The Virus Generator's Revenge

I examined the photo again. It showed the Virus Generator—the zombie we had once tied up—stuffing plastic trash and wads of toilet paper into a person's mouth. It was repaying the exact torture it had suffered, gesture for gesture. It's like it's taking revenge for when I tied it up and the kids would playfully shove trash into its mouth. The sight reminded me of the neighbor I had locked away to die. This zombie felt familiar. As expected, if you've been wronged, you repay it in kind. It had learned its lessons well while bound.

As I studied the image with genuine interest, the children's mother suddenly snatched the phone from my hand. After checking the message and photo, her eyes widened and her hands began to tremble.

“Th-this zombie.”

“Learning…”

The middle-aged man leaned in to look as well, his face tightening into a frown. The fact that a zombie which had learned the ways of Villa Street was still alive and active outside clearly worried him now.

I tapped my knee with my fingers, sinking into thought. The eerie chill still clung to me like an afterimage. Dangerous. This is dangerous.

A zombie that had absorbed so much of human daily life. If other zombies watched what this one did, learned from it, and the learning continued to spread…

But was this something we needed to panic over and solve immediately? In the apocalypse, those who failed to adapt simply died. Likewise, zombies lacking sufficient learning would perish first. Any that didn't know shopping centers were food warehouses, that couldn't figure out how to eat packaged meals, or that had never learned proper combat tactics were probably already gone.

In the end, only zombies that had learned to the level of a Virus Generator would survive and become the elite.

This isn't a problem solved by killing just that one. It's simply the inevitable future.

My tapping finger stopped. I looked back and forth between the man and the children's mother with a blank expression.

“Then I'll be heading back now.”

“...There's nothing we can do about it, is there.”

The man let out a heavy sigh. The children's mother suddenly glared at me, her frustration and rage with nowhere else to go now aimed squarely in my direction.

“This zombie—it's because of you. That zombie you raised—”

“The ones who fed it trash were the kids.”

If we were being precise, wasn't it the children's fault? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Why had they thought it was funny to shove actual garbage into its mouth?

The moment her eyes began to roll with fury, I reached for my sedative. The hammer. One solid blow to the head would erase all that anger and irritation. As a bonus, I'd claim whatever resources she had left behind in her house.

A brief silence fell. I held the hammer high, eyes fixed on the crown of her head, while she pressed her lips tightly together and glared back at me.

That was when the man waved his hands to intervene.

“Stop, stop. Fighting here won't change the situation. Let's calmly assess things first.”

“What more is there to assess! The school's collapsed, zombies are roaming free, and the kids are in danger of dying!”

Did I really need to administer the sedative hammer? She wasn't calming down at all.

As I gauged the hammer's trajectory, a passing thought made me open my mouth slowly.

“The kids aren't exactly fragile. Haven't they learned well while working all this time?”

It was quite an interesting setup. Children who had learned real survival know-how on Villa Street. A zombie that had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠learned by observing the people there. A connection forged through harassment. Who would win? It might turn out to be a surprisingly even match.

I imagined their situation with the detached curiosity of someone watching a fire from across the river.

“Yeah. Calm down. You said they're hiding in a safe place for now. They should be able to hold out until the police or the archers step in.”

“...Yes.”

It was the moment when the man and the children's mother were regaining their composure. An idea suddenly flashed through my mind. Couldn't I use this as an opportunity?

If people left to rescue them, the main base would become relatively vulnerable. Though attacking the base itself would still be difficult. What about the people departing for the rescue? Parents traveling from the base to the school. And if the zombies and the parents ended up destroying each other?

I stood up quickly. I needed time to think. Time to calmly calculate the risks and benefits. Time to consider the proper course of action.

“I have nothing more to say, so I'll take my leave. The farm work isn't finished yet.”

But as always, the situation flowed differently from what I had planned. The children's mother's phone suddenly rang, and a video call connected. Before she could speak, the children's voices came through.

“Right now?”

