Chapter 23: Injection

    Would there be anyone in this world who likes zombies?

    There is.

    They are scientists.

    Monsters are impossible to capture or leave corpses in any way, making analysis and research by humans impossible, while zombies leave corpses.

    At the current point where about half of the world has collapsed, there were surprisingly people who were concerned about the rights of zombies in the early days of the apocalypse.

    In retrospect, they may not have been worried about zombies themselves, but rather about their own future as zombies.

    Among the research papers on the mutation factor that affects the brains of deceased humans, the most cited data from Professor J. Catterer was from such a zombie rights activist.

    As for me, zombies are...

    Crack!

    Something extremely irritating.

    Especially when I meet them when I''m tired, I really want to close my eyes like my departed colleagues.

    "Krrrrr!"

    Crack!

    But the reason I fiercely swing my axe and defeat them is not because I''m afraid of dying, but because I have a lot to lose.

    My underground shelter. My sanctuary where my blood and sweat have been poured in. I''d rather watch the world collapse than see someone else sitting in it.

    With this mindset, I mercilessly defeat the zombie bastards and reach the safe zone.

    "Sigh..."

    I heave a sigh and check my injuries.

    There''s a saying that if you get bitten by a zombie, you become one, but it''s nonsense.

    The mutation factor that causes zombies only affects the brains of deceased humans.

    It''s a widely held belief in the academic world that it perishes like an invader on Earth if it tries to infiltrate a highly functioning human brain.

    There are some dissenting opinions, citing the occasional appearance of zombies even in places without necromancer types, but that''s because the mutation factor was buried somewhere in the body and it caused a mutation in the dead brain, turning it into a zombie.

    Still, there''s always a possibility.

    I grope from head to toe and move around, but there''s no sign of anything.

    My transportation, the folding bike, is also intact.

    The Defender siblings'' gift is unharmed.

    I put a piece of chocolate in my mouth to replenish calories and energy.

    "Sigh..."

    It''s a hassle to go outside.

    But in the end, it might be better for my mental health than staying cooped up in one place.

    But that was my nave thinking before I found out about the atrocities the Defender siblings committed on the community message board.

    Unaware of the grim future that awaits, I feel the sweetness of chocolate spreading through my tired body and gaze at the mountains and terrain that rise in the vague mist, taking in the surrounding scenery.

    I roughly know the location.

    I''ve looked at it several times and remembered it.

    However, something unexpected happened.

    The lights in the abandoned apartment turned on.

    It used to be where the woman who fed the stray cats lived.

    There shouldn''t be anyone living there after she died.

    Has a new resident moved in?

    The apartment is only about 6 km away in a straight line from my area.

    However, in between, there are low mountains and a creek, and the road is not a major road, but rather a winding secondary road, making the actual distance quite far without a means of transportation to cross the rugged terrain.

    There''s no particular strategic value, but the fact that someone has entered the area of my control aroused my interest.

    *

    People mostly choose hunger as the answer to the question of what drives them. But in my case, it''s curiosity.

    I''m not a lazy person, but the way I move when I''m curious and when I''m not is entirely different, even in my own opinion.

    The most notable difference is in my actions.

    Going straight to the abandoned apartment instead of returning home was largely due to my unchangeable personality.

    "Under the 22nd Pioneer Corps, the 218th Pioneer Unit."

    As expected, they are pioneers.

    I checked the remnants of bullets.

    I have plenty of pistol bullets, but not many rifle bullets.

    My physical condition is not in its best condition either.

    The fatigue from prolonged travel and combat hasn''t recovered.

    That means there''s a possibility that my body might not move the way I want it to at a crucial moment.

    I, who usually avoid combat, felt compelled to take action because of my aversion to the pioneers as a group.

    The fact that there are pioneers nearby, even though they have little to do with my territory, is a matter of concern.

    I approached the apartment with the intention of conducting a light reconnaissance at the very least.

    "!"

    There''s something.

    In the darkness.

    Could it be that my senses have dulled due to fatigue?

    I couldn''t even hear the sound of breathing.

    Regretfully, I peered into the darkness.

    There was a person, or something similar, sitting there without any movement.

    Upon closer inspection, it was an elderly person.

    She was not in her seventies, but rather closer to her eighties, sitting on a cold rock with the appearance of a worn-out industrial product, glaring at me.

    "Grandma?"

    The old woman didn''t say anything and seemed to have no intention of responding.

    Even when I called out to her, she just revealed her toothless mouth and continued to stare at me with a meaningless gaze.

    Suddenly, a scream erupted from above.

    "Hey, you bastards! Hey! Hey! You bastards!"

    "What? What? What? Who are you, you bastards?"

    It''s coming from the apartment.

