Ch.16Chapter 4. Lambert Drive (1)

# Chapter 4. Lambert Drive

Even though a .22 caliber bullet is considered weak, it’s not so weak that “you can’t tell if you’ve been hit or not.”

It’s weak compared to other “bullets,” but unless the bullet is made of rubber, it can easily penetrate the heads of humans and wild animals. Above all, it’s cheap and easy to obtain.

This world seems to reflect that reality well. As far as bullets go, they’re easy to find and quite effective against humans and animals not properly equipped with bulletproof gear.

Yet the reason .22 caliber gets called “BB gun” or “toy gun” among users is simply because zombies are the main targets.

Penetration doesn’t mean much against zombies. They’re the kind that absorb bullets like sponges and still charge at you to bite—that’s what zombies are. Unless you aim for the head.

So what I mean is that stopping a zombie horde with just the pistol and 10-round rifle I have now would be difficult.

Useful ammunition needs to be able to “neutralize” zombies. It needs to be able to tear and shred their bodies.

For example, like that 5.56mm round rolling on the ground over there.

How do I know the caliber? I can tell at a glance. When you risk your life farming for items, you learn to identify ammunition types just by looking at them.

And the “real pros” are on a different level from me. Some can identify the caliber and the gun it was fired from just by examining bullet damage through body armor.

But I was a decent young man living a normal life, so I’m different from those who waste their lives on such foolish pursuits.

And that’s not what’s important anyway.

“Look at this.”

This is the third pile of bones I’ve seen.

The flesh seems to have been cleanly picked off by birds and wild animals. You can tell by the beak and teeth marks on the bones. The remaining bones aren’t in great shape either. They’re either riddled with bullets or shattered into pieces.

Judging by the fact that the bullets were fired from one direction and there are large truck tire marks on the road, this was clearly the military’s doing.

They probably hung meat or something similar from the back of a truck to lure zombies, then drove along the road shooting them. That much was easy to figure out.

What I don’t understand is this mass of vegetation.

From the condition of the bullets, they seem to have been fired not long ago. That means the zombies were re-killed recently too. But the grass growing by the roadside has entangled the bones like spider webs. There’s even dried blood on it. This suggests the grass had grown this much before birds and animals started feeding on the remains.

It looks like ordinary weeds, but how could they grow so quickly?

Suddenly, I remembered a scrap I saw in the Forest Keeper’s woods. It mentioned that in some areas, there were increasing numbers of people who “complained of hunger no matter how much they ate,” and that not only animals but also plants were growing unusually fast and dying quickly.

Could there be a connection between this strange plant growth and this constant hunger? After pondering briefly, I started pedaling again. Standing still was making me hungry again.

* * * * *

4:50 AM.

A clattering sound wakes me from sleep. I grab my pistol. I tuck it between my clothes and turn off the safety, minimizing the clicking sound.

I open my eyes slowly. It’s not completely dark, but the sun hasn’t risen yet—an ambiguous brightness. I blink frequently to adjust my eyes, until I can clearly see the handle of the truck’s back seat where I’ve been spending the night.

Clack, drag…thud. Drag…thud.

The dragging footsteps grow quieter. Instead, I hear mumbling. It sounds like sobbing or grumbling, but the clattering sound doesn’t stop.

There are no other sounds.

I put the pistol down and pick up the long sledgehammer that was in the car. Thanks to the dirty clothes wrapped around it, it makes no sound.

Clatter. Thud. As expected, the creature is rummaging through the cans.

A sardine tin can. I washed it by putting sand inside and shaking it, but it still has a faint fishy smell. It’s not strong enough to spread across the wasteland, but it’s more stimulating than my uncertain sense of what’s edible—perfect as bait.

Seeing it dig through the can, it seems as hungry as I am. It must be really hungry if it doesn’t notice me sneaking behind it and loading the sledgehammer deep over my shoulder.

But this zombie will never satisfy its hunger. Its side has a massive hole. They say calorie expenditure needs to exceed intake for successful dieting—well, this one is cursed to be on a forced diet for eternity.

While I’m not exactly a Good Samaritan, it’s my human duty to put such a creature out of its misery.

“Rest in peace.”

I adjust my grip on the hammer and swing the sledgehammer powerfully, like a batter stepping up to the plate.

Home run.

I throw the bat—no, the hammer. If this were abroad, I’d get hit by a beanball for that; if it were domestic, there’d be a photo with the caption “Exhilarating Bat Throw.”

But being a humble person, I refrain from cheering. Instead, I raise both hands to the sky in a gesture.

“Is this funny?”

The fallen zombie twitches. It almost seems like it’s trying not to laugh. If its head were intact, I might have seen its expression.

“You’re laughing while your team is losing?”

It goes limp, as if its feelings were hurt.

“Sigh.”

