How to Be Mistaken for a Villain in a Zombie Apocalypse – Chapter 22

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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I sprinted towards the heavily fortified guard post, the one with the mounted machine gun, my hands raised in surrender.

“Halt! Halt! Identify your…”

The guards in the post shouted, but just then,

Bang!

one of the shotgun traps I had set went off.

I screamed and dropped to my knees, clutching my leg as if I had been hit.

The guards, startled by the sudden explosion, gestured frantically for me to take cover in their post.

My act had worked. I scrambled inside, my movements a mixture of panic and relief.

“You saved my life!” I exclaimed, gasping for breath.

The guards, their suspicions allayed, offered me water and scanned the surroundings, their weapons at the ready.

The machine gunner, wearing a sturdy ballistic helmet, glared at the street.

“What kind of maniac is causing all this chaos?”

“Me,” I replied, my voice a low growl.

I shot him in the back of the knee.

As he crumpled to the ground, clutching his injured leg, his neck was exposed.

Bang, bang, bang.

Three quick shots, and he was gone.

I rolled him over and removed his helmet, wiping the blood and gore on the dead man’s clothes before putting it on.

“A machine gun, huh?”

I had always been curious about this weapon.

I glanced down the street.

Two vehicles were speeding towards me.

I grabbed the mounted machine gun and fired.

The vehicles swerved sharply, crashing through the windows of a nearby store.

“Learn how to park, assholes.”

BOOM!!

One of the vehicles exploded, a plume of black smoke billowing into the sky.

Satisfied, I shifted my aim to the other vehicle.

I riddled it with bullets, flattening the tires and setting it ablaze.

It took a while, but finally,

KABOOM!

it exploded as well.

I still had plenty of ammo.

I swung the machine gun back and forth, spraying bullets indiscriminately.

Down the street, into alleyways, through windows.

Anything larger than a shopping cart was a target.

Not that there were many things smaller than a shopping cart left standing.

Familiar sights began to emerge.

The Lambert Village I remembered.

The ruined streets.

It felt like coming home.

The gas station.

The gas station?

That’s why I had been feeling disoriented.

The gas station in my memories had been a smoldering ruin.

But this one was intact, fully operational.

The altered landmark had thrown off my sense of direction.

I aimed the machine gun and fired.

The fuel tanks erupted like shattered porcelain.

The shockwave was far more powerful than the car explosions.

The ground shook, buildings crumbled, and a fiery inferno swept through the streets.

The heat was intense, the smell of burning fuel acrid and suffocating.

Thick, black smoke, the kind that would surely earn me an environmental violation, filled the sky above Lambert Village.

I pulled on a poncho to protect myself from the potential acid rain.

“Now this looks like the Lambert Village I remember.”

The Mossberg shotgun was almost out of ammo.

I patted it affectionately before discarding it and picking up an M4 carbine rifle from the ground.

It wasn’t in pristine condition, but it would do.

I checked the chamber, the magazine, the overall condition of the weapon.

Reloaded. 5.56mm rounds, holographic sight, blood-soaked body armor, redneck bandana covering my face, poncho draped over my shoulders.

The perfect Lambert gang member.

I sprinted down an alleyway, rounding a corner.

The apple warehouse came into view.

I fired a few shots into the air, then backpedaled, taking cover in a side alley.

I waved frantically at the guards stationed outside the warehouse, their eyes wide with surprise.

“Cover me! Cover me!”

The guards ducked behind their post, gesturing for me to approach.

I ran towards them, my grip tight on the rifle.

“Fire! We need to put out the fire! The gas station exploded! Haven’t you received any instructions? Is anyone inside? We need to get some buckets and put out the fire!”

“Whoa, calm down, buddy! Have some water! There’s no one inside except the slaves in handcuffs. Well, except for one, or rather, one woman who’s missing.”

“Then get some instructions!”

The guard, his expression annoyed, contacted someone over the radio.

A brief response came back: “Stand by.”

The moment the transmission ended, I shot him.

And the other guard who was standing there dumbfounded.

They had confirmed that the slave warehouse was secure, so there wouldn’t be any radio chatter for a while.

The explosions and chaos seemed to have everyone distracted.

I herded the remaining guards into their posts and opened the warehouse door.

Creak…

The apple warehouse was a two-story building.

The first floor housed apple transport trailers, a crane, and a refrigerated storage room for the apples.

The second floor contained the equipment room.

But there were no trailers. Instead, there were bullet-riddled ambulances, a 12-passenger van, and vehicles marked for emergency medical transport.

The scratched and dented Disease Crisis Management Agency emblems were a strange sight.

The door to the refrigerated storage room was bolted shut, but there was no padlock.

I slid the bolt open and pushed the door open.

“Ugh.”

A wave of nausea hit me. The stench was overwhelming.

I didn’t want to go inside, so I banged on the wall.

“Come out!”

A group of people, their hands cuffed behind their backs, shuffled out of the storage room.

Their eyes were vacant, their bodies weak and emaciated.

Many of them had scraped knees, their clothes torn and bloodstained.

“Is there anyone else inside?”

I pointed my rifle at the man in front, my voice a low growl.

He shook his head, a sneer twisting his lips.

“…I thought you were going to starve us to death.”

“Wait, that’s not…”

I lowered my weapon, trying to convey that I meant them no harm.

The man’s face turned pale, then flushed red.

He started trembling, as if possessed by a chihuahua.

“…You… that jumper…!”

Oh, right.

I was dressed as a Lambert gang member.

And beneath the poncho, I was wearing a Disease Crisis Management Agency jumper.

And the Disease Crisis Management Agency was… these “slaves'” employer.

“Oh, this? I got it from a woman…”

“You bastard! You defile her memory, and now you…”

Crack.

I slammed the butt of my rifle against his head.

It was a reflex, not intentional.

But how could I just stand there and let him bite me?

“Wait, what did I do wrong?”

The absurdity of the situation struck me, and I couldn’t help but complain.

The man I had just hit stared up at me, his eyes wide with disbelief.

The other slaves, no, pre-auction slaves, wore similar expressions.

They looked at me as if I were something inhuman.

“You… you monster!”

Now I understood why these people were covered in bruises.

They might have been starving, but they were full of energy.

Well-fed and well-bred, just like that busty woman had said.

Thump.

Crack!

“Agh! Argh! Owww!”

“Stay still! Please! I’m serious, I don’t want to do this! I have no choice!”

I couldn’t kill them, so I resorted to kicking their knees and shins, slapping their faces.

Now I understood why their knees were scraped and their faces swollen.

I felt a newfound appreciation for the gang members’ hard work.

“That’s what all war criminals say! Just like you!”

Reasoning with them was futile.

Violence was the only language they understood.

“What’s going on here?”

The door burst open, and three Lambert gang members rushed inside.

The intense heat radiating from them suggested the fire was spreading.

I quickly pointed at the pre-auction slaves.

“These guys were trying to escape! I don’t know how they managed to open the door!”

The man I had hit first glared at me, his eyes filled with loathing.

“Hey, you can’t do that! You’re damaging the merchandise!”

The gang members, instead of punishing the slaves, helped them to their feet.

The pre-auction slaves, their hatred directed solely at me, ignored their captors.

“Aghhhh!”

One of the women collapsed, her shoulder dislocated, dangling at an unnatural angle. It was a gruesome sight.

“…Looks like we have a damaged one. We’ll have to fix that before we can sell her.”

I was being sincere, but all I got was another insult.

“You’re not even human!”

I slapped the man who had shouted at me.

The gang members intervened.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Calm down. You can’t lose your cool in this situation. Understand?”

“Phew. Alright. Sorry. Sorry. I’m good.”

“Good. Good. Put your weapon away.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

I lowered the M4 and held up my hands in a gesture of surrender.

The pistol in my pocket was practically falling out, so one of the gang members helpfully tucked it back in.

“Where are the handcuff keys? We need to get these off them.”

“The key ring? It’s probably in the safe on the second floor.”

The safe on the second floor of the apple warehouse.

What was the combination again?

I couldn’t remember the numbers, but I could recall the feeling of my fingers pressing the keypad.

I had moved them like this…

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to remember. Triggering my memory by mimicking the keypad movements. Ah, is it 62646668?”

“…Impressive. How did you remember that so quickly?”

It was comforting to know that some things never changed.

“Just a knack.”

Bang!

My pistol fired.

The helpful gang member crumpled to the ground.

Before the other two could react, bang, bang, bang.

Three quick shots.

A quick draw was always a good strategy.

“Aghhhh!”

I understood.

When a bullet grazed your hair and embedded itself in the wall behind you, a dramatic scream was an appropriate response.

But I couldn’t tolerate any more noise.

“Sit down against the wall. You. Get up.”

The woman who seemed the least injured scrambled to her feet, pressing her back against the wall.

I grabbed her by the collar and shoved the pistol against her temple.

“Try anything funny, and her brains are getting splattered all over this wall. Got it?”

