How to Be Mistaken for a Villain in a Zombie Apocalypse – Chapter 16

—————————————————————–
Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
—————————————————————–

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

Sure, the .22 caliber might be considered weak, but it’s not like it’s “did it even hit?” weak.

It’s weak compared to other “bullets,” but unless the bullet is made of rubber, it can easily pierce through the skulls of humans and animals.

And most importantly, it’s cheap and readily available.

This world seemed to reflect that reality.

It was relatively easy to find .22 ammo, and it was quite effective against humans and animals without proper body armor.

But the reason why .22 caliber was often mocked as “BB gun” or “pea shooter” among players wasn’t because of its power, but because the primary targets were zombies.

Penetration meant little to zombies.

They were creatures that could soak up bullets like sponges and still relentlessly lunge at you for a bite.

Unless you aimed for the head.

Which meant that stopping a horde of zombies with my pistol and 10-round rifle was a tall order.

A decent bullet needed to “neutralize” a zombie.

It needed to tear through flesh and bone.

Like the 5.56mm rounds scattered on the ground.

How did I know the caliber?

I could tell just by looking at it.

When you spend your days scavenging for items with your life on the line, you learn to identify bullet types at a glance.

And the “real” players, they were on a different level.

Some could even identify the caliber, and the firearm used just by looking at the bullet hole in a bulletproof vest.

But I was a decent young man living a normal life, so I was different from those fools who wasted their lives on such trivial pursuits.

And that wasn’t the point anyway.

“Look at this.”

This was the third pile of bones I had come across.

The flesh had been cleanly picked off by birds and wild animals, judging by the beak and teeth marks on the bones.

The remaining bones weren’t intact either.

They were either riddled with bullet holes or shattered into fragments.

Judging by the trajectory of the bullets and the large truck tire tracks on the road, this was definitely the work of the military.

They probably lured the zombies with bait, like meat, hanging from the back of the truck, and then drove along the road, mowing them down with gunfire.

It wasn’t difficult to deduce.

But what I couldn’t understand was this patch of grass.

The bullets looked like they had been fired recently.

Which meant the zombies had died recently as well.

But the grass growing by the roadside had entangled the bones like spiderwebs.

Even the blood had dried. This meant the grass had grown this much before the birds and animals had scavenged the flesh.

It looked like ordinary weeds, but how could they grow this fast?

I suddenly remembered a news clipping I had seen in the forest ranger’s scrapbook.

It mentioned that in some areas, people were experiencing “unquenchable hunger,” and that plants, as well as animals, were growing at an abnormally fast rate and dying quickly.

Could there be a connection between the strange growth of the grass and this constant hunger?

I pondered for a moment before pedaling on.

My stomach started growling the moment I stopped moving.

4:50 AM.

The rattling sound woke me up.

I grabbed my pistol, muffling the click of the safety with my clothes.

I slowly opened my eyes. It wasn’t completely dark, but the sun hadn’t risen yet.

I blinked repeatedly, adjusting to the dim light.

Until I could clearly see the handle of the truck’s backseat, where I had spent the night.

Clank, drag… thud. Drag… thud.

The shuffling footsteps grew fainter.

Instead, I heard a mumbling sound.

It sounded like whimpering, or maybe grumbling, but the rattling continued.

There were no other sounds.

I put down the pistol and picked up the long sledgehammer I had found in the truck.

I had wrapped it in dirty clothes to muffle the sound.

Thud.

Clank.

As expected, it was rummaging through the cans.

Sardine cans.

I had washed them out with sand, but a faint fishy smell lingered.

It wasn’t strong enough to attract attention from miles away, but it was more enticing than me, who was still unsure whether it was edible.

Judging by its frantic rummaging, it was as hungry as I was.

So much so that it didn’t even notice me sneaking up behind it, sledgehammer raised high above my shoulder.

But this zombie’s hunger would never be satiated.

Its side was about to get a very refreshing ventilation.

They say you lose weight when you burn more calories than you consume.

This creature was cursed with a lifetime of forced dieting.

I wasn’t a Good Samaritan, but it was my duty as a human being to put this poor soul out of its misery.

“Rest in peace.”

I adjusted my grip on the hammer and swung it with all my might, like a batter stepping up to the plate.

Home run.

I tossed the bat, no, the hammer aside.

In a foreign country, I would have been accused of throwing a beanball.

In my own country, this would have been a photo op, titled “A Mighty Swing.”

But I was a humble person, so I refrained from cheering.

Instead, I raised both hands to the sky in a gesture of mock frustration.

“You think this is funny?”

The zombie on the ground twitched, as if trying to suppress a laugh.