They say it doesn’t spread through the air, but just to be safe, I turn around before letting out a long yawn. I’m hungry, sleepy, and bored. Even more so when I think about what I need to do next.

Finding an abandoned car at the edge of the wasteland was lucky. The paint was peeled off and the tires had holes, making it sit low, but the doors were intact and even slightly open.

My body felt limp from riding the bicycle without proper sleep. I had been taking it easy, but that didn’t stop the drowsiness from overwhelming me.

Finding a relatively intact car in such circumstances was fortunate. But just falling asleep would be like opening a free cafeteria for zombies.

I used rope from the car to weave sturdy branches into a low fence around it, and hung cans with stones inside, as I’d been doing all along. The stones were heavy enough that the cans wouldn’t rattle in a light breeze.

I thought I could stay for at least one night, if not two, but that seems to have been wrong. I slept for about four hours. Not nothing, but not satisfying either…

“I wish I could get a good night’s sleep. Like you.”

I grumble as much as the zombie. I needed to unwrap the clothes around the hammer. They were stained with filth, so I should just throw them away and get new ones…

“Huh?”

I looked down at the motionless zombie again.

It was wearing a glossy dark blue jacket. It was shiny like mackerel hung out to dry at night, making it quite visible. The words “Disease Crisis Management Agency” on its arms and back were clearly visible.

“…Why is this here?”

The Disease Crisis Management Agency is an organization found only in major city centers. According to descriptions on various items, it was an organization that transcended nationality to prevent the zombie crisis until the very end, but ultimately collapsed.

Their belongings, vehicles, and tents often contain valuable items. Medicines, injections, ampoules, transfusion packs… small, quite light, but with high selling prices—which is why they’re always surrounded by either hordes of zombies or well-armed looters.

So in an unremarkable place like Lambert village, I’ve never encountered them. They seemed like something you’d only see in roadside advertisements.

But now, this zombie, judging by its clothes, was clearly a Disease Crisis Management Agency employee. Its side looked like it had been bitten, but looking more carefully, there were clear gunshot wounds too. It probably fell after being hit by something like a shotgun, and then was bitten by zombies and infected.

“…I need to be more careful.”

I began to understand what it meant that Lambert was “very dangerous.” It meant the security situation had deteriorated to the point where Disease Crisis Management Agency personnel were shot and bitten while providing medical care.

Still, my overall plan remains unchanged. Wait until outsiders come in and cause chaos, then infiltrate during the confusion to seize vehicles and supplies before quickly escaping.

It’s a method of taking advantage whenever equipment is scarce. There’s no need to be fixated on fighting “like a man.” Grabbing valuable items fair and square and getting out—that’s what makes a man.

Thinking it would be the last time, I turned on my mobile phone. There was a message.

Han s

“I called several times but you didn’t answer, so I’m leaving this message. First, good news. In principle, we’re not supposed to enter human non-protected zones, but after much pleading, we’ve finally been allowed in!

If you see a group of four with white epaulettes on their left arms, don’t shoot. If you wave your hand holding the gun as a greeting, they’ll return the greeting the same way! Hand over the bag to them, join them, and follow them out. The factory district would be safer, right? Good luck!”

“So that’s how it is?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. They were indeed reading my messages. There’s been no contact from those “8” guys, but that’s not really important.

I won’t be seeing them again anyway. I opened the window and sent the same message to both sides.

“They’re coming n”

Then I turned off the phone.

This way, I’ll look like someone in trouble. They’ll rush over, not wanting to lose the bag.

With this, both the phone and the bag have served their purpose. Still, I won’t throw away the mobile phone. It’s lightweight and easy to sell, so it has value as merchandise.

But the bag—I have no more use for it. I just hid it well in the car. I’ve called everyone I needed to call, and I know everything I need to know.

Some lucky person will find it.

* * * * *

I stopped the bicycle before crossing the hill.

Lambert lies beyond this hill. Following the road might get me spotted by watchers, so I need to go around the hill and down the slope to avoid detection. It’s a technique I’ve learned after being shot at too many times by snipers camping out.

I’ve already drunk plenty of water and eaten well. Though I still felt hungry despite eating, I could bear it if I just accepted it as normal.

I left the bicycle neatly behind a suitable tree. It was a truly helpful bicycle. It seems to have been well-maintained by its owner.

“To the nameless person, I really appreciated your bicycle. May you be as happy wherever you are as I have been.”

I secured the rifle, bullets, and pistol first. I wrapped the rest of my belongings in thin clothes to prevent noise and put them in the pink bag.

Although it’s an unpleasant bag with a grinning Barbie doll that makes me angry just looking at it, being born ugly is beyond human control and no amount of effort can improve it, so I left it alone. Instead, I covered it with black cloth.

“Alright.”

I crouched low and went around the hill. Familiar terrain came into view. The place players see first. One of Lambert’s starting points.

Time for looting.