Living Like a Human
"And with that… the plumbing's done."
I closed the tile back over the work and scrubbed at my dirt-caked face.
I'm gonna die.
I cracked open a water bottle left nearby and wet my throat. Still, the days of leaning on packaged water like this were almost over.
I pried the gas-mask filters stacked in the corner free with a flat-head screwdriver and packed them, one by one, into an empty two-liter bottle. The improvised filter went onto the purifier hooked up to the boiler. Once the water was filtered, we could boil it and put it to use. Hot showers would be possible… and the water from those could be run through once more for the toilet. I'd already lifted the corridor tiles, found the drain line, and connected it, so waste would flow naturally into the holding tank. Later we could make periodic trips down there, mix in sawdust, and turn the whole thing into compost. The real question was whether the water would actually flow.
"Phew."
I hauled my exhausted body upright and opened the door. The smell of dinner in progress hit me—saltier than usual this time. Cheesy, maybe.
"Whoa."
I nearly walked straight into Sarah. Cans of this and that—and macaroni?
"Ugh, the smell."
"Is that how you're going to be?"
"Eugh, that smell. You're killing my appetite. Go wash up already. If you even can, Mr. Neat Freak."
…Petty revenge, huh.
"Funny you should say that. I was just about to try turning the water on."
"Wait, for real?"
"Want to come watch?"
At that, Sarah threw the door wide open.
"Dad! He says he's turning the water on!"
"Whoa. Seriously?"
"Hey, you little—where do you think you're going, leaving the macaroni like that?!"
…A whole series of crashes and toppling objects followed. The already cramped utility room was suddenly packed with four people. Over turning a valve, no less.
"So from now on we pour water in here?"
"That's right. There's bound to be a line somewhere that catches rainwater from outside, too. Once I find it, check the condition, and hook up a filter, we should be able to use that as well."
"I'll be damned."
"Shall we open it?"
Three nodding heads later, I put everything I had into turning the valve.
A long hiss of displaced air, and then water was flowing. The pipe went cold under my hand.
"It's running properly. No leaks… that I can see."
"Come on, come on—let's get to the boiler room."
Hands shoved me along, and we piled into the bathroom where the boiler and purifier were installed.
"Ohh—I hear it, I hear it!"
Thankfully, the sound of water filling the boiler came through clear. The filter seemed to be working fine, too.
…Good thing there aren't any lea—
"Whoa?!"
A sudden spray of water caught Sarah full-on. I'd had a feeling.
"It's the showerhead!"
"Dad!!"
I couldn't hold the laugh, and Sarah's glare could have drawn blood. I managed to swallow mine quickly enough, but James and Curtis each took a couple of open-handed smacks across the back and arm before they finally covered their mouths.
"Do something about this, now!"
"You could just step out of the stream."
"Grandpa's blocking the way—how am I supposed to—ugh, seriously!"
I bit down on another laugh and instead grabbed a wrench, tightening the joint hard. Must have been a section I'd left half-done when my strength gave out earlier. In the game, that was the kind of thing that happened when your stamina gauge dropped mid-assembly.
"That should do it."
"I'm soaked. What am I supposed to do now?"
"You were already planning to wash, weren't you? You even found the soap ahead of time."
"Grandpa!"
"Let her clean up already. It's cold, standing around wet."
"Anyway… the hot water should be up by now."
I'd installed four showerheads in the room—one for each of us—and even put up partitions. I opened the first stall and turned the handle.
A long, deflating hiss.
"What is that? Why does it just sound like air escaping?"
"Hmm… did I connect the pipes wrong?"
I lifted the handle, dropped it. Turned it toward hot, then toward cold. Nothing but the sound of escaping air. No water.
"Give it here. You must've messed something up again."
"There's no way."
Sarah snatched the showerhead and peered into the outlet. But water problems were almost never the head itself—they were almost always the pipes—
"Oh. The valve's still closed."
The valve I'd fitted on the line beside the boiler. Right. I'd never opened it.
"Come on, already—water!"
While Sarah twisted the faucet open and shut in a frenzy, James grabbed the valve and wrenched it sideways.
And then—
"Kyaaah?!"
The sudden blast of water startled her so badly she dropped the showerhead, and she screamed as the full force of the spray hit her. She danced in place for a second before remembering how to shut it off and slammed the handle down with her palm.
"Ha… haa… haa… haa."
"It works!"
Looking at his thoroughly soaked daughter, James gave an awkward thumbs-up. Curtis had been coughing for a while now, tears in his eyes.
"Ah, yeah… it definitely works."
Sarah picked up the fallen showerhead. We hadn't been able to bathe properly in a long time, but toothbrushes and toothpaste had never been a problem, and she flashed a set of well-kept teeth.
That pose.
No.
"Shower time!!!"
"Aaaagh!!!"
"It's c-cold! Cold! At least turn on the hot water!!!"
"Retreat! Retreat, men!"
Feeling my clothes soak through, I bolted out the door. I ended up following Curtis—who was barely wet at all—into the "kitchen," where water was still boiling.
"All right, get those wet clothes off. While Sarah washes, we'll finish dinner."
"An actual shower room. An actual bathroom."
Soaked through, James was smiling. Until now I'd mostly seen worry and concern on his face.
"No more having to grit my teeth and hold it when my stomach acts up."
Curtis, dumping macaroni into the pot, looked the same. First impression had been pure veteran soldier—a man who'd survived a long time on a battlefield. Right now he just looked like a mischievous grandfather teasing his granddaughter.
"What next? Planning to build a washing machine too?"
