Chapter 89
We slowly moved from the apartment, having gathered weapons for a 1-minute squad. If we walked diligently, we could make it back to the general hospital today, but we didn’t bother.
Instead of bombs, our bags were stuffed with food. The military gear, weapons, and magazines were heavy, and zombies occasionally roamed the streets.
We also occasionally ran into people.
“Freeze.”
“…Are you talking to me?”
A survivor crouched by the roadside, plucking clovers with bare hands, staring blankly at me.
I struggled to adjust my grip on the machine gun. It was ridiculously heavy. I couldn’t understand how anyone could carry this weight around.
My arms felt like they were about to snap, my shoulders and neck like they were breaking, and my legs were losing sensation…
I snapped back to reality. This wasn’t the time to zone out.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? Picking clovers. The leaves are edible.”
Even as I aimed the machine gun at him, the survivor calmly plucked a handful of clovers. Then, as if he’d found something, he gasped and handed me a clover.
“A four-leaf clover. Lucky, huh? Mind sharing some food?”
I wondered if I was dreaming. What kind of survivor begs in front of rifles and machine guns?
Just then, a mercenary who had regained confidence after getting his hands on a gun suddenly lost his temper and waved his weapon in the air.
“You think this is a toy? We risked our lives for this food, you—!”
“Fine, forget it.”
The survivor went back to plucking clovers, then stood up leisurely. He stuffed the clovers into a plastic bag and looked at us calmly.
“So, what are you gonna do? If you’re gonna kill me, shoot already. But I’m just a beggar—wasting bullets on me isn’t worth it.”
He had a point. This guy wasn’t worth looting. His mental fortitude seemed unusual, but he was skin and bones. A truly starving man.
There was nothing to trade for bullets. If he had a stash of food, maybe I’d have considered it, but…
I sighed deeply and lowered the machine gun. I was too tired to deal with this.
“Go far away. The military’s nearby. They’re killing anyone they see.”
“Oh well. How much longer would I live anyway?”
That was it. The survivor turned without hesitation and walked off, disappearing down the street.
I subtly aimed the heavy machine gun at his back, then let it drop. Killing him here wouldn’t be looting.
“Let’s head back. I’m exhausted.”
“Not gonna kill him?”
Jeondohyeong blurted out something absurd. I gave him a baffled look and ignored him. Typical of someone who used to steal national electricity for fun—now he’s thinking of killing people for no reason.
***
On the way back to the general hospital, we occasionally ran into people or zombies, but against our overwhelming firepower, they were nothing but scarecrows.
People fled at the sight of us, and zombies fearlessly approached only to be shredded by a hail of bullets.
It felt like courage was surging from deep within me, my companions, and the mercenaries. In this world, the number of guns and bullets equaled courage.
The mercenaries, who had been terrified during close combat, started cracking jokes.
“Thinking about it, why should we fear the military? Everyone here’s been in the military. If we’ve got guns, we’re better off.”
“Exactly. We’ve got nothing to lose. Back in my day, service was over two years.”
They boasted about their service periods, claiming they were veterans compared to the newbies, even caressing the serial numbers on their guns.
‘The sergeant who couldn’t discharge probably served two years. There are NCOs and officers too.’
Anyway, confidence was good.
But then Sajihyeok suddenly tilted his head, his finger on the trigger.
“I never served in the military. So, uh, why isn’t this gun firing? I pulled the trigger earlier, but no bullets came out.”
Everyone stared at him in disbelief, then scrambled away like a grenade had been tossed into our midst.
“What the hell are you doing! Hey! Take your finger off! Off! What if it fires!”
“Huh? What?”
A confused voice.
I considered shooting him, Park Yang-gun seemed to be contemplating strangling him with a rope, and Jeondohyeong impatiently demonstrated.
“You really never served? You need to switch the selector.”
“Selector? What’s that?”
Is he insane? Why explain it to him? Sajihyeok’s the kind of guy who’d kill a teammate by accident. Competent when using his brain, but a liability when it comes to physical tasks.
As Sajihyeok fumbled with the selector, the barrel swept across the group. Everyone jumped like grasshoppers in panic.
“Finger off—no, put the gun down!”
“Uh, okay!”
“Oh, is this it? Single shot? Burst? No wonder.”
Before Sajihyeok could cause a real accident, I stepped forward, grabbed the barrel, and twisted it upward.
“Mr. Sajihyeok. Stop.”
“But I just got this gun. Shouldn’t I practice? I’ve never fired one before.”
