The team continued to march, but by now, their numbers had greatly diminished.
Sixteen special forces soldiers, about thirty from the security platoon, plus Wang Hu and Xiang Weiguo—altogether there were just over fifty people protecting Xinghe.
As for Gao Yuan and the others, they were merely making up the numbers.
The power of an individual meant nothing in this catastrophe.
Or rather, the power of an individual meant nothing in this war.
Even the mightiest sixteen special forces soldiers of all of Shenzhou could only be treated as ordinary infantry. Their aim was more accurate, but they could only kill a few more zombies; their stamina was better, but they could only run a little further; they had more skills, but regretfully, these were completely useless now.
Without helicopters, without tanks or armored vehicles, without anything at all, how could the special forces stand against the sheer number of enemies?