Chapter 98
Chapter 98
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 98
Chapter Title: 53. Miracle
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It's a sweltering summer.
Last year, I would've cranked the AC and lived in luxury day after day, but with the cold snap coming, I need to save fuel.
To make matters worse, the main entrance is blocked with dirt, so ventilation is tough.
These days, my base of operations isn't the main bunker—it's inside Bunker 4, the dummy one.
I named it Bunker 4. It overlooks the gentle slope leading up to my territory, surrounded by scrub trees that provide decent shade, and best of all, it's on a breeze path, making it the coolest spot among them.
When the heat gets unbearable, I head down to the stream below and soak.
Not to brag, but the stream in front of my house used to get packed with mystery valley merchants and day-trippers every summer.
The depth was just right, the current gentle—perfect for playing.
The water quality wasn't great, though; long moss-like stuff hung from every rock.
But now, with no people around, it's surprisingly clean. Flip a rock, and you'll find crayfish.
Sitting there with an umbrella as a parasol, feet in the stream water, it's so peaceful you wouldn't believe the world is mid-apocalypse.
But the loaded rifle sitting quietly beside me is undeniable proof I can't fully enjoy this peace.
Gunshots echo now and then, but not from the sniper mom and daughter.
It's from the north, where the settlers have set up.
The Legion hasn't shown their faces since.
Compared to that hellish labor trekking to Incheon, it's an anticlimactic end, but the Legion staying away is the best-case scenario.
Of course, I can't let my guard down yet.
They could decide to come kill me anytime, somewhere I don't know about.
Chrrrrr—
Lately, I've been testing synthetic fuel.
Before trying it in the main generator on sublevel 2, I'm running tests in a small diesel one.
Info from Failnet and such says Korea's synthetic fuel is top-tier, thanks to its world-class petrochemical tech.
The government pulled all sorts of stunts during the war, sure, but maintaining admin control three years post-war shows real foresight.
Synthetic fuel is one example.
Anticipating disrupted sea trade after war broke out, they ordered development using coal and other substitutes. Prototypes were ready before the war even ended, apparently.
I've tested it a few times, and the quality never felt subpar.
But it has a fatal flaw: instability.
The variance in quality between batches is way too wide.
Some batches rival gasoline; others are barely better than kerosene.
Worse, quality degrades over time—the later the production, the more useless it gets.
Still, some factories keep churning out premium stuff, especially the massive industrial complexes in the south.
If my generator accepts it and I can source more, maybe my bunker's lifespan stretches as long as the world's?
That's the rationale for testing, but honestly, it's closer to making busywork for peace of mind than doing nothing.
Vreeeeeng—
The portable generator hums along with synthetic fuel—no big difference from diesel.
The issue might be long-term wear on the generator.
At least it runs fine on synthetic.
I should test the main one someday, but I'm short on fuel, and this winter's on wood boilers and stockpiles.
Full shakedown probably next year.
At night, I do construction.
Plumbing work.
Bunker 8 is the closest dummy to my main one, and I'm converting it into living space for the sniper duo.
Time to build a real community.
Toilets are crucial.
They freak out at mine, and honestly, I don't want anyone else sitting on it.
So, construction begins.
But no room for a full bathroom inside the dummy, so I'm adding a new facility nearby.
Criteria: share existing pipes, low difficulty, right distance.
The real headache isn't complexity—it's water.
My tanks are sized for solo survival.
Two more people? No way.
Find new sources or pipe in stream water—those are the options.
Whatever, later.
Nothing too hard.
Infinite expansion and modification—that's been my bunker's core concept since pre-war planning.
The heavy equipment and materials in my garage are for this.
About time to deploy them.
After basic work, I told the Rebecca duo.
"...Did sewer work."
My version of good news.
But what awaited me was a miracle I never imagined.
"SKELTON! SKELTON!"
Rebecca was choking up.
Not just her.
Su was sobbing too, from beside her.
Even Su, who rarely cries, was bawling. Goosebumps hit me as I urgently asked,
"Wh-what happened?"
The answer was the realization of an impossible possibility.
"David. David's alive!"
"David? Who's that?"
"My husband."
*
Rebecca's husband and Su's father was alive.
In America, no less.
Here's how: Desperately searching for her husband on Viva! Apocalypse!'s English board, Rebecca started chatting with a U.S. survivor group. Someone there recognized him, told him, and today he sent a video message to his family.
"He was alive..."
A miracle, nothing less.
Or from his side, the duo surviving might be the miracle.
Over two years in a land with no shared language, culture, or nation—anyone can grasp how insane that is.
"...Congratulations."
I sent my heartfelt congrats to the duo.
"We'll head over soon!"
"You're coming?"
"Yeah! Gotta party! Party!"
"What party?"
"David's coming here!"
"SKELTON! Prep some juicy stuff."
"What—"
They were overly hyped, but their joy infecting me meant I'd accepted them as my people sometime ago.
This miracle probably won't end happily, but at least it'll leave some joy in the middle.
Thinking that, I scanned the surroundings.
The usual peaceful fields.
Once called the Field of Death after nukes fell, a wasteland for ages, but now life's blooming excessively everywhere, making the name obsolete.
Autumn turns paddies golden; wildflowers splash color.
The ridge of my territory, scorched bare by fallout winds, now sprouts trees growing visibly day by day, aiming to blanket it in green.
