Chapter 395
Chapter 395
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Travel Preparations (18)
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****
Rustle. Rustle.
Clank, rattle.
Marching.
Strip away the exhaustion, and all that's left is something simple and monotonous. Walking, panting, occasionally checking the map, then walking again—pure repetitive labor.
"Wow, so you didn't step outside even once for almost seven years until I came to meet you at that underground library? You stayed inside that underground library?"
"Since I was holed up there even during the war, it's more like nine years.... or so?"
"Good lord. Zero point one century in a single spot? What are you, a tree?"
"Couldn't be helped. Sure, I thought about going outside countless times, but with a body that couldn't walk for two hours straight, there was no way I could cross the wasteland lugging around heavy radiation-blocking gear. Luckily, the place was packed with more books than I could read in a lifetime."
As always, it was conversation that turned that monotonous labor into everyday routine.
The gossip of the Anak women planting mo seeds in the seedbeds.
The grumbling of the two sentries standing watch at the outpost.
Amid the dust, metal, and footsteps filling the path, the voices of the two settled in calmly.
"You read them all in less than five years, let alone a lifetime."
"Five years? You mean you read every single book in that underground library?"
"....Loneliness, or the thought that I'd just die alone like that—reading was the only escape. Without Genie, I might've died right then. Being alone was scarier than I imagined."
"Genie.... Oh, that busted drone from back then?"
"Yeah."
Back-to-back as they were, he couldn't see her face, but he could hear her let out a small sigh.
"Genie's back in my sickroom. I tried to transfer her to a new state-of-the-art drone like Corduro, but...."
Even as he listened, their steps didn't falter.
"Remember when we first met? Talking to someone else felt so awkward...."
The sand sunk from the sandstorm grabbed at their ankles, while the unsettled grains rushed toward their eyes and mouths.
"I thought I was ready to face death, but when it came down to surviving alone.... I still wanted to live."
His back and shoulders ached under the weight of the straps, and thanks to the sweltering vinyl poncho, there wasn't a dry spot from head to toe.
Marching was grueling, exhausting labor.
"Ah, those ruins over there—that's the campsite marked on the map, right?"
"....We got here already."
So grueling.
So immersive.
He hadn't noticed the time passing or how far they'd come.
Dana's story. Not the 'Speed Wagon' he knew, but the tale of the woman who had lived until now as 'Dana A. Hyacinth'.
Come to think of it, this was probably the longest he'd ever talked with Dana.
"Just a bit more. I'll handle the camp setup while you rest once we get there."
"I can hear the rest.... tomorrow, right?"
The painful journey now promised a tomorrow worth enduring for.
Rustle. Rustle.
Clank. Clank.
Light footsteps left heavy imprints atop the ruins of a building crumbled by bombardment.
****
The ruins cast eerie shadows under the sunlight.
Between crumbled concrete, two figures—a man and a woman—moved cautiously, holding their breath.
....Scuff scuff.
Nod nod!
The man waved his hand, and the woman nodded tensely.
As planned, he held up three fingers.
Two.
One—
"Waaah!"
"?!?"
Rustle rustle rustle!
"It's out! Dana! Pull!"
"Hnngh—!"
Whatever had been hiding in the building's shadows bolted in panic at the sudden yell, only to get snared in the crudely laid vinyl noose and dangle helplessly.
"Keeek! Kiiiek!"
"Got it!"
"Dinner's served—!"
Cheers echoed between the skeletal building frames.
Dana's dust-caked face beamed with accomplishment as she clutched the rope of their catch, enough to warm even the viewer's heart.
"The map marked campsites and food spots. Whoever made this map, I gotta go thank them when we get back."
"W-We caught it, but.... do you even know how to eat this thing?"
"You've probably eaten it before, Dana. It's a radioactive scorpion. Staple food for wasteland survivors."
"Radioactive scorpion? But this one's kinda translucent white, and way smaller than the ones I know...."
"That's why it's lucky. This is a delicacy even among wasteland specials!"
He took the rope from Dana and snapped the thrashing creature's head in one go, tail and claws flailing menacingly.
