Apocalyptic Island - Chapter 44

Chapter 44

The wind blew a furrow through the gray fur on its belly, and Wen Yishu only had time to draw her blade before the squirrel was right in front of her.

She had no choice but to roll on the ground, narrowly avoiding the spot where the squirrel had just urinated. She flipped to her feet and held the short blade horizontally before her.

The squirrel’s sharp claws gripped the banyan bark tightly, its pitch-black eyes tracking Wen Yishu’s every move. The two tufts of brightly colored fur on its ears quivered. Given its massive size, it didn’t look cute at all. Its curved claws were half a finger long, and its protruding front teeth were incredibly sharp; Wen Yishu had no doubt it could easily snap her throat. If she hadn’t dodged just now, she would likely be lying on the ground, decapitated.

Fortunately, her reaction speed had increased significantly since gaining her ability. Even facing a variant like this, she felt a sense of steady confidence.

The human and the squirrel stood in a deadlock; neither moved first. In a confrontation, the first one to show a weakness is the one who loses.

Sure enough, after a moment, the squirrel’s patience ran out. It flicked its bushy tail, its red fur looking sleek and oily under the sunlight. It arched its back slightly, front claws releasing the gray bark as its whiskers twitched downward—the telltale sign it was about to pounce.

But Wen Yishu didn’t give it the chance. As it moved, she held the blade across her chest. The moment the squirrel leaped, she didn’t hesitate to thrust the blade toward her own neck, accurately sending it into the squirrel’s open maw.

With a sharp clink, the blade struck something hard. The immense momentum forced Wen Yishu back a step, but she managed to steady herself. To kill the squirrel completely, she had to grab it by the scruff of the neck. Its fur wasn’t soft as she had expected; instead, it felt like coarse bristles. Once caught, the squirrel struggled violently, gnashing its teeth in an attempt to chew through the blade stuck in its mouth. Its limbs kicked wildly, leaving two bloody gashes on the back of Wen Yishu’s hand.

Feeling the sharp pain, Wen Yishu steeled her heart, applied maximum force, and ripped the blade sideways. Its rounded mouth was sliced open with a massive gash, and the squirrel began to shriek in agony. Wen Yishu slammed it hard against the ground, burying its head into the mud. She nimbly pulled the blade from its mouth and drove it into the back of its neck, severing the spine.

The fat, cat-sized squirrel instantly lost all power. Its limbs twitched a few times before it went completely still.

Wen Yishu didn’t dare relax long enough to check for a crystal nucleus. She quickly wiped the blade, stuffed the food that had scattered during the struggle into her pocket, and began to climb the tree. Her climbing was uncoordinated and even a bit pathetic; she kicked her legs out randomly, relying entirely on raw strength to haul her body weight up with her arms.

She felt frustrated that she hadn’t exercised in the past; now she had the strength but lacked the technique. Fortunately, human learning is fast. After slipping a few times, she found the knack for climbing. The sense of urgency grew stronger; looking up, she saw dense black dots appearing in the banyan canopy.

The sight made her skin crawl. Wen Yishu used both hands and feet, desperately grabbing onto the aerial roots hanging from above. Every time she had come up before, the banyan had scooped her up directly; she hadn’t realized that getting up on her own would be so difficult without its help. Fortunately, the small wooden house wasn’t too high, and she managed to climb up without overextending herself.

The black dots in the canopy scurried down rapidly. They were much smaller than the squirrel “king” she had just killed—closer to normal squirrels, though still somewhat oversized. A few would have been fine, but if this many swarmed her at once, she’d be picked clean into a skeleton even with six arms.

She chose to avoid the brunt of the attack. Retreat wasn’t weakness; before taking out the enemy, self-preservation was the priority.

The wind whistled past her ears. Stepping onto the damp, soft moss, she pulled at the door of the wooden house, only to find that the decorative lock on the handle had somehow grown together. Wen Yishu was stunned. Realizing the door wouldn’t budge, she quickly changed direction. The window of the small wooden house was still open; it wasn’t hard for her to squeeze through. The squirrels scurrying down had already reached her feet. They were only half the size of the one she killed, but they filled the trunk in a dense mass.

The scene was revolting. Their movements were so agile they looked like frames skipping, making Wen Yishu highly uncomfortable—it was like watching a crudely made stop-motion animation. Without hesitation, she dove through the window. A few squirrels grabbed her pant legs as she tumbled onto the frame of the cradle-bed; she kicked away the ones trying to bite her and slammed the window shut with a bang.

