Ch.67Chapter 9. How to Bake an Apple Pie (2)

* * * * *

The power outage lasted longer than we expected.

An announcement warned people to stay away from windows. No sooner had the warning come than bullets flew fiercely, ping, ping. Our room was fortunately unharmed, but many windows in the surrounding apartments were shattered.

Outlaws.

It was a cauldron of chaos.

The outlaws threw Molotov cocktails first. They would burn the first floor, then bring ladders to climb up to the second floor. Building residents stood by windows to snipe at them, but for some reason, shots were fired at both outlaws and residents from elsewhere.

“They’re shooting for fun. I heard it’s because they’re under a lot of stress.”

Even Camilla sighed.

“Doesn’t the National Gendarmerie intervene?”

“They only intervene when zombies appear. When real zombies show up, even the outlaws go into hiding. The Gendarmerie shoots anything walking on two legs.

They focus solely on maintaining order in Districts 1 through 9, the city center. It’s not just Hampton. It’s the same everywhere. Deliberately.”

“What do they gain from that?”

“They give outsiders the right to live in a relatively safe city, and they give people in the outskirts the opportunity to move to the safer central districts.

They claim to guarantee safety in exchange for taking everything from individuals… but in that way, they naturally tame people and lead them to become accustomed to control.”

Amid all this, the sound of jingling bells could be heard.

The sound grew louder. It was a group of fanatics. They carried wooden goddess statues on their backs and large glaives in their hands while singing hymns.

They too were showered with bullets. But the fanatics pulled out riot shields. The meager bullets couldn’t penetrate the shields. The fanatics walked like turtles, firmly holding their shields while singing songs of peace.

Those who relieved their stress by shooting people instead of animals soon began shooting at each other.

The power outage was finally resolved late at night. The electricity came back on, and the street CCTVs started working again.

The outlaws had disappeared somewhere. Fire trucks sprayed water not on the burned houses but on the surrounding ones. This was to prevent the fire from spreading further.

The streets were filled with bodies of people shot dead. People carrying “Cleaner” flags arrived in groups.

“Who are those people?”

I asked Camilla.

“Odd-jobbers. You saw them on the way to the city, right? People who take corpses outside the city. They live in cardboard houses, surviving day by day by removing bodies and cleaning up blood.

The cleaning sector is subdivided to prevent cross-contamination, which is why the infection rate is supposedly low.”

Some cleaners returned to the hotel after finishing their work. They didn’t look like they could afford the accommodation.

“So Hans was trying to detonate a virus bomb in a place like this?”

In response to my question, Camilla pointed toward the inner city.

“He probably would have detonated it in that central area. The outskirts and the inner city are as different as heaven and hell. If you could turn heaven into hell, demons would rejoice.

He was probably trying to gain support that way. Not by turning weak people into good ones, but by bringing down those who have. It’s much easier that way.”

Bang! Bang! Gunshots rang out from somewhere again. Camilla and I moved deeper into the living room. The red lens of the CCTV seemed to stare at us.

“…Johan.”

“Yes?”

“Even if the people in the central area turned into zombies, I don’t think I’d be happy about it. In the end, everyone’s situation just gets worse. Why would Hans try to do something like that?”

I thought I understood.

“Some people prefer seeing others brought down to their level rather than improving their own situation. Hans probably wanted to impress those kinds of people. Such people are easy to provoke.”

“…I don’t understand.”

Camilla hugged her knees to her chest. I didn’t say anything more.

The CCTV light went off. The whirring sound of machinery could be heard from all directions. The hotel returned to normal.

Intense moaning could be heard from somewhere.

As if someone needed to fill the void left by those who had died.

* * * * *

The next day at 10 AM.

I wore a clean shirt, jeans, and a light coat. For armament, just a 1911 pistol with one spare magazine. No rifle.

It would be cumbersome to carry a rifle when I already had to transport two bottles of alcohol. Moreover, according to city law, pistols could be openly carried, but rifles had to be kept in cases and used “only in truly dangerous situations.”

It was better to travel light and be able to escape quickly.

Camilla decided to stay in the hotel room. She would guard our valuables, including the jewels. Above all, after experiencing yesterday’s power outage, it seemed wise to have someone remain in the room.

“Will you be okay alone?”

Of course, I wasn’t worried at all. Perhaps because she had slept well last night, she looked more at ease.

“For someone who’s supposedly concerned, you don’t sound very sincere.”

Despite her words, we had prepared thoroughly. Once I left, Camilla would barricade the door with a chair, and if anyone forced their way in, she would shoot them with the rifle. We agreed she wouldn’t open the door for anyone knocking unless they contacted her through my phone or the front desk.

“What could happen? I’m just going to sell some alcohol, gather some information, and come back.”

“…I guess so. But I have a bad feeling. Wait, let me fix your clothes.”

I waited, wondering if I had dressed incorrectly, when Camilla unbuttoned the front of my shirt. Before I could say anything, she started kissing from my chest downward, then sucked on my stomach.

“That tickles!”

Camilla tucked her fallen hair behind her ear and backed away. There was a clear kiss mark on my stomach. Counting the one on my chest, that made two already.

“What are you doing?”

I asked while buttoning up my shirt. Camilla pressed her elbow against her chest and touched her lips with her finger.

“I’m marking you as mine. Why?”

“You left quite a strong mark.”

“I did that on purpose. What? Do you want to leave another one?”

Shaking her hair dramatically, Camilla provocatively thrust out her chest.

“…Just wait until I get back, seriously.”

