Chapter 162
Chapter 162
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 162
Chapter Title: 80. Breed (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Rebecca and her daughter left my territory so suddenly that it coincided almost perfectly with the point when the Defender siblings had headed off to the Legion faction's area in their truck, just a week prior.
In the midst of unrelenting cold dipping to minus twenty degrees, a U.S. military helicopter arrived out of nowhere and whisked them away.
Even Rebecca and her daughter hadn't anticipated the helicopter's abrupt arrival.
Because of that, I couldn't even hand over the juicy ham I'd prepared as a parting gift, let alone give them a proper send-off.
"SKELTON, I'll get in touch over the internet. Thank you... so, so much for everything."
At least we managed a brief farewell over the communicator, but Rebecca's voice cracked with sobs she could barely hold back as she spoke.
"SKELTON, this isn't the end. Just wait a little longer."
Soo was more composed than her mother, but the strain of holding back her emotions was plain as day.
I didn't have much to say.
"Yeah. Stay safe. Take care of yourselves... and live long."
All I could manage was some generic well-wishing.
Still, as Soo had said, this wasn't the end.
We had the internet, after all.
No matter how far apart we were, as long as Viva! Apocalypse! stayed up and running, we could keep in touch.
"......"
I stood on the hill above the bunker for a while, listening to the fading thrum of the helicopter's rotors as it vanished from sight.
In the end, the inevitable farewell had come to pass.
But when it actually happened, I felt surprisingly relieved.
Like I'd finally checked off a major burden from my list.
Thinking it over, it was probably the smart move for them to leave right now.
Given Incheon's descent into virtual civil war, this year was no less dangerous than the last—probably worse.
More refugees would pour out than last year's exodus.
And these would be armed with the weaponry the Legion faction had seeded across the region.
On top of that, South Korea was one of the most dangerous countries when weapons flooded the streets—at least from what I knew.
Most adult men had military training and mandatory service under their belts.
Meaning there were tons of people who could handle more than just rifles—mortars, field guns, heavy stuff like that.
And anyone who'd survived this long went without saying when it came to combat ability.
If that kind of crowd spilled out, even Rebecca and Soo, or the Defenders, could end up in a world of hurt.
When I put the gifts I'd prepped for them back in the freezer while tidying up, a lump rose in my throat—but that was it.
A day later, I adapted to the changed routine so quickly it surprised even me.
Daily patrols, checking gear and supplies, inspecting the bunker's facilities for issues, fixing what needed fixing, jotting notes on improvements, and spending spare time online—gathering outside intel while "connecting" with forum friends for some emotional relief.
It felt like the early days of the war all over again.
A few changes, though.
My gear was actually better than in those early war days.
I'd scored an all-weather, high-efficiency motorcycle and a lightly armored, high-mobility Humvee.
Weapons too: Javelins and some hunter gear.
Enough to at least have a shot at taking down dancer-types, mid-sizers, and even heavies with some luck.
Fuel worries? Solved with synthetic oil—a surprisingly solid substitute. If I can keep sourcing it, I'll probably stick with it.
Food stocks, though, had dwindled sharply.
The freezer, once packed tight, was down to about a third—intentionally so.
I'd learned the hard way how risky frozen food becomes when you can't keep the freezer running.
Frozen stocks were down, but preserved foods were still ample.
Cans, freeze-dried meals, brick rations.
Those alone could last me another three years easy.
Plus, I farm.
As a survivor pushing into year four, I'd gotten the hang of it, and seedlings were plentiful.
Last year, drone recon worries kept my plots small and scattered.
This year, I planned a "mid-scale farm" down in the abandoned fields below—camouflaged as coincidence.
If luck held, I could harvest enough fresh food for the whole year with my own hands.
After the brief second cold snap passed, temperatures rose fast.
A week since Rebecca and Soo left, outside temp was minus eight degrees.
Spring.
Sure enough, as it warmed up, things got noisy around here.
"Fuck! Fuck! Is there no one there? The kids are freezing to death!"
Sergeant Major Jang might not have been much for anything else, but his survival skills were top-notch.
His kids were still alive.
And kicking up a storm, too...
The real racket wasn't the radio, though.
A droning airplane rumble had been going on for a bit.
Sounded like a prop-driven military transport circling the area for some reason. U.S. military, maybe?
With the chopper visit fresh, perhaps another unit scouting old bases.
I donned a white poncho for basic snow camo and slipped out to scan the sky. Sure enough, a lone transport crossed the distant horizon.
What was its deal? As I watched quietly, my K-walkie-talkie crackled.
Personal ID: REDMASK
Woo Min-hee.
She'd mentioned before that she'd have a favor to ask when the weather warmed.
This must be it.
Back in the bunker, I answered.
"Senior."
"Yeah. What's up?"
My mood was just meh enough.
Unless it was seriously dangerous, I was game for her request.
But Woo Min-hee's ask was way off from what I'd expected.
"There's a plane buzzing around your place right now, right?"
"Yeah. So?"
"Runway nearby?"
"Yep."
"It's one of ours. Engine trouble—needs an emergency landing, but our airports are out."
"Why?"
"Things are a mess here."
She must've held the radio to a window.
Audio quality sucked, but faint gunfire and explosions filtered through.
Incheon was still a warzone, as expected.
Catching one Eom Nak-su wouldn't fix it.
He was just one fruit of long-festering grudges.
"Mind guiding the plane in? They can't spot the runway from up there."
"No flares, but I can make smoke."
"Perfect. Thanks."
"Got it."
"Oh, and."