At night, lights flicker on the horizon.
Their number and proximity growing— not just my imagination.
But then.
"..."
Another miracle.
Gold appeared.
With pups identical to him.
A female—probably the mother—stood warily beside, glaring at me.
"What the?"
I eyed the pups' size.
Huge.
But irresistibly cute.
One thing clear:
"Knew it was a mutt."
Harsh words, but I prefer country dogs over purebreds.
Gold snarled, baring teeth, but soon licked the pups, indulged their play, then left my territory with them.
"What?"
He left nothing behind.
Just strutted off west with family, tail wagging.
"..."
Looks like Gold just came to brag about his kids.
Dogs or humans, parents love showing off offspring.
Still, him thriving there with pups is positive.
Southwest safe, at least.
Chinese remnants, zombies, and zombie messiah there.
Zombies, fine. Not the Chinese.
Around noon, the Rebecca duo arrived on bikes, all buddy-buddy.
"Saw your mutation."
Rebecca said, doffing goggles, face shocked.
"Mutation? What kind?"
"Dog."
"Dog?"
"Yeah."
Su chimed in.
"Pups too. So cute."
"I see."
To them, special; to me, meh.
Just in case:
"They didn't attack?"
"Nah, just sniffed and left."
"Ah."
I snorted involuntarily.
My scent must've reached that foreign family somehow.
"Here. Booze."
Rebecca shoved a bottle at me.
"No, pass on booze."
"Champagne. Saved it."
Real champagne.
Cultural gap, I guess.
No popping corks around here.
Soju shots, sure.
"Save the champagne."
Before our modest party, I showed them the new toilet under construction.
"Pipes connecting here."
"Here? Right here?"
"Yeah. You're moving nearby anyway, right?"
Rebecca and Su exchanged looks.
"For real?"
They asked in unison.
Their identical eyes made me smile unwittingly as I told them,
"David's coming here, right? Gotta hold out till then."
My passive invite to join.
Time's come.
"SKELTON!"
Su beamed; Rebecca, sloppy as she is, mom instincts kicked in.
"You sure? Really okay?"
I pulled her aside briefly.
"...Better than you dying. Harsh winter coming? Supplies running low?"
"True, but..."
"Not totally safe."
I met her eyes, explained my crisis.
"...Legion knows this place. Camouflaged, but a determined one could return. You could get dragged in."
"SKELTON, not that..."
"What?"
"We're both women..."
She's thinking too far ahead.
Her real worry: this SKELTON.
I smirked at her.
The beast-like woman from first sight now eyed me with human emotion and understanding.
Inwardly praising her endurance, I spoke.
"Won't say 'don't worry' cliché."
"I do. A lot."
"What do you take me for?"
"..."
She shut up, averted gaze.
Adorable. Calmly, I shared my long-planned setup.
"We'll set zones."
"Zones?"
"Yeah. Close, but my turf, your turf. Strict boundaries—no crossing. Minimizes run-ins."
Proven in China.
"And no free rides. You'll have duties."
Deciding to take the sniper duo, I'd pondered roles.
Prime combat/spotting assets.
24/7 vigilance baseline.
Mom's internet addict, but daughter's sharp.
They'll guard south border.
Gold's turf now, but bad rumors from Gyeongnam.
Move-in time left, but finish before winter.
"Alright, then."
We held a simple party celebrating David's survival and our community's birth.
Nothing fancy: freezer meat, garden veggies, Su's fave juicy stuff.
Sparse menu, no issue.
Joy was the feast.
"David says he's flying in!"
"Be real."
"I-I know it's nuts. Everyone called him crazy."
From snippets, David seemed as pie-in-sky as Rebecca.
Birds of a feather.
Their product Su? Nothing like parents.
"SKELTON, look."
Su showed her phone.
Gold and his proud pups, captured cozily—missed my shot.
"..."
Suddenly wondered: if I married, who?
My crowd's like-minded; a woman like this SKELTON? Nah.
Not unless Park Gyu shapes up...
"Alright, SKELTON, cheers. Clink!"
Rebecca's fuss swapped champagne for fizzy drinks, Korean-style clink.
Sipping, eyed the lone champagne bottle in the corner.
This champagne.
Could it pop?
"SKELTON?"
Su sat beside, peering at my face.
"Whatcha thinking?"
"Dunno."
"Bad stuff?"
"That obvious?"
"Yeah."
Even this kid reads me now.
Self-mocking, I gazed at the endlessly blue sky.
"Wish we could pop that champagne."
*
Bad news brewing in Gyeongnam had whispered on Failnet for three days.
Evening, truth hit.
Mass monster outbreak from Yangsan Rift, Gyeongnam.
Second-most populous after Seoul, had heavy troops, yet unprecedented horde wrecked half the killzone.
Barely held the rift area—that's it.
Anon Failnet user's photo: thousands of capsules scattered in nameless hills.
My eyes drifted to the champagne bottle in the room.
Not bad so far.
Fleeting hope beats none.
But it's plastered with grimy black sticky notes.
Started with two: Su's and mine.
Hers stayed one; mine multiplied.
Post-IMG encounter, probably.
This black chain? Maybe "despair" or "resignation."
Everyone prays for their miracle, but mine's one: Strongmin closes the rift, hears my news, dies.