Chapter 29
Chapter 29
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: The Magic Drug (2)
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"SKELTON, here."
The moment I stepped into the squat building behind the Mad Sniper's daughter, I was met with a sight I never expected.
American franchise signs, a colonel's statue posed mid-fry of some fried chicken, comic book superhero movie posters, U.S. road signs, all sorts of English typography, dead neon signs in English, English newspapers, even a hero's shield.
The unnecessarily spacious building, cluttered and unkempt, was stuffed to the brim with things that screamed America—or at least evoked it.
Upstairs, in a room full of wind whistling through a jumble of makeshift cover, the Mad Sniper lay prone, rifle trained on the world below.
Her eyes glued to the scope, the Mad Sniper spoke.
"Enemy. RPG. Has."
Her daughter set down the binoculars, knelt beside her, and scanned the ground below.
"Can't see it."
"Hiding."
The Mad Sniper added,
"RPG dangerous. Aiming for us."
Her Korean was halting, but I got the picture.
The guys drawing attention out front were decoys.
Someone with a portable rocket launcher was holed up somewhere, ready to blow the sniper duo sky-high.
That must be why she'd called me in.
But that was just her take.
I needed to judge the situation myself.
From my battlefield experience, cornered folks had a habit of hyping threats beyond reality.
"I'll cover for a bit. Draw me a quick map."
I took over her sniper rifle.
The grip was slick with sweat.
Settling in, I peered through the high-magnification scope. Yeah, there they were.
These weren't your run-of-the-mill raiders.
They were the survivors—the ones who'd trampled and killed their way through hordes of others to level up.
The maniacs raving and laughing up front, high as kites? Cannon fodder.
Behind them, out of rifle range, hunkered in cover, fully geared vets scanned every angle with cold killer eyes.
Those must be the core crew.
The frontliners ate bullets.
A bunch of women mixed in too, but they didn't look like fighters.
"SKELTON."
The Mad Sniper handed me a map.
I glanced at her left foot.
Even with the subzero wind howling in, it was just bandaged and awkwardly hiked up behind her.
That explained her awkward rise earlier—wound on that left foot.
I met her blue eyes straight on.
No trace of the madness I'd feared.
Just gloom, anxiety, heavy fatigue shadowing her.
"What happened to your leg?"
"Need meds."
The Mad Sniper stared at her left foot with a depressed frown.
"...My leg's rotting."
"We'll check it later."
I studied her map.
Military precision—key points crisp and clear.
Quick scan, and I had my verdict.
These numbers, this gear? No dice.
Worse, the enemy were cunning hunters.
They knew we were few and were choking us out slow and easy with superior numbers.
Flashing that RPG? Not a promise to fire it—just psyops to rattle us.
Plant seeds of panic, spark wild imaginings, speed our collapse. That was their real play.
I looked at the Mad Sniper.
"Tough fight."
"So?"
"Got space in my bunker."
Her eyes shook hard, but she was a soldier.
She knew her situation better than anyone.
She gazed sadly at her leg.
"Su."
The Mad Sniper called her daughter.
Su.
That was her name.
In this hell, the mother-daughter bond seemed tight.
No words needed; they just got each other.
Su caught on, shook her head, and hugged her mom.
The Mad Sniper whispered in English.
Probably refusing to go.
Clutching her daughter, she looked at me with wet eyes.
"Sorry, SKELTON. Knew it was risky. Knew, still called."
I asked her flatly, belated confession or not.
"Got other weapons?"
"Other weapons?"
"Humvee had heavy stuff before. Where's it all?"
The Mad Sniper gently pried her daughter off and locked eyes with her.
"Su."
The girl nodded, adjusted her helmet, and darted off nimbly.
"SKELTON. Follow."
As we left, I glanced back at the Mad Sniper.
Lonely expression, she waved me on.
Take the girl and go, she meant.
I shook my head.
Surprise flickered in her eyes.
Leaving it behind, I tailed Su.
Weapons were stashed in a second-floor storeroom.
My hunch was spot-on.
Recoilless rifles, 7.62mm machine guns, Claymores, grenades, even Javelins.
A full-on heavy weapons shop.
But she wasn't using them for good reason.
Her ace Javelins? Two, both batteries dead.
The rest packed punch but lacked range or precision.
And with her leg shot, they were dead weight now.
Didn't matter to me.
Found what I needed.
U.S.-made recoilless rifle.
Fired one back in Paju.
Light, reliable, solid firepower.
Effective range: under 200 meters.
Damn fine negotiation tool.
"Borrow two."
"Two?"
I nodded at her question, then asked,
"What's your name?"
She hesitated, then met my eyes steady.
"Rebecca."
*
Now I held serious firepower.
Took two, but one solid shot was all I'd get.
Simple math.
Kill as many as possible in one go.
Prioritize wiping the deepest, fully armed vets.
Cannon fodder next—but numbers mattered there too.
My plan? Eerily like my neighbor sniper's.
Quiet ambush, wait for the perfect shot.
But these raiders weren't chumps.
Unlike the park pioneers, they spread loose, sentries everywhere.
I waited.
Raiders gnawed at her nerves with drugged-up cannon fodder out front.
Sniper and kid fired back when they could—no gains.
I hunkered in brush, soaking earth chill, waiting for night.
"Hey, you fuck! Do it right! Eyes open, I said!"
Rough shout from enemy lines.
Boss-level bellowing, clubbing a fodder mercilessly for show.
