Ch.51Chapter 7. Ice Is No Less Than Fire (3)

The 2.5-ton truck is loaded with cargo brought from the country club. We moved the heavy and bulky items together, but afterward, we divided our roles. This was because Camilla insisted that “it’s better to have one person organize the items.”

While she moved things, I was tasked with preparing food, checking the internal facilities, and selecting two clean rooms to set up a tent in each. All of these were tedious and labor-intensive tasks.

First, I needed to make stew, so I took a portable gas burner and pot to the first floor. It would be difficult to cook in the poorly ventilated basement. I collected the still-pouring rainwater in the pot, placed it on the burner, and went back down the stairs.

Next was inspecting the safe house.

The facility itself was good. Water, electricity, plumbing, and even ventilation—all systems were in place. The problem was that everything depended on power. Then again, who would have imagined a fire station would lose electricity?

Fortunately, there was space for a small generator in the deepest room. Generators sometimes emit toxic gases, so installation and management require caution. If I cut the wires leading to the fire station and connected them to the generator, operating the safe house shouldn’t be a problem.

While I was considering alternatives, Camilla passed through the hallway.

‘When did she change?’

She was wearing a pink tracksuit with white stripes—long pants and a tank top. With anti-slip gloves on, she carried two 5.56mm metal ammo cans.

“Whew.”

She had already laid out wooden ammo boxes on the storage room floor. Those wooden boxes were designed to hold two metal cans each, but they were too bulky and heavy to carry at once, so she must have brought them separately.

But even so, she set down those ammo cans as if they were 1kg dumbbells. They weren’t that light.

Well, looking at those pretty muscles, it’s not impossible.

The slender waist between her tank top and pants, the erector spinae muscles that rippled with every exertion, and when she caught her breath, her waist arched forward and her buttocks rose, creating a deep curve between them.

And then I was caught. I was stupidly staring as Camilla thrust her buttocks in my direction, and our eyes met.

“What?”

“Ahem. Do you have much left to move?”

“I can handle it alone. Oh, the pot is boiling.”

“Is it? Okay, I’ll go up.”

As I was about to climb the stairs, Camilla suddenly emerged from the adjacent room.

“Johan?”

I inadvertently glanced at her V-shaped, wet cleavage before managing to meet her eyes. Yet the afterimage of sweat beading on her exposed chest remained. Seeing Camilla trying hard to suppress a smile, I seemed to have been caught twice.

“The tents—are you setting them up in separate rooms?”

“Yeah. One in your room, one in mine.”

“Let’s not do that. Let’s just set up one for now. We don’t know how the luggage will be sorted. We can set up the other after we eat. Hmm? I’m hungry.”

She could have just said so. Suddenly, she pressed close and firmly squeezed my right buttock.

“Ah, ow!”

It hurt so much I thought she was trying to tear off my buttock.

“Got it? Thanks.”

She planted a quick kiss on my cheek, then walked away down the corridor, slightly bouncing her hips.

* * * * *

Meal preparation was complete. It was an awkward time, neither lunch nor dinner, so I made a bit more. I was as hungry as Camilla’s stomach was empty.

I cooked with ingredients we had prepared in advance from the country club refrigerator. They stayed fresh thanks to the ice packs. Prepared vegetables, bell peppers, tomato puree, sliced cheese, and baguette.

I didn’t add beef jerky pieces, but I did include mushrooms. When I cut them with a knife, the earthy smell and forest aroma of the mushrooms spread.

And today’s star: whiskey.

Camilla popped open the bottle. The brand was “Elsa’s Tears,” a whiskey unique to Elsa, just as the name suggested.

“It feels like we’re on a trip!”

Even though we were in a basement room, being inside this dome-shaped tent made it feel like we were traveling. Changing into tracksuits enhanced that feeling.

“Here, have another drink!”

