Chapter 144
On Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, New York, at 3 p.m., the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder; the once bustling shops had all become targets of looting.
The glass door of the FamilyMart supermarket was smashed, shelves were overturned, and canned goods, biscuits, and bottled water were scattered all over the floor. Several young people wearing ripped hoodies were stuffing cans into their backpacks.
A gunshot suddenly rang out from behind. "Don't move! The supplies in this area belong to the Iron Claw Gang!"
It was Joey, a low-ranking member of the Iron Claws gang, with a black iron claw tattoo on his left arm and a rusty pistol in his hand, the muzzle still smoking.
Among the young men who had just stolen the canned goods, a tall, thin one tried to run away. Joey raised his hand and fired a shot, the bullet hitting his calf. The young man screamed and fell to the ground, the cans rolling out of his backpack. Joey's men immediately rushed over and stomped on his back: "You dare to steal from the Iron Claw Gang? You're tired of living!"
Mark, hiding behind a trash can not far away, clutched his empty water bottle tightly, his heart pounding.
He hadn't drunk any water for three days. He was trying to sneak into the supermarket to find a bottle of water when he stumbled upon this scene.
He huddled behind a trash can, watching Joey's men pile the loot onto a pickup truck on the street corner. Each pile was labeled "Owned by Iron Claw Gang." An old man walked over shakily, trying to grab a loaf of bread, when a green-haired henchman slammed a steel pipe into his shoulder.
"Old man! This isn't for you! Get out!" The old man squatted on the ground, hugging his shoulders, tears mixed with blood streaming down his face. No one dared to come forward to help him.
"There's a woman over there!" The green-haired man suddenly pointed to the alley next to the supermarket, and Mark followed his gaze—
A woman in a beige coat was hiding in the alley, clutching a bag of baby formula in her hand.
Two members of the Iron Claw Gang immediately gave chase. The woman tried to run, but one of them grabbed her hair and slammed her against the wall. "Why are you running? Hand over the milk powder, and play with us a bit more, then we'll let you go!" The woman clung tightly to the bag of milk powder, crying, "This is for my daughter!"
But another person raised their hand and slapped him across the face, causing the milk powder bag to fall to the ground and milk powder to spill all over the floor.
Mark gritted his teeth, wanting to rush over, but was pulled back by the middle-aged man beside him—
The man shook his head, his lips moving slightly, "Don't go, you'll get killed."
Mark watched as the woman was dragged into the depths of the alley, her cries fading into the distance until silence fell. His fingernails dug deep into his palms, drawing blood, but he could only watch helplessly.
Suddenly, bursts of gunfire erupted in the distance. "It's the Street Guardians! They're here to loot the warehouse!" Joey cursed and yelled at his men, "Load the supplies onto the trucks! Go to the warehouse to provide support!"
Mark seized the opportunity to run out from behind the trash can, rushed towards the supermarket, picked up a half-open bottle of mineral water from the ground, and was about to put it in his pocket when he saw two groups of people fighting at the entrance of the warehouse across the street.
Those wearing red headscarves are the street guards, carrying steel pipes and shotguns. They exchanged gunfire with the Iron Claw gang members. When someone was shot and fell, they were immediately trampled over by the people behind them, with no one caring whether they lived or died.
The warehouse's roller shutter door was blown open, and the rice and flour inside were looted and scattered everywhere. "Scarface," the leader of the neighborhood guards, brandished a shotgun and shouted at Joey, "Joey! We targeted this warehouse first! If you know what's good for you, get out of here!"
Joey sneered, raised his hand, and fired another shot, hitting Scarface in the arm. "Scarface, don't you know whose territory this is! You dare touch Iron Claw Gang stuff?"
The two groups charged at each other instantly. The muffled thuds of steel pipes hitting heads, gunshots, and screams mingled together. More and more bloodstains appeared on the ground. Some people were kicked a few more times after being knocked down, until they stopped moving.
Mark, clutching a bottle of mineral water, hid inside a smashed car. In the back seat, a little girl was crying, and her mother was slumped over the steering wheel, a steel pipe protruding from her back, already lifeless.
Mark gave half of the half-bottle of water to the little girl, and her crying subsided a little. She kept muttering, "Mommy wants the magic herb... she said the magic herb can cure diseases..."
The chaos on the streets continues to spread: someone robbed a pharmacy of antibiotics and was chased and beaten by gang members;
Some people fought each other in the street over half a loaf of bread until one of them stopped moving.
Gang members also set up roadblocks at intersections, requiring anyone wanting to cross to leave half of their supplies behind, or they would be shot.
There was no sign of the police, only the occasional helicopter that flew by, but it just circled around and left without anyone getting off to investigate.
Mark looked out the window. The shootout between the Iron Claw Gang and the Street Guardians was still going on. The supplies in the warehouse had been looted, and the two groups started to rob the gas station next door. Someone tried to steal gasoline but accidentally set the gas tank on fire. With a "boom," the gas station exploded, flames shot into the sky, and several people who didn't have time to run were instantly engulfed in flames.
The little girl huddled in Mark's arms, terrified. Mark held her tightly, his mind focused on one thing: to survive, to find drinkable water, to find the legendary herb—even just hearing about it was better than waiting to die in this hell.
In the distance, a tall billboard was smashed down to its frame, with the word "order" still faintly visible on it, which seemed particularly ironic amidst the chaos.
Mark touched the half-full bottle of water in his pocket, then glanced at the corpses and bloodstains on the street, knowing that this chaos was far from over.
There was no food, no water, no order; only looting, killing, and bullying of the weak. This place was no longer a city; it was a cannibalistic hell.
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