How to Be Mistaken for a Villain in a Zombie Apocalypse – Chapter 17

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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More important than moving quickly was staying hidden.

Every step I took, I made sure there was cover nearby, ready to dodge and disappear if a bullet came flying my way.

I weaved through bushes, trees, and rocks, choosing gentle slopes over steep inclines to avoid twisting my ankle.

As I approached the village, I could hear gunshots.

Not bursts of automatic fire, but single, deliberate shots.

They were probably picking off zombies that wandered too close.

Fortunately, the shots were coming from the opposite direction, towards the industrial area. The echoing sound confirmed it. If they were shooting towards me, the sound would be sharp and abrupt.

Finally, I could see the village’s outer fence.

It was a two-meter-high barrier made of interwoven wooden planks, reinforced with metal sheets.

It seemed designed to prevent zombies from climbing over.

A lone figure stood atop the 17-meter-high fire watchtower, scanning the horizon for zombies or intruders.

Thankfully, they shifted their gaze every few minutes, allowing me to slowly inch forward.

My palms were sweating.

I wiped them on my pants.

The tension, or maybe the gnawing hunger, made my stomach feel like it was glued to my spine.

I knew the terrain well.

But the world before me was vastly different from what I remembered.

Even the color of the fence was different.

The fences I had seen before were rusty, crumbling at the slightest touch.

The wood was rotten.

They didn’t look sturdy enough to withstand a zombie’s desperate clawing, like this one.

And Lambert Village, despite being considered a beginner-friendly area, required better equipment than what I had to survive.

It wasn’t impossible, but I needed to be extra cautious.

…But it wasn’t all bad.

In this situation, being lightly armed was an advantage.

About 100 meters to the fence.

No cover.

They must have cleared everything for better visibility.

It made sense. It would be easier to spot approaching zombies and intruders.

My throat felt parched, but I waited patiently.

I lowered my stance and tightened my grip on the rifle stock.

I adjusted my grip on the pistol, feeling the handle mold to my palm.

I took a deep breath, inhaling slowly, filling my lungs to their capacity, and then exhaling slowly, completely emptying them.

Finally, the guard on the watchtower descended the stairs, their head disappearing from view.

The moment they were gone, I sprang into action.

Was that my heart pounding in my ears?

Was the guard coming back up?

Had they forgotten something?

Five meters.

Thump, thump.

The guard.

Four meters.

The guard’s head reappeared.

Three meters.

Two meters.

One meter.

The guard turned their head!

“Ha.”

I stopped just short of the fence.

I had brushed against it, but it only creaked slightly.

I pressed myself against the wall and listened intently.

I could hear the sound of footsteps on metal.

The guard was pacing around the watchtower.

I caught my breath and shuffled sideways along the wall.

Around here.

No, maybe over there?

There was a dip in the ground beneath the fence.

A small opening, just big enough to crawl through if I kept my body low.

I got down on my stomach and checked for any signs of movement.

Nothing.

I slowly dragged myself forward, my rifle snagging on the fence for a moment before I managed to free it.

Finally, I pulled my legs through.

Single-story houses and warehouses, hidden behind the fence, lined the dirt road that snaked through the hills and valleys.

This was Lambert Village.

From above, Lambert Village resembled a donut.

A spacious park and the village hall occupied the center, surrounded by a ring of shops, houses, warehouses, and workshops.

And I was like an ant, meticulously navigating the inside and outside of the donut, picking away at its edges.

The village was quite large.

Guards stood at regular intervals along the roads, but they seemed relaxed and complacent.

They all wore red or blue scarves around their necks, hats to shield them from the sun, and kept their weapons close at hand.

They were supposedly the most reliable members of the Redneck gang, but they were nothing special, just slightly better shots than the rest.

Like the difference between a common criminal and a seasoned one.

Despite the village’s size, the outer areas were sparsely populated.

The occasional zombie kept most of the residents concentrated in the inner ring of the donut.

That’s where the valuable equipment was as well.

So, all I had to do was wait for the right opportunity, grab a vehicle and some supplies, and make my escape.

It would be ideal if the people I had summoned caused a distraction, but even if the timing wasn’t perfect, it wouldn’t be a problem.

I could just wait for the gang to go on a raid.

Gangs were inherently better at taking than earning.

So, they raided regularly.

Of course, the elite members and the higher-ups would stay behind, but it was still better to face a smaller group than the entire gang.

I would bide my time in a safe spot.

A hidden gem that only those in the know were aware of.

It was a bit of a walk, but I decided to treat it as a sightseeing tour of the village.

I stopped when I saw a group of men struggling to load crates onto a truck.

Next to them, a group of Rednecks were helping each other put on bulletproof vests and adjust the straps.

They were joking and roughhousing, but the vests themselves were high-grade… My .22 caliber wouldn’t penetrate them unless I was at point-blank range.

With a shout of “Let’s go!”, the truck roared to life and sped away.

But instead of heading towards the outskirts of the village, it turned towards the center.

The armed men followed suit.

They weren’t marching in formation, but they were all heading towards the village center, joking and chatting amongst themselves.

This was a new pattern.

Arming themselves meant they were going on a raid.

Which meant they should be heading towards the outskirts.

Maybe they were cleaning out a warehouse, but that wouldn’t require such heavy armament.

This must be another change.

I needed to reconsider my plan to head towards the village center.

If armed forces were converging there, security would be tighter.

