Chapter 210
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 210
Chapter Title: Survivors (13)
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When the fire truck was halfway out of the garage, Winter waved his arms from in front of the pickup truck.
"Hold on a second. Everyone stop."
The squad members, just about to exert themselves, looked puzzled. The most senior, Morales, stepped forward.
"What's up, sir?"
"It feels inefficient."
With that, Winter pointed in the direction of a gas station.
"Let's swing by there first. If it doubles as a repair shop, they might have batteries."
It was just one block away. There was a building with solar panels right in front of them, but considering the time and hassle of running wires from the inverter, Winter's suggestion made sense.
"Hmm. Got it. Hey, Ale! Wesley! Disconnect!"
The private called Ale—his real name was Alejandro—had gotten his nickname by dropping the first part of his name. His English was awkward, so he got teased a lot, but he never seemed truly bothered by it. For Winter, who had to keep an eye on the temporary squad's morale, it was a relief.
The tow hitch was released. The soldier driving the truck let out a sigh of relief. He'd been worried the axle might bend.
It was the sort of thing that could happen with a fire truck's weight class. Not an immediate problem, but Winter had similar experiences.
'It was a matchup to see whose vehicle had more power.'
He remembered the crowd thrilled by that simple contest. Back during some apocalypse, against an armed group he'd encountered in Washington DC. Vehicles modded like monsters inside and out had spewed up asphalt chunks like roars. The skull cross dangling from the hood was still vivid in his mind. And the white tattoo on the screaming driver's face gripping the wheel. The vibe was brutal, but the race had started as a somewhat peaceful compromise. Prizes were food and meds they had, or slaves.
Back then, the infection spread so fast that civilization's remnants were plentiful. Humanity was dying off faster than they could burn through supplies. So hopeless survivors became barbarians digging up the graves of the old era.
He hoped this world wouldn't end up like that.
Winter thought the final apocalypse was still unlikely. But not impossible, so he needed to prepare his mind bit by bit. Just not too distressing. A boy's modest wish. He hoped he'd have the leisure to mull over his one lingering regret after death.
The gas station faced a small bank across the road. Behind it was a radio station. One of the soldiers who'd looked around gave a wry smile. It was a channel he'd often heard working at a mart. That made Winter suddenly wonder if the radio broadcasts from the Pequod were still going. The president must have given a new address. What was the quarantine line status? How was the U.S. government handling it now?
"Found 'em! Tons! Whew, fuel stabilizers stacked in boxes too!"
Soldiers who'd wiped the glass and peered inside cheered quietly. Maybe storm damage—water stains from the ceiling—but most batteries were in good condition. New ones still sealed with leak-proof tape. Fuel stabilizers too. Winter ordered.
"Swