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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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Creak, creak.
The van tilted backwards, threatening to roll down the hill in reverse.
I gently applied the brakes, carefully maneuvering the steering wheel.
“Grrrr…”
Despite my efforts to avoid attracting attention, the zombies kept glancing at me, their eyes filled with a strange curiosity.
I couldn’t blame them.
It was quite a spectacle, even if I wasn’t the one providing the entertainment.
Thump!
A sudden jolt.
More zombies had emerged from the woods behind me.
Two, maybe three.
Screech, screech, screech.
They clawed at the van, their teeth gnashing, as if trying to devour the metal itself.
I scoffed at their futile attempts, then froze as one of them raised its hand, its fingers extended, its nails long and sharp.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Screeeech!
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Was it true that the sound of fingernails scraping against a chalkboard was similar to the low-frequency sounds emitted by predators?
I had heard that was the reason it was so unsettling.
I didn’t know if it was true, but the sound of those claws scraping against the van’s metal was definitely making my skin crawl.
And it had roused the zombies who had been feasting on the fallen one.
Now I was trapped between two hordes.
“Grrrr…”
They weren’t just standing there, either.
They were tearing at each other, their limbs entangled in a gruesome display of cannibalistic frenzy.
This was why your parents told you not to eat while walking.
It was just messy.
“Grrrr?”
The closest zombie, its body a patchwork of torn flesh and exposed bone, lurched towards me, extending its leg.
Was it offering me a bite?
Or was it a threat?
I couldn’t tell.
And why was it pointing its goddamn toes at me?
“Are you seriously pointing at me with your foot? You have no manners. Hey, you! Get over here.”
“Grrrr…”
“Yeah, you, the one with the leg. And swallow that damn food before you speak! Don’t you dare mumble with your mouth full! Have some respect!”
The zombie’s throat convulsed.
It was probably a coincidence.
It tilted its head, its expression a grotesque parody of curiosity, and shuffled towards me.
I threw the hunting knife.
It embedded itself in the zombie’s arm, and the leg it had been clutching fell to the ground, rolling down the hill.
“Sniff, sniff!”
The zombie, its attention now focused on its missing limb, stumbled down the hill.
It was walking awkwardly, its balance precarious.
And then, predictably, it tripped and tumbled down the slope.
“Grrrr! Kyaaah!”
The zombies near the van reacted instantly, drawn by the scent of fresh blood oozing from the fallen zombie’s leg and the knife wound on its arm.
The ones who had been feasting on the corpse abandoned their meal and joined the pursuit.
“Yes!”
I turned the steering wheel towards the slope, shifted into drive, and released the brakes.
The van lurched forward, bumping and rattling as it rolled down the hill.
“Excuse me!”
I leaned out the window, waving cheerfully at the pursuing zombies, at the zombie with the knife in its arm, at the severed leg tumbling down the slope.
The wind whipped through my hair.
The sky was a brilliant blue, the clouds scattered like cotton candy.
The severed leg twitched.
The leg?
I glanced at the passenger side mirror.
The leg was bouncing, hopping, following me.
It wasn’t standing upright. It was lying on its side, its movements resembling a frog’s leg.
A dog.
A black dog, its jaws clamped around the leg, was chasing me.
Its cheeks were sunken, its ears flattened against its skull, its eyes rolled back, revealing the whites. Its teeth were bared, its head resembling a lion’s.
Its fur was patchy, its muscles and bones visible beneath the torn flesh.
It was covered in scars, but its body was still lean and powerful.
I recognized the breed.
A Cane Corso.
Or rather, what used to be a Cane Corso.
It was a zombie dog.
“Grrrr, grrrr, kyaaah!”
It seemed to be challenging me, its speed increasing as it tried to catch up to the van, which was now coasting downhill, its engine dead.
It kept glancing at me, its eyes bloodshot, its expression a mixture of hunger and defiance.
I felt a strange surge of annoyance, a prickling of my pride.
I swerved the van slightly.
Thump!
“Grrrr!”
The dog yelped as it collided with the van’s bumper, its body bouncing off the metal.
The leg it had been carrying flew from its jaws, landing on the road.
The dog swallowed the remaining flesh, then let out a high-pitched howl.
Aoooo!
More dogs emerged from the woods, their sizes and shapes varying, their eyes glowing with an eerie intensity.
