The Red Cross (2)
I pressed forward, boots squelching through a floor slick with blood.
No matter how I turned it over in my head, this kind of environment just didn’t make sense.
Had there ever even been a creature that sprayed blood around like this in the first place?
And if there was this much of it—where were all the corpses that had bled it out?
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“…You’re only saying that now?”
Countless handprints stamped the walls. There were even red footprints on the ceiling…
“Are you seriously planning to go any farther?”
“No. I’d rather abandon the supply cache than deal with this.”
The game did have its share of horror spots here and there. Ritual sites belonging to the Rebirth Church were notorious for peeled human skins and dismembered corpses, and anywhere cannibals or raiders had swept through left a landscape of pure ugliness. Survivors who still clung to life in those places either charged in a full mental collapse or killed themselves right in front of you—event scenes like that were common enough.
…I couldn’t see any numbers, but the way my stomach was already churning made it clear my sanity was taking a serious hit.
No—this wasn’t a game. This was reality.
This reek of blood. The warm, cloying, nauseating heat hanging in the air.
Heat…?
“Let’s get out. Sara—”
“Shh.”
Her face gone bone-white, Sara clamped a hand over my mouth. Then she silently pointed at the wall the flashlight was painting.
— Sssssk.
A hand. A vivid, blood-red hand.
The problem was—
“…Gulp.”
—that the hand was groping along the ceiling.
Sure, if the ceiling had only been a person’s height, if the place we were standing in had been a cramped “corridor” just wide enough for two people to pass, it wouldn’t have been that strange.
But this place had a ceiling a little higher than two people stacked on top of each other, and a width that still left room even with two of us side by side—roomy enough that a compact car could have driven through.
So if an arm was up there…
No. Arms.
No—those were a Dogfoot’s legs—what?
“Keng… keeeng… kiiik…”
— Skritch-scratch.
The sound of claws raking the floor came from up ahead. At the same time, a grotesque noise of flesh squelching and sticking together.
Only then did I understand.
I’d realized it far too late.
— Sssssk. Ssssssssk.
Blood-smeared hands fumbled across the ceiling. Legs bent at impossible angles gripped the walls and hauled the body forward.
“Wh-wha… eugh… eeeee—”
“Keeehk, keuuuu—ar, war, war!”
Dozens of heads grafted on by force each raised their own voice, turning blood-soaked eyes on us. A body swollen from swallowing far too many corpses squeezed blood out onto the floor with every shift of its mass.
“What… the hell is…”
Only now did I remember why corpses always had to be disposed of. Beyond disease and contamination, there were any number of creatures that flocked to feed on flesh. Among the ones you had to watch for most carefully were the Nibblers.
In English: Nibbler. From nibble—to take small bites, or to take a single mouthful. That was why the community had nicknamed them “One-Bite Critters.”
Under ordinary circumstances they weren’t that big a problem. True to the name, a few rounds was enough to make them gush blood and die, and they were so sluggish that starving mutants treated them like snacks. More than anything, they were the reason zombies could still survive while shambling around in packs the way they did.
But sometimes—very rarely—a single Nibbler would drop onto a heap of corpses. Or a firefight would drag on so long and turn so chaotic that people had to fall back without recovering the bodies. Just like the old saying about a needle thief becoming a cattle thief, the little flesh-lump that had been taking one-bite mouthfuls would start crunching down whole arms and legs… and before long it would become a monster that dragged every body it could reach into itself.
That was a Rat King.
And that was what stood in front of me right now.
“Eugh… eeeeeee!!!”
Tangled human mouths tore open. The sound was so revolting I wanted to clap my hands over my ears.
“…Hic.”
But I had to keep my head. Someone had to. If even one of us stayed lucid, we wouldn’t end up getting eaten by a meat pile that could barely move its own body.
“Sara. Sara!”
Damn it—I never thought she’d hit mental exhaustion. A woman who hadn’t hesitated once while carving people up with a dagger.
“Shit, grab my hand!”
I seized her hand hard—rough calluses for a woman’s, rough enough to feel. Her eyes twitched and found me. Eyes that looked ready to burst into tears at any second. Still, she responded, and squeezed back.