If its head was still intact, I might have even seen its expression.

“You’re laughing while your team is losing?”

As if offended by my words, it went limp.

“Sigh.”

Even though the virus wasn’t airborne, I turned around and yawned just in case.

I was hungry, tired, and bored.

And the thought of what I had to do next only made it worse.

Finding an abandoned car on the edge of the wasteland was a stroke of luck.

The paint was peeling, and the tires were flat, but the doors were intact, and one of them was even slightly ajar.

My body ached from hours of cycling on little sleep.

I had been taking it slow, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t exhausted.

And then I found this relatively intact car.

It was a blessing.

But simply falling asleep would be like setting up a free buffet for the zombies.

I used the rope I found in the car to tie sturdy branches around the car, creating a low fence.

Then, as always, I hung a can filled with stones.

The stones were heavy enough to withstand a strong wind.

I had hoped to stay for at least one night, but it seemed that wasn’t going to happen.

I had slept for maybe four hours.

It wasn’t nothing, but it wasn’t enough…

“I wish I could sleep as soundly as you.”

I grumbled to the motionless zombie.

I needed to unwrap the hammer.

The cloth was soiled, so I might as well throw it away and use a new one…

“Huh?”

I looked down at the zombie again.

It was wearing a shiny, dark blue jacket. It gleamed in the dim light like a mackerel left out overnight.

The words “Disease Crisis Management Agency” were clearly visible on the sleeve and back.

“…What is this doing here?”

The Disease Crisis Management Agency was an organization found only in major city centers.

According to the descriptions I had read on various items, it was an organization that had transcended national borders to combat the zombie crisis, but ultimately collapsed.

Their belongings, vehicles, and tents often contained valuable items.

Medicines, syringes, ampoules, blood packs… small, lightweight items that fetched a high price.

Which meant they were always surrounded by hordes of zombies or heavily armed looters.

I had never encountered them in an insignificant place like Lambert Village.

Maybe I had seen their logo on a billboard once.

But now, this zombie, judging by its clothing, was clearly a member of the Disease Crisis Management Agency.

Its side looked like it had been bitten, but upon closer inspection, I could see clear gunshot wounds.

It had been shot down with something like a shotgun, and then bitten and infected by a zombie.

“…I need to be more careful.”

I was starting to understand what “extremely dangerous” meant when it came to Lambert Village.

It meant a place where even the Disease Crisis Management Agency was getting shot and bitten while trying to provide medical aid.

But my overall plan remained unchanged.

Wait for outsiders to arrive and shake things up, infiltrate during the chaos, seize a vehicle and supplies, and make a quick escape.

It was a strategy that had served me well whenever I was short on equipment.

There was no need to be “manly” and fight head-on.

A true man was someone who secured valuable items and got out alive.

I turned on my phone one last time. There was a message.

“So that’s how it is?”

I chuckled. As expected, they were reading my messages.

I hadn’t received any messages from that 8qawsed8 person, but it didn’t matter.

I wouldn’t be seeing them again.

I opened a new message and sent the same text to both numbers.

Then I turned off my phone.

This should make me look like someone in distress.

They would come running, desperate to get their hands on the briefcase.

The phone and the briefcase had served their purpose.

I wouldn’t throw away the phone, though.

It was light, easy to sell, and had resale value.

But the briefcase, I was done with it.

I had hidden it safely in the car.

I had summoned everyone I needed to summon, and I had learned everything I needed to learn.

Whoever was lucky enough could have it.

I stopped my bicycle before reaching the top of the hill.

Lambert Village was on the other side.

Following the road would expose me to the watchful eyes of the guards, so I had to circle around the hill and descend through the slopes to avoid detection.

It was a lesson learned the hard way, after being shot down countless times by snipers.

I had already filled my stomach with food and water.

The hunger lingered, but I could manage as long as I didn’t dwell on it.

I carefully hid my bicycle behind a tree.

It had been a faithful companion.

It seemed like the previous owner had taken good care of it.

“To the unknown owner, thank you for the bicycle. May you find happiness wherever you are, just as I have found mine.”

I secured my rifle, ammo, and pistol first.

I wrapped the rest of my belongings in a thin cloth and stuffed them into my pink backpack.

It was a hideous backpack, adorned with a grinning Barbie doll that made me want to punch something.

But I couldn’t change the fact that it was ugly, and no amount of effort would improve its appearance, so I left it as it was. I simply covered it with a black cloth.

“Alright.”

I crouched low and circled around the hill.

I recognized the familiar landscape.

The first place any player would see. One of Lambert Village’s starting points.

It was time to loot.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