"A washing machine, huh…"
I pulled off my top and wrung it out. Laundry was possible in the shower, sure, but bloodstained clothes were better handled with detergent and an actual machine. Making clothes from scratch was nearly impossible unless we lucked into a bunker with livestock still stored, and there was no guarantee of finding the right sizes lying around either.
"Starting to scare me. Feels like you'll say you can make anything."
"For now I want to expand the lit areas. We can't keep living off two barricades forever."
Speaking of which… this body of mine. A little more muscle had come in at some point. From forcing myself through the soreness, maybe?
"And that incinerator you mentioned. The corridor's starting to smell pretty bad."
"That's something we can only do once we've secured enough safe ground to move in. For now… I'd like to be able to reach the waste tank without worrying."
Bodies could be burned down for oil or fertilizer, so a bunker that already had an incinerator ready would be ideal. Either way, we'd find one if we kept looking.
"Here—eat this for now."
Over the constant sound of running water, I looked down at a thick, stretchy yellow cheese sauce. …So that was what the macaroni had been mixed into.
"Is this… okay to eat?"
"What, you don't like mac and cheese?"
"No, it's just… unfamiliar."
As much as I'd been best friends with triangle kimbap and convenience-store lunch boxes, macaroni salad was one thing. Macaroni drowning in cheese was something else.
"Fair enough. Sarah doesn't like mac and cheese either."
"It's as American as it gets, packed with calories, and it keeps forever. Shouldn't be bad."
I worked up the courage and took a bite.
…Salty.
Extremely.
"Ugh…"
"I'll put more macaroni in yours. Welcome to America."
"People actually eat this?"
"On the upside, you'll have energy to burn after. Want some water, at least?"
"Biscuits. Biscuits would be better…"
"Just like Sarah. Heh. Here."
I chewed on a dry, chalky biscuit that sucked every drop of moisture out of my mouth, and that helped a little. While I was forcing the food down, the door suddenly opened.
"Haaah…"
Face completely relaxed, Sarah padded lightly across and dropped into the seat right beside me. She shook out her half-dry hair and shoved the crown of her head under my nose.
"Go on. Smell."
"…Oh."
The stale air felt suddenly lighter, almost sweet. And her face—I hadn't realized it was this bright a color.
"You said you were prepping for enlistment."
"That's your first impression? Right now?"
"No. I mean."
The scrubbed skin of her arm shone, fine muscle and veins standing out clearly. Not on James's level, but forearm strength that could match my own now that I'd put on a bit of muscle.
"Haaa… yeah, that's right. I trained hard to hit the physical requirements. So. Do I smell or not?"
"Of course not. Looks good on you."
After a few more shakes of her hair, Sarah stared at what I was eating.
"There are biscuits, right?"
"That's all of them right there."
"What?"
Curtis pushed another spoonful into his mouth and smiled.
"This is the man who built us showerheads. He's more than earned the right to eat whatever he wants, hasn't he?"
"Ugh…"
"Here, take yours. And don't leave any like last time."
"Well… at least we've got water now…"
Deflated, Sarah stared at the biscuits in my hand. So they'd been set aside for her in the first place.
"Here. Let's split them, then."
I took about three for my own bowl and handed the rest to her. Once we started searching properly, we'd find better preserved food than this anyway.
"Really?"
"You said they were yours to begin with. If Curtis had told me, I wouldn't have eaten any."
"Still—you made the showers, put up the barricades, and my wound…"
"Ah, right. The wound. Did you take the bandage off to wash?"
"No, I… I just kept the water away from it…"
"That's not good enough. Wounds need to be cleaned regularly. Eat, and I'll look at it before I shower."
I dunked a biscuit deep into the mac and cheese, shoved it in, then took another spoonful. Getting used to the salt made it almost edible.
"…Thanks."
"You don't have to."
The sudden thanks left me smiling awkwardly. I was in their debt in all kinds of ways myself, and I was collecting my fair share of compensation. Early companions tended to build real bonds from the start—betrayal almost never happened.
"You sure you're not short on biscuits?"
"Once I got going, they weren't bad."
"…If we just had some cabbage, this would be so much better."
"We'll be able to start a garden before long."
"Really?"
"If we find livestock, we'll build a pen and raise them too."
"Then with the ham—"
"We might be able to say goodbye to it."
"…Is there anything you can't do?"
I thought for a moment. What were a Crafter's penalties again?
"I can't shoot as well as any of you, my stamina's nothing special, I can't lift heavy things, I don't know how to cook. And I'm not great with animals either… So I'm going to need a lot of help from here on."
"…After building all of this?"
Sarah looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Before answering, I scooped up the last biscuit and chewed.
"I'm not joking. Really. Later, when you ask what the hell I'm even good for, don't expect me to have an answer."
"…Heh. I feel like that's my line."
She tapped her leg a couple of times.
"Which is why I'm saying I'm going to work you hard."
"No mercy, huh."
"You'll get to pick and plant the vegetables in the garden yourself, so."
"That I'll do gladly."
I ran a hand over my drying body—the parts that had gotten wet felt lighter, cleaner. Only a few days since meeting the Omen family, and we could already live this cleanly. The zombie attacks had gone smoothly enough, too. Starting out with three combatants…
"I'm lucky."
"What?"
"Just talking to myself. Thanks for the meal."
I set the empty bowl on the floor and stood.
"Come to the shower room. I'll get ready to change the bandage."
I shook my head lightly and dirt fell out. From the plumbing work, no doubt.
"All right, then."
Leaving Sarah behind—her face flushed red from sitting too close to the fire—I headed for the shower room.
Outside the game, I'd figured basic hygiene would be enough. But even in an apocalypse, living like a human turned out to matter a lot more than I'd thought.