Chapter 2 – The Erysichthon Protocol
The snare whipped around the old man’s ankle like a lightning bolt. Of course, he didn’t stop walking. He kept running straight toward me, dragging the trap along.
But traps aren’t like bear traps. If it catches, it doesn’t yank the leg clean off.
Instead, if you weave it between dense trees with deep roots…
Thud.
There it was. The wire snare snagged perfectly on the trunk between two trees. Wild boars that step into one of these never get out easy.
The old man crashed forward. Even so, his grudge didn’t vanish. He flailed, trying to grab me anyway.
Thang! Thang! Thang! Chank-chang, thwang!
The tin can I’d left on the ground clattered like crazy. It was the same as ringing a temple bell to call people to dinner.
I danced around him in a little circle. He spun after me, too. The wire on his ankle tightened with every step, wrapping around the tree trunks.
I stood far away and planted my feet. I grabbed a heavy stone and hurled it. A crack and a spray of blood followed.
The zombie I’d tripped earlier with the snare came crawling toward me, drooling.
I stepped out of the way fast, like “Bon appétit.”
The tin can rattled, the blood scent spread, the howls and wet smacking sounds broke the forest’s silence and spread far and wide.
Through the trees I saw more zombies coming. I watched them from a distance. I walked calmly toward the forester’s house.
My stomach was starving.
* * * * *
Getting lost in the woods is easy. Visibility is blocked and sounds echo. Every direction looks the same, so it’s hard to tell where you are.
Which means the woods are the best place to hide. Just don’t do anything flashy.
I lowered my body as much as possible and moved slowly. Never rush. The zombies are spread out more than I expected, so I had to be extra careful.
I’d expected the zombies near the woodland recreation area, but even in the underbrush I heard the rustle of feet just a few dozen steps away.
They hadn’t been visible or detectable earlier. About twenty or thirty steps.
Of course they weren’t easy to see because of the thick trees, but these guys stopped every now and then to check their surroundings, just like me.
Some even caught my scent and looked straight at me.
Was it the body odor?
Just as Westerners smell like cheese and Koreans like garlic, zombies react to body odor too.
When they catch an unfamiliar, strong scent, they get curious and come closer. Thick perfume, heavy sweat, or the stink of a long-unwashed body.
But the screams and agonized roars coming from the other side were stronger, so they just drooled and passed by.
The forester zombie was really strong. Even while several zombies were biting his limbs, he was still fighting back.
‘That’s why they call him the Newbie Cutter.’
The real way to handle the forester is to avoid fighting him directly. Instead, make the others “fight” him. He’s solid enough to be an ally.
Plus, stirring up chaos usually brings bonus gains. In a packed area, when they start tearing each other apart, zombies end up clawing, biting, and brawling with one another.
More blood sprays, more screams. Chaos gets copied everywhere.
I wasn’t planning to charge in and join the fight, but by pulling my zombies to one spot, I could safely enjoy my collection in a quiet place.
If I don’t need to fight, I won’t. Killing everything myself is worse than making them kill each other. Instead of shooting everything I see, it’s easier just to drive them the other way.
These creatures don’t have a sense of comradeship or public morality, but their instincts and reason are plenty.
Hunger tells them what to eat, and seeing something edible nearby tells them to eat. Just like any half-human.
But what’s good for one is good for the other.
I reached the forester’s house.
A single-story log cabin about the size of a small apartment. Solid and surprisingly cozy. The defense was a little tricky, but it would work fine as a base for multiplayer.
Just in case, I kicked the front door open and waited. No movement. They were probably all out eating.
“Hoo.”
I locked the front door and all the windows. Drew the curtains too. Still, light leaked in from the windows, so the inside was bright.
Just in case, before exploring the rooms I checked every single one. In my right hand I held a long, pointed stick; with my left I gently turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
The storage room was safe. The sleeping room was fine too. The multi-purpose room next to the kitchen…
Clink.
A faint sound of tin cans. My body went rigid instantly. I focused on my ears. Thankfully, no noise came from outside.
The floor of the multi-purpose room was covered in trash. Empty plastic bottles, empty cans, and the most disgusting ones with that cheap Kybele design.
It looked like someone had dumped the trash in a bin and it had tipped over.
I quietly closed the door and finally checked the bathroom. There was a faint musty smell, but it was cleaner than I expected.
Fortunately, water came out of the faucet. Like a forest house, it had a rainwater collection tank and water tank. One of the reasons it would make a good base.
Of course, drinking it straight would give me food poisoning, so for showering, washing, or farm work it was fine.
‘Should I take a shower?’
The unwashed feeling came second. My clothes were a mess.
Smoke smell, dried sweat, everything. A very strong stench. Thinking of the zombies sniffing, I definitely needed to wash.
“…First, let’s see what’s here.”
Anyway, I had to stay in this house until the outside got calmer. Plenty of time, so I took my time.
The zombies were filling their stomachs, and I was filling my pockets.
It wasn’t as much as I expected, but way more than I thought.
Normally food would be in the display case or half-closed boxes.
But there was none. The forester and his friend had eaten everything and left the cans in the multi-purpose room.
