Ch.108Chapter 14. Even a Zombie Can Understand (3)

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Suddenly, I find myself lost in thought.

Why did Letty, Leticia, ask me such a question?

And why did I, though answering on impulse, choose to respond that way?

I know.

For Camilla and Cassandra, the cure will never come, and the world will never, not even slightly, get better.

And I don’t want to see them disappointed and disheartened.

So this is entirely my fault. I say it’s for them, but it’s really just my excuse.

I don’t have the confidence to persuade them, nor am I sure why I should.

“Would anyone live on knowing tomorrow will be worse?”

I hear the sound of chains.

“Grrrr…”

A zombie still wearing military police combat gear glares at me from the wall of a burned house.

I aim the Rock company pistol. Though it has a silencer, it’s still as loud as kicking a can hard, so I can’t just shoot freely, but it’s enough to take down one zombie.

“Should we live on knowing there’s nothing good left in the world? What do you think?”

Though the clothes are torn and caked with blood, the patches of the “3rd National Military Police Special Task Force” remain firmly attached to the arm and chest.

He must have been quite strong when alive. Arms as thick as legs, legs as thick as waist, waist as thick as torso.

The hair, once cropped short like an assault trooper’s, now hangs low enough to cover his ears. His nails have grown long enough to tear deep into flesh if he scratched you.

And in his eyes, madness and hatred have settled.

“It’s been a week since I last saw you, and you’re still just as ugly.”

“KYAAAAK!”

“Appearance is all about self-care, self-care. Try something besides just eating.”

He leaps up. Charging at me with a growl like a hungry bear.

Clank!

He glares resentfully at the chains firmly binding his waist and ankles, and at the utility pole they’re securely tied to on the other end.

Around the pole lie the remains of zombies he’s devoured.

How did this strapping soldier end up chained to a utility pole? Whether he volunteered or was forcibly restrained by others, I don’t know.

What matters is that even in this state, he remains strong.

A chained zombie. He must have seemed like easy prey. Not just zombie dogs and birds, but human zombies too approached, lurking about.

But this one beat them all down, and instead, caught and devoured them.

Looking at him, I understand why ancient warriors deliberately scarred their bodies and got tattoos. His body is covered in wounds, not a single part intact.

Yet he still moves, writhes, and hungers.

The Cro virus inside him has filled his torn scars with red flesh, and his broken bones are held together by grotesquely grown tendons and muscles.

A week ago, I came across him by chance while taking out trash. He was smashing the head of an unsuspecting human zombie with his bear-paw-like hands.

It wasn’t going well, of course. He clutched his hand in pain and howled. Then he picked up a thick brick nearby and brought it down.

That worked.

The surprised zombie dropped the brick. It growled in confusion, then turned its attention to the zombie it had just dispatched, as if to say “whatever.”

What kind of creature is this?

I grew curious. I hid and watched. After finishing his meal with loud chomping, he threw the leftovers around with all his might. Then he leaned against the utility pole and dozed off, nodding.

“Grrrk.”

Not long after, a human zombie attracted by the smell of blood and rotting meat approached. The chained zombie watched quietly while leaning against the pole, but didn’t get up.

Sniff, sniff. The newcomer carefully chewed the leftovers. But unsatisfied, it approached the chained zombie.

Chomp. The chained one bit the newcomer’s neck precisely. Like a dog, he sank his teeth in and shook the head from side to side. And then it was over.

Then I approached him. The zombie, busy with his meal, raised his bloodied face and glared at me.

“Sorry to interrupt your meal.”

“Grrrk?”

“You’re really ugly, you know that?”

“KYAAAAH!”

He charged at me in a rage. I don’t think he understood my words. He just didn’t like being disturbed while eating.

When eating, when having sex, whenever desire is being satisfied and one is relaxed—these are the moments when all creatures are most vulnerable.

That’s why they say don’t disturb even a dog when it’s eating. I deliberately provoked that point. He got excited and lunged.

Of course, I was on my bicycle then, slowly backing away while flicking my middle finger.

Clank. Fortunately, the chains are sturdy. The utility pole didn’t budge. Suddenly I remembered an animal YouTube channel I used to watch in “my world.”

It was about a mastiff abandoned while chained up. A vicious creature that bit everything that came near because it had been abused by humans.

“Try this.”

I took out a compressed sponge cake I’d brought for myself. I tore the wrapper and threw him half. Of course, he didn’t understand. He stared blankly at the food that fell before him, then looked back at me.

“You’re turning down the best part of an MRE?”