The fallen captives nodded eagerly.

I dragged the woman up the stairs to the second floor, shoved her into a chair, and spun the dial on the safe.

Click.

“Damn it.”

It was just a key ring.

They usually kept valuable items in this safe, but they must have removed them to make space for the keys.

This was a bust.

“Which one is it?”

“…Excuse me?”

“There are three key rings. Which one is it?”

“I-I don’t know. And… there are… more of us… in the… other warehouse…”

“What? Speak clearly.”

I had told her to speak clearly, not to bite her tongue.

The woman, her eyes wide and innocent, her words a jumbled mess, let out a strangled cry.

“Oth-ther ware-house… more…”

“There are more in the other warehouse?”

“Yes!”

“You went to med school, right?”

“Yes!”

“Then you’re smart enough to find the right key and unlock those handcuffs.”

I tossed all three key rings at her.

She scrambled to her feet before I could even grab her collar.

“Pfft! Pfft!”

“Don’t laugh. I’m not that stupid.”

“You… want me… to unlock them?”

“You’re an idiot. Unlock them yourself. I’m not going to do it for you. What are you, five years old? You’ll be asking me for directions to the village exit next. There must be someone here who can drive. I’m busy.”

“Y-you… you’re… cunning… cunning…cunning”

She called me cunning three times. This woman had a knack for getting under my skin.

“Shut up. Let’s go.”

“W-wait! There’s… one more…”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

I stepped behind her and wrapped my arm around her neck, applying just enough pressure to render her unconscious.

I carried her limp body down the stairs, cradling her like a princess, the key rings jingling in my hand.

“…Agh! Jenia! No! No!”

I gently laid the woman down and tossed the key rings at the group of pre-auction slaves.

They were shouting something, but I ignored them and flung open the door to the other refrigerated storage room.

“Aghhhh! Don’t shoot!”

I was feeling petty, so I just opened the door and left.

I was in a bad mood. I had been hoping for a treasure trove of loot in the slave warehouse, but it was empty.

Were they afraid the slaves would rearm themselves?

Over thirty people stumbled out of the storage room, their faces pale and drawn from hunger.

But the sight of the key rings seemed to revitalize them, their eyes lighting up with hope.

“I’ll open it!”

“Unlock mine first!”

“Don’t you know patients go first?”

The handcuffed people were fighting over the key rings, their desperation overriding any sense of camaraderie.

These people, who had forgotten the basic human decency of helping each other, needed a lesson.

Bang!

I fired a shot into the air, silencing them.

I grabbed a walkie-talkie and pressed the transmit button.

“Situation critical! Situation critical! Mass slave breakout! Situation critical! Mass slave breakout! Repeat, mass slave breakout!”

“You crazy bastard!”

“Slaves? You’re saying the slaves escaped? How?”

“You idiots! What did you do to make the slaves escape? Catch them! Bring them back!”

“Switching frequencies.”

A deep, authoritative voice. It had a calming effect, even on me.

“Switching to patrol frequency. Repeat, switching to patrol frequency. It seems our radios have been compromised. There’s a hostile element at play. Over.”

Static.

Oh, these fools.

They had been tricked so many times that they now considered even a slave breakout to be a ruse.

But even the boy who cried wolf was right once.

“Well, looks like they’re coming for you. You can either unlock those handcuffs, run away on your own two feet, or find a car and drive away. Your choice.”

The pre-auction slaves, their fate hanging in the balance, stared at me blankly.

“Who are you?”

The man I had hit with the rifle butt mumbled.

“Isn’t your own survival more important than my identity? Get out of here.”

The more chaos they caused, the more loot I could collect.

“W-wait! There’s… one more… she’s trapped! They took her away… please…”

“Ah!”

I couldn’t help but shout.

The vault.

I had forgotten about it in all the chaos.

But in this situation, it was ripe for the taking.

And it contained high-value items.

Confidential information, perhaps.

“I’m going to sell it all!”

“Hey!”

I didn’t hear what they were shouting as I rushed out of the warehouse.

I dodged the approaching gang members, taking cover in a side alley, and emptied the last of my pistol rounds.

I discarded the pistol.

Now all I had was the carbine and the .22 caliber rifle.

But I had a good ballistic helmet, and the 5.56mm rounds had excellent penetration power, so I wasn’t in a bad spot.

The vault.

It was located in the bank building behind the village hall.

The gang’s numbers must have dwindled by now, and the escaped slaves, desperate to avoid recapture, would be causing even more chaos.

This was going to be easy.

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