I wasn’t actually much of a drinker. But drinking here, the alcohol tasted sweet, and I was getting quite tipsy. Must be the effect of the correction. It would be even better without a hangover, but “Elsa’s Tears” had fewer side effects, so it should be fine.

Befitting a product of the minor nation of Elsa, its commercial value was low, but with its high alcohol content, deep aroma, and clean taste, it had effects of boosting morale, relieving pain, and soothing fear and anxiety. It meant that if you were dropped among a hundred zombies, one sip of that would let you face death peacefully, thinking, “Ah, it was quite a fine life.”

As we ate stew and drank, we talked about what had happened at the resort hotel.

After a long night, we headed to the main building. There weren’t as many zombies as expected, but corpses were scattered everywhere. The gang members had resisted until the very end, but as defeat loomed and birds swarmed in, they seemed to have chosen mass suicide.

Their leader, “The Judge,” was the same. When we entered his office, he was sitting upright in a fine chair, wearing his judge’s robes.

However, we would never know his final expression. He had blown his head off with a shotgun held upside down. He must have been a rigid person; when we entered, he was still holding the gun.

In that room, we salvaged some decent items. A laptop with various accessories was among them. It was short on battery but intact and functioning properly.

“I used to use the internet a lot. Though if you used anything suspicious, the National Gendarmerie would come for you.”

Camilla stroked the laptop nostalgically.

“And now?”

“The government shut down all communication networks to block rumors. Everything went back to the past. Domestic calls are randomly monitored, international calls are always tapped.

Letters and packages go through X-ray censorship, and all information is provided only through government-issued newspapers, radio, and TV. In the city, the main mission of Liberation Front members wasn’t fighting but finding printing presses, ink, and paper to produce propaganda materials.”

Still, we took the laptop. In the distant future, when that time of destruction I had played through arrives, black market merchants communicated just fine through private internet.

In any case, the communication infrastructure itself remained, so if some rebellious eccentric got it working, communication wouldn’t be a problem.

We also took two gold bars, small jewels, a box of premium cigars, and finally, the “Elsa’s Tears” whiskey.

The remaining task was to go around the building and collect useful equipment. The resort was large, and there were many items worth taking, but due to vehicle and manpower limitations, we couldn’t take everything. Our total haul was just what we managed to load into a relatively clean 2.5-ton truck.

“Wouldn’t it be better to stay a few more days and slowly load things onto the bus?”

Camilla suggested, but I objected.

“Today is fine, but by tomorrow, the zombies will disperse, and then looters will come. It would be hard for just the two of us to defend against them. And as for the bus, let’s leave it for those people. We gave them the number, so they can call when they reach a place with phone service.”

“Those people” obviously referred to the people Camilla had rescued. Seemingly touched by my words, Camilla hugged me for a long time and wouldn’t let go.

“You’re a better person than you look.”

The qualifier “than you look” was a bit off, but I am indeed a good person.

That’s why I didn’t say, “That long yellow school bus would be visible to a zombie grandpa 10km away. We might get sniped without anyone knowing. And we can’t even hide it in the warehouse.”

By the same logic, we decided to leave the 1-ton truck behind. Two clean trucks neatly parked would make anyone suspicious. In this world, being inconspicuous is more important than having excellent defensive capabilities.

Still, we packed what we could. Just from memory: two months’ worth of canned food with a 5-year shelf life, three months’ worth with a 3-year shelf life. Meaning we could survive for five months even if a nuclear bomb dropped.

Four guns with various ammunition, two dome tent sets, cots, blankets, toolboxes, medical supplies, spare clothes…

Even the tracksuit I’m wearing now, and Camilla’s black sports bra, gray dolphin pants, and thin fluorescent hoodie…?

“Ca-Camilla?”

“Whaaat?”

“When did you change clothes?”

She’s not quite a magical girl, but how did she change so quickly? Camilla grins and shakes her head.

“You’re, drunk, aren’t you? I said I was going to change because it was hot.”