“Kyaaah!”
And why were they on fire?
The human zombies behind me suddenly dropped to all fours, their movements becoming more animalistic as they joined the pack of zombie dogs.
The van, a useless hunk of metal, continued to roll downhill.
The Cane Corso, its growl a guttural rumble, closed in on me.
“Grrrr!”
The other dogs followed, their eyes fixed on their leader.
The alpha.
I had seen this in nature documentaries.
Feral dog packs often had an alpha, a leader who commanded the others.
This Cane Corso was clearly the alpha.
The human zombies, seemingly offended by being ignored, foamed at the mouth as they chased after us.
The slope steepened, the van’s speed increasing.
The twisted axle caused it to bounce and sway precariously.
“Kyaaah!”
The zombie dog was getting closer, its growls turning into barks.
It probably thought I was taunting it.
I couldn’t blame it.
If I were running alongside a vehicle that was shaking and swaying like a drunken ostrich, I would be pissed too.
“Grrrr!”
Why were the human zombies mimicking the dog’s sounds?
They were growling and snarling, their movements becoming more animalistic with each passing moment.
Vroom!
The high-pitched whine of a motorcycle engine.
A figure wearing a helmet appeared on the crest of the hill, their motorcycle silhouetted against the sky.
They surveyed the scene below, then started their descent.
“This is getting ridiculous.”
I could see a rifle slung over their shoulder.
A K11 SWS, a designated marksman rifle, equipped with a silencer.
The sniper who had taken out the zombies earlier.
Their right hand gripped the motorcycle’s handlebars, their left hand held a pistol.
A Glock 19, with a silencer and a laser sight.
I could see the red dot dancing across the road.
But they weren’t firing. They were using their left hand to steady the pistol against the handlebars.
The van’s speed increased.
The smaller zombie dogs began to fall behind. Instead of retreating, they turned on the human zombies, their teeth sinking into their flesh.
The motorcycle weaved through the chaos, its speed momentarily decreasing as it navigated the obstacles.
Then it accelerated, catching up to the van, maintaining a steady pace.
The rider raised their pistol. I could see the red laser dot in the side mirror, its beam trembling slightly.
They steadied their aim, pressing their left hand against the handlebars.
The laser dot locked onto its target: the back of a greyhound zombie dog’s head.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three shots.
“Kyaah!”
Blood splattered from the dog’s back.
The left flank of the pack crumbled instantly.
The motorcycle disappeared from the side mirror, then reappeared, having overtaken the scattered dogs.
Vroom!
It was gaining on me.
I grabbed the M4 carbine and placed my foot on the brake pedal, ready to slam on it if necessary.
If the motorcycle got too close, I would shoot the rider in the back.
“…!”
The rider shouted something, but I couldn’t hear them over the wind and the engine noise.
They waved their left hand, the one holding the pistol, in a circular motion.
Were they calling for backup?
It was possible.
The local gangs weren’t completely wiped out.
If they were still here, they were either incredibly strong, the leaders of their respective gangs, or too weak to participate in the raids.
But judging by their sniping skills, they weren’t weak.
I couldn’t let them catch up.
I swerved the van to the left.
The motorcycle, anticipating my move, veered away, disappearing from the side mirror.
Then it reappeared on my right.
This was getting annoying
. I extended the M4 carbine towards the passenger side window, resting the barrel on the frame.
The muzzle, buffeted by the van’s vibrations, bobbed up and down like a fishing lure.
The Cane Corso growled, its teeth bared.
“Hey! Look at this!”
The Cane Corso, relentless in its pursuit, snarled.
“You don’t have one of these at home, do you?”
“Grrrr!”
I swerved to the right.
Yelp!
Another zombie dog collided with the van, its body bouncing off the metal.
The motorcycle hesitated, its rider momentarily startled.
I swerved left, then right, then left again, keeping the motorcycle off balance.
The van’s speed was decreasing, but as long as I could slow down the motorcycle even more, it didn’t matter.
Speed was relative.
“Kyaaaah!”
The Cane Corso, unable to contain its frustration any longer, leaped at the van.
Clack! Clack!
Its jaws snapped at the metal.
“Good boy! Good boy! Good boy!”
“Clack! Clack! Kyaaaah!”
The enraged dog leaped again, its jaws clamping down on the barrel of the M4.
