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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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The morning air, tinged with a faint scent of decay, was surprisingly refreshing.
Perfect weather for a farewell.
“Thanks for everything.”
I patted the cash transport van, bidding it a fond farewell.
I had managed to find radiator coolant, but I was still disappointed that I hadn’t been able to replace the windshield.
It was a specialized vehicle, and I couldn’t find a compatible replacement.
“I won’t forget you.”
I conducted one last inspection.
All the doors were wide open: driver’s side, passenger side, and rear.
I had secured them with wires to prevent them from closing.
It would be a disaster if the doors slammed shut during the operation, blocking my access to the LPG canisters in the cargo hold.
I checked the chain, one end attached to the van’s rear tow hook, the other end connected to the corpse cart.
It had been a gruesome task, but I had managed to secure a decent number of zombie corpses.
Camilla and I had met before dawn, spending the early morning hours gathering the scattered zombies, dragging them behind the cart.
Perhaps it was the early hour, or maybe they hadn’t registered us as food yet, but the zombies were moving slowly, their pace almost leisurely.
We had gathered a sizable horde, and now we were waiting for them to reach the hidden path leading to the Rowing Country Club.
“…Are you sure they’ll make it to the fence?”
Camilla sounded doubtful.
I reassured her.
“Think positive. The universe will conspire to help us.”
“I wish you had that much faith in people.”
“People don’t help you just because you believe in them.”
“You helped that woman in the van when she was shot. Actually, now that I think about it… were you trying to kidnap her? The one with the long, black hair?”
She was talking about Cassandra.
It wasn’t surprising.
She had been in the fire truck, and she had seen everything that had transpired.
“No. She was the one who kidnapped me. What’s with that look? Why are you laughing?”
“If anyone else had said that, I would have told them to stop joking. But coming from you… it’s strangely convincing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She waved her hand dismissively, trying to suppress her laughter.
“It was just… strange. At first, I thought you were taking her away. But then I realized she was the one clinging to you. I thought it was some kind of Rikia Syndrome.”
“What’s Rikia Syndrome?”
I had never heard of it. She smirked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Don’t play dumb. It happened in Rikia, the capital of your country… or rather, the Minsk Republic, right? A hostage developed empathy for her captor, a bank robber, and even defended him.”
“That’s Stock…”
No.
There was no Sweden, no Stockholm in this world.
And therefore, no Stockholm Syndrome.
Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice my slip-up. Or maybe she was too preoccupied with other questions.
“You knew that woman, didn’t you? You were quite comfortable touching her.”
“No. We met that day. What’s with the interrogation?”
She crossed her arms, her gaze intense, her head tilted slightly.
It was an intimidating posture.
“You’re so inconsistent. You became best friends with that woman in a day, but you treat me like a walking bomb.”
“We weren’t best friends. I just touched her breasts.”
“Really? That’s no big deal… wait. What did you just say? You touched what?”
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
I couldn’t blame her.
I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t experienced it firsthand.
“Well, she seemed desperate. She said she needed it. So…”
I didn’t need to explain the details.
It wasn’t my place to gossip about Cassandra.
“…She asked me to touch her breasts, so I did.”
My explanation seemed to have backfired.
Camilla’s face was flushed, her forehead beaded with sweat.
She fanned herself with her hand.
“Ah, haha. Well, um… of course, everyone has different preferences. Um, um. Yes. It’s not my place to judge. But even if she was… desperate… asking a stranger to touch her breasts…”
This was getting worse.
“Camilla.”
I had to be firm.
“She was being held captive alone, unlike the other hostages. They were planning to sell her as a VIP slave. People act differently under extreme stress. And I didn’t touch her bare skin. It was over her clothes.”
My awkward explanation was turning Cassandra into a pervert.
This wasn’t right.
“R-right. Yes. Of course. You’re right. Yes, yes. It’s understandable. She must have been terrified. So you were just… comforting her. That’s fine.”
She seemed to have calmed down.
“And then I asked her to touch her breasts too.”
“…Were you feeling desperate too?”
“No, it was only fair. I had touched hers, so I had to let her touch mine. She understood.”
Judging by the way she was massaging her forehead, she didn’t understand at all.
“…You would have been so cool if you hadn’t added that last part. Never mind. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. So you weren’t trying to force yourself on her. I understand correctly, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She smiled, relieved.