"Yeah?"
"Kids on board."
"Kids?"
"On their way to Jeju."
I'd heard the stories plenty.
Talented kids from Seoul and Incheon shipped to Jeju.
That it was the real reason Incheon's government hung on.
First time seeing it for myself, though.
So this was how they sent them.
Not by sea, but air.
Just like Woo Min-hee said.
"Can you watch them till our truck gets there? There's military on board, but you're the survival expert out there, right?"
"Bunker's in rough shape lately—no room for guests."
"Internet issue?"
"Nah. No internet."
"Just bunk 'em somewhere decent. Weather's mild—no freezing."
"Roger. Guiding now."
"Thanks."
Call ended.
Guiding a plane and running a daycare? Bitter pill, but better than doing nothing.
At least Woo Min-hee paid in fuel.
Loaded jerry cans on the motorcycle and headed to the old U.S. base.
Whoosh—
My inventory had all sorts of junk, but no tactical flares or smoke grenades. My whole post-war plan was solo survival.
Still, no gear didn't mean no solution.
Grabbed drums scattered around the base, lined 'em up straight on the runway, lit branches for smoke.
Too much? Doused with extinguisher to mark the entrance clearly from the air.
Then chained logs to the bike like a plow, dragging a long snow trail toward the runway.
Walkie buzzed soon after.
"Bravo One here. Bravo One—any obstacles on the runway? Smoke and altitude make it hard to see clear."
"Some gravel, rocks maybe, but no vehicles."
"Thanks for the assist. Attempting emergency landing. Clear the runway—could be dangerous."
Right after, the transport banked sharply, lining up precisely.
Mounted the bike, watched it touch down.
The heavy beast roared, shredding runway snow like a shaved ice machine.
Rumble rumble...
Four props slowed gradually as the cargo door dropped like a beast yawning wide.
Armed soldiers emerged onto the runway.
I waved and radioed.
"Guide here."
Better safe than sorry—even if I looked friendly, identify friend-or-foe clearly.
Who knew how the plane's passengers felt.
Soldiers spotted me, waved back.
Seemed safe.
Rode up to them.
One captain, one master sergeant.
The master sergeant squinted, surveying the ruined base.
"Totally fucked. Blasted to hell. Makes sense—direct nuke hit. But a base this big, wiped clean? Nukes pack a punch."
"Usable?"
Captain asked; master sergeant replied.
"Should be, Captain. Outer buildings gone, but bunker's intact below. Built for nuke strikes from the start, from what I hear."
"Stash the kids there for now."
"Yes, sir."
Captain eyed me.
"You the hunter handling this sector?"
"Not officially. Just live around here."
"Appreciate the help."
"Mind if I ask what's going on?"
"Engine failed mid-flight."
Three years in, even top maintenance couldn't beat worn parts.
Recycling the least-shot spares shortened airframe life. Fuel quality sucked too.
Boom—nearest emergency spot was my turf.
"Incheon's sending a maintenance truck soon. We'll hole up till then—could use more help."
Captain bowed his head lightly.
"Speak up if you need anything."
"Not much lacking."
Captain gave a wry smile.
His odd expression set off alarms.
"We gotta head to Incheon briefly."
"Pardon?"
"Short on manpower. We'll bring parts and fix here ourselves."
"No one in Incheon?"
"Bodies, yeah—but no brains. Can't understand specs. Skilled workers scarce; the few went to Jeju. We were headed there too."
Checked his nametag.
Captain Kwon Seong-yul.
Young for his rank—mid-twenties tops.
Master Sergeant Ki Byeong-ho next to him looked mid-thirties.
Rank inflation—hallmark of a crumbling military.
From their talk, Incheon's air force was pulling out too.
Incheon getting abandoned?
Unicorn 18—Gang Han-min or Na Hye-in?—said spring would bring change.
Change doesn't come quick, though.
Anyway, job's a job—see it through.
No interest in daycare duty, but curiosity tugged: see these Jeju-bound kids with my own eyes.
Kids chosen by God, unlike me.
Just once.
"Kids, come on out."
Captain Kwon's call brought kids bundled thick, emerging warily one by one. Eight total.
Average mid-teens, like third-year middleschoolers.
Eyed the youngest.
Ten-ish? Boy who should still cling to mom, huddled penguin-like against the tallest girl, scared stiff.
Looked at the girl holding him.
Tall, older-looking than the rest.
Twenty, maybe a bit less.
That face... familiar.
"?"
No doubt.
Face from memory.
Where...?
She looked my way.
Our eyes met; a long-forgotten place flashed back like fate.
Pre-Seoul fall, a lodging.
Poor family, but good looks.
Boy there and I got close; he gave me his laptop, but vanished with family one day.
He had a sister.
Slim girl who kept distance.
Older, gaunt now—but her.
The laptop still stirring my emotions daily? His sister.
Neck tattoos and excessive piercings were new, but last seen two years back. Plenty happened since.
I named the long-gone inn.
"International Residence?"
Her eyes flickered.
She pointed, voice trembling.
"That uncle from back then?!"
Fate's twisted, they say. Never clicked for me.
Ours ended in sudden, fleeting death—absurd theater.
But for her family, fate twisted like a pretzel.
Expected golden boy dies pointlessly; unremarked sister heads to Jeju after two years.
"Fuck! Fuck!"
Light radio chatter shattered the brief silence.
"What the hell?"
Master Sergeant Ki glowered at the radio.
"Local kids living nearby."
"Kids?"
His glare softened; I spilled the truth.
"Raiders."