What kind of practice are you talking about, here, in this situation? Unless it’s friendly fire practice.
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t. Practice later. Friendly fire accidents are way too common.”
A significant percentage of wartime casualties were from friendly fire, and even in training, killing teammates wasn’t rare. If Sajihyeok started practicing here, the outcome was obvious.
Half our squad, miraculously victorious, would probably die.
Sajihyeok reluctantly took his finger off the trigger and clicked the selector switch.
“Set the selector to safe, and keep your finger off the trigger. If you accidentally pull it, someone dies.”
I repeated the warning, then pressed my throbbing head. It felt like heatstroke.
“Let’s rest for a bit. Cool down and then move.”
It’s a sweltering summer. The heat itself is an enemy. Even minor symptoms needed careful attention.
***
We walked slowly during the day and moved more at night when it was cooler. By noon, we made it back to the general hospital.
Police with shotguns watched us warily as I slowly approached them.
“Do I need to report the mission? You probably saw everything via drone.”
“…They’re waiting inside. Only Dain should enter.”
Really, this much caution? Well, the machine gun I’m carrying is a terrifying weapon of slaughter. The rifles too. There are about ten mercenaries armed like this. They must feel like wolves ready to bite their necks at any moment.
I smirked and slung the machine gun over my shoulder. It was heavy as hell, but if I thought of it as the weight of power, it didn’t seem so bad.
Just then, someone walked out of the hospital entrance.
“A friend has arrived.”
The leader of the police looting squad. He carried a sawed-off shotgun slung over his shoulder like me, sauntering over.
The police leader glanced at us and laughed.
“Only one dead? No one injured? And yet you took out two squads. Impressive. But hey…”
I quietly observed the looting leader. His questioning tone felt off. Was he feeling threatened by our legitimate gun ownership?
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Was it really necessary? I can’t help but think our friend got a bit greedy.”
A backhanded insult. Implying we used explosives and poison to loot guns.
From the alliance’s perspective, my actions weren’t ideal. Burning enemy warehouses or poisoning their food would’ve been better than killing two squads.
Unknown accidents and deaths are what truly instill fear.
Just as I’ve lived as a hidden looter, keeping the alliance’s attacks shrouded in mystery would’ve been better.
“You said to leave it to my discretion. So I fought with my life on the line.”
“Why? There were safer, better ways.”
“Because risking your life gets you more. It gets you the resources to survive.”
I smirked and brandished the machine gun. The source of my courage. Even if I stray, as long as I don’t betray, this power makes others hesitate to oppose me.
The police leader looked at the machine gun. A gun unrelated to the police’s justification for gun control and revenge.
Eventually, he subtly positioned himself around me, observing the armed mercenaries. People who’d unknowingly stepped into the mental fence I’d built.
“You’ve got real skill. Yeah, this is the level we need. Let’s stay friends, okay?”
With that, the police leader patted my shoulder and spun his shotgun like a toy before turning away.
I gestured for my companions and mercenaries to stand by, then followed the police leader.
“How’s the military moving?”
“They’ve stopped. Barking like scared dogs. The explosives we made must’ve really shocked them.”
He mocked the military for not learning from their mistakes, even after being ambushed by zombies at the mart.
But I couldn’t laugh. Safety rules are written in blood. This remaining military force quickly corrected their mistakes.
The police leader shared some intel.
“The company commander we saw at the market contacted us as their representative. He’s in the conference room, communicating.”
“What did he say?”
They must’ve adapted to the improvised explosives and terror tactics.
Sure enough. The police leader chuckled and thrust his fist forward.
“He said if we don’t negotiate and keep fighting, they’ll bring in tanks. Operate sniper units for indiscriminate shooting, and use mortars to hit our bases.”
A credible threat. Unless the roads are blocked by landslides, tanks could move if they pushed hard, crushing cars in their way.
Snipers and mortars went without saying.
But the alliance wasn’t backing down either.
“We should threaten them too. After using explosives, I think we could attach them to drones.”
“We’re already threatening. It’s frustrating just watching them argue without fighting.”
We crossed the maze-like hospital and reached the conference room. Opening the door, the noise inside was like a market floor.
Over the amateur radio, the company commander threatened, “Do you think we don’t know urban warfare tactics? We can snipe you so you can’t move during the day. Do you think we can’t collapse buildings?”
The alliance, on the other hand, was extreme. “We’ll terrorize your residences, start simultaneous fires, turn the city into a sea of flames. Turn electric cars into mine-like bombs—see if tanks can still come in…”
