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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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“Fire! Fire! There’s a fire in the building! Evacuate immediately! Fire! Fire! Follow the emergency exits and evacuate calmly!”
The piercing wail of the siren and the cold, mechanical voice echoing through the building assaulted her ears.
The water from the sprinkler system, hitting the hot metal of her rifle, sizzled and steamed.
“…Ah.”
The cold water cascading over her body sent a shiver down her spine.
The pain in her right shoulder blade, already throbbing, intensified, a dull ache spreading through her muscles.
“…I can do this. I can do this.”
Camilla muttered a mantra of encouragement, her eyes scanning the hallway.
“Kyaaaaaah! Grrrr!”
“Back to the bus! Hurry!”
She knew zombies were drawn to sound, but she hadn’t realized they prioritized the closest source when multiple sounds were present.
The gang members on the first floor, distracted by the sudden alarm and the spray of water, had been slow to react to the zombies pouring through the broken windows and doors.
I’ve secured the lower floors.
I don’t know how long the zombies will keep them occupied, but I have to reach the fifth floor.
Camilla ripped open the fire extinguisher cabinet and pulled out the coiled hose.
She twisted the valve, her hands fumbling, then gripped the hose tightly.
A jet of water erupted, the force of the spray almost knocking her off her feet.
She wrestled it under control, aiming the hose towards the barricade at the end of the hallway.
Crash!
The barricade, a haphazardly constructed wall of furniture and debris, crumbled under the assault, the sound of splintering wood echoing through the hallway.
Camilla drew her silenced pistol and charged forward.
One shot.
Another shot.
The gang members fell, their bodies crumpling to the ground.
Blood, mixing with the water from the sprinklers, flowed down the stairs.
Camilla paused, her eyes fixed on the crimson stream.
If the blood reached the lower floors, it would attract the zombies.
“…I’m sorry.”
She dragged the bodies to the top of the stairs and tossed them down, ignoring the pleas for mercy, the screams of terror, the guttural growls of the hungry horde.
She repeated the process with the second body.
“…I’m sorry. May the Goddess of Hunger watch over you.”
Gunfire erupted from the other end of the fifth floor hallway.
The sound was distorted by the water and the siren, making it difficult to pinpoint its location.
She assumed it was just another group of gang members fighting off the zombies.
She pressed forward.
She ran, ducked, and weaved, her clothes clinging to her body, her energy waning.
She felt like she was wading through a sea of grasping hands, the weight of the world pressing down on her.
But the zombies and the gang members were equally exhausted.
And Camilla was an athlete, a synchronized swimmer, her body accustomed to the weight and drag of water.
I don’t have to be better than everyone else.
Her coach’s words echoed in her mind.
Just be better than the person next to you.
She had ignored his advice, dismissing it as the excuse of a loser.
Back then, she had believed that she could achieve greatness through sheer talent and determination.
But now, his words offered a strange comfort.
No one here could keep up with her.
“Coach, I’ll buy you a drink if you’re still alive.”
She chuckled wryly, imagining her younger self scoffing at her pragmatism.
“Cough, cough! Haah… haah… haah…”
A coughing fit seized her, the pain in her shoulder radiating through her body.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, threatening to burst out of her chest.
She took deep, slow breaths, trying to control her breathing.
She spotted a door, secured with a heavy bolt.
Supply Closet, the sign read.
She slid the bolt open and pushed the double doors open.
A group of people, twenty or so, their bodies emaciated, their clothes ragged, huddled together under the spray of the sprinklers, their eyes wide with fear.
“H-help… us…”
They cowered, their hands covering their faces.
Camilla held up her hands, palms open, and pressed herself against the wall beside the door.
She slowly approached them, her eyes scanning the room, her weapon raised.
“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I’m Elza…”
She almost said “Elza Liberation Front.”
She had to remind herself that it was a name she had to abandon, at least for now.
She lowered her gaze.
And then she saw their ankles.
They were all bandaged.
The bandage on the closest person, a man, was partially unraveled.
A sense of dread washed over her, and she reached out, gently unwrapping the bandage.
“Oh.”
She couldn’t hide her horror.
As a former athlete, she knew how to use her body, how to push it to its limits.
She also knew the types of injuries athletes were susceptible to, the extent of the damage they could sustain.
And she knew that this man’s Achilles tendon had been severed. He wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone stand.
“All of you…?”
They nodded, their faces etched with pain and despair.
Some of them had similar bandages on their wrists.
They had been subjected to the same cruel treatment.
She had seen this before.
But back then, she had had her comrades.
She had simply followed orders, carrying the injured one by one.
But now, she was alone.
“Alright, everyone. Listen to me. There’s a bus on the first floor. We need to get there. I’ll guide you.”
“…Just kill us here.”
A sob.
A woman raised her hand, her wrist bandaged.
Camilla fought back tears.
She had been through something terrible.
Camilla approached the woman, the others parting like the Red Sea.
The woman tried to back away, but she was trapped, her escape blocked by the other hostages.
“What’s your name?”
“…Andy.”
“Andy. That’s a beautiful name. Do you like stew? Warm, hearty stew, with chunks of meat, the kind that warms you up on a cold day?”
The woman, startled by the sudden change of subject, nodded hesitantly.
Camilla smiled faintly.