If I hadn’t braced the rifle against the van’s frame, it would have been ripped from my grasp.
“You want a taste of spring steel, boy?”
Rat-a-tat-tat!
“Kyaah!”
The dog’s jaw exploded, its body flying sideways.
But it was a tough creature.
Even with its mouth mangled, blood gushing from the wound, it tried to attack again.
But its movements were slower now, its legs wobbling.
It collapsed, its body hitting the pavement with a thud.
The other dogs hesitated, their growls turning into whimpers.
“Aooo… aoooo…”
They abandoned their pursuit, gathering around their fallen leader.
The motorcycle, surrounded by the pack of dogs, came to a stop, its rider observing the scene.
The dogs nudged their leader with their noses, some even nipping at its flesh.
When it didn’t respond, they let out a chorus of mournful howls.
“Aooooooooo!”
“Grrrr, kyaah!”
Their demeanor changed.
They lowered their bodies, their hackles raised, their teeth bared.
One dog, asserting its dominance, lunged at another, its jaws snapping.
“Woof! Woof! Woof!”
They were circling each other, their tails wagging, their bodies tense.
The alpha was dead.
It was time to choose a new leader.
It wasn’t exactly a democratic process, but any dissenters would be quickly silenced.
The motorcycle, trapped amidst the pack of dogs, remained motionless.
“Adios.”
A flash of light.
The reflection of a sniper rifle scope.
“Oh, come on.”
That damn sniper was persistent.
I ducked, my body flattening against the driver’s seat.
Bang!
I felt the left rear tire deflate.
Bang! Bang!
The right rear tire followed.
The air hissed out of the tires, the van rattling and shaking.
Then, the tires detached, rolling away.
Screeeech!
Sparks flew from the exposed metal as it scraped against the asphalt.
Yelp! Yelp!
The dogs, startled by the noise, backed away.
Vroom!
The motorcycle, seizing the opportunity, sped forward.
“Come and get me.”
The van’s speed was decreasing rapidly.
I steered it towards the right side of the road.
“Come on. Come on. Hit me. I dare you.”
I gripped the driver’s side door handle with my left hand, my right hand holding the M4, the barrel resting on the window frame.
I could see the rider’s right hand gripping a pistol.
“Hit me! Hit me! Hit me! I dare you!”
Vroom!
The motorcycle sped towards me, its engine roaring.
The rider extended their right arm. I flung the door open.
Thump!
A sharp cry.
The motorcycle didn’t overturn, but it was clearly damaged, its trajectory skewed.
I leaned out the open door, aiming the M4.
The laser sight danced across the front tire. Bang! The tire exploded.
“…Damn it!”
I wrestled the steering wheel to the right, narrowly preventing the van from flipping over.
It skidded sideways, coming to a stop in the middle of the road.
I couldn’t get out.
I had to use the van’s armor to my advantage.
I couldn’t fire at the rear or the sides, but neither could they.
The rider dismounted, limping towards me, their rifle in their left hand, their pistol in their right.
They took cover behind the van.
They didn’t want to die either.
“Hey!”
A sharp, feminine voice.
“Come out here! Let me see your face! Cough, cough, cough! Ugh… I just… I just want to talk! It’s so damn… difficult to have a conversation with you!”
What the…?
Was she turning?
That was a relief. She would die soon anyway.
“Why? You want to ask me something?”
“Why would I ask you anything? Just come out here and talk to me!”
“Why would I talk to the person who shot out my tires?”
Silence.
“It looks fine to me”
The nerve of this woman.
“They’re fine? You think those tires are fine? My van is leaking coolant, the axle is twisted, and the windshield is gone! “
“And you kept running away, even after I signaled you to stop!”
She was clearly delusional. Did she think it was okay to shoot out my tires because the van wasn’t in perfect condition? This was absurd.
“…Stop it. That’s not what I want to talk about.”
“Did you swallow a chatty ghost or something?”
“No! Listen to me! Stop changing the subject! I want you to work with me!”
Seriously?
After shooting out my tires, she wanted to offer me a job?
“Don’t you have any friends?”
She should ask her own friends.
In a world where people were struggling to survive, she had the audacity to interrupt my busy schedule with a job offer?
“…Hey, I have plenty of friends! And I’m a model, so I’m very popular! Why am I even… why am I explaining myself to you?!”
She definitely didn’t have any friends.
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