    I asked for her understanding in advance, saying, "I''m sorry, but I''m busy."

    "No, take this."

    She handed me something.

    It was a food made from dog meat and some unknown ingredients, something I couldn''t eat.

    "I''ll just take your good intentions."

    "Just take it for now."

    Suddenly, she insisted forcefully, "Take it!"

    So, I reluctantly accepted it, and behind the dog meat, I found a request along with someone''s contact information.

    Why is everyone here like this?

    It felt somewhat presumptuous for me, a young person, to judge the elderly people here, but there was something odd about the elderly people in this place.

    They seemed like people who had not been loved.

    As I left the apartment, feeling more exhausted than when I faced a horde of zombies, I noticed an elderly woman who had been guarding in front of the International Residence.

    She passed by me, and I offered her a nutrition bar that I didn''t need anyway.

    "Please, have this."

    Only then did the elderly woman move as if she were alive.

    Her hand in her pocket was holding a lighter.

    "Thank you. Thank you. Namu Amida Butsu. Namu Amida Butsu."

    "Why are you here alone?"

    "I didn''t take the shot."

    "What?"

    "I didn''t take the shot, so they won''t let me in."

    The elderly woman put the dog meat-like food in her mouth and chewed slowly.

    "What shot are you talking about?"

    "The zombie shot."

    "Zombie shot?"

    "They say there''s a shot that won''t turn you into a zombie if you take it."

    Such a thing didn''t exist.

    If you didn''t want to turn into a zombie, you had to wash yourself, clean your clothes, and remove the mutation genes.

    "What did you come here on? Did you walk?"

    "I came by bus. They gave me a ride on a bus. The driver and the director saw this apartment as they passed by and suddenly let me off here, saying this place looked good."

    "I see."

    It was going just as I had expected.

    With no time to spare for sentiment, I was about to leave.

    "...If you take that shot, you''ll die."

    The elderly woman murmured from behind.

    "It''s poison. Your hair falls out. You die as water flows from every hole in your body. Everyone else died except me where I used to be..."

    Whether it was due to receiving nutrition or being stimulated emotionally, the elderly woman began to sway her body back and forth, chanting Namu Amida Butsu.

    "Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu." [A Buddhist chant]

    It was a week later when I visited the apartment again.

    The foul language that had been heard from afar was replaced by a peaceful silence.

    I noticed new tire tracks on the road, covered in dirt and dust.

    The tattered flags were gone, and the elderly woman who had been guarding the entrance was naturally absent.

    A large pit at the back emitted a pungent odor, along with the smell of burning.

    This pit seemed to be the source of the black smoke that had lured me back here.

    Upon closer inspection, I found charred wood and white ash mixed haphazardly inside, with occasional bones remaining from the fire.

    It was a human skeleton.

    I felt a presence behind me.

    A zombie stood there, swaying.

    In its hand, it held an pickaxe. It was the old woman who used to sit in front of the apartment, reciting incantations.

    There was a bullet hole in her forehead, dried blood caked around it.

    Seeing this gruesome sight and the realization that I would have to lay this corpse to rest, I couldn''t help but utter words without thinking.

    "Just give her an injection, okay?"

    He set fire to a piece of paper with contact information that another elderly women had given him earlier and tossed it onto the old woman''s corpse.

    Coincidentally, the flames transferred to the pickaxe that the old women was holding.

    "Namu Amida Butsu," I said, offering a Buddhist prayer for the deceased as I climbed the apartment stairs.

    It was an action I took hoping to find survivors or any other clues, but it yielded little.

    Finally, I climbed to the rooftop and looked out at the unspoiled autumn landscape, bathed in the still-fresh sunlight.

    I could see moving figures.

    People.

    On the deserted field where no one had uttered a word, groups of people were waving flags and moving east and south.

    Even at a glance, their numbers were substantial.

    Suddenly, Defender''s words came to mind.

    "You can''t hide forever."

    I had some self-confidence, but when I saw that crowd, I keenly felt how fragile the foundation of my self-esteem was.

    Nevertheless, they say there''s no such thing as a meaningless task in the world.

    I didn''t fully agree with that statement, but the elderly woman who was reciting mantras inspired me.

    Thud!

    I cleared away a fragment of the collapsed bunker.

    Beyond the fragment, a secret underground passage leading to the main bunker was revealed, shrouded in secrecy.

    If you can''t hide forever, you should at least hide well.

    The people who had brought the elderly residents to this apartment had chosen it as a high-speed nursing home because, to their eyes, the apartment''s exterior lacked any real charm.

    I planned to set up a camouflage house in the spot where the bunker had collapsed.

    It should be inconspicuous enough to fool even the zombies.

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