Ch.10Chapter 2. Erysichthon Protocol (4)

The snare wrapped around the man’s ankle with a swift whirl. Of course, he didn’t stop walking but continued running toward me.

A snare isn’t like a bear trap. It doesn’t immediately grab and pull your ankle when it catches.

Instead, when you go through dense trees with deep roots like this…

Clang!

Just like that. The stake firmly tied to the end of the wire snare gets caught between trees. Even wild boars can’t easily escape once caught in that snare.

The man fell forward. Yet his fan-like enthusiasm remained intact as he flailed around trying to grab at least my feet.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Chang-gang, Ding!

The stones I had placed in the condensed milk can made frantic noise. It’s just like ringing a gong to call someone for dinner.

I danced around the man with a little shoulder shimmy. He spun around following me. The wire around his ankle gradually wrapped tighter around the tree.

I positioned myself at a distance. I picked up a heavy stone and threw it hard. With a crack, blood splattered everywhere.

The zombie colleague who had tripped on the snare earlier approached with a stagger. Drool dripped from its mouth.

I quickly stepped aside, wishing them a good meal.

The sound of clanging cans, spreading blood scent, howling, and wet chomping noises broke the forest’s silence and spread far and wide.

I could see more zombies approaching from behind trees. I watched from a distance. Then I walked leisurely to the forest keeper’s house.

I was so hungry.

* * * * *

It’s easy to get lost in a forest. Your vision is obscured and sounds echo. Everywhere looks similar, making it difficult to distinguish locations.

Conversely, there’s no better place to hide than a forest. As long as you don’t do anything conspicuous.

Keep your body low and move slowly. Never rush. Since zombies were spread wider than I expected, I had to be extra careful.

I anticipated zombies near the forest recreation area, but I could hear rustling sounds from unexpectedly close distances.

These were creatures I hadn’t seen or sensed until now. About twenty or thirty steps away.

Of course, they weren’t clearly visible, hidden by forest trees rather than on flat ground. They would stop occasionally like me to survey their surroundings.

Some of them sniffed the air and looked in my direction.

Is it my body odor?

Just as Westerners smell like cheese and Koreans smell like garlic, the zombies in this world react to “body odor.”

They approach with curiosity when they detect unusual scents they haven’t smelled before. Too strong perfume, heavy sweat, the stench from not bathing for a long time, and so on.

However, the screams, angry shouts, and the smell of blood from the other side were more intense, so they would drool and pass by toward that direction.

The forest keeper zombie was truly strong. Even as several zombies clung to his limbs, he was still fighting fiercely.

‘No wonder they call him the newbie slicer.’

The truth is, the way to deal with the forest keeper is to avoid direct confrontation. Instead, if you make him “fight” with others, there’s no better ally than him.

Moreover, such chaos often brings unexpected gains. When they gather densely and fight, zombies end up clawing, biting, and tearing at each other.

Then more blood splatters and more screams are heard. The commotion gets loudly replicated.

They probably don’t think, “I should join in,” but since it draws zombies from my area to one point, I can comfortably collect items in quieter places.

If there’s no need to fight, don’t fight. It’s better to make them kill each other than to kill them all yourself. Rather than shooting everything in sight, it’s easier to just divert them elsewhere.

They have no sense of camaraderie, public morality, or taboos, but they have enough instinct and rationality.

The instinct that they’re hungry and need to eat, and the rationality that if there’s something edible nearby, they should eat it. Not much different from half-formed humans.

But isn’t what’s good for both of us good for everyone?

I arrived at the forest keeper’s house.

A single-story log cabin about the size of a large apartment. Quite cozy yet sturdy. Though defense might be a bit tricky, it’s good enough to serve as one of the bases for multiplayer.

Just in case, I flung open the front door and waited, but there was no movement. Seems like they all went out for dinner.

“Phew.”

I locked all the front doors and exterior windows. I pulled down the curtains too. Still, the inside was bright thanks to the light filtering through the windows.

Just to be safe, I checked all rooms before searching for items. I held a long skewer in my right hand and gently turned doorknobs with my left to open doors.

The storage room is safe. The bedroom is fine too. The utility room next to the kitchen…

Clatter.

A soft sound of cans colliding. My body froze instantly. I focused on my hearing. Fortunately, there was no commotion from outside.

The utility room floor was full of garbage. Empty plastic water containers, completely empty cans. The cheap-looking design labeled “Cybele something” was the most common.

It seems they were kept in some sort of trash bin that had tipped over.

I quietly closed the door and finally checked the bathroom. There was some mold smell, but it was cleaner than expected.

Fortunately, water came out of the faucet. Fitting for a forest house, it had a rainwater collection system and water tank. One of the reasons it’s suitable as a base.

Of course, drinking it directly would cause stomach problems, so without proper filtration, it’s only suitable for showering, laundry, or agricultural use.

‘Should I take a shower?’

Besides feeling grimy from not washing, my clothes were a mess.

The smell of soot, accumulated grime, and plenty of sweat created quite a strong odor. Remembering how zombies were sniffing around, I definitely needed to wash.

“…Let me see what’s available first.”

I’ll have to stay in this house until things calm down outside anyway. I have plenty of time, so I decided to look around leisurely.

Zombies fill their stomachs, and I fill my pockets.

It wasn’t as much as I’d hoped, but I found more than expected.

Originally, food should have been abundant in display cases or open boxes.

But there was none. The forest keeper and his colleague must have eaten everything and left the cans in that utility room.

On the other hand, there were many useful items in closets or unopened boxes. Even in the refrigerator, water bottles remained untouched. Literally, they had only taken what was visible.

