How to Be Mistaken for a Villain in a Zombie Apocalypse – Chapter 18

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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The man was oblivious to the woman unbuttoning his pants, completely engrossed in the bag of bread.

“Quit pawing at it and get them off already!” she snapped, impatience lacing her voice.

He fumbled with the buckle and slid his pants down, revealing a collection of items taped to his thigh: single-serving ketchup packets, mustard, and even slices of processed cheese.

Unable to contain herself any longer, the woman ripped the makeshift stash from his leg.

“Hey, hey, easy! Ow!” he yelped, crossing his legs protectively.

Ignoring his protests, the woman eagerly assembled her makeshift sandwich, carefully layering cheese and squirting sauce onto the bread.

“Spill a single drop and you’re dead,” she warned, her voice a low growl.

“Awww, did someone get their wittle feelings hurt?” he cooed mockingly.

Thud.

I almost fired.

Thankfully, I managed to stop myself, my finger only twitching against the trigger.

The woman had shed her shirt, revealing a surprising sight.

It wasn’t her ample bosom, visible even from my angle, that caught my attention, but the row of Capri-Sun pouches meticulously taped along her arm and side.

How the hell did she manage that? I wondered, impressed despite myself.

“Want a suck?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and pushing them forward suggestively.

The man, practically drooling, scrambled towards her, but instead of reaching for her chest, he snatched a straw from one of the juice pouches and expertly pierced the foil. The woman didn’t even flinch; the punctures were probably too small to cause any discomfort.

“Slurp. Ahhh… Mmm…” he sighed contentedly, sucking on the juice pouch.

“Mmm. Ohhh… Yeah…” she moaned in response, her mouth full of bread.

They continued their strange ritual, switching roles after a while. He munched on the bread while she enjoyed the juice.

“We’re safe today, right?” the man asked anxiously, despite having drained an entire pouch.

“Ugh, you’re such a coward! It’s auction day! Everyone’s busy moving stuff around, perfect opportunity for a little snack…” she scoffed.

“I don’t mind fooling around with you, but stealing food is practically feeding the zombies. Everyone’s starving out there.”

“Fuck that. Who risked their lives to raid that medical convoy? We did! We dragged those doctors and nurses back here, stole their cars, their meds, their surgical tools… and what do we get? ‘Good job, go to sleep’? That bastard. If I had enough bullets, I would have shot him.”

“How long has it been, anyway?”

“Six months since we torched the police chief’s family. Ugh, who cares. Just eat. I’m too hungry to think straight.” The woman licked the juice from her lips, her voice a low growl.

Raids.

Slaves.

Bullets.

The woman was a gang member, just like the man.

They both felt the same gnawing hunger, a hunger that overshadowed even their primal urges.

They had stumbled upon a Disease Crisis Management Agency convoy during a raid, enslaved the doctors and nurses, and brought the vehicles and medical supplies back to Lambert Village.

Of course, being gangsters, they wouldn’t receive any proper reward.

And these two, well… they were pretending to have sex while secretly enjoying their stolen snacks.

What a pathetic charade.

“Stop squeezing it so hard,” the man complained.

Uh oh, squeezing a ketchup packet like that…

“I’m gonna burst!”

Of course it would burst.

“I-I think it’s empty…”

And please, don’t squeeze the sauce with your hands clasped together like that.

It’s disturbing.

“Already finished? But… I’m still hungry.”

The woman whined, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

The man, completely enthralled by her pathetic act, continued to suck on the juice pouch. I added another reason to my kill list.

Despite her complaints, the woman assembled another makeshift sandwich, layering more bread and rolling it up. She stuffed it into her mouth, her cheeks bulging, and chewed with gusto.

“Ahhh… so good… my throat is full… I love this. Fuck, but why am I still hungry? No matter how much I eat…”

“We’re not the only ones. Those doctors and nurses, they’re from rich families, well-fed, well-educated… but they were whining about being hungry too. I shook a bag of almonds at them, and they were practically begging. Pathetic.”

“Really? This crazy bitch wasn’t like that. She was full of energy, wasn’t she? The owner of this jumper.”

The woman puffed out her chest, but the man was too busy with his juice pouch to notice.

“Who was she?”

“You know, that gloomy one. Long black hair, always looking down, tits bigger than her head. Wow, if she could get into med school with a brain that small… she could have been prime minister if she studied with her boobs.”

That good, huh? Now I was curious.

“Oh, that pretty one? We locked her in the vault, said she was too valuable to be touched. A special item for the VIP auction.”

“Special item my ass. She’s damaged goods.”

The woman giggled.

“We had to search her, so me and three of the girls went in. And wow, that bitch went crazy… she’s the one who messed up my face. Fuck… I should have broken her nose. I was so pissed, I decided to take her jumper as a souvenir. And when I ripped it off, wow.”

“That bad, huh? The boss does have a good eye. I didn’t think she was that big.”

“Hmm. Well, she’s bigger than me.”

Judging by the way she said it, her lips still swollen from the beating, the other woman must have been significantly larger. “Bigger than me?” No way.

Her sudden defensiveness confirmed my suspicions.

“No, you idiot. It’s not about the boobs. It’s her arms. I thought she was a zombie. Covered in needle marks, bruises everywhere from burst blood vessels. Not just her inner elbows, but her wrists, the backs of her hands…”

“A junkie?”

“No. It’s different. Those are from thick needles, the kind they use for blood transfusions and IVs. But there were no surgical scars. Which means something’s seriously wrong with her, something they can’t operate on. They’re just pumping her full of drugs.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Hello, I’m a paramedic from the Lambert police station! Remember when I dragged your ass to the drunk tank? You were probably too high to remember.”