“I’ll get us out. Don’t let go.”
At that, Sara nodded, gripping so hard her fingers must have hurt.
So I hauled on her with everything I had.
“———!!!”
One step at a time I dragged her feet free of the floor where they refused to move, and leveled my shotgun at the arms endlessly reaching for us. Without a stock, there was no need to hold it two-handed.
— BOOM.
“Ghk!?”
I had to accept the recoil might wreck my hand. And I thought I’d just twisted my ankle on that last step.
“Aueeeeeee!!!”
“For a thing with dozens of arms, you’re awfully dramatic…”
Whether the gunshot had snapped her partly back or not, Sara’s feet—barely moving a moment ago—were beginning to take larger and larger steps. A shot of adrenaline would have had her moving in an instant, but I didn’t have any on me.
“You’re doing great—just a little more!”
“Huff… nngh… ukh!”
Even shifting her legs seemed like a struggle. Sara’s face twisted as she forced herself to move by sheer will. At least her mind wasn’t so far gone that her legs had given out and she’d start clinging to the nearest person—that much was a relief.
“Hyaaah!”
At last, with a shout of effort, she pitched her whole body forward. She nearly went sprawling, barely kept her balance, and finally hauled herself up clutching my hand.
“Back to the settlement—now!”
“Eaaaaaargh!!!”
The thing howled as if furious at losing its prey, but it had no speed to chase us with.
…Except my stomach kept turning over. Had I looked at the blood too long? The world in front of me was going green—
“…Hyunwoo? Hyunwoo!”
“Ugh!?”
I opened my eyes. Then I patted myself down with my hands. Thankfully my body was still mine…?
My arm—wouldn’t move—
“Ssshhh.”
Huh. Why was I sleeping here?
“….”
At the sound of someone moving, I shifted focus and found Curtis with a finger pressed to his lips, a faint smile on his face.
“Mmh.”
When I tried to stir, an arm suddenly crushed down across my chest.
…Heavy. And close, too.
“Khuhuh.”
A laugh flickered across Curtis’s watching face. He clearly found the ridiculous sight pretty entertaining.
Still, I had to get up one way or another.
“Hrrngh—gkh!?”
I strained to push the arm off—and this time a leg came down over me.
“…I need to get up. Could you help me?”
“You two came back dead on your feet. What’s wrong with resting a little longer?”
This old bastard.
“The Rat King… that flesh monster—”
“I heard the story. Also heard the thing can’t leave its territory.”
Had I told him that? The last thing I remembered was running and face-planting…
“While the creature was thrashing its way back, Sara carried you home on her back. And then, well—this is how things ended up.”
I’d broken out in a cold sweat, and Sara’s skin was stuck clammy against my face and legs—not exactly a pleasant feeling. Still, unlike a man’s scent, there was something lighter about a woman’s… something that got under the skin a little.
“So? Can’t rest any longer?”
“I was thinking of building a flamethrower, actually.”
“Aha. A flamethrower. Reminds me of the fools who’d charge a bunker and pour fire into it. Always wanted to get my hands on one of those.”
“To make one, though… you know what that means.”
Curtis’s eyes brightened a little, but he showed no sign of getting up, and no intention of waking Sara either. He just leaned back in his chair, humming under his breath.
“Curtis?”
“Rest a little more. I’ve never seen Sara that scared. You called it a flesh monster, sure—but it sounds like something down here is just as hideous as that Land Bat of yours.”
“…Yeah.”
“You can’t steel yourself without sleep. So rest a little longer.”
“But Sara…”
“Mmmmh.”
As if she hated having her sleep disturbed, she buried her face deeper against my neck and pulled me in. If the grip had been only moderately strong I could have managed, but she was practically strangling me—khek…
“Once she’s out, she doesn’t wake easy. Ah—and her sleeping habits are pretty awful. Didn’t get much love from her mother growing up, you see.”
“Then at least—”
“She’s doing this because she trusts you. Take it as an honor, and look after my granddaughter for the night.”
“Wait—Curtis—sir—old man!?”
Leaving me there with a girl strangling me, Curtis opened the door and bolted.
Hold on. Her chest. Her chest is touching me.
Uwaaah…