Raider hauled off battered, dumped on the ground—no one cared.
Night fell; vigilance held.
They even sent rifle squads to pepper her building periodic fire.
No rest day or night—that was the intent.
No choice; I swapped with Rebecca, made her catch some sleep.
Next day, provocations ramped up.
Bolder now: armored vehicle up front, closing distance, then blasting tunes from speakers.
Song cut; boss-type, safe in back, mic'd up from afar.
"You hiding ones. Know how many—two? Three? Heard your radio call. Nothing changes. Hate dragging this; let's deal simple. Low on ammo? Cough some up. Not much—500 rounds. Gotta have that, right? Word's out."
Sun dipping; I crept closer again.
Yesterday's dumped guy? Eyes wide, frozen solid.
Guards still tight.
Could force a gap, but held for next time.
Another empty day gone.
Rebecca eyed me worried.
"You okay? No plan?"
"Hm."
Handed her chocolate, replied,
"Wait."
She watched; I dozed brief.
Heard shots in half-sleep—no wake-up.
Another day passed.
Time to worry my bunker, but no shake.
This fight: first to crack loses.
Starver vs. starvee—first slip dies.
Chance hit sudden.
Late evening, rain poured.
Snow season, temps—but rain fell.
Raiders pitched tents, huddled under.
Made sense.
No one wants cold rain.
But fights cull the unprepared first.
Drip-drip-
Near-freezing rain down my brow.
Clothes mud-soaked, cold, wet; riverside wind evaporated it, freezing lungs.
All endured, I crawled forward.
Through my breath plumes, tents and giggling idiots.
Sights on, safety off, recoilless aimed.
Boss glanced my way—but rocket already roared out.
BOOM!
Explosion endgame.
Hated it, but simplest.
*
Second time inviting folks to my bunker.
Brought Rebecca the Mad Sniper and Su.
Purpose: her surgery.
Left foot necrotizing.
Old-school flesh-eating disease gnawing her leg and mind.
Her med nagging? Probably tried self-surgery.
"Hold up. Watching a video."
I was no pro, but school and field taught basic trauma care.
Video guides? Should do.
"SKELTON!"
Su eyed my bunker like wonderland.
Fair—huge, gorgeous shelter turns heads.
"Why's the toilet in the middle?"
"...Stay by Mom."
Surgery time.
Drained pus, incised wound, disinfected, ointment.
Best I could.
Prognosis? Kyle_Dos's antibiotics and her will.
Rebecca, face ashen, asked,
"Did it right? Not hack job?"
"Followed video. Should be fine. Take meds good. Or lose the leg."
She eyed her bloody-bandaged foot, swept hair back, stared ceiling.
"Meds?"
"Still need?"
"Hard."
She sighed lonely.
Yeah, had to be.
Got the pain.
But no drugs.
Decided that upfront.
"Drugs don't fix it."
Rebecca nodded, eyes tearing.
"...Miss home."
Home.
How long since I heard that?
"...And people. Folks who speak our tongue. Wanna talk. In our words, not this."
Halting words, but pierced deeper than poetry.
Dreamed similar once.
Dealing with alien tongues—how vague, alien.
For her, daily grind.
"Our words..."
Maybe that piled vagueness rotted her heart worse than flesh.
If so, no cure.
How send her back to America now?
Resigned to lame comfort,
"!"
Wait.
There was.
Magic to grant her wish.
"Hey, Rebecca."
Called her.
"Come on."
Laptop open, community loaded.
"What? This?"
Su crowded in, intrigued.
Magic time.
Magic I'd never linked to myself.
No chants, no circles—just clicks.
Magic began.
With glitchy scroll.
Awkward English titles.
Yep.
Viva! Apocalypse! English board.
Main hub, really—users multiples of ours.
Translation on tap, but rarely used.
Korean board was my home.
But for this beast from another world, her pack's growls would hit home.
"What? Real people?"
Yeah, home's echo.
"Obviously."
Rebecca's face lit girl-like; I stepped aside.
Trembling hands on keys, she poured her native tongue into the void.
*
"Out."
I admit it.
This Park Gyu ain't no saint.
"Out, I said."
"Little longer."
"No, all night already. Till when?"
"Little more."
Sniper trouble; kid no better.
"SKELTON, what's this?"
"Hey hey! Don't touch. Kids can't see."
Ferret-sniffing embarrassing stuff.
Like sis's old ferret.
Disaster duo evicted near noon.
"...Thanks, SKELTON."
"Thanks! SKELTON!"
Late gratitude from mom and kid.
Sniper whispered to daughter.
Su nodded, asked fluent-ish Korean,
"Mom asks why help then."
"Then?"
"First flee offer—you flipped."
"That..."
I smiled soft.
No need to say.
Rebecca hugging Su, wet eyes on me—like Mom cradling dying sis.
"Neighbors."
Half-true.
Ruthless boot from main bunker, but offered dummy one.
Either way, duo nearing limit.
Rebecca still clung to her turf.
Didn't push.
Half-day sharing space with stranger? Bone-deep not easy.
More prep needed.
For them, me.
"Just comp one more hour."
"Out."
Watched duo climb abandoned stairs from truckside.
Rebecca limped, bowed head to me.
Sudden question,
"Still need meds?"
Rebecca wry smile, shook head.
Su clung, waved bye.
Lingered, watched.
Magic drug existed.
Hoping mine awaits, I left.
"..."
On Christmas, radio swaps only.