“Oh, right? Well, I guess I owe you a ‘favor’ then.”

The man pressed against her suggestively.

The woman shifted slightly, but didn’t seem opposed.

But I saw it.

As he embraced her, his other hand reached into his pocket and unwrapped the chocolate bar, stuffing it into his mouth. It was a strangely pathetic gesture.

“Hey, I’m hungry again. Get rid of this body and pack some more bread.”

The woman’s voice was husky with desire.

“Fuck that. Pack the bread yourself.”

“I ate it all.”

“Really? Then let’s get out of here.”

They might have been morally bankrupt, but they were surprisingly environmentally conscious… They pulled their clothes back on and carefully folded the wrappers, stuffing them into their pockets. As the man turned to leave, the woman stopped him.

“Where are you going? You’re not going to carry the luggage like that, are you? What if you spill something?”

The idiot was actually encouraging him.

“What do you suggest?”

“Let’s go out the back and toss it over the fence.”

No. Please reconsider.

Don’t do that.

Don’t you know how to use a trash can?

“Alright, let’s do it.”

Fight.

My old self wouldn’t have even considered it.

I had never learned to fight, and I had never needed to.

Not just fighting. Walking with controlled breathing, running with heightened awareness, setting traps… I had seen characters do these things on a screen, but I had never done them myself.

But now, thrown into this world, I could perform all those actions, my body mimicking the movements I had witnessed countless times.

And they worked.

Could I fight?

I had to.

If I didn’t, I would die here.

I could do it. I just had to do what I had seen, trust my instincts, let my body remember.

I gripped the rifle tightly in both hands, waiting for the man and woman to round the partition.

Waiting. Waiting… Now!

Thwack.

I slammed the butt of the rifle against the woman’s throat.

“Gah!” she choked, collapsing to her knees, clutching her neck.

I kicked her in the stomach.

“Wha- what the…?”

The man reacted quickly, raising his arm to block the rifle I swung like a baseball bat.

Good.

I slashed at his exposed forearm with my hunting knife, reversing my grip for better leverage.

Crunch.

Blood splattered.

The man gasped, a wheezing sound escaping his lips, and slumped against the wall, his hand still clutching his throat.

“Eeeeek!”

The woman screamed and scrambled to her feet, trying to escape.

I swung the rifle butt again, connecting with her lower back. “Agh!” she cried out, falling face down.

I pounced on her, pinning her to the ground, my right arm wrapping around her throat, my left hand clamping over her mouth.

“Mmmpphh! Hng! Ahh!”

The chokehold wasn’t as effective as I had hoped.

She struggled violently, desperately trying to break free.

“Ugh! Let… go! Help! Eeeeek!”

Her muffled screams turned into a series of strangled gasps as my hand tightened over her mouth.

I leaned close to her ear, my voice a low hiss.

“Tell me about the auction.”

“Wh- what?”

“Tell me about the auction. Answer my questions, and I might let you live.”

“The… the gangs… they come to buy slaves and stuff. Your… your team is coming… later today.”

“What time?”

“Two… two hours… maybe.”

“Where are the hostages?”

She refused to answer.

I tightened my grip, pressing my forearm against her windpipe.

“Gahhhh… you… bastard…”

“The hostages. Where are they?”

“Apple… warehouse…”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“Hey, I know you two lovebirds are having fun, but keep it down, will ya? I can hear everything.”

Both the woman and I froze.

The guard had returned.

The woman suddenly screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Hey! Help me! Someone help me! Aghhhh!”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“It’s not… like that! I… I need… help!”

“…Wait a minute. You two aren’t… into that kind of stuff, are you?”

The guard’s voice was a mixture of confusion and disgust. The woman’s eyes widened in panic.

I would have been mortified too.

So, I decided to help her out.

“She wants you! She wants to do it with you!” I yelled, tightening my grip on her throat.

“Look, I’m sorry. I appreciate the offer, but… I’m not into that.”

“See? I told you he wasn’t interested! Maybe he’s into something else? I told you he was a useless prick! Why don’t you come in here and have some bread instead!”

“Ughhhh! Aghhh!”

The woman finally went limp.

Damn, she was tough.

“Bread? You brought bread? You guys are…”

I heard the sound of a shotgun being leaned against the wall outside.

I grabbed my knife and positioned myself near the corner of the back door.

The door creaked open, revealing the guard.

He was wearing a bulletproof vest, but it didn’t cover his neck.

I raised the knife and plunged it forward in a single, swift motion.

“Gah…”

He froze, his eyes widening in shock.

“…Fuck. I knew it… you two weren’t really…”

“He’s dead.”

I kicked him in the back of the knee, sending him crashing to the floor.

He wasn’t breathing.

I quickly stripped him of his vest, fumbling a bit before managing to put it on.

I was bothered by the bloodstains, so I grabbed the woman’s Disease Crisis Management Agency jumper and threw it over the vest.

It didn’t quite fit, but it was better than nothing.

None of the three had anything valuable on them.

The only thing of note was a spare handkerchief in the guard’s pocket.

It would have been perfect if it had been embroidered with the words “XX Mountaineering Club,” but instead, it had the words “Lambert Police Station” stitched on it.

The woman was a former police medic.

The man was a gang member.

The local police and the gang were working together, looting, killing, trafficking, even running a human auction.

“And they said other gangs were coming…”

This was turning out to be even more profitable than I had anticipated.

“Alright.”

I tied the red handkerchief around my neck, Redneck gangster style. Now, from a distance, I looked like a member of the Lambert gang.

The perfect disguise for starting a fight.

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