"What you know are radioactive scorpions over six months old. Big, thick-shelled, tough enough for newbie survivors that it's more battle than hunt."
Crack. Crunch. Snap snap!
"And this white one we caught~ is a juvenile radioactive scorpion. See the transparent shell? Freshly molted."
Radioactive scorpions thrived everywhere in the wasteland, the most adaptable creature of their era. Their meat was common, outer shell not very tough—low market value.
But in certain terrains, these small white juveniles popped up rarely, fetching good prices from Dome gourmets.
"I thought scorpions were caught by pouring water into their holes? I figured they lived in the wasteland's hard-packed ground...."
"Usually, yeah. But juveniles haven't hardened up yet, so they can't dig into the tough wasteland floor. They hide in rock crevices or deserted building ruins, snacking on bugs and rodents."
"I see...."
"Up we go. Just detach the tail and thin legs, slit the belly and scoop out the guts—that's prep done. Grill the rest as-is. The proper way is to char it crispy shell and all."
Small as it was, the body stretched 50cm long.
Packed with protein and vitamins, kept well-cooked it lasted a week at room temp, and above all, delicious.
Thud thud, whoosh!
Tonight's campsite: a corner of the collapsed building under a surviving ceiling along the pillars.
He gathered dried plant scraps, scant wood chunks, and plastic lumps for firewood, sparked a fire using rifle barrel and belt buckle instead of flint, then rigged an inclined tarp from leftover waterbed vinyl connecting ceiling and floor.
"When lighting a fire without proper fuel, mind the wind direction. You could choke on gas from burning trash in your sleep."
"Grabbed those empty beer cans on the way? Prop 'em under that vinyl corner. Catch the dew collecting on it by morning."
"And.... this hole looks good for perimeter watch.... Wind's coming in—might get chilly? Stripped area, not much usable firewood...."
"Pfft!"
As he bustled about, Dana's laughter bubbled from beside him.
"Ah, sorry. No offense—just.... it's fascinating, and you look so happy."
"Fascinating?"
"Yeah. I told you earlier, right? Locked in that underground library alone, I dreamed of a life like this. Harsh and tough.... but free, shaping my surroundings with my own hands. Got to check off another bucket list item by chance."
"Heh. Just so you know, a day like today is super rare in wasteland life. No mutant attacks en route, verified safe sleep spot, luxury ingredients to boot. If every wastelander lived like this, scavengers would be called bourgeois."
"I know. Still.... being in the moment I imagined feels pretty damn good."
Sizzle.
With that, Dana carefully pulled the young radioactive scorpion from under the campfire embers.
Brushed off the sand, revealing a hand full of perfectly roasted red body.
Crunch!
One big bite: crisp shell texture. Front teeth hit springy flesh that popped in chewy bursts. Heat-steamed innards in the body released juices with every chew, filling the mouth with the nutty protein savor unique to arthropods.
"D-Delicious.... The pure essence of living wild wasteland....!"
"Professor, you lived seven years in the wasteland and never tried this?"
"Caught a few, but sold 'em fresh at the community exchange right away. Ahh, finally tasting it! If I'd known sooner, no need for pricey antidepressants from Old Man Woojin!"
"This flavor's unforgettable for sure."
"Mm! Mm-hmm! Let's hunt the exchange when we get back. Or post a request if none."
"Bet bought ones won't taste the same."
"Hm? Maybe. But Dome's upper crust has plenty of foodies—they probably eat better than us."
"Still—"
.
.
.
.
After that, Dana and he yakked endlessly about whether store-bought juvenile radioactive scorpion would beat this or not. Before long, they grinned like idiots at each other's soot-blackened faces.
A pleasant interlude as the day faded.
The plastic fire's sticky flames flickered softly, cool night air brushing the campsite.
"Professor. Looks like.... we'll have to sleep close, huh?"
"Yeah. Already sweat-soaked and unwashed—cold wind could make us sick. Health is key in the outdoors, health. Sticking together'll be way warmer."
"Sweat.... sleeping close... sweat smell.... mm...."
....Plop!
Gulp, gulp!
"D-Dana? Whoa, easy on the booze.... Aren't you a lightweight?"
