Chapter 161
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 161
Chapter Title: Faraway Bridge, Allermede (8)
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Static……crackles……static…….
Winter, about to step out of the daycare, backpedaled at the familiar noise. Tan Guosheng, following too closely, tumbled onto his ass. His "Aiya—" groan had a distinctly Korean ring to it. He scrambled up and pressed himself against the inside of the fence. Peering warily outside, he asked in a cracked voice,
“What is it? Something out there?”
“There’s static on the radio. Must be Tricksters. It’s not random repeating signals—it’s directional waves. If we go out like this, we’ll get spotted for sure.”
“Tricksters…… I see. Given the terrain, they must be pretty close.”
Just as Grumbles were called Taowu, Tricksters were known as Diansing. A literal translation would be "electric orangutan." A ridiculous name, but it too came straight from mythology.
The yokai called Sing was said to resemble a human and speak human language. Cunning, too. A perfect fit for a Trickster.
Tan Guosheng grasped Winter’s words right away, thanks to the U.S. disaster broadcasts.
‘As long as it doesn’t cause social unrest, there’s no reason to hide info on variants.’
It would especially help civilian disaster prep. Warning signs of variant appearances could encourage quick reports. There was no guarantee the safe zones beyond the cordons would stay safe forever. According to Joanna, the FBI was swamped with false reports, but Winter figured classifying the info would only lead to more. Ignorance was the mother of fear, after all.
Why else did people fear the dark?
Winter checked another exit. Static there too. Two slightly different noises overlapping. At least two, or maybe three or more Tricksters that he couldn’t distinguish. So many special variants. Fitting for the epicenter of North American infection.
“Ha. Avoid one pit and fall into a well. I could burn a bill or two…….”
Muttering superstitiously about mountains beyond mountains, Tan Guosheng sighed. In the ominous seventh lunar month, plenty of Chinese folks burned paper money. To appease ghosts and ward off bad luck. Winter recalled an old Hong Kong noir flick. A guy in sunglasses lighting his cigarette with a bill. Back then he hadn’t known, but looking back, it dripped with Chinese sentiment.
“Living radar showing up right now. We’re having some seriously bad luck.”
Winter braked the downward luck spiral.
“Enough. Not getting hurt yet is rare good fortune. If Lieutenant Tan were fated to die, you wouldn’t have made it this far. Heaven’s on our side.”
After the goddess of face, now the goddess of fate. Tan Guosheng swallowed a sigh.
“If we knew their direction, we could move using cover.”
Then he stared at the facility entrance littered with children’s corpses. More precisely, the corridor beyond.
“Any chance there’s foil or something inside?”
Winter instantly got what he meant. A solid idea. As Tan Guosheng self-deprecatingly thought it a pipe dream, Winter said,
“Let’s check. It’s a kids’ place. A simple kitchen wouldn’t be odd.”
Day care center. The sign said so plain as day. The playground made it obvious anyway.
They wanted cooking foil. The simplest material for a Faraday cage. Shape it into a concave dish, fit it over the radio antenna, and it’d limit reception direction. That way, they could pinpoint the Trickster’s beam direction.
Winter was surprised he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Seemed like something for the pandemic combat manual. It got weekly updates, hadn’t it? Started as a thin booklet, now thick as a dictionary. But on second thought, the U.S. military had no need for such workarounds.
‘They control the skies…….’
The U.S. military ruled the air. Back at Christmas in Camp Roberts, hadn’t they caught Trickster signals in real-time? Electronic warfare planes aloft triangulating them.
Winter’s case was special. Christmas Eve fields, rainy lakeside night, foggy urban escape. Rare fights most U.S. troops would never see.
Still, a manual-worthy improvisation. Even obvious ideas don’t come in stress. Like the value of drill. Unless ingrained for automatic response, nothing works in combat.
He’d suggest it later.
“Feed your kids, see your nation’s future. Damn airheaded Yanks were doomed even without the corpse plague—Morgellons.”
Tan Guosheng’s fresh dig at America came from the pathetic kitchen. No foil, not even basic cookware. Just wrappers from frozen foods. Empty plastic bottles. Better than infamous public school lunches, probably.
A scene steeped in poor Americans’ struggles. Winter knew pre-apocalypse America wasn’t much better. Why had inequality only deepened?
‘But is that something for a Chinese guy to say……?’
