Ch.50Chapter 7. Ice Is No Less Than Fire (2)

* * * * *

3 PM. The raindrops have grown heavier, making it difficult to see ahead. It’s not like we’re filling an aquarium or anything.

“Hey, Johan. Shouldn’t we take a break before continuing?”

Even the tough Camilla seems anxious, gripping the armrest tightly.

“We can just go slowly. I read somewhere that driving at a moderate speed is good for fuel efficiency.”

“What if we hit a zombie?”

“I’ll just pay a bit more for the insurance premium.”

I’m driving this truck somewhat stubbornly because of the “Safe House.”

Though it’s called a safe zone, it’s not a place where you become invincible or automatically recover health and ammo after sleeping for a night.

It’s just a nickname users gave for convenience, meaning ‘a place less noticeable to others, good for storing items and taking short breaks.’ It’s not even an official name.

‘How can a place everyone knows about be called a Safe House?’

That’s what I thought when I was a newbie.

But after gaining experience and understanding, I realized its deeper meaning.

In survival games like this, players eventually establish their own “territories.”

They protect their territory, repel intruders, and avoid trespassing on others’ lands unless necessary—literally the logic of predators.

The Safe House is the core of that territory.

A bird’s nest. A beast’s den… So if a user occupies a Safe House somewhere, you can naturally estimate what they’re after, how large their territory is, and how to move to either kill them or avoid them.

If someone occupies a forest Safe House, it means they aim for self-sufficiency. Forests make it easy to find food and water, and with luck, even basic medical supplies.

Conversely, occupying a city Safe House means targeting electronics, luxury items, and manufactured goods. These items trade at high prices in the black market. In other words, this person intends to arm themselves heavily and hire mercenaries to compete with other factions.

The Safe House I’m heading to now is on the outskirts of Hampton City, neither forest nor city.

If anything, it’s closer to a middle ground with advantages for trading. Like a transfer station or logistics center—a transportation hub where you don’t need to stay long.

In a situation where the existence of a bunker is questionable, a Safe House is the better alternative.

My plan is to distribute supplies across various Safe Houses, then move everything to the bunker when the end times come.

Given its importance, I should thoroughly scout the area before entering. But right now, I’m just barging in.

Of course, I have my reasons.

This world is “single-player,” and there are no other players besides me.

What distinguishes “single-player” from “multi-player” is the presence of a tutorial. Starting in Mini Bell Village, like I did, means single-player; starting elsewhere means multi-player.

In other words, others don’t know that this place is relatively safe, if not 100%. No one will deliberately target this place.

…Of course, this is based on pre-patch standards.

But if we consider it that way, there’s no end to it. The Safe House I’m looking for might not even be built yet. After all, we’re in a time period much earlier than the original game setting.

There was some commotion in Mini Bell Village too, wasn’t there? Like how the positions of items that should never change had shifted.

But even so, what can I do? I’ll push forward with what I know, and if something is different or wrong, I’ll adapt flexibly.

I’m confident. I don’t know a 100% guaranteed method for victory, nor do I expect one.

I just know how to navigate situations to my advantage. Constants and variables. The range of possibilities. Minor errors. I use them to the fullest.

…Except for the woman next to me who’s busy doodling things like “Idiot on board” on the car window with her finger.

Anyway, we passed the gas station a while ago, passed the small bus stop, and around here should be… Ah, yes. Here it is.

The abandoned fire station.

True to being a fire station, there’s parking space and the building itself is very sturdy. However, I can’t see the interior situation well because of the heavy rain.

But I drove past it. It’s because of Camilla. She didn’t seem like this when we first met, but in the past few days, she’s developed a rebellious streak. She listens, but does the opposite.

Especially after we kissed.

“…No. How far are you going to go?”

Finally, Camilla, unable to hold back, urges me. I pretend not to know and ask.

“What should I do then? Stay here?”

“I saw a fire station building back there. We could store the truck in its garage.”

“Was there such a thing? I didn’t see it.”

When I pretend to be surprised, her nose immediately goes up in pride.

“Hmph, this is what you call a tracker’s instinct. Turn the car around here. We haven’t gone too far.”

