Chapter 146
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 146
Chapter Title: #Peep show grey (3)
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The sun was sinking beyond the fog. The patrol led by Winter circled outward first. Visibility opened to the east. Beyond the rippling trash, a vast wetland stretched out. A nature preserve that had once been salt flats. A chill spring breeze blew over the marsh where sea met land. The wind carried a stench. Many deaths lurked in the dense thickets.
Static... static... sssstatic...
It had been a while since he'd heard that noise. Winter halted the advance. His nerves prickled. It was so faint he almost missed it. Sergeant Wolf told the focused young officer there was nothing to worry about.
“Trickster radio jamming is common on the outskirts. Don't mind it.”
But Winter shook his head. There had to be another reason 「Crisis Detection」 had activated.
“Doesn't feel right. Deploy the troops. Set up a fire net that way.”
It was the commander's call. The sergeant accepted it with reluctance.
Time passed. The silence dragged on. Shadows stretched. The sensation sharpened slowly. The threat felt small. But it couldn't be ignored. Infection was like fire. It might start as a tiny spark, but once it spread, it became an uncontrollable disaster.
[Unrealistic good intentions... kill everyone... this is America's cry... slander and attack... Lieutenant Han Gyeowol... so many opposing him... you are America...]
The variant hijacking the airwaves mashed together speeches from the president and primary candidates.
“Coincidence, I'm sure. Still unpleasant.”
Sergeant Wolf grumbled. Coincidence. Meaning he didn't think the Trickster understood language. The content was a total mess anyway.
Winter agreed cautiously. If Tricksters learned language, it would mean the emergence of a hive mind. Their tactics would improve dramatically. But there'd been no reports of sudden changes on the front lines. 「Insight」 warning of crisis would have hit much harder too.
For example, in a past apocalypse, when a worst-case special variant appeared by dramatic chance. Even from dozens of kilometers away, his senses had prickled. And that was just one specimen. Winter figured Trickster language acquisition would be a disaster surpassing that special variant.
‘Come to think of it, the interglacial period seems about over...’
Not certain. But this world's lull had been unusually short. Even at Christmas. It had been over a month since the Humpback discovery. No surprise if the doomsday clock ticked forward.
What would happen this time? A new special variant could change everything. Plenty of monsters from Winter's knowledge hadn't appeared yet.
The apocalypse's progression didn't have to mean a new special variant either. A massive nuclear accident somewhere, enormous tornadoes in sequence, war between nations, terrifying swarms of insects blotting the sky...
Monsters would be better.
Winter recalled the locusts. Their wings were violet. And horrifically noisy. Origin: abandoned farmlands in South America. By the time they reached up through Mexico, their numbers required area estimates. About 10 trillion. The swarm's span exceeded California's. The government didn't survive the year.
“Look over there. Distance about 40. Left of the half-sunk boat. A trash clump bucking the waves.”
Back to the present, Winter pointed one way. Sergeant Wolf raised his rifle. Scoped it at 4x. Nothing special at a glance. But watching closely, it moved slowly but steadily in one direction. The water behind it churned unnaturally.
The designated marksman sergeant, who'd been with them from the start, groaned.
“Not the first bastard swimming while clutching flotsam, but this one's sly.”
Permission to fire? Winter nodded. Close range made aiming instant. Rat-tat-tat! In the dimming light, the muzzle flash blazed clear. Three-round burst hit dead on.
Kieeeek!
The trash heap exploded. A bleeding beta ghoul burst out. Strength beyond human. It smashed the flotsam it held. Launched by recoil. It bounded across other debris. Water-skimming sprint—Winter's second time seeing it.
Won't last. As Winter predicted, the ghoul soon tripped. Its thrashing glow was drowning spasms. Fire concentrated. The outer security guys hosed it down madly.
“Cease fire! Cease! Don't waste ammo!”
Sergeant Wolf bellowed. The ragdoll ghoul sank staring skyward. Pale face submerging. Glub glub. Bubbles rose. Final breath leaking from its riddled chest.
The marksman sergeant lowered his aim.
“Lieutenant, you've got good instincts.”
Enough for the soldiers to buy in.
The patrol resumed.
First loop, but Winter didn't get lost. Thanks to days of guard duty. The seascape from on high became a translucent map via 「Map Reading」 and 「Memorization」 linkage. No fear of losing his way in sight range. Except blind spots.
Occasional gunfire echoed from the receding cityscape. Desperate fights by isolated civilians? Winter figured there was more. For instance, their foes might not be variants. Per memorized intel, inside the bay, American citizens traded as valuable goods.
‘Insurance.’
America wouldn't abandon its citizens. Such faith.
Armed groups inside the bay mostly claimed humanitarian protection. Listing details like age, gender, origin, names of those they sheltered.
In that vein, Black Guerrilla public executions were rougher negotiations too.
They approached a rusted freighter. Nothing special to look at. But Winter knew this was the farm. Even seemed to smell damp soil on the breeze.
Important site, so plenty of guards. One shouted.