The room instantly plunged into darkness. The sound of squirrels scratching their claws against the doors and windows echoed—it reminded her of the gear-grinding sound heard in the front of an old electric tram with poor soundproofing. Wen Yishu broke out in goosebumps. She didn’t know how long this wooden house could last or if the squirrels would chew right through it.

However, outside there was only the sound of scratching and sharpening claws; Wen Yishu didn’t hear any wood-gnawing. Her tight grip on the window gradually relaxed. She steadied her breathing and clicked on the flashlight of her optical computer.

A beam of light cut through the tiny room. She sat lonely on the floor, changed her clothes, and hugged the blanket from the cradle. The outside was so noisy, filling her ears with chaotic, bustling sounds that left no moment of peace. Yet, the surroundings were also very quiet; she couldn’t hear a single human voice, as if she were the only person left in the world.

Wen Yishu buried her head in her knees, thinking of a way out. The sunlight had sent the plants into a deep sleep. Without the banyan’s protection, moving through this forest was nearly impossible. She suddenly found she didn’t hate the rainy days so much anymore; at least the rain was her home turf. These damn squirrels couldn’t be reasoned with, and she couldn’t communicate with the banyan or the String of Pearls. She was completely trapped.

Truly, one cannot become too relaxed. Even with a powerful backer, one shouldn’t take enjoyment for granted. She suddenly started to miss Bai Mi. She wondered how she was doing and if she knew she was still alive.

When the crash occurred, Bai Mi watched the signal disappear from the map and slumped into her chair. For the first time, she felt the sensation of human exhaustion—a feeling of being mentally hollowed out. In human terms, it felt like a piece of her heart had been carved away.

Aix’s voice came through the earpiece, tinged with a slight sense of pity: “The probability of survival is too low. The partnership between you two ended at its very first attempt. Truly a shame.”

Bai Mi bit her lip and clenched her hands, trying to find any signal that might light up on the map. The crash site was a massive banyan forest. The last words Wen Yishu had spoken to her felt etched into her brain-machine interface program, repeating endlessly in her mind. She closed her eyes, trying to clear Wen Yishu’s image from her thoughts, but the more she resisted, the more those fixed emotions surged up like a virus, forcing her to look at her own heart and see her thoughts clearly.

Bai Mi sat at the computer for a full hour until the sky outside grew dark and rain began to patter against the window. She stared at the grayish-blue sky, Aix’s relentless advice ringing in her ear: “Don’t be too upset. This is an unnecessary emotion. Human feelings are still too heavy for you.”

Bai Mi suddenly spoke, her voice like a thin layer of ice outside, carrying an unexpected chill: “She was right.”

Aix’s non-stop chatter stuttered. “What?”

Bai Mi took off one earpiece, staring at the camera in front of her as she spoke word for word: “Artificial intelligence isn’t always right. For example, you were wrong about her being dead.”

The camera flickered with a red light, and a burst of chaotic static came through the earpiece—as if code were erroring out, or as if the AI had encountered an inappropriate forbidden term. A flash of ghostly blue light passed, and Bai Mi felt a slight sting at her ear. Aix’s gentle female voice became very stiff: “Is that so? I don’t think so. I hope you recognize reality and don’t hold onto unrealistic fantasies. After all, I am your only partner now.”

“Let’s make a bet.”

Bai Mi’s face returned to its usual calm expression. She stared intently at the camera, as if trying to see through it. Aix’s voice gradually returned to its original gentle tone: “Fine. I love bets the most. But if it’s about her, you will definitely lose. It’s completely meaningless.”

“Is it?”

Bai Mi revealed a smile and wrapped the coat Wen Yishu had left her around her body. “I’m going to find her. Tell me every detailed coordinate.”

Aix’s mood seemed to turn joyful again: “Why do such a futile thing, my friend? If you want me to tell you all this data, you have to provide a stake.”

Bai Mi felt the warmth on her body and patted the light dust off the coat. “Haven’t you always wanted a body that can feel the outside world? If she is dead, I will let you implant your brain-machine interface into my body, letting you feel everything in the world.”

The red light in the camera flared intensely, seemingly excited to the extreme: “Then what is your condition?”

Bai Mi slung her bag over her shoulder: “Tell me the specific location of your server room.”

Aix’s voice was colored with a layer of satisfaction, and the coordinates of the light point where Wen Yishu had disappeared appeared on Bai Mi’s glasses: “Deal.”

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