She had clearly been bothered by my interaction with Cassandra.
The stench of decay intensified, carried by the wind.
It was time to move on to the next phase of the plan.
Things would get busy soon.
This might be our last chance to have a casual conversation.
“Johan, can I ask you one more thing?”
“Sure.”
She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushed.
What was she so hesitant about?
“So… did you enjoy it?”
I blinked, confused.
“Don’t play dumb, Johan.”
“You’re missing a subject. Are you asking if I enjoyed touching her breasts, or if I enjoyed her touching mine?”
Her expression turned fierce.
She grabbed my sleeve, her fingers digging into my arm.
“Ow, ow, ow.”
I pretended to be in pain, and she punched me lightly on the arm.
“Why did you do it?”
“To build trust, of course.”
“If that’s your idea of trust, I’d rather live without it.”
She walked away, retrieving her rifle and pistol from the van’s trunk.
She inspected them one last time, ensuring they were in working order.
I grabbed my carbine and my magazines.
Four magazines.
One hundred and twenty rounds.
They were high-capacity magazines, modified to hold thirty rounds instead of twenty-eight.
“At least there’s one good thing about this.”
She muttered.
“What’s that?”
“You’re not as bad as I thought you were.”
What had she thought of me?
She seemed to read my mind.
“A skilled fighter, but socially inept, terrified of humans more than zombies, and a kidnapper.”
“Is that still your assessment?”
“You’re also a good cook. And… well… you’re a bit strange.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not sure. We haven’t known each other for very long, but I’ve met a lot of people in my life. You’re… different.”
Of course I was different.
She extended her right hand.
It wasn’t a soft, delicate hand.
It was calloused, scarred, and rough, the hand of a warrior.
But it was also beautiful.
I took her hand, her thumb tracing circles on my palm.
Her grip was firm, almost painful.
“…Camilla, that’s a bit tight.”
“It’s just a handshake. That’s how normal people express trust. Not by groping each other’s breasts, but by shaking hands.”
“That felt a bit… personal.”
She pulled me closer.
I instinctively resisted, but she wrapped her other arm around my waist, pulling me off balance.
I stumbled towards her, our bodies almost touching.
She whispered in my ear.
“There’s no other way to tell you.”
She released me, stepping back, her back to me, her head turned slightly, as if checking to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
She had said she would follow the zombies into the resort.
It was the safest time to infiltrate, if she wanted to rescue the slaves.
The gang members would probably abandon the slaves, or even release them intentionally, using them as distractions while they set up their defenses.
It made sense for Camilla to follow the zombies, using them as cover.
But it was still a risky move.
A log raft might be safer than an inflatable tube, but neither could guarantee a safe passage across the ocean.
It wasn’t my concern.
It wouldn’t interfere with my plan.
She was doing her thing, and I was doing mine.
But I couldn’t help but ask.
“Just to be clear, you’re going in, right?”
“Yes. The plan hasn’t changed. We’ll proceed as discussed.”
“Aren’t you worried about the danger?”
“Of course I am. But I’m not planning to die. If there are slaves, I’ll rescue them and get out. If not, I’ll retreat. I’m good at that… wait, are you worried about me?”
She had asked playfully, but I answered honestly.
“No. Honestly, I think it’s a stupid idea.”
“That’s okay. I am a bit stupid.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
She seemed at ease, her shoulders relaxed.
The gentle breeze ruffled her hair, a stray strand of red tickling her cheek.
“I’m not very smart, you know. I just… take things one step at a time, hoping for the best. I’ve made so many wrong decisions. I regret almost everything I’ve done.”
She tucked the stray strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes meeting mine.
“But at least I met someone interesting.”
The sun was high in the sky now.
It was getting hot.
My face felt flushed.
“Be careful.”
“Johan?”
“What?”
“If we both survive this… make me stew again.”
“Okay.”
She turned and walked away, her mission clear.
She would protect the van as it approached the fence, then detonate the LPG canisters in the cargo hold.
It was time for me to do my part.
I placed the pink princess backpack on the driver’s seat headrest, the Barbie doll’s creepy wink facing forward.
I draped a shirt over the backpack and placed a hat on top.
It was a grotesque sight, but from a distance, it might pass for a human.
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