I ate mine bit by bit in front of him. You can eat it. It’s okay to eat it. His expression softened a little. He sniffed and poked the cake, then nibbled at the corner like a baby.

Then he devoured it.

“Kek! Kuk!”

“Of course you choke when you eat like that. Here. Water.”

Naturally, I had no intention of throwing him a water bottle. I soaked a rag with water and threw the whole thing. He got excited when the wet cloth hit his face, but soon grabbed it and sucked on it.

We ate cake and drank water facing each other. Of course, this didn’t create any bond between the zombie and me. He growled and barked as if to say “you’re next,” while I flicked my middle finger and retreated gracefully.

“See you next week.”

And today.

I hadn’t been talking to Leticia on the phone for long without reason. I’d been watching him since I first arrived. He was still pretending to sleep.

I kept talking on the phone and scattered blankets and clothes with my scent all around. To anyone else they’d just look like rags, but to a zombie sensitive to smell, they’d mean something different.

The smell of prey.

Finally unable to bear his hunger any longer, he moved his massive body. Though chained, he drools and stares at me hungrily.

“Will you not eat me if I give you candy?”

I unwrapped a lemon candy and kicked it toward him. The candy rolled to him. Sniff, sniff. Attracted by the sweet smell, he quickly ate it.

Whether he eats it or not, I continue talking.

“You know what? Strange things are happening around Hampton, apparently. Zombies are jumping onto roads to block traffic, tearing out the people and goods inside. But they don’t know if the zombies are doing it knowingly or if it’s just coincidence.”

Crunch. Crunch. The candy breaks in his mouth. I adjust my grip on the pistol.

“Someone once said that it must have taken great courage to eat crab for the first time. I mean, it doesn’t really look like food, does it?

But humans eventually found a way to eat it. By peeling off that shell. Maybe there’s a genius among zombies who figured out that if you tear open those noisy steel boxes, food comes out.

I don’t think they’re smart enough for that. I believe it’s just instinct and learning.”

Intelligence.

Dogs and cats have intelligence. Octopuses and dolphins have intelligence too, though they don’t look it. Dolphins even carry sick calves on their backs to the surface so they can breathe.

What is animal intelligence?

Someone defined it as ‘understanding how things work.’

Like a drugged cat learning that ringing a bell makes its owner give food, so it rings incessantly,

Or a rat that knows stepping on a pad gives a pleasant electrical stimulus, so it keeps going up and down the pad until it starves to death.

What about those that were once human, but now are just on the fringes of humanity?

I had such thoughts watching the non-cooperation cooperation between parrot zombies, wolf zombies, and human zombies. If even humans band together for their own purposes,

Couldn’t humans and zombies do the same?

“Remember this smell. This is me. Got it? Have another candy.”

This time I threw him a grape-flavored one. He catches it well. Of course, I don’t intend to stop here. I need to make him recognize that I’m not just another food source throwing him treats, but a member of his pack.

“Since you’ve eaten, you should work a bit, right?”

I turned my phone’s volume up to maximum. After browsing through the playlist, I selected a good song and played it.

The heavy start of an electric guitar.

Ring around the rosie,

A pocket full of posies,

Ashes! ashes!

We all fall down!

It’s not just a nursery rhyme. It’s a thrash metal version. I don’t know who sang it, but the growling vocals that seem to scrape steel, vocal cords, and the singer’s lifespan simultaneously are excellent.

“Grrrk! Kyaak!”

“Why that face? Don’t like nursery rhymes?”

No, I was wrong. Maybe this friend hasn’t heard a good version yet. So this time I played just the instrumental version.

“Riiiing around the rosieeee! A pocketful of posieeees! Asheeees! Asheeees! *cough, cough*”

Ah, falsetto is hard. I’m too old to be a male soprano.

“GYAAAAAAAK!”

No. Come to think of it, I have a real “growling” expert right next to me, so why am I straining myself?

“You’ve got talent? Hey, let’s try again.”

He seems to be responding to certain notes of mine. If we do well, we might be able to harmonize. But first, I need to set things up.

“Ah, mic check. Mic check.”

I took out an MP9 submachine gun and placed it on the windowsill. I also prepared an electric bicycle so I could escape anytime.

I’ll lure them with sound, then kill them all except the chained one.

That way, I’ll make the chained one recognize that I’m not an enemy.

If that’s possible, if I can teach a zombie to identify friend from foe, if I can prove zombies have that level of intelligence,

I can turn the tables.

“Gotta do well for the main show, right?”

The zombie audience is gradually gathering from afar.