Ch.23Chapter 4. Lambert Drive (8)

Just as an adult wrestler stands out when seated among elementary school children, the newly built community center is distinctly prominent in Rambert.

Of course, it wasn’t built by the impoverished Elza government. It was constructed by Kibele Corporation in exchange for establishing a cultured meat processing plant in this poor rural village whose main industries were dairy farming and livestock.

The efforts made by the Elza local government for regional development were beyond words. To what extent? They even gave official government employee IDs to the private security personnel and factory staff employed by Kibele.

Those who stood guard with guns became police officers, office administrators became administrative civil servants, line workers became technical civil servants, and volunteer firefighters became official firefighters.

This wasn’t just for show—they underwent strict verification. The firefighter screening was particularly rigorous; passing or failing depended on whether one knew how to operate a powder fire extinguisher.

Except for a few shepherds who died from gunshot wounds, everyone in Rambert was happy. They embraced each other with joy, amazed that the day had come when they would become permanent civil servants.

That is, until the area was declared a human non-protection zone.

They knew well that they were only civil servants in Rambert; if they left, they would become bottom-dwelling drifters. That’s why they couldn’t abandon Rambert.

The boldest among them was the deputy police chief. Muttering incomprehensibly about preferring to become magnificent like a sewer rat rather than a lower-class citizen in a big city, he summoned all police forces.

I don’t know how it happened. Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps his mind broke a little after downing hallucinogens while listening to outdated songs.

What happened was that, amid enthusiastic applause from all the police, he surrounded the police chief’s house and personally threw in a burning gas canister.

After all, the police chief wasn’t a “Rambert person” but an official dispatched from the central government.

“Rambert! Is ours! We live here! And we die here!”

He shouted with his back to the chief’s burning house that went “poof.”

Under the deputy chief’s leadership, the police united. Thanks to this, they defeated formidable neighboring gangs like the Fire Station Gang, the City Hall-Court-Sanitation Worker Alliance, the Kibele Factory Labor Union, and the Rambert First Explosive Drinking Biker Legend Angels Union, becoming the masters of the community center.

So there’s room for leniency when the Rambert police deputy chief, drunk out of his mind, scratches his belly while sobbing. He never had crisis management skills to begin with. He ruled only through coercion and violence.

But he too is an ordinary human yearning for love. He grieved for his deteriorating hometown.

This beautiful village that allowed him to abandon his prodigal life and live as a diligent civil servant. This affectionate hometown that made him who he “truly” was, was being brutally trampled and violated, and he could do nothing about it.

“Huh-huh. Huh-huh-huk. Hee-hee-heek, why. Why only me… why to me… why? How come?”

Poof! Something else exploded. Flames spread everywhere. The cries over the radio intensify, while the number of personnel responding to calls gradually decreases.

He thought it might be auditory hallucinations that had worsened lately, so he even switched the frequency to the patrol channel, but nothing changed.

“Who the hell is it. No, who are they? At least tell me why. Why are you giving me such hardship? Why? What did I do wrong… no, no, I didn’t do anything that bad, did I? My life… my life! Aaaagh!”

But something even more terrible awaits. The violation of Rambert is just beginning.

From the wilderness, kicking up dust like drained blonde hair, the Fire Station-City Hall-Court-Sanitation Worker-Factory Worker-Rambert Angels Union gangs are approaching.

“Stop. Please stop. No more… no more… Rambert is falling apart…!”

But he is also a man. After downing half a bottle of whiskey, his shy masculinity emerges.

“Rambert… is mine. I won’t give it to anyone…”

Clank-clank. He stands up manfully, holding a .357 revolver. He did sit down once after his knees gave out before standing again, but that hardly diminishes his manliness. The deputy chief takes the microphone.

“This is a message from command.”

His voice still overflowed with dignity.

“You stupid bastards. Well done. I have no regrets in this life. I hope you feel the same. Since you all have heads on your shoulders, you must see the storm coming? I don’t think we can avoid this.”

For some reason, it’s quiet. They used to curse so well before. A shadow falls over the deputy chief’s heart. Yes. This is how everyone goes. With a lonely smile, he continues his orders.

“This is my final order. Except for those near the community center, don’t move from your positions. Shoot everything you see.

Don’t let the storm take you quietly. Resist. Be angry, be angry, and be angry again. When at last the wrath is lifted from Rambert’s sky. Let’s meet under clear skies. End of transmission.”

– Roger, roger.

– You crazy bastard.

– Pay your debts, you fucker.

– This has been a fun life, all things considered.

Feeling as if he heard beautiful music from somewhere, the deputy chief danced like a ballerina. His belly rippled like a mini-skirt, but in that moment, he was happier than anyone.

And so he advanced to the stage that was the plaza.

Groups on motorcycles, cars, and vans were charging forward in unison. He spotted a familiar fire truck. Liquid dripped from the water cannon swaying as it hung from a crane.

Thinking it was strangely fucked up, he waited. 120 people? 150? Maybe more. Anyway, one thing was certain: those bastards were desperate too. They had also staked their lives on this attack.

Now, it’s a battle of who wants it more.

“Isn’t that you, Deputy Chief? My, you’re looking radiant?”

The former fire chief got out. He had a modified fire axe slung over his shoulder.

“There’s a fire. Over there.”

The former assistant clerk is also visible. An annoying guy who likes to show off by bringing up things everyone already knows.

“What’s this? Deputy Chief, closed shop? I thought there was a slave auction.”