“No, zip up that jacket. You’re too…”

“Too what?”

My face flushes with embarrassment, but I can’t take my eyes off those fierce abs.

“Too what? What, what do you want me to do? Hmph!”

“You sound like an old man.”

“Hmph. Old man? Old maaaan?”

Camilla crawls toward me like a cat. I try to back away, but maybe because I’ve had quite a bit to drink, my body feels weak. As I forcibly try to pull back, I end up lying on a rolled-up blanket.

“Have you ever seen such a pre-pretty old man?”

She even flicks her tongue slightly, then lowers her upper body, raises her buttocks, and sways them gently. As if deliberately showing off the curve between her waist and buttocks. Water would definitely pool there.

“This is going to get uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable!”

With a “whoa,” she leaps and lands on top of me. She covers my chest with her right arm, rests on my shoulder, and places her right leg on my lower body.

“If it’s uncomfortable, you should fix your po-position!”

She slurs her words while rubbing her bare leg against my thigh.

“I get it, so stop rubbing your leg!”

“Not standing straight?”

I try to push her away, but she doesn’t budge an inch, surprisingly strong.

“Camilla. I’m really uncomfortable… physically uncomfortable.”

Since I’m a bit drunk anyway, it probably doesn’t matter. What’s strange is Camilla’s reaction. She looks at my crotch once, hiccups twice, stares at me like a startled rabbit, then sighs deeply.

“…I’m doomed.”

“What is?”

“I’m doomed. Hmph. I said I’m doomed. What are you going to do? What are you going to do with meee?”

She grabs my collar and shakes me back and forth. I feel shaken both physically and mentally.

“So, what is it?”

“My heart is pounding.”

She adds a slight nasal sound as she sniffles, which seems unnecessary. Camilla soon looks tearful.

“You jerk. My heart is pounding. You, you shouldn’t do that. You know? What are you so proud of, huh? What do you think of yourself?”

“Well, I…”

“Someone like you is useless except for having a handsome face, a good body, cooking well, and occasionally saving me, you know? Say you know!”

“I know.”

As soon as I answer, she grabs my collar and shakes me again. Camilla appears in triplicate. Seeing something protruding from her chest, she must not be wearing underwear again. No, at least she’s wearing something on the bottom this time.

“You should either not see me as a woman at all! If it’s because I’m not attractive, well, I could accept that! It would hurt my pride, but! But you, you… no. That can’t be! I’m pretty, aren’t I!”

“…You’re pretty.”

“Really?”

Objectively, she is pretty.

“I said you’re pretty.”

As soon as I said that, she sighed as if the floor was collapsing.

“…But. I want to get closer to you. I want to know you better… why do you push me away? You don’t dislike me. You don’t not see me as a woman. And I’m attractive. Um… um… ugh, oh. Um. Anyway. And you’re not completely selfish either… so why do you push me away?”

“Why are you suddenly like this?”

Instead of answering, Camilla reaches for a drink and downs it in one go. She exhales with a “phah” and sighs again, then rubs her chest against mine.

“No, no. This isn’t it. Bread. Bread.”

She chews on bread, and as if her mind has cleared a bit, her eyes become more focused. Of course, she’s still leaning on me as she eats, and when bread crumbs fall on my clothes, she presses her lips against them, saying we shouldn’t waste food.

“…I told you earlier. That I need courage. Entering the human protection zone requires a lot of courage. Especially now that we can’t get help from the Liberation Front. Since we’re going through a broker, it’s really life-threatening. Once we break through, it’s okay, but that first step… is really difficult. But.”

“But?”

She climbs up my body and hugs my neck. Seeing her posture looking a bit unstable, I put my arms around her waist.

“You need to trust me too. But that’s… what you find most difficult. No matter how many days I ask you to trust me, you won’t. If you abandon me there… I’ll die. For real.”

…The black market contact in this timeline seems to be much more dangerous than I thought.