She doesn’t know why I’m smiling. I pretend to believe her and turn the truck around. The rain has lightened a bit, but visibility is still poor.

I park the truck a little distance away and turn off the engine. Camilla and I quietly discuss our plan. Since sound travels farther on rainy days, we decide not to use guns.

Instead, I put on the gear I had placed in the back seat, including a poncho and gas mask. It’s a bit stuffy, but the anti-fogging treatment ensures clear visibility.

Getting out of the truck, I grab two axes from the trunk. Of course, I don’t forget to pick up a stone.

The door had fallen off long ago, and there were no glass windows. Someone must have taken them whole. The interior was worse, with nothing left except worn-out cabinets.

Just bundles of newspapers, dirty blankets, traces of fire, and three wandering zombies. They looked like homeless people.

Bang, bang.

I knock on the cabinet with an axe. The dazed zombies crawl out. I calmly turn around and walk out.

The zombies’ pace quickens. Are they curious about the unfamiliar sound? I lure all three to the road. A dark shadow appears behind the zombies. It’s Camilla.

Thwack. One with its head half-split falls face down. As the rain pours down, the smell of blood spreads everywhere, causing the zombies to bare their teeth and look around. Camilla finishes off another one, and I take care of the one in front.

Swoosh… I wash the axe by rotating it in the pouring rain. It doesn’t seem to have any filth on it, but just to be safe, I carefully spread out my raincoat and re-enter the fire station.

Camilla points upstairs. I nod. Gripping the handle firmly, I walk up the stairs. Thud. Thud. Plop. Plop. With each step, water drips from my raincoat.

The door is closed. Camilla grabs the doorknob and pulls it hard. I throw the stone diagonally at the wall. The stone bounces off with a clack and rolls around inside the second floor, making a thunk sound.

“Grrrr.”

Camilla makes a complex hand gesture.

‘Four of them. Should we lure them outside?’

I shake my head and point my thumb downward, indicating we should take them out here. This time, I go in first.

First, I rotate the axe half a turn. I don’t want to be overwhelmed by three zombies while taking down one with the axe blade. Instead, if I strike the forehead with the pick like this,

“Grrrr!”

I might not finish it completely, but I can retrieve it quickly. One down. Camilla kicks a wheeled chair hard, knocking down two zombies. Meanwhile, I split another one’s head.

Thwack. Crack. The axe dances. I strike the head with enough force to slightly crack the cement floor.

Camilla stops, seemingly wanting to know why I chose to kill them here, but I ignore her and move on. Those zombie corpses will be useful later, so I’ll explain then.

I open all the second-floor windows and close the iron door. Fortunately, the rooftop and fire watchtower are empty. Finally, I check the garage.

It’s spacious enough to store three fire trucks. Two shutters are down, and one is up. If we park close to the wall, it won’t be noticeable from outside at a glance.

But that’s not the only reason I came to the garage. There are neatly arranged shelves and cabinets against the wall. And in front of them, an iron plate about 1m by 1m.

Found it. The Safe House.

While Camilla is looking elsewhere, I kneel down and throw the axe away.

Clang… clang… clang. Startled, she turns to look at me. I stand up, dusting off my knees as if I had just fallen.

I don’t know why my expression seems visible despite wearing a gas mask, but I continue to pretend and tap my foot on the iron plate.

Again, a deep clang… clang… sound resonates. Of course, it’s hollow underneath.

Camilla finally notices something strange and comes closer. I brush away some dirt, revealing a handle.

One, two, three. Carefully, I lift it open. Squeak, creak. I should spray some WD-40 to clean off the rust.

Fortunately, stairs leading downward appear. The guide lights on the stairs, originally red, are off. The stairs have some dirt and dust accumulated, but are relatively clean. The iron door is firmly closed.

As I try to go down first, Camilla holds me back. She wants to go first. I let her. There’s likely nothing inside anyway. It’s a “Safe House” after all.

Going down the not-too-long stairs, she opens the basement door. It opens silently.

“…Wow.”

It’s much cleaner than I remember. I’m glad I’m wearing a gas mask. I can hide my smile from Camilla.