Six 500ml water bottles, preserved bread cans and other preserved food for about 3 days, and even combat rations. Excluding snacks, I had enough food for about 5 days.

I also found .22 caliber ammunition. Two full ammo boxes with 100 rounds each. Plus a rifle. A Remington 597 model. Compatible with .22 caliber. It uses the same ammunition as the pistol I found earlier, so I don’t need to look for different ammo.

In the closet were a windbreaker jacket, neatly ironed shirts, pants, socks, towels, and even a cowboy hat.

There were even new work boots at the bottom. They seemed to be spare clothes for sudden rain.

I searched inside the locker. Compass. A map with notes. Writing tools. Empty liquor bottles. Matches. Cigarettes. A thumb-sized LED flashlight…

“Oh.”

Now I found something really useful.

“This is it.”

Hunter’s scent-eliminating body wash & shampoo.

Literally a product that greatly reduces human body odor. It’s conveniently stored in a plastic container for easy carrying.

Regular soap contains fragrances that can attract zombies for a certain period, but with this item, I can rest easy.

By now, I’ve gathered everything worth taking. The remaining problem is how to carry it all.

No bag, no sack to put things in. I looked for garbage bags or something similar, but found nothing suitable.

After some consideration, I took off all my clothes. I tied both ankle parts of the pants and stuffed them full, except for items I needed immediately.

I also tied the cuffs and collar of the shirt into knots and packed it with items. It held less than the pants, but I could still package things.

Once done, I realized the portability was terrible. I noticed a paper box under the desk. It was about the size of a ramen box. Lighter than expected.

It seems this forest keeper had a hobby of newspaper clipping. He had neatly collected interesting articles. I dumped the clippings onto the desk for now.

Now the organization was complete.

I placed the loaded rifle and hunting knife next to the bathroom door, left the door open, and turned on the water.

Not knowing how much was left, I only used enough to lightly wet my body and hair. I applied the scent-eliminating body wash & shampoo and thoroughly scrubbed every part of my body.

I turned the water up a bit more. The lukewarm stream felt more refreshing than ever before.

Outside, screams and howls continued. While every being in the world was fighting bloodily to survive, I was humming a tune while washing myself.

Not much different from life in the city before coming here. Except people weren’t eating each other.

I got hungry.

* * * * *

After drying off with a towel and changing into the forest keeper’s clothes, I felt like a new person. I opened one of the water bottles I had set aside and a can of bread.

It was worse than expected. The sweetness coating my tongue was one thing, but the subtle pineapple scent was really off-putting.

Maybe it was because it reminded me of the air freshener in my regular café’s bathroom. I checked, but it wasn’t a “Cybele” product.

Still, I managed to eat it with water without choking. My stomach kept growling despite the irregular meals. Even though food was going in.

“What? It doesn’t taste good?”

I was starving to death just a moment ago, yet now I’m complaining about taste. I must have really relaxed.

But thinking about it, things don’t seem to be going as… well, as badly as I expected.

I could understand why they designated human non-protected zones.

If zombies are attracted to blood and noise, just firing one shot from a distance is enough. They’ll eat each other.

If you just prevent them from escaping the zone, you can sufficiently control the epidemic.

But considering they left the elderly behind in Mini Bell, my starting village, the administration doesn’t seem to have much capacity.

“What kind of country is this?”

It was strange no matter how I thought about it.

The zombies I’ve encountered so far could be controlled relatively easily if I had proper equipment. My lack of gear was the issue.

I just caused major chaos with snares and stones. Is the country’s situation so dire that they can’t handle this level of disorder?

No. That’s not it.

I need to think the opposite way.

I can handle zombies, but perhaps people in this world don’t have the same knowledge I do yet.

It’s like putting together a puzzle. If you know what the original picture looked like, you can quickly assemble it, but if you have no idea and just dump all the pieces, it takes much longer.

So in this world, I’m essentially a zombie specialist.

Feeling good, I briefly considered opening another can. Debating between meat stew with tomatoes or boiled beans and corn, I realized eating too much might make it difficult to return to the container house.

Grumble.

“Why am I getting hungrier the more I eat?”

Chronic hunger, perhaps. But when I touched my stomach, it definitely wasn’t that hollow.

I had consumed a whole can of food and a bottle of water, yet I felt hungrier than if I’d been starving for days. Maybe I’m possessed by a hungry ghost. Or it could be stress.

Outside, screams continued. It seemed I needed to wait longer for the situation to stabilize. Having already packed everything, I examined the forest keeper’s carefully maintained clippings.

But I couldn’t look at them for long.

Knock knock.

Slowly. Without rushing. I picked up the hunting knife. Firing a gun here would be like shouting, “Dinner’s ready, please eat me!”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound came from the window. Strange. I was sure I had blocked all light. And I hadn’t heard any footsteps. I couldn’t have missed the sound of zombies dragging their feet and occasionally moaning.

Knock!

The window frame. It’s the window frame. I drew the knife and gripped the rifle. Stealthily, keeping my feet low to the ground, I approached. The unbroken-in boots were extremely stiff.

Preparing for a human head to appear, I gently pushed the curtain aside with the knife.

“Oh shit, really.”

It was a crow. About the size of a small garbage bag. Its eyes gleamed like glass beads. It tapped on the window frame as if asking why I wasn’t opening the door.

“Won’t you go away?”

I tapped the window frame with my knife. The bird cawed in protest and spread its black, sturdy wings. Wide enough to reveal its half-rotten body.