The gunfire seemed to intensify.
“I love vegetable stew. It’s the cheapest thing on the menu. My favorite was the one they sold at the back gate of my school. Just carrots, potatoes, and onions, but it tasted like meat.
I knew their secret, of course. They added powdered jerky to the broth. But the other kids were amazed. They couldn’t believe it tasted like meat.”
Andy laughed, a soft, choked sound.
It wasn’t a laughing matter, but Camilla’s kindness, her attempt to distract her from the horrors surrounding them, had touched her heart.
“This is a secret, but I’m a terrible cook. I always burn the pot or undercook the onions. But… someone I met recently… he made stew exactly like the one from my school.
I took one bite, and I started crying. I should have said it was delicious, but I couldn’t help but think about the good old days. I felt bad, so I complimented him, asking him how he managed to make it taste so good. He pretended not to care, but I could tell he was pleased.”
The noise outside intensified, but Camilla focused on the woman before her.
“Andy, what about you? Is there anything you miss eating? A dish you used to enjoy with your loved ones, or maybe a restaurant you used to frequent?”
Tears welled up in Andy’s eyes.
“…A sandwich. My grandmother used to make them for me. With bacon and a fried egg.”
“Ah. She probably fried the bacon first, rendering the fat, then used the bacon grease to fry the egg.”
“Yes. My mother used to scold her for using so much fat…”
Camilla wiped away Andy’s tears and asked, “Shall we go eat?”
“…Yes.”
Camilla stood up.
But something was wrong.
The noise that had been deafening moments ago had faded, replaced by the wail of the siren, the steady drumming of the rain, and the sound of approaching footsteps.
Someone was coming.
“Don’t come any closer. Understand?”
She waited for their nods, then pressed herself against the wall beside the door, her weapon raised.
The footsteps grew louder, their rhythm heavy and deliberate.
Splash.
Splash.
She could almost see the gang members through the gap in the double doors.
She gritted her teeth, her rifle stock pressed firmly against her shoulder.
Crash!
Both doors burst open simultaneously.
The impact knocked her rifle off target, the barrel swinging towards the hostages.
She quickly adjusted her aim and fired a shot into the ceiling.
“What the…?”
The intruders, startled by the sudden gunfire, froze.
She fired again, her movements swift and precise.
One shot to the knee, dropping the first gang member to the ground.
Two shots to the face.
She kicked the door open, firing two more shots, one to the head, one to the neck.
The gang member, his body trembling, collapsed.
Click.
She froze.
Another gang member was hiding in the hallway to the left.
She swung her rifle around, but it was too late.
A blinding flash.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
She felt a series of impacts, as if she had been punched repeatedly.
She stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.
Her vision blurred.
Her ears rang.
A high-pitched whine filled her head.
It was like her first time in the swimming pool.
The tear gas-filled pool.
The world dissolved into a hazy, disorienting blur.
Positive affirmations, not negative ones.
Why am I thinking about this now?
It didn’t sting.
It just hurt.
Her entire body ached, the pain so intense that she couldn’t distinguish one injury from another.
Maybe this was it.
Maybe this was her escape.
If she just let go, surrendered to the pain, she could drift away, fall into a dreamless sleep…
“Aghhhh! My eyes! Aghhhh!”
But for some reason…
“I can’t hear! My ears! My ears!”
Her senses sharpened.
Her vision, still blurry, was returning, the white afterimages fading with each blink.
A flashbang. But who…?
She felt a series of kicks and punches, her body a ragdoll tossed around by unseen forces.
Incoherent sounds escaped her lips.
A heavy weight pressed down on her.
“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.”
A familiar voice.
Her vision cleared, the world snapping back into focus.
And with each detail that emerged, the pain intensified.
The first thing she saw were the hostages, their bodies surrounding her, shielding her.
“J-Johan?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
Her heart ached, a sharp, stabbing pain.
She reached out, her fingers brushing against something cold and metallic.
A crumpled bullet casing.
She swatted it away, the metal clattering to the wet floor.
It had been stopped by her body armor.
A near miss.
Johan approached, his hand outstretched.
He was breathing heavily, his knees shaking, his body trembling with exhaustion.
But there was something reassuring about his presence, a sense of strength and determination.
He was carrying a large backpack, its contents bulging, its weight pulling at his shoulders.
“How did you get here?”
She couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude.
“Oh, I almost forgot. You left your phone in the van.”
“…My phone?”
She stared at him, dumbfounded.
“You came all the way here to return my phone?”
“No. Why would I bring it here? I left it outside. Take it. I’m leaving. I have things to do.”
He turned to leave.
“Hey, hey! Wait!”
The heavy backpack.
The trembling limbs.
But the smile on his face was bright, almost manic.
He looked like a man who had just won the lottery.
“Yeah, what?”
“…You… you didn’t come here to rescue me?”
As if on cue, the water from the sprinklers stopped.
The tank must have been empty.
And then…
“Kyaaaaaah!”
A deafening roar.
The sound of countless footsteps.
The zombies were flooding the building.
“Oh, I heard the commotion and wondered what you were up to. And I found a decent bus on the first floor. But it looks like I’m trapped now.”
He sounded strangely cheerful for someone who claimed to be trapped.
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Masterpiece