On the other hand, inside the closets and sealed boxes there was plenty to loot. Even the refrigerator still had full bottles of water. Basically, they’d cleaned out everything visible.
Six 500ml water bottles, three days’ worth of preserved food including bread tins, and combat rations. Even if I skipped snacks, I had enough for about five days.
I also found 22-caliber bullets. Two full ammunition clips of 100 rounds and one rifle. An Armington 597 model. Compatible with 22 caliber. Same ammo as the pistol I’d picked up earlier, so I didn’t need to buy anything else.
Inside the closet were a windbreaker jacket, clean ironed shirts, pants, socks, a towel, and a cowboy hat.
Even new work boots at the bottom. Probably a backup outfit for sudden rain.
I searched the cabinet. Compass. A map with notes. Writing tools. Empty liquor bottle. Matches. Cigarettes. A thumb-sized LED flashlight…
“Oh.”
Finally something useful.
“This one’s good.”
Hunter’s body wash and shampoo. It reduces body odor from human skin dramatically. Packaged in a plastic bottle, easy to carry.
Ordinary soap has a scent that can attract zombies for a while, but this one is safe to use without worrying.
By now I’d grabbed everything worth taking. The only problem left was how to carry all of it.
No bag, no sack. No garbage bag either. I looked everywhere but found nothing.
In the end I stripped off my clothes. I tied the pants legs, stuffed only what I needed right away, and squeezed them tight.
I tied the sleeves and collar of the shirt and shoved the contents in. It was a tighter fit than the pants, but I could wrap it.
Now that I had it, the carry weight was terrible. A cardboard box under the desk caught my eye. Size of a ramen box. Surprisingly light.
It looked like the forester’s hobby was clipping newspapers. He’d carefully saved anything interesting. First I dumped the clippings on the desk.
Now everything was sorted.
I propped the loaded rifle and hunting knife against the bathroom door, left the door open, and turned on the water.
I didn’t know how much was left, so I only turned it lightly to wet my body and hair. I scrubbed my body thoroughly with the body wash and shampoo.
I turned it a little harder. The stream was lukewarm, but refreshing like nothing else in the world.
Outside I still heard screams and howls. While every living thing fought tooth and nail for survival, I whistled a tune as I scrubbed.
It wasn’t that different from life in the city before I came here, except people didn’t eat each other.
My stomach growled.
* * * * *
After drying with the towel and changing into the forester’s clothes, I felt like a brand-new man. I opened a water bottle and a bread tin.
It wasn’t much. The sweet taste covered the tongue, but the faint pineapple flavor was nothing special. Maybe it reminded me of the air freshener in the bathroom at the cafe I used to go to. I checked, but it wasn’t a Kybele product.
Still, drinking it with water made it decent. My stomach kept rumbling from irregular eating, even though food had entered.
“What? No flavor?”
You were about to starve a minute ago and now you’re complaining about taste. I guess my hunger is finally gone.
But thinking about it, it wasn’t… bad. The way I expected.
I could understand why they set up the Human Non-Protected Zone.
If zombies were just drawn to blood and noise, one shot from afar would be enough. They’d eat each other anyway.
Just keeping them from leaving the zone would contain the spread.
But thinking back to leaving the old people in Mini Bell, it didn’t seem like they had much administrative leeway.
“What kind of country is this?”
No matter how I thought about it, it was strange.
The zombies I’d met so far, if I didn’t have equipment, weren’t that hard to control.
Just the snare and stone hadn’t caused total chaos. Was the country’s condition really that bad?
No. Not quite.
I should think the opposite.
I can control zombies, but maybe the people in this world don’t have as much knowledge as I do.
It was like solving a puzzle. If you knew the shape, you solved it fast, but if you had no idea and just flipped it over, it took forever.
So right now I was the zombie specialist.
Feeling good, I thought about opening another tin. Maybe I should eat the meat stew with tomato or the beans and corn. I decided it would be too much after I returned to the container house.
Rumble.
“Why does my stomach get emptier the more I eat?”
Chronic hunger or something. But when I touched my belly, it wasn’t that flat.
A whole tin and a water bottle had gone into my stomach, yet it felt even emptier, like I’d been starving for days. Was I losing my mind? Or stress?
Outside screams still rang. Things wouldn’t settle for a while. My gear was already packed, so I checked the forester’s carefully arranged newspaper clippings.
But I couldn’t look at them for long.
Knock knock.
Slowly. No hurry. I picked up the hunting knife. Shooting the gun here was like shouting “I’ve finished preparing, time to eat!”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
From the window. Strange. I’d definitely blocked the light. And no footsteps. Dragging feet and the occasional “Eeeek” were something I would have heard.
Knock!
Window frame. It was the window frame. I pulled out the knife and gripped the rifle. Crouched low, moving slowly, I approached. My untrained shoes were stiff as hell.
I assumed a human head was coming out, so I lightly pushed the curtain aside with the knife.
“Damn it, seriously.”
A crow. About the size of a small garbage bag. Its eyes sparkled like glass. It kept pecking the frame like it was asking why I didn’t open the door sooner.
“Not leaving?”
I knocked the frame with the knife. The bird flapped its black, strong wings with a “Caw!” as if protesting. Its half-rotten body was wide open, easy to see.