Ch.17Chapter 4. Lambert Drive (2)

More important than moving quickly is not getting caught. I walked and ran in a way that I could dodge and hide at any moment, even if a bullet came flying at the very next step.

I passed through bushes, trees, and rocks. Steep slopes could twist ankles, so I chose gentle inclines.

As I got closer to the village, I heard gunshots.

Not rapid fire, but single shots—bang, bang. Probably snipers taking out zombies that had wandered too close.

Fortunately, the sounds came from the opposite direction, toward the factory area. The way the echo spread confirmed it. If they had been shooting in my direction, the sound would have had a sharp, abrupt cut-off.

Soon the village’s outer fence came into view. It was about 2 meters high, made of interwoven wood reinforced with metal plates. Seemed designed to prevent zombies from climbing over.

At the top of a 17-meter fire watchtower, a person stood leaning against the railing. Watching for zombies or suspicious individuals. Fortunately, they looked in different directions at regular intervals, allowing me to advance slowly.

My hands were sweaty. I wiped them on my pants. Whether from tension or not, my stomach felt like it was clinging to my back, yet I didn’t feel hungry.

Of course, I knew this terrain well. But the world I saw had changed so much from what I once knew.

Starting with the fence color—different now. The fence I remembered had rusted metal plates that would crumble at the slightest touch, and wood that had long since begun to rot. It didn’t look nearly as sturdy as this one, which seemed capable of withstanding zombies clinging and struggling against it.

Besides, Lambert, though considered a beginner’s village, was still a place where you needed better equipment than what I currently had to survive safely. Not impossible, but I’d definitely need to move more nimbly.

…Still, it’s not all bad. In a situation like this, being lightly armed is actually better.

About 100 meters to the village wall. No cover. They must have cleared everything for perimeter security. Makes sense—easier to spot approaching zombies and strangers. My throat felt parched, but I waited patiently.

I lowered my posture and gripped the rifle stock firmly. I adjusted my grip to feel the pistol handle sticking to my palm. I took a breath in, slowly, slowly, and exhaled from the depths of my lungs.

Finally. The person in the watchtower trudged down the stairs. The moment their head disappeared, I sprang forward.

Was that pounding sound coming from my heart? Was the watchman coming back up the stairs? Had they forgotten something and returned?

Five meters. Thump-thump, thump-thump—the watchman. Four meters. The watchman’s head popped back up. Three meters. Two meters. One meter. The watchman turned their head!

“Hah.”

I stopped just in time at the fence. I barely touched it, causing only a slight creak. Leaning against the wall, I listened carefully. I could hear footsteps on metal plates. The guy seemed to be aimlessly circling the watchtower.

Catching my breath, I sidled along the wall. Around here. No, maybe over there? There was a depression under the fence—a dog hole where I could crawl through if I lowered my body.

I lay down. I checked for any feet nearby. Thankfully, none were visible. Slowly, I dragged myself through. My rifle caught slightly on the fence, but I freed it without much difficulty. Finally, I pulled my legs all the way through.

Single-story houses and warehouses hidden behind the fence, lined along twisted dirt paths following hills and basins.

This is Lambert Village.

* * * * *

From above, Lambert would look like a round donut shape.

A spacious park and community hall sat in the hollow center, surrounded by shops, houses, warehouses, and workshops in a circular formation. And I was like an ant eating through the donut, cleverly moving between the inside and outside of buildings.

The village was quite spacious. Watchmen stood at regular intervals along the roads, but they looked relaxed and drowsy. All wore red or blue scarves around their necks and hats to shield from the sun, with firearms kept close by.

From what I knew, they were supposedly the more trustworthy members of a redneck-style gang, but they were nothing special except for being slightly better shots. Common thugs or elite thugs—all cut from the same cloth.

For such a large village, there weren’t many people in the outskirts. Due to occasional zombies, most residences were concentrated toward the inner part of the donut. Expensive equipment was mostly kept there too.

So all I needed to do was wait for the right opportunity to grab supplies and a vehicle before escaping. It would be nice if the people I’d lured in caused a commotion, but even if the timing didn’t work out, it wouldn’t be a problem.

I could just wait until they went out raiding.

Gang members are naturally better at taking than earning through their own sweat. So they go raiding frequently. Of course, the elites and higher-ups stay in the village, but facing a reduced number is less burdensome than confronting the entire gang.

In the meantime, I’d spend time in a suitable place. One of those prime spots that those in the know recognize, but others learn about the hard way. The path was a bit long, but I decided to circle around half the village.

Then I stopped when I saw men grunting as they loaded boxes onto trucks.

Beside them, redneck gang members were helping each other put on bulletproof vests and tightening the straps. They exchanged light jokes with playful punches, but the armor grade itself was quite high… enough to stop .22 caliber rounds unless fired at close range.

With a command to depart, the trucks belched exhaust and disappeared. But the direction they turned at the corner was toward the village center, not the outskirts.

The armed men were doing the same. Though they lacked formal formation, they were heading toward the village center while exchanging jokes.

This was a pattern I hadn’t seen before.

Arming up usually meant they were going raiding, which should have taken them toward the village outskirts. I wondered if they were just organizing the warehouse, but then they wouldn’t need such armaments. This seemed to be another change.

I needed to reconsider going to the village center. If armed forces were gathering there, surveillance would be tighter. That meant good vehicles would be at the factory area… but I’d need to get to the opposite side of the village without being detected.

