Hollow Victory
The military's operation to retake the mart ended in their victory. A victory bought with nothing but wounds. Once the fighting stopped, soldiers who had ripped off their gas masks wore hollow, broken expressions. They sat scattered two meters apart, clutching their heads, smoking with shaking hands, or hugging their rifles while staring blankly into the air. One soldier sobbed uncontrollably over a comrade's corpse. Even the platoon leaders and company commanders looked much the same. They forced themselves to stay composed while overseeing the cleanup, but their faces were grim, and one platoon leader doubled over to vomit.
I replayed the battlefield I had watched through the drone. Impressive firepower. That's all they have.
Rifles and machine guns laying down suppressive fire. They had poured out an enormous amount of ammunition, enough to sweep away the swarming zombies. The exchange ratio was closer to a massacre than a battle. Yet a significant number of soldiers had died as well. The ammunition expenditure was another serious problem; it would be difficult to replenish. The gains were meager at best.
I turned my gaze toward the military forces.
“…”
The company commander stood motionless, head bowed as he stared down at a duffel bag. It contained the resources they had salvaged from the mart—very little. Many items had been torn apart by zombies, and others had been contaminated by bullets and viral fluids during the firefight. A victory, yet one where the losses far outweighed the benefits. If you measured it in human lives and spent ammunition, it felt like they had been swindled.
The Police Chief gave a crooked smile. “They underestimated the zombies. Attacking in the first place made no sense. Where are they going to get replacements for the dead soldiers and spent ammo?”
He was right. To maximize the military's advantages against zombies, they should have focused on defense—barbed wire, machine guns, artillery support, tanks. If they had created a battlefield where they could bring every tool of war to bear, the zombies would not have kept coming. Charging forward had only led to this terrible waste of resources. Unless, of course, they turned their guns on people instead.
I licked my dry lips and lowered my voice. “No matter how I look at it, the remaining forces don't seem capable of clearing the city's zombies.”
“Probably not. They'd need at least a division's worth of troops, or be willing to turn the city into rubble. It's impossible.”
“Then how are these soldiers going to get food? They took this much damage over a single mart.”
At my question, everyone fell silent. Nervous glances flicked toward the soldiers. If that firepower were ever turned on people… if they became marauders… It was only speculation, yet it felt like a highly probable future. Everyone was already wary of that possibility.
“…But we can't touch them. The gap in strength is too wide.”
“No. There is a way.”
A direct confrontation was impossible. The only option was to shift the losses onto them indirectly, over the long term. I pointed at the food inside the duffel bag. Even from a distance, it was obvious how little there was. In contrast, the empty duffel bags and military backpacks they had brought were plentiful. Their deflated shapes seemed to symbolize the military's extinguished hopes—and also signaled that the second wave was not far off.
“There's almost nothing left in the mart. The zombies gathered in the shopping district will soon spill out into the streets.”
“…You want to hand that problem to the military? Make them waste more ammunition?”
That was the simple version. I added a more refined layer. Warn them about the second wave and advertise the military as the only hope. If they accepted it, they would fight and burn through resources. If they refused? Their reputation would suffer.
“Also, I've been seeing messages like this lately.”
I turned on my phone and showed them a message sent to one of my alternate accounts—an announcement for military recruitment, promising generous meals and safe housing. It was an exaggerated advertisement I had fabricated and spread myself, but I shook the phone as though I knew nothing about it.
“Someone's trying to dump survivors on the military. We might as well make use of it.”
“I heard that one's fake. Still, a fake can be useful in its own way.”
“What message? I didn't get it.”
Just then, someone leaned in to look at my phone. Rider Zero. She had been covering her ears because of the gunfire, but after reading the message she let out a strange sound.
“Isn't this the guy I blocked?”
“…Who?”
“There was someone who made an insane suggestion before, asking me to bring zombies to them. This feels exactly like that person's malice.”
“…”
She still remembered that? Did she really want to become Rider Zero in name only? And malice? There was no good or evil in the struggle to survive. Rider Zero stamped her feet and began complaining.
“Isn't someone like this more dangerous than the military? They just can't stand seeing things go well for others. Trying to send zombies to the Hope Church, harassing the military, posting about attacking the police—they all seem the same.”
That was me, but hearing it still left a bad taste. It made me sound like some kind of villain. I struggled to keep my expression neutral as I looked at Rider Zero. Was a small prank not enough?