Which meant I would have to go to the industrial area to find a decent vehicle… But that meant crossing the entire village undetected.

I decided to enter a warehouse and assess the situation.

I repeated the cycle of resting, walking, and observing until I reached my familiar hunting ground.

It was a fairly large warehouse, big enough to park four cars.

There were two entrances in the front and one in the back, where I had just entered.

The interior looked like it had been used as a workshop, with partitions and woodworking equipment neatly arranged.

It looked like an ordinary warehouse, but it was a prime location for a reason.

If I closed the back door and positioned myself in the corner partition, I could see the entire interior of the warehouse and the road outside the front entrance through a gap in the wooden planks.

I scanned the road, my head swiveling back and forth.

I spotted a man sitting on the steps of a house across the street, smoking a cigarette.

He was wearing a cheap bulletproof vest, the kind issued to police officers, with a makeshift pouch made of woven plastic bags attached to it.

The cheap vest probably lacked storage space, so he had improvised.

And he was looking directly at me.

Which meant I couldn’t leave through the front entrance without taking him out.

He was carrying an OZ-106. A bolt-action shotgun.

One shot, click, reload, one shot, click, reload.

A piece of junk with no automatic fire, short range, and weak firepower.

But it had two redeeming qualities. One, it was light and easy to find, so I could just throw it away and find a new one if it broke.

And two, it was still a shotgun, so it could take down a zombie or two.

But even a piece of junk like that could kill me in my current state.

…Actually, this was starting to piss me off.

I positioned myself around the corner and punched the partition.

The loud thud echoed through the warehouse.

“What the…”

He grabbed his shotgun.

Now, if he came inside, I could sneak up on him, grab him by the neck, and snap it… but that vest.

“Hurry up!”

An angry voice.

From down the road.

The guard who had been approaching stopped.

An unexpected variable.

I took advantage of the distraction and slipped back to my original hiding spot.

I peeked out towards the road.

I saw a woman walking briskly, her head held down by a burly man.

Her face was bruised and swollen, probably from a beating.

The words “Disease Crisis Management Agency” were clearly visible on her baggy clothes. She was shivering, her arms wrapped around herself, her body slightly hunched.

The man was wearing a faux leather jacket with a skull design.

The gold chain dangling from his jeans clinked against the handle of the pistol tucked in his pocket.

“Seriously?”

The guard asked gruffly.

The burly man retorted.

“What’s the problem?”

“There are plenty of other days. Why today?”

“I’ll be quick.”

“Look, I know you’re a minute man, so I’m not worried about that. But today… of all days… you really want to do this? It’s auction day. Everyone’s on edge, and you’re in the mood? Seriously.”

The burly man chuckled good-naturedly, ignoring the guard’s sarcasm.

“That’s why we need to relax on days like this. Everyone’s going to be tense with all the important gang members around. You don’t want to add to the tension, do you? You can’t change your ugly mug, but you can at least fix your expression. Be friendly. Anyway, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be carrying luggage? Everyone else is over there.”

“Unlike you, I have a sense of duty. I don’t abandon my post to assault a pre-auction slave.”

The guard tugged at the scarf around his neck.

It was a symbol of the gang leader’s trust, like a dog collar.

“Anyway, those damn zombies have been getting bolder lately, breaking through the gaps.

I don’t know where the leaks are. Are they opening the doors or something?”

The guard seemed genuinely concerned, but the burly man continued to tease him.

“You think a zombie can open a door that you can’t?”

“Shut up. I’m too hungry to be angry. Where do you even find the energy for this in a situation like this?”

“It’s called being young, old man.”

“You don’t want to do this, do you?”

The guard tightened his grip on his shotgun.

The burly man grinned triumphantly and reached into his pocket.

The handle of his pistol gleamed.

The guard shifted the barrel of his shotgun slightly.

Click.

The burly man tapped his leather jacket with his palm.

The guard flinched, and in that moment, he reached into his jacket pocket instead of his pants pocket.

“Ta-da.”

It was a small chocolate bar.

The guard sighed and shouldered his shotgun.

But he didn’t take the chocolate.

“Why are you refusing my gift?”

“…I have a no-bribery policy. Just get it over with.”

“As you wish.”

The man shoved the woman towards the warehouse.

She protested, but the man ignored her and looked at the guard.

I could guess what was about to happen.

The man was a gang member, and the woman was probably…

“You’ll respect our privacy, right?”

The guard rolled his eyes and walked away.

The burly man hummed a tune and closed both front doors of the warehouse.

He must have seen that the back door was closed, because he didn’t bother checking it.

“That pathetic loser, acting all high and mighty because he used to be a cop. Did you see him? He was so tired he almost fell asleep.”

The man lunged at the woman.

She flinched, her head snapping back.

He slowly caressed her face.

“Why are you so scared?”

“You fucking bastard.”

The woman moaned.

He gently stroked her cheek.

She slapped his hand away.

“Cut the crap and get this over with. I’m starving and thirsty.”

“What’s the rush…”

The woman grabbed him by the collar and kissed him fiercely, as if she wanted to devour his lips.

She unzipped his leather jacket and pulled it off.

Something clattered to the floor.

The man, his hands cupping her face, pulled open her jacket.

More things fell to the floor.

“…Hurry. Hurry.”

She was panting, her tongue darting out.

I couldn’t make sense of the situation.

That thing that fell from under her breasts… it looked like a bag of bread?

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