The man and I subtly moved beside her to see the screen. Since it was a video call, the scene came through vividly. Surviving middle and high school students and the Teacher were tearing down curtains and tying clothes together to make a rope.

It was right after the child spoke with determination. Suddenly there was the sound of something being thrown, and the screen spun. Beyond the barricades on the windows and doors, the Virus Generator's face appeared. It was hurling trash through the gaps between welded and nailed chair and desk legs. The child's irritated voice rang out.

The child picked up trash and threw it back. They continued throwing garbage at each other like a bizarre snowball fight for a while. The children's mother suddenly snapped back to her senses.

“You're coming out now? The adults aren't coming all the way there?”

I roughly grasped the situation. The police or the archery club had moved quickly. Armed with pistols or bows, they seemed to prefer securing the front gate and shooting from there rather than risking an indoor ambush.

It was regrettable. It was a perfect opportunity for looting, but they've already made their move.

I secretly let out a small sigh. I'd missed my chance to intervene. In contrast to my disappointment, the children's mother was both joyful and worried.

“Have the adults gone? Have they reached the school?”

The phone panned back toward the window. At the front gate at the far end of the wide playground, several people had gathered, prepared quite convincingly. They'd nearly closed the iron gate, leaving only a gap for people to escape, and were aiming their weapons. No matter how you looked at it, they seemed focused solely on rescuing people. Are they abandoning the school's stockpiled resources? They should collect them before the zombies devour everything.

Well, it wasn't an organization in desperate need of food. Fighting zombies and sustaining even a small wound could be fatal. A secondary infection would make treatment nearly impossible. If they were going to abandon the food anyway…

I suddenly thrust my face toward the camera.

“Can you contact the people who came? Hey, the Teacher in the back. Can you hear me?”

The Teacher, who had been busily working with her hands, looked up. I spoke to her.

“Since you're already there, could you tell them to completely block both the back gate and the front gate?”

“To trap them inside so they starve to death.”

The walls had barbed wire. Sealing just the two gates would prevent the zombies from escaping. Of course they might break the doors down, but there was no harm in trying. The Teacher nodded blankly, tapped on the phone, then spoke.

I smiled with satisfaction. The zombies had learned from humans, and I had learned from the zombies. Imprisonment. You didn't always need to fight with both hands. Simply locking them away would make them wither and die.

And now the time had come for the school survivors to escape.

“Be careful!”

The video call continued. The Teacher descended first, scanning the area warily while holding her weapon, followed by the children. The screen went black for a moment as if the phone had been pocketed, accompanied by rustling sounds. The Virus Generator's screeching cries grew distant.

A few seconds later came the thud of feet landing, and the screen brightened again. The Teacher was urgently waving one hand toward the sky. With the other, she gestured for the child to head to the front gate first.

The sight of a child climbing down the rope appeared. The children's mother bit her lip anxiously beside us. The man stared fixedly at the screen while I tilted my head. Has it not learned enough? If it's a Virus Generator, it should be bringing all the other zombies down by now.

This wasn't the time to be stalling. The careful descent down the rope seemed to stretch on forever. No matter how I considered it, it didn't look like they would all escape.

Thud. Both children from Villa Street reached the ground. They immediately broke into a frantic sprint.

The screen shook violently. Pounding footsteps and labored breathing followed. They reached the front gate safely, and several more escaped students came running across the playground. The child adjusted their grip on the phone belatedly. Their flushed red skin flashed across the screen.

“Okay, I'll prepare the ramen. Follow the adults and be carefu—”

That was when it happened. Zombie shrieks erupted simultaneously. Screams followed, along with the sounds of police and archers arguing.

The screen didn't show it, but the argument sounded vicious. It was at that moment that the children quietly turned the phone. A zombie wandering the street was approaching them. A small voice continued.

When the child poked him, the policeman turned his body. He seemed to notice the zombie only then. With zombies converging on the front gate and more gathering from the street, the policeman reflexively fired his gun. At the same time the phone screen shook wildly. From the rapidly panning view, it was clear they were fleeing without looking back.