distribute supplies without causing riots. Half a day's hunger won't kill them.*
The school's isolation—a politician's vanity project in this ghost-town district—now proved a mixed blessing. Fewer initial residents meant more survivors, but the open campus offered no tactical advantages. *Twenty guards vs. 300 zombies? Not happening without heavy vehicles.*
After fruitless circling, Mofang reported: "Terrain's too exposed. Survivors in bad shape."
"Drop them a communicator. We'll coordinate," Zhang Xiaowen's voice crackled. "ETA 30 minutes."
Mofang veered toward an electronics store.
***
At the locked store, Mofang transformed into its robotic form, shattering glass doors with gunfire. Inside, it modified a walkie-talkie, juicing its battery with a mechanical claw.
*Click-clack!*
Its arm snapped into a gun barrel, targeting movement at the back door—a rat. "Filthy rodent!" Mofang growled, still bitter about past nibbled wiring.
***
Back at the school, Mofang hovered above the roof. *Who to give this to? No leader?* It dropped the walkie-talkie into a crowd and sped toward the river.
The improvised dock—cleared of 20 zombies—soon hosted two sightseeing boats. The malnourished dockworker captain shoveled bean cakes into his mouth while steering.
"Any plan from the survivors?" Mofang asked as Zhang Xiaowen disembarked with 18 guards.
"Chaos. No chain of command."
"Disorderly evacuation risks casualties. I'd rather rescue 500 organized people."
"We'll prioritize our safety. Use that bus." Mofang pointed to a parked coach.
"Mad Max style! Love it!"
The armored bus crawled toward campus, gun muzzles protruding from windows. *Pop-pop!* Controlled bursts cleared zombies along the route—securing their retreat path. Inside, Zhang Xiaowen gripped the wheel. Survival now hinged on turning a civilian vehicle into a battlewagon… and praying the starving masses below could hold on.