Thinking that, Winter fiddled with an empty bottle. Pair it with kids’ clothes, improve the silencer he had. Ignoring portability and accuracy, it’d drastically cut gun noise.
But he ditched the idea after a moment. Who knew how many puddles they’d wade? A bulky gun would suck.
Tan Guosheng was poking the radio antenna out a small window gap. Static……static……at regular intervals. Unlike Winter, the officer lacked bone-conduction receivers.
“What now? Wait till they’re gone?”
The officer’s anxious suggestion.
Terrain was cluttered. Abandoned cars, fallen trees, collapsed houses blocking straight-line waves. Direct signal meant close—no obstacles. As the hunted minority, no need for jamming.
“Fog lifting or dark fading hurts us. Can’t waste time. Miss inland waterways by dawn, we’re trapped.”
Staying put all day was suicide. Nearby: graves, factories, offices. No guarantee like the last graveyard.
Night vision’s green FOV was narrower than naked eye. Search swept side to side. Then Winter spotted a powerless analog TV. Outdated model.
Checked the connected set-top box. Dish Line stamped on it. Not broadcast, probably satellite. Winter traced the cables.
“Find something?”
“Might connect to a satellite dish.”
Cables punched through the wall naturally. Winter leaned out the window. Sure enough, a dish antenna clung high up, out of reach.
Stepped on the sill for a look. Not welded—good. Used bayonet back as screwdriver. Static pulsed slow like a heartbeat. Fine. Stuck to the building, Trickster couldn’t distinguish him.
Clunk. Metal dish came free. Winter offered a hand to Tan Guosheng. Officer hesitated, then handed over his radio. Winter lashed it to the dish’s receiver.
“Never expected this. Should’ve grabbed Jia Ying’s.”
The first milestone corpse had no ammo left, but the radio was intact.
“Useless at the time. Unless rescue comes.”
Fat chance.
Winter took the jury-rigged detector and stepped out again. 「Crisis Detection」 and 「Combat Sense」 warnings chilled his spine. Trickster senses brushed past, detectable in the moment. Just hard to pinpoint direction.
Szzzzzstatic!
Dish focused the waves, making brushes far more intense. A few reps, and Winter approximated the bearing.
Visibility still sucked. Fog swayed in wind. Murky dark. Night vision made it writhing amorphous monster. Rifle accessory laser pierced clear through fog.
Minutes of sweeping antenna directions. Final count: five Tricksters. Amid it, distant earth rumble. Boom. Winter caught it. Grumble nearby too.
‘Maybe it’s been lying in ambush all this time.’
Winter picked a route.
“Skip arms, go via east lot. Close to target, lots of cover.”
Good for hiding variants too, but he trusted sense augments. 「Survival Instinct」 was genius-level. Overlaps amplified.
Officer, agonizing toward the tank, reluctantly agreed.
“No……choice. Ammo there’s unknown anyway. Fine.”
Looked like Aesop’s fox, sour grapes.
“Count of three. Ready to go prone on signal.”
First cover: shrubbery, 40 meters. No blind sprint. Dead city silent as tombs. Survivors didn’t draw attention. Variants didn’t scream pointlessly. Dark damp night, boot scrapes on asphalt carried far. If not for puddles, he’d wrap boots in clothes.
Winter raised hand.
“Go. Three, two, one!”
Tense low shout. Low posture, quiet steps, they ran.
Past a few cars, fine.
Crossing lot to boulevard—
Shrieek.
Static screamed; Winter hit dirt. Officer a half-breath late. Prone, Winter fine-tuned antenna. Direction.
Waves from high up. 2 o’clock rooftop. Ironically, on the path to old docks.
Felt like something seen. Monster’s directional ping spammed static. Invisible gaze swept their prone spot repeatedly.
‘How clear can it see?’
Bumpy dirt. If Trickster’s third eye—echo-location—distinguished prone human from ground, trouble ahead.
Static lingered long, then faded. Still no move. Variant pack closing? Ping interval? Winter clocked ~3 seconds.
Patrol footsteps from boulevard. Some with crappy soles dragging. Left to right, right to left. Wax wane repeat. Regular patrol.
Winter signaled Trickster and pack positions. Officer’s face darkened.
“But missing us means low rez, right?”
Officer panted whisper. Resolution? Apt enough.
“Ugh……just 200m left, stuck here. How to pass?”
Winter had no answer yet.