Camilla stuck out her tongue.

I stuck mine out a little in return.

* * * * *

District 13 was about 3km away. But 3km in the city is different from 3km on flat ground. Especially in a place like Hampton with its three-dimensional maze-like paths, the actual distance becomes much longer.

Hampton was a complex city. Perhaps all cities in this world look like this. Because of zombies appearing in the ground-level alleys, people had built skywalks between buildings.

The problem is that even here, there’s a division between the middle-upper class and the lower class. The middle-upper class walks on higher floors, using their own skywalks. They use sturdier materials like H-beams compared to the lower levels.

In contrast, the skywalks for the lower class, closer to the ground, are structured so that one wrong step means falling straight down. If you’re unlucky enough to fall into a back alley, the street vagrants will strip you of everything, not leaving even a piece of underwear.

But even they seem to avoid places connected to the underground sewers. Places where the entire city’s sewage system connects, where contaminated water trickles, and where zombies wipe their drool in dark corners… such damp places.

When crossing skywalks, everyone drew their pistols. No one walked straight. They moved sideways, furtively glancing around. They seemed worried about someone pushing them from behind.

Aaaagh – !

Everyone startled, lowered their stance, and raised their guns. The skywalk swayed, and people firmly gripped the ropes that served as railings. On a distant skywalk, someone was falling.

Soon after, gunshots were heard. On the bridge where the person had fallen, people were shooting at each other.

Those who had been watching blankly now ducked and quickly crossed the bridge, worried that the person next to them might point a gun at them.

“I’m too anxious to cross these bridges.”

“But we can’t walk on the ground either. It’s not like we have cars.”

“We do have cars. We just don’t have fuel. The price of cars or fuel…”

This seems to be what city life is like.

A strange pyramid built on the constant comparison between higher and lower places, resenting those above while feeling superior to those below.

Perhaps that’s why everyone tries not to go down to the bottom. Down there, all you can look down on are zombies.

Still, people should be better than zombies.

* * * * *

District 13 was different from other areas. It was still divided into middle-upper and lower classes, but it somehow felt cleaner than other districts.

Looking outside the building, I understood why. Despite being outside Districts 1-9, National Gendarmerie stood guard here. A major road connecting to the core districts runs right through District 13.

The café in question was on the middle level, the 8th floor. People lined up in front of the store, and at a glance, it seemed like it could easily accommodate about 100 people.

Those in line were fidgeting. No wonder, as sweet aromas and the smell of baking bread wafted from inside. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, the clear bell sound announcing freshly baked pies. The scene of people risking their lives crossing skywalks outside the large building seemed like a different world.

A clerk with a bluish tint was handing out number tickets to people while holding a checklist. Next to him stood two guards with K-47 rifles, watching for any disruptive behavior. They must have had their share of difficult customers.

Finally, my turn.

“Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes. My friend said they made a reservation under ‘apple pie.'”

Thankfully, that apple pie enthusiast had kindly reserved a seat. The clerk looked me over with lifeless eyes, then nodded to the guard beside him.

I entered the store with the guard. Those still in line looked at me with envy and jealousy. This feeling—I hadn’t experienced it except when barely squeezing into a packed subway.

The guard walked further inside than I expected. We passed between tables for four and five people, then climbed up another level.

“Wow.”

Everything was glass. Even the floor. It was semi-transparent glass, so those on the upper floor could see below, but those below couldn’t see above. Cool air conditioning blew pleasantly.

The people here were particularly well-dressed. They weren’t even armed. Each table had a personal bodyguard equipped with a rifle.

“Enjoy your stay.”

The guard led me to a window seat and withdrew. It was a table for two. The view outside was clear. Sparkling river water, armored vehicles stopped on the river, sandbags and machine gun emplacements firmly established around the vehicles.

Bringing my gaze closer, I saw a large park. A park full of trees, pavilions, and grass. Sadly, all the plants had withered, but people were vibrantly alive and moving.

Among them, in the corner of the park, stood a withered goddess statue. A knight with an overturned bucket on his head was playing guitar, and next to him, figures wearing gas masks and carrying pistols were crouching. It had a strangely apocalyptic feel.

“Um… are you the one who reserved under ‘apple pie’?”

Finally, the buyer appeared.

“Yes. I showed you a photo. I’ve brought it in my bag.”

I extended my hand, but she didn’t take it.

She was an extremely robust-looking woman.

Her shoulders seemed a bit broader than mine, and, quite regrettably, her torso resembled a tree stump.

She wore a short skirt with purple skinny jeans underneath, but her legs were so thick that they looked like radish bags wrapped in purple mesh.

Her glasses were excessively large and flashy, but without actual lenses. They were for disguise.

She had applied lipstick so thickly that it looked like a frozen cherry placed on a whipped cream cake. That is, like a cherry just taken out of a can and placed on top.

The only parts she hadn’t decorated were her hair and eyes. Her hair was dark blonde, and her eyes were blue. A tear duct below her right eye was noticeable.

Excessive blush. A body too bulky for her face shape. Awkward movements in many ways. It was a disguise. The disguise was too much. She had dressed up like a clown. Camilla would have disguised herself much more naturally.

“Nice to meet you. Your name is…?”

The woman tilted her head.

“I can’t just call you ‘apple pie,’ can I?”

The woman chuckled, shrugging her shoulders.

“That’s true. What should I call you?”

I gave the alias I had decided on at the hotel.

“You can call me Caesar. And you?”

“Hmm, you can call me Letty.”