"Throat was.... a bit dry."
The bed was a bivouac of poncho and vinyl scraps.
Flushed face from the buzz. Slightly unfocused eyes, drowsy voice.
As she rolled toward him lying down, words slipped out unbidden.
"You're pretty even covered in dirt, Dana."
"....!"
Dana's eyes widened like a startled bird, face flushing deeper. Lips pressed as if in resolve.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Before exhaustion from the day's wasteland trek crashed down, the last thing he remembered was her face like that.
In his doze, he thought he heard Dana murmur 'Professor.... asleep? Fell asleep?' with a faint touch on his cheek—but probably imagined.
Tired, belly full, vinyl blanket warmed by body heat—cozy enough.
'Perfect day, really.'
With that thought, he passed out.
****
Static—crackle—
"Signal con—firmed—crackle! You made it through that sandstorm, Professor Park."
"Whew! Don't remind me! Three days of pure hell.... Any spare vehicles? Send one our way?"
"Uh.... Raptor movements confirmed—all vehicles on ops right now, but we can spare one by morning."
"Please do! Coords you know! [47. 943. 15. 7]! That building with the water tank on the patrol route!"
"Yes. Confirmed. Just hold tight."
Click.
"Dana! Heard that? Vehicle incoming! We can go home!"
"Yeah."
"Ugh! Once we're back, Ian's getting the beating of his life, dog days style—"
"Yeah."
"Uh.... Dana? Everything okay?"
"Fine."
Wasteland survival with Dana, day three evening.
Day one ended nice, but the wasteland stayed deadly.
Body still wrecked. Detoured mutant predator habitats on the map, fought a firefight after stumbling in, fled sound-attracted others hiding in wild mutant's abandoned burrow....
After all that ordeal, they escaped sandstorm radio interference and nailed the rescue request.
Shared tons of stories with Dana, learned each other's pasts and secrets in depth.
'Nothing bonds people faster or better than cheating death together!'
Some suffering, but their bond skyrocketed.
It should have, anyway.....
"Um.... Dana? Anything you wanna tell me?"
"....No."
So why had Miss Dana Elisha Hyacinth turned so prickly?
He got her snippiness on wasteland crossing day two.
He was spec-ops stock—fit, torture-proof from hardships. Dana was a regular woman, frail, new to the outside.
Fatigue made anyone irritable; he actually liked seeing her human side, so he took her grumbles with 'Just a bit more—'
Then this morning.
'Mmm~ Slept great. Morning, Dana~'
'....Glad you slept well.'
—Chill!
Irritation spiked to icy frost?
'What'd I do? Dug too deep into her past? Yeah, every wastelander's got trauma—no need to pry weepy. Or.... that monthly magic day?'
Or, or.... no way....?
Smack!
"Ugh, nerves frayed? Head's gone nuts. Snap out of it, Professor Park—you're with Dana Elisha Hyacinth, not that damn Deer. Horse shit in your skull!"
Self-smack for impure thoughts about Dana. Just getting to know each other—no way! Rice ain't cooked, don't chew raw!
As he smacked creeping bad ideas, wet footsteps—splash splash—approached from behind.
"What're you doing?"
"Ah, bad thought popped up—waaah!"
Crash!
"Washed up since there's water. You too, Professor. You sweated buckets coming here—no proper wash."
"Dana, uh, g-got it.... B-But clothes? Just poncho?"
"Cleaned 'em. People coming tomorrow morning. I'm kinda public figure—don't wanna look like this."
"Aaarghhfjk*&#!!"
Turning around, the smacked 'bad thought' avalanched in size.
Second floor of a concrete building, outer wall crumbled wide open.
Dana approached barefoot, dripping water, wringing hair with both hands.
Baggy poncho, but crudely vinyl-cut, gaps inevitable.
Peeking through slits: nothing but pure white skin.
Oh God.
Lord Ro Haram, don't test me! Guide me with light!
Rustle. Rustle.
Eyes shut, still skin-brushing sounds pierced eardrums to brain.
Dana sat casually by the small fire, eyeing him.
"What. Go wash."
"Ah, no, I'm used to this life—"
"Wash. And. Come."