“Open the hatch! Black Orca Gang White Bone Squad brothers!”
Black Orca Gang, White Bone Squad. Hanja'd to White Bone. Winter found the name ironic. Matched infamous political thugs.
A gangplank lowered from the hull side. Sentries saluted rigidly.
Into the farm. Containers stacked on deck replaced fields. Soil on the floor, LEDs overhead. Solar panels for heat and power. Plastic sheeting on walls for insulation. Everything but soil was easy to scrounge. It was a freighter to begin with. Cargoes meant for worldwide delivery now abandoned indefinitely.
Indoor growing wasn't new, but shipboard at this scale was a first.
Winter was honestly impressed.
“Building this wasn't easy... Where'd you get all this soil?”
Sergeant Wolf shrugged.
“Ships go out fishing, right? We tagged along with barges. Even with tons of dead zones, some stretch of endless coastline's always empty. Just a few scouts. Sniped 'em offshore, landed. Oh, excavator from a nearby landfill.”
Feeding sea refugees relied on fishing fleets beyond relief supplies. Possible thanks to minimal order by U.S. Navy on the Pacific East Coast.
Easier said than done. Winter pressed.
“Finding quiet coast's one thing. Actually landing's another, no?”
No docks—how'd they beach? People alone is simple, but heavy gear like excavators? Tricky. Can't just shove into surf.
“Simple. Barges are flat-bottoms. Used tides.”
“Ah.”
Dock high tide, wait for ebb. When it grounds, open ramp door, unload to shore. Work till next high tide. Pick spot between tides to tune work time.
But problems. Once landed, can't withdraw till tide's right. Worst case, abandon ship and swim.
The marksman chuckled.
“Desperate? Rubber boats. Always ready to bail. Still dicey plenty. Can't farm beach sand, so had to push inland. Epic when hundreds swarmed our ten-man guard. Total madness.”
“That's Marine work.”
Marine spirit ain't sane. Sergeant's words.
As Christensen said before, harvest was in full swing. Walls breached between containers for paths. Different families per section. Mostly potatoes, save a few cannabis.
‘Most efficient famine crop. High calories per area, short grow time.’
Potatoes harvest in 100 days post-planting.
Winter had farming experience. Terminator crop seeding wrecked next year's yield. Potatoes were the one salvage.
Anyway, eyeballed output. Container short side 2.3-2.4m, long 5.9m per cell. Max potatoes: ~13kg. But harsh conditions. Dug tubers small, sparse. Half max expected. Three cells per box.
~300 modified containers.
“Not huge output.”
If all 5,000 onboard converted: 7 hectares, 20,000 pyeong, over 70km sides mega-farm. But impossible. Soil sourcing tough, power/water too.
Sergeant countered Winter's assessment.
“Output aside, looks good, right?”
Referring to workers. Faces lit with harvest joy, sweat-slick hope. Then he lowered his voice.
“Worried about leaving someday. Leaving these folks...”
Orca Black: most sensible group in Golden Gate. Proof: faces met on patrol not despair-soaked. Relatively speaking.
But not forever. Whale hunt ends, op ends. CIA team, Force Recon-led elites from peers or better. No reason delay pulling premium talent. Pay alone: $100k/year per head. GOP candidate speeches echoed here too.
What happens to dependents when mercs vanish?
Self-conscious of his soft Marine talk, sergeant roughened.
“We're devil's bastards. But bastards got rules. Shit and run's for Harlem strays. Battlefield needs conviction, honor. Worst tour: Iraq. Will stay that way.”
Vow not to top it.
Noble stance, but any sane soldier must be this way. Has to. Winter read the undercurrent from experience.
Killers need ironclad justification. Conviction of doing right. Fighting for justice. Protecting good vs. evil. Without it, mind breaks. Sheer shock of charging death while killing strangers.
Over half Vietnam vets had severe combat fatigue.
Pride's no choice for soldiers.
Detouring op capacity to farm-building: same vein.
“Hope they thrive after we're gone. Train 'em hard on outsiders, make real men. Guard what's theirs. But this era's hell. Making a Marine say this.”
He sighed, shook his head.
============================ Author's Note ============================
#Q&A
Q. From PersonTree: @How do you write about totally unfamiliar fields?
A. Collect data, study. Good thing nowadays: with enough time, you can research to needed detail level.
E.g., Atascadero State Hospital trap arc: security meant no internal info public. Clues from job sites' ex-employee reviews/ratings. Then their Twitter/Facebook.
One line from ten pages research... that's how I write. Can't be perfect, full of holes on inspection. Haha.
Q. From MoonlightSculptorForever: @Do those PMC (fake ones) really stress brotherhood like that?
A. No way. Just rolling with what's needed.
Q. From PAM: @lololol 45 hours per chapter writer. Time passed, second-gen zombies due soon? Hmm.
A. Not second-gen, new strain's time.
Q. From BlitZkrieG: @Two days per dongchim? Start 24th, 26th flies by?!
A. Or sleep solid from 24th to year-end.