For now, I decided to enter a warehouse to assess the situation.

After more cycles of resting, walking, and watching, I finally entered my familiar hunting ground.

It was a fairly large warehouse, big enough to park four passenger cars. Two entrances in the front, one in the back where I’d just come in. Inside, it was arranged with partitions and woodworking equipment, suggesting it had been used as some kind of workshop.

The warehouse looked ordinary, but what made it a prime location was special. With the back door closed and positioned in a corner partition, I could see both the inside of the warehouse and the road outside the entrance through gaps in the wooden planks.

I turned my head to scan the road.

I spotted a man sitting on the steps of a house across from the warehouse, smoking a cigarette. He wore a cheap bulletproof vest like those used by police, with pouches made from woven market plastic bags attached to it. Without storage space on his cheap vest, he’d improvised.

Coincidentally, he was looking directly “this way.” In other words, I couldn’t leave through the front entrance without breaking his neck first.

His gun was an OZ-106. A bolt-action shotgun. Shoot once, *click* reload, shoot once, *click* reload—a piece of garbage that couldn’t fire rapidly, had short range, and weak power.

Still, it had two advantages: it was light and easy to find, so if it broke, you could just throw it away and pick up a new one. The other advantage was that, being a shotgun, it could at least take down a single zombie effectively.

But even such a garbage gun could kill me in my current state.

…No. Come to think of it, this was annoying me.

I took position at a corner and punched the partition. The thud echoed throughout the warehouse.

“What the hell.”

He picked up his gun. Now when he comes in, I’ll grab his neck from the side and snap it… his bulletproof vest…

“Can’t you walk any faster?”

An angry voice from down the street. The watchman who had been approaching stopped. An unexpected variable. I slipped back to my original hiding spot while his attention was diverted.

I peered toward the street. I saw a woman walking with small steps and a burly man gripping her nape. The woman’s face was covered in bruises, as if she’d been beaten badly. The baggy clothes she wore clearly displayed the words “Disease Crisis Management Bureau.” She wrapped her trembling arms around herself, seeming to cower slightly.

The man, in contrast, wore a synthetic leather jacket with a skull design. The golden chain attached to his jeans clinked against the pistol handle in his pocket.

“Are you serious?”

The guard on duty asked gruffly. The burly man questioned back.

“What’s the problem?”

“There are plenty of other days. Why today of all days?”

“I’ll finish quickly.”

“No, everyone knows you’re a premature ejaculator, so I’m not worried about that. What I mean is, on a day like today… do you really want to do this? It’s auction day. Everyone’s on edge and irritable, it really sucks.”

Despite the guard’s sarcasm, the burly man laughed good-naturedly.

“That’s exactly why we need to relax on days like this. With all the precious neighboring gang members gathering, should I be frowning? Being ugly is one thing, but expressions can be changed. To something gentle. Besides, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be carrying cargo? Everyone else is over there.”

“Unlike you, I understand discipline. I don’t abandon my post during surveillance to rape a potential slave.”

The guard fingered the scarf around his neck—a sort of dog collar given to those who earned the gang leader’s trust.

“Anyway, zombie bastards have been going crazy lately, finding gaps and getting in. I can’t figure out where the leak is. Are they opening doors to get in?”

The guard seemed genuinely serious, but the burly man continued to mock him.

“You open them, why couldn’t a zombie?”

“Shut up. I’m too hungry to get angry. Where do you find food to eat that gives you the appetite for that kind of thing in this situation?”

“It’s because I’m young, old man.”

“Don’t feel like doing your job, huh?”

The guard gripped his shotgun tightly. The man grinned triumphantly and reached into his pocket. The pistol handle gleamed. The guard slightly turned his shotgun barrel.

Click.

The man tapped his rider jacket with his palm. While the guard flinched, he reached into his jacket pocket rather than the pants pocket with the gun.

“Ta-da!”

It was a chocolate bar the size of a finger. The guard sighed and slung the shotgun over his shoulder. But he didn’t accept the chocolate.

“Why not? I went out of my way for you.”

“…I don’t take bribes on principle. Hurry up and finish.”

“If you say so.”

The man roughly pushed the woman toward the warehouse. She got angry, but the man looked at the guard. I could roughly guess the situation. The man was a gang member, and the woman was probably…

“You’ll respect our privacy, right?”

The guard walked to the roadside with disgust. The burly man closed both front warehouse doors while humming. He didn’t bother coming to the back door, apparently seeing it was already closed.

“Pathetic little shit, acting all high and mighty because he used to be a cop. Did you see? His hand twitched.”

The man reached out abruptly toward the woman. Startled, she flinched and hunched her neck. The man slowly caressed her face.

“Why are you so scared?”

“You fucking bastard.”

The woman groaned. The man slowly stroked her cheek. The woman slapped his hand away.

“Stop messing around and get this over with. I’m dying of thirst and hunger.”

“What’s the rush…”

The woman grabbed the man’s collar and kissed him fiercely, as if she might bite his lips off. She unzipped his rider jacket and pulled it off. Something fell with a thud.

The man, who had been cupping the woman’s face, also pulled at her jacket. Again, something fell with a thud.

“…Quickly. Quickly.”

It was the woman who was panting desperately, even sticking out her tongue. I couldn’t make sense of the situation at all.

No matter how I looked at it, that thing that fell from under the woman’s chest… looked like a bread package?