"Yessir."
Sprint!
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Splash!
"Graaah!"
Cold water on head restored some sanity.
As vision cleared, Dana's clothes neatly hung by rooftop water tank faucet caught his eye.
Cleaned pristine, but worn white dress.
Heel-broken shoes she'd worn.
And, uh.... dainty underthings for certain areas, plus his own neatly laundered poncho laid out invitingly.
Uh.... uuuuuuh!!!
Think, think! Recall that thick-skinned genius that got you here! Scenarios, variables, risks....
Splash! Pffhaaa!
"Though I walk in darkness, light guides me—no desire or delusion invades faith....!"
Wrong. Sunset looks just like Ro Haram saying 'Figure it out yourself—'! Wh-Who, who can teach me how to handle this!
....Stab—
"Not you, this bastard! Ughhh.... Calm, gotta calm somehow...."
Splash!
After time with cold water, Lord's Prayer, holy war hymns, and national anthem.
As dusk settled on the concrete building, a awkwardly poncho-clad man staggered out.
"Back?"
"Yup."
"Sit."
"Yessum."
Fire between them, vinyl-ponchoed Dana and he faced off. Prepped bottles of Ian's strong stuff at each spot.
"....We survived this. How 'bout a modest toast?"
Pop, click click, plop—
"Cheers—"
"Ch-Cheers."
Raising bottles high, poncho sides gaped—nowhere to look. Dana, buzzed, tilted hers nonchalantly.
Gulp, gulp—
"Cough cough! Cough, haaaa...."
"That's high-proof booze—don't chug like that.... You'll hurt yourself."
"You're downing it same and fine...."
"I'm built different."
"....True. You're one unusual guy."
Already tipsy? Loose eyes stared blankly, liquor dribbling unchecked from lips.
"Professor. You asked if I had something to say?"
"Mm."
"Yeah. I do. And you have something to say to me too. Definitely."
"....Me?"
"Yeah. You. Professor Park."
Her big eyes bored into him, peering at his heart.
"You think me and your friends are total idiots....? Can't even notice you've been rushing since you logged out?"
"....Dana, that's—"
"You're hurrying. There's something you haven't told us. You're acting like someone tying up loose ends before leaving far away.... rushing like that."
Slink.
Splash splash.
Thud.
Dana clutched her bottle in one hand, staggered to his side, plopped down. He instinctively caught her collapsing form.
She looked up from his arms, eyes misty.
"....Don't go. You finally got out after all that hardship."
"It's not like that."
"The wasteland ain't as pretty or vibrant as over there.... But there are good moments. Like the last three days we shared."
"Dana...."
That raw, irresistible emotion pulled at him.
"We talked a ton these past three days.... Tough times, embarrassing moments, likes, dislikes, dreams, ideals, future...."
Approaching fingertips.
"Up to here, even Vex or Ian know—stuff shared with family-like folks. Innermost, precious memories. Weak spots too."
Alcohol-laced heated breath.
"But.... I don't wanna just be your friend. I want more—know and share even more. Not just your past, but your future too."
Rustle.
"Tell me. About you, more than you've shared so far. The you from now on, the Professor Park I'll be with."
"....Alright."
He'd expected a moment like this someday. But not in a half-ruined concrete building under sand breeze, wide open to the world.
Too steep for a rookie.
Amid heated breaths, his amused exhale mingled in.
"Like you've rehearsed it forever, Miss Dana?"
"....Deer sis taught me. This and that."
"Hahaha, oh Lord."
"....Uh-oh?"
"Ian said it'd be safe. Cleared threats beforehand."
"Aah, Deer, what the hell'd you do while I was gone...."
Lord. Ro Haram.
Even this girl before me's an accomplice. Heavens.
Her cute confession conjured that ultimate meddler in their minds clearer than anyone—laughter erupted from both unbidden.
And laughing pressed close to a loved one? Thrillingly arousing.
Click.
He flipped the steel switch of reason that forged this Professor Park.
Not a cold night. Beyond mere body heat, evoking long-forgotten warmth.
Soft skin texture and warmth in his arms, praying dawn never came.
****