Wasteland Survivalist: A Scientific Guide to Post-Apocalyptic Survival

By the time all the supplies were properly put away, it was already completely dark.

"What should we do with this car?" Gu Lang asked, looking at the lynx on the beach.

He was a little reluctant to part with this vehicle, which had played a crucial role in the previous transfers and battles.

Zhao Xun looked at it back and forth with his flashlight for a while, then shook his head.

"The freeboard of the catamaran is too high; without a crane, it can't be raised."

After dinner, the two discussed it and finally came up with a compromise.

Large pieces of plastic sheeting were removed from the plastic shacks on the island and used to cover the Lynx's body as much as possible.

They were simply sealed with tape in the hope of reducing seawater erosion during the voyage.

They found several sturdy ropes and secured the lynx firmly to the towing ring at the stern of the speedboat.

"We had no choice but to tow it, but luckily it was a catamaran."

The engines are on either side, leaving a gap in the middle; hopefully, it can hold up.

Gu Lang climbed back onto the speedboat, his tone somewhat helpless.

"14 knots isn't fast; it's enough to tow a small car without much trouble."

Zhao Xun lit a cigarette at some point, walked to the stern of the boat, and looked at the lynx, which looked rather comical wrapped in plastic film.

"It's better than throwing it away. Maybe it'll come in handy in the next place."

Gu Lang sighed: "I hope the journey will be safe and nothing else goes wrong."

During this period, I feel like I've completely turned into a vehicle killer.

He recalled the small truck that the madmen had pushed into the sea, and was thankful that he wasn't the one piloting the gyroplane.

Zhao Xun exhaled a puff of smoke and laughed: "Being able to survive is a skill in itself. As for vehicles... they're just external possessions."

A sea breeze blew as the two leaned side by side against the railing, gazing at the dark sea.

Having temporarily shed the tension of their escape, they started chatting about fragments of the past.

Zhao Xun talked about his life in his rural hometown before joining the army, while Gu Lang vaguely mentioned some of his past experiences in wilderness survival.

Both sides tacitly avoided delving into details that the other did not want to touch upon.

Their shared goal of escaping fostered a unique sense of trust and understanding between these two people from vastly different backgrounds.

Taking this opportunity, Gu Lang also asked Zhao Xun many questions.

Such as the operation methods of the Type 022 submarine, the piloting techniques of a rotorcraft, the modification of the networking key of military communication terminals, etc...

As night deepened and the sea breeze grew colder, two figures slowly walked into the cabin.

The Type 022 submarine was originally designed to carry 12 people, but can carry up to 20 people when on a mission.

There are two crew cabins, each with eight people, which look like dormitories.

There are only two crew members now, so the space is quite spacious.

With the hangar at the rear, it can store a large amount of supplies.

So they each chose a crew cabin and rested separately.

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking.

Gu Lang woke up on the slightly hard bed, stared blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling for a while.

Feeling the unique rocking sensation of a ship, I realized I was adrift at sea again.

He turned over, and the bed made a slight metallic creaking sound.

From next door came Zhao Xun's deep snoring, like the sound of a tractor.

Gu Lang rubbed his eyes, changed his clothes, and walked along the narrow passageway to the kitchen.

It's called a kitchen, but it's actually just a tiny compartment embedded in the bulkhead.

An induction cooker, a cutting board, and a freezer—that's all.

The cutting table is so small that it can't even fit a whole cutting board; a section of it will stick out.

Gu Lang opened the drawer, took out a packet of noodles, filled a small pot with water, and put it on the induction cooker to heat.

After the noodles have been bubbling in the boiling water for a few minutes, they are scooped out and placed in a stainless steel basin.

Then open a can of braised beef and pour the broth and meat all over the noodles.

There was no restaurant on the boat, not even a decent dining area.

Gu Lang sat in the driver's seat with his rice bowl, eating while looking out the window.

The sky was gradually brightening, and a thin layer of mist was floating on the sea.

After finishing the last bite, he picked up the bowl, walked to the side of the boat, and used a rope to lower a plastic bucket up from the sea, drawing a bucket of water.

After washing the dishes, Gu Lang leaned against the railing, looking around at the 022 submarine, feeling a mix of emotions.

In terms of displacement, this ship is almost ten times larger than his previous yacht.

In terms of living conditions, it has regressed by more than one order of magnitude.

If I had to use a word to describe it, it would be "extremely arduous" and "highly challenging".

Every inch of space on the submarine was prioritized for the power system, weapons, and electronic equipment.

It is not equipped with a seawater desalination device, and the amount of fresh water it carries is pitifully small, only enough for drinking and basic cooking.

Yesterday, he and Zhao Xun collected fresh water on Xizhai Island, and filled the water tank on the boat in just a few trips.

He roughly estimated that this amount of reserves was only enough for a dozen people to drink for three days.

However, this design concept is not difficult to understand.

The Type 022 submarine was not designed for long-distance voyages from its inception.

It was an emergency equipment used during a specific historical period, and a piece in the "wolf pack tactics".

When sailing at high speed, the combat radius is very small.

A swift and decisive strike, hit and run, without needing to drift at sea for ten days or half a month.

Rather than a military platform, it is more accurate to describe it as a disposable tactical vehicle used for delivering firepower.

"Luckily, there are only two people on the boat," Gu Lang thought to himself.

"If you're crammed into this tiny cabin with a group of people for a long time, even without the virus, you'll eventually go berserk."

He had finished his meal and was thinking about all sorts of random things.

My stomach suddenly churned, followed by a sharp, cramping pain.

Gu Lang immediately turned and walked towards the toilet, but stopped after taking only two steps.

Thinking about it, flushing the toilet once uses up a whole tank of water, which is too extravagant.

He immediately went to the take-off and landing platform at the stern of the ship. This location was bright and open, facing the sea, and very "natural".

Gu Lang loosened his belt, squatted down, and prepared to finish the fight quickly.

Then there was a "click" sound, and the hatch that had just been closed was pushed open again.

He suddenly looked up and met Zhao Xun's gaze.

Zhao Xun had clearly just woken up; his hair was still sticking up.

Upon seeing Gu Lang, his mouth opened halfway, and he froze, staring at him without moving, creating an extremely awkward scene.

A sea breeze blew by, and Gu Lang's backside felt the coolness of the morning.

He remained squatting, unsure whether to stand up or finish his task.

"What are you doing so early in the morning?" Zhao Xun spoke first, his tone carrying a complex emotion.

Gu Lang steeled himself, deciding to throw caution to the wind, and answered frankly, "What else can I do? Take a dump."

Zhao Xun took a deep breath, lowered his voice, and said, word by word, "Do you know that feces falling on the ship's hull will corrode the radar-absorbing coating?"

Gu Lang was stunned for a moment.

"Get up and go to the toilet." Zhao Xun's tone left no room for argument.

Gu Lang had no choice but to pull up his pants, stand up, and slink into the toilet.