* * * * *

The Safe House is much cleaner and more spacious than I remember.

Originally, it wasn’t these concrete walls and floors. There was moldy linoleum, posters of half-naked men and women on the walls, and scattered items like a scavenged refrigerator, television, and empty liquor bottles.

But now it’s clean enough to open a café and attract customers. Perfect exposed concrete construction. Even a bathroom with a toilet and shower. Originally there were two rooms, but now there are six.

“…What is this place? Why is there something like this in a fire station?”

Pretending not to know, I shine a light on the wall. A bronze plaque detailing the building’s history gleams. Camilla traces the letters with her finger as she reads.

“Ah, this was a checkpoint during the war. It was built as a shelter in case of bomber attacks. So they demolished the checkpoint and just built a fire station on top of it? But the remodeling seems relatively recent. Were they planning to use it as staff quarters?”

I don’t know the reason either. After examining the interior with her flashlight, Camilla points to a small box.

“Let’s open that.”

‘Fire Department Supplies, Handle with Care, Fragile.’ We carefully remove the stickers plastered all over and open the box.

Surprisingly, there were actual firefighting supplies inside. New dust masks and gloves. Waterproof, flame-resistant, and lightweight—with these, you could farm without worrying about contamination.

Removing one layer, we found carefully packaged liquor bottles and a letter.

“So that’s why it says ‘Handle with Care, Fragile.'”

While Camilla examines the letter, I inspect the bottles. They’re all high-proof, expensive luxury items that trade well.

Actually, with a still, you can extract alcohol from most liquors, and with alcohol, you can make various items from Molotov cocktails to disinfectants, but these are too valuable for that.

These are spirits from Minsk. As “rare contraband,” they fetch high prices in the black market.

“I see.”

Camilla hands me the letter. Reading it makes me chuckle. Whoever the fire chief was, they apparently planned to set up a gambling den here. Gambling. Alcohol. A facility that would also provide men and women.

Unfortunately, all those plans came to nothing, with only the interior construction completed.

“Johan.”

Camilla stretches her arms, her eyes sparkling.

“I’m hungry. Let’s eat. I want warm stew and also…”

“Let’s unload our stuff first and then think about it.”

…At least there are many rooms, so we can each have our own. By the way, those Minsk spirits could fetch a good price if sold.

I wonder if there’s a black market in this timeline.

A moment later, I hear the sound of the truck moving. Camilla seems to have had the same thought, cleverly parking the truck against the wall. She positioned the driver’s door near the bunker entrance, allowing for a quick escape in case of emergency.

“Black market?”

Camilla asks, surprised.

“Yeah, I was wondering if there’s one here too.”

“Of course there is. Why do you ask?”

“Those spirits look quite valuable. I thought we might sell them and buy other things.”

“Hmm… they’re quite widespread. There are some in non-protected human zones and some in protected zones. But not many places would accept Minsk spirits.”

I haven’t told Camilla, but I also need to dispose of the jewels I took from Lambert. For that…

“Johan. Want to go to the city with me?”

“Can we?”

“There are various entry routes, but many are connected to the Liberation Organization, so… we’d need to approach carefully. We could force our way through, but it’s better to be safe, right?”

Indeed, Camilla is a member of the Liberation Organization, has been a model for many advertisements, and even did propaganda. Many people would know her.

“But what should we do?”

Suddenly, she lowers her voice. An uneasy thought crosses my mind.

“Wait, is it because your face is well-known… and now that you’ve left the Liberation Organization, you can’t enter?”

“What a hurtful thing to say. I’m Camilla, the supermodel who can naturally pull off any brand. Even at my peak, I could move around undetected with just a slight change in styling. That’s not a concern.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I lack courage.”

I thought she was talking nonsense, but she gently rubbed her stomach with both hands, then grabbed one of the liquor bottles.

“Only this can fill it.”

“…Alright. I understand.”

“But not this one. Something else.”

She puts down the bottle and points upward. I think I know what she’s talking about.

“…You want to drink what’s in the truck?”

Camilla winks one eye.

“Didn’t you say we need to sell these?”