The union chairman, scratching somewhere under his clothes.

“…”

And the idiot who just smokes a cigarette without saying anything. Why did he write “I think, therefore I am” on his glossy leather jacket with a burning skull?

“Thank you all for coming.”

The deputy chief spread his arms.

“But unfortunately, something came up. It’s going to take some time. Why don’t you go home, get some sleep, and come back later?”

“…Are you joking right now?”

“Of course I’m not. Look, I’ll arrange something at the factory district. Take some canned food with you.”

“Kibele cultured meat cans? I won’t refuse a gift, but let me ask one thing. Why has all this shit happened?”

Everyone looked at the deputy chief. He sighed and waved his revolver toward the sky. It glinted. That was the signal. The Rambert gang elites who had been waiting nearby aimed their guns.

“Zombies got in.”

“Bullshit.”

Everyone snickered, shoulders shaking. Even the Explosive Angel.

“Oh my. Is there anyone who doesn’t know our deputy chief is so scared of zombies he’s obsessive about quarantine? He wets himself just thinking about them. But we didn’t see even a shadow of a zombie on our way here?”

“Right. You were working really hard? Everything seemed fine. Just a pile of corpses over there. What, did all the world’s zombies gather here?”

The deputy chief tried to say something. Until another explosion, gunshots, and screams were heard. Now gunfire came from all directions. The sound of vehicles moving rapidly and crashing into something was vivid.

“…Brother. Out of loyalty since our mercenary days, I’m telling you, just give Rambert to us. Everything’s going to be destroyed at this rate.”

The fire chief tried to reason calmly.

“We came to help you. Do zombies set fire to villages? And over there, where black smoke is rising. That’s the gas station, isn’t it? Tell us. You’re under attack, right?”

The assistant clerk pointed out. The deputy chief laughed. His eyes were empty.

“…If it weren’t for the gas station explosion, I might have gotten away with it.”

“What?”

“No. No, assistant clerk. By the way, my firefighter brother. Not blood brothers, but we’ve shared blood, so let me make one confession.”

“What is it that you’re being so serious about?”

The fire chief asked, rubbing his goosebump-covered arms.

“When you were arrested. You know, when you were going door to door saying you were checking fire extinguishers but got caught selling drugs. During that time, I enjoyed myself with your wife.”

“I knew.”

“Really?”

“I knew before I was arrested. I wasn’t angry. Just a bit empty. I worked my fingers to the bone for my family, and there she was, coming out of your house with such a pretty face when you were supposedly on vacation. Still, I’m grateful that my family has stayed together thanks to you.”

“Didn’t your wife suddenly die not long after you got out?”

“That’s why I’m saying this. It’s all in the past, brother. I’m more loyal than I look.”

But the deputy chief hesitated. Like a man, he wanted to confess everything on his way out. Like confessing sins to a priest.

“Um, there’s actually one more thing.”

“…What is it now?”

“Your sister-in-law.”

The fire chief’s face contorted.

“…What?”

“Your sister-in-law, whose left breast was a bit bigger than her right, told me it was better than with you. She likes having her spine traced with fingers, you know? Try it when you get back.”

“Hey, you son of a bitch!”

“Got you.”

The deputy chief pulled the trigger. The fire chief collapsed. With a tearing laugh as the signal, the second Rambert gang war began.

* * * * *

Behind the bank.

The sound of tires screeching. A motorcycle burst through the black smoke. An M4 fired in short bursts. The front tire of the bike exploded.

As if it wanted its rider to survive, the collapsing bike launched its owner into the air. The rider, flying like a bullet, passed by me and crashed through a house’s window with a loud shatter. His body barely caught on the window frame, but after one big twitch, he stopped moving.

But I couldn’t watch his final moments to the end. The bike charged toward the Rambert gang outpost as if claiming its owner’s share. The people at the outpost tried to run out in surprise, but bang. It exploded.

A Humvee broke through beside it. It was a vehicle that had discarded its camouflage to install an M2 machine gun. There seemed to be no one alive except the driver and the gunner, but they passed by, shouting something and spraying machine gun fire everywhere.

“Wow.”

Now this is more like the Erisichthon Protocol I know. Total chaos. Gunfire leading to more gunfire. Sparks flying everywhere and an unbearably acrid smell. A bitter taste covering the entire tongue.

Twitch.

“Oh my.”

The rider convulses. Kekek, kuk, then goes limp again. Must be having a bad dream.

Two grenades were tucked into his waistband. No wonder he can’t sleep comfortably, lying face down with those things attached.

“Lucky me.”

Two grenades, and I picked up a stone fragment from the ground. I threw the stone fragment into the bank and shouted, “Grenade!”

“Aaaaah!”

I heard people falling over in panic. As expected, there were people inside. I pulled the safety pin, released the handle then gripped it again with a click, counted to two, and threw it in the direction of the sound.

Boom. Screams. Quite prolonged screams. Seems there are still people alive. I did the same with the other grenade: “click,” counted one, two, and threw it. There was an “Ack!” sound, and then silence.

I lightly jumped through the window into the bank lobby. I deliberately made noise, but not a single person raised their head.

I jumped over the reception desk and entered the staff corridor. Empty. The outside sounds were faintly audible. That’s because of the soundproofing. The reason being that conversations with VIP clients shouldn’t be overheard.

But that was a secondary issue. What mattered was that the door was slightly open. Shouldn’t that normally be locked?