…Once she runs out of gas, that motorcycle will just be scrap. We'll see then.
Fortunately, no one paid much attention to Rider Zero's words. The Police Chief shook his head dismissively. “There have always been crazy people, even when the world was normal. There were murderers who killed for no reason. In a world like this, of course there are more. Anyway, let's handle it indirectly.”
With our direction set, we slowly withdrew. The battle was over, and we had confirmed the military's results. There was no reason to stay longer. The ruined mart grew smaller behind us. I glanced back at it one last time—a battlefield where only defeat remained. Zombies dead, people dead, no food left. Even if everyone was going to die eventually, this was a world where you had no choice but to keep fighting just to stay alive a little longer.
***
Food was the scarcest resource in the city. All sorts of mechanical devices and other materials were plentiful. Blankets, clothes, computers, printers, gas burners, pots, lighters—these tools actually lasted longer than food. There were enough to print and distribute flyers. Many groups scattered both warnings and advertisements at the same time. Warnings that a zombie wave was coming soon. Warnings to prepare for the summer monsoon. Advertisements claiming the military was clearing zombies to prevent it. They even included images of the military easily cleaning out marts, advertising that zombie extermination was nothing to them. Some groups mixed in fake recruitment ads as well.
This is going to take time. I need to watch how things develop slowly.
The apocalyptic theory I had created was also spreading, little by little. Almost no one believed it, but many people at least knew the content of the theory. That was what mattered. Disbelief? It was a necessary step for any prophecy or apocalyptic belief. Just like in disaster movies where the scientist warning of catastrophe is persecuted, the version where the truth is revealed only after persecution felt more plausible.
“This is farming too.”
Planting seeds of information and writing in people's minds. I wondered what kind of harvest it would bring.
And the intangible farming took many forms. The children. If things had been normal, they would have gone through a process of resocialization at school, acquiring the knowledge needed to become members of society. Instead, they were receiving an apocalyptic education—training to become excellent survivors. I watched as the children received various lessons from the adults.
“Don't even think about fighting. You won't win just because you charge in.”
“Don't shoot water guns at people. If someone threatens you, aim. When you shoot, aim for the face.”
They had come out into the street and were using the zombies I had tied up as teaching materials. Jeon Dohyeong, who had been watching beside me, glanced over.
“You weren't calling this human farming while watching the kids, were you? No, I guess you were. Keep that kind of talk to yourself. Nothing good comes from saying it out loud.”
“What human farming? These kids are already pulling their own weight. There's nothing left to grow.”
“…You really are insane.”
Shaking his head, Jeon Dohyeong pulled out his phone and began tapping away, apparently messaging Na Yeji. I had no interest in that. I quietly watched the children. The school system and education had collapsed long ago. If the current adults were the first generation of the apocalypse, what kind of world would the second generation raised in the apocalypse, or the third generation born into it, live in? A world of severed knowledge, where savagery had become basic literacy, where they might not even recognize the remnants of civilization. Living by rules like boiling water or covering their mouths without understanding why, treating them like articles of faith.
I suddenly found myself lamenting like an elder marveling at technological progress. That might actually be interesting. Maybe I was born too early.
If this world was the apocalypse, then the world they would grow up in would be the post-apocalypse. While I was thinking that, one of the children's mothers hesitantly approached a man. She carefully held up her phone and spoke.
“Um, would it be all right to invite a teacher?”
“A teacher? There's a surviving teacher?”
I turned my head as well. A teacher? It was possible. Some had been doing online lectures before the apocalypse grew severe. But did we really need one?
“Yes… They said they'd teach the children if we just provide food and housing. I want the kids to get a proper education.”
“Hold on. Give me that teacher's number.”
The suspicious man seemed determined to investigate first. I frowned. What use was studying in a world like this? They should be making one more planter instead of studying, or learning how to deal with zombies and people. Besides, this so-called teacher didn't seem trustworthy at all, demanding food and housing.
“They're just kids. They shouldn't only see and learn these harsh things.”
“They seem like an ordinary teacher for now. I'll interview them and decide.”
Regardless of my thoughts, the others saw the children as the future and invited the teacher anyway.
“Ah… Goodbye!”
The teacher fled after seeing the Corpse Crucifixes and the hanging snitch corpses. When people gave me strange looks, I scratched my head awkwardly. The scarecrows were performing excellently.