Marauder of the Apocalypse-Chapter 68: Letter

Inside the building where the hikers had stayed, the firefighters gathered all their bags and dumped them out while muttering:

"Even fighting zombies all day in infected zones won't get us this much food..."

"We'd have to complete way more than ten jobs to earn these resources."

Mountain herbs in clear plastic bags, portioned rice, smoked meat from unidentifiable animals, kimchi containers with spilled juice, various canned goods.

Blood dripped down onto it all. Fresh blood still ran from the bright red fire axes.

I clasped my hands respectfully while watching the firefighters. This couldn't be real, right? They weren't really falling into raiding, were they? They were public servants with the best reputation. People whose job was saving lives.

'No, I trust firefighters.'

I believed in their good intentions. If they turned into marauders, I'd be in immediate danger.

But I felt their gazes. One firefighter glanced at me sideways. His eyes behind the helmet swept past my gun.

It wasn't a wary look. His eyes smoldered with subtle greed. Eyes coveting my gun and whatever resources I might have.

I gulped. Slowly backing away toward the entrance. My voice came out awkwardly:

"Congratulations on your harvest, firefighters."

"Harvest... Finally can feed our families properly. But sir, where'd you get that gun? Those are hard to find."

A probing question. Was I wealthy enough to buy a gun? Was I worth raiding? The firefighter's crazed eyes gleamed as if assessing my value.

This was truly dangerous. I stopped walking and naturally aimed my gun.

"Got lucky and found it on a corpse. Let me scrape by doing some robbery thanks to it."

"Robbery?"

"Raiding makes enemies, doesn't it? I just barely get by collecting tolls on the road."

When I implied I was poor, the firefighters closed their mouths. Their eyes that had been watching me returned to stuffing food into bags.

'Did they believe it?'

I'd shown convincing circumstances. The ruined street, my filthy appearance, giving up the hikers' resources instead of negotiating to keep them.

I kept quiet and observed the firefighters. They snickered while looking at the abundant food, trembled with their fire axes, avoided looking at corpses. Their voices continued whispering about raiding.

"With this much, wouldn't raiding be better? We could win against anyone except police, those archers, or weird zombies."

"Let's think about that slowly. Remember how many friends died last time ignoring zombies? Can't get careless."

They glanced at me. Seeming wary of other survivors too, seeing my gun.

But one firefighter who heard this frowned and sighed, apparently remembering something.

"Ah, that zombie... What kind of zombie does siege warfare..."

Either way, the firefighters busily gathered food and started backing away slowly with heavy bags.

"We're leaving. Keep the headlamps and spears. We just need the food."

A firefighter nudged me as they left. Only blood and corpses remained where they'd been. I leaned against the wall in relief.

"Good we didn't fight."

Though I didn't know how those firefighters would change in the future, they'd let it go for now. That was enough.

Suddenly shouting came from outside. The hiking club leader. Armed with a gun, he screamed and wailed:

"This isn't right! You, you, you! Don't even dream of doing business anymore! I'll spread word that you killed your clients!"

I snickered and muttered:

"Worry about your own life before others' livelihoods."

***

Time passed quickly. Days flew by as I watched, taunted, and tormented the few hikers trapped in one building.

They died slowly of thirst. The hiking club leader fired his gun out the window in rage, while one hiker died trying to escape from the fourth floor.

Sometimes they threw food or spears out the window trying to negotiate. Begging for water. When their voices cracked from thirst, I pretended to give them water but sprayed bleach.

After a week, there were no more sounds or movements.

"Are they dead?"

Hard to say. They might have used toilet water, recycled urine, killed each other to minimize consumption.

I listened at the closed entrance before shaking my head and turning away. Too bothersome to open it and check.

As I left the villa, Park Yang-gun and his family were there. His ex-wife and daughter stood quietly watching me. Park Yang-gun spoke with difficulty:

"Hey, Kim Da-in. Want to recover the bodies at least."

"No. They might still be alive. Need to keep them locked up longer."

Human life was stubborn like weeds. Though locked up without water for a week, they were likely alive. Had to keep them trapped two more weeks to be safe.

Park Yang-gun's ex-wife suddenly raised her voice:

"If they're alive...!"

"If they're alive?"

I blinked at her. Surely she wasn't saying she wanted to kill them herself out of hatred. But she wouldn't say she wanted to save them in front of me either. What did she mean?

Unable to grasp her true intentions, I just blinked. People closed their mouths, then Park Yang-gun scratched his head and stood in front of me as if shielding his ex-wife.

"Even if they're alive, they must be nearly dead. Can't we do something?"

"They still have a gun. Just need finger strength to pull the trigger."

"Right. Can't do it."

Park Yang-gun nodded like he'd expected that. Then he turned and took his ex-wife's hand.

"Let's go back. It's already over. Body recovery isn't important. Look how many corpses litter the streets."

"How can you say that? ...Ah. Right. You've already killed people too."

His ex-wife had raised her head to say something but was pulled away weakly. She seemed resigned, yet also lost in thought.

My head hurt as I stared after them. Park Yang-gun's ex-wife and daughter. Failed marauders who stayed only because they were his family, but it wasn't working.

'Can't do anything about them either.'

Killing them would upset Park Yang-gun, accepting them into our marauder group wouldn't work since they weren't suited for it.

Fortunately my worries didn't last long. The next day, the troublemakers disappeared.

It was a rainy morning. Using the pleasant sound of rain as an alarm, I woke to find Park Yang-gun visiting. Completely soaked, dripping rainwater, clutching a crumpled letter.

"What's wrong?"

"..."

Park Yang-gun entered my house past the entrance with his head down. I handed him a towel while looking him over. Dark expression. Disheveled clothes like he'd been wandering outside after waking up.

Park Yang-gun beat his chest several times with the hand holding the letter, then collapsed in the entrance.

"They left."

"Who went where?"

"My wife and daughter. They're gone."

After drawing several mental question marks, I rushed to the window to check the building where the hikers were trapped. Had they finally caused trouble? Helped them escape?

But a weak voice came from behind:

"That hiking club leader's dead. I killed him. Like you said, he was still alive."

Good that he was dead. But I still didn't understand the situation. I opened and closed my mouth in confusion.

"So, what exactly happened?"

"Before dawn."

Park Yang-gun rubbed his face with the towel. Whatever liquid - tears or rain - wiped away cleanly. With exhausted eyes, he muttered:

"My daughter and wife were sneaking around. Rustling about. They know I'm a thief - what were they thinking making so much noise?"

The mental shock must have been severe - Park Yang-gun rambled incoherently:

"They left a letter and snuck out. I secretly followed. Wondered where they were going - it was that building with the trapped hikers."

So they really were trying to free them. Park Yang-gun noticed with his thief's instincts and stopped them in time. I sat across from Park Yang-gun and comforted him:

"You did well stopping them. Freeing them would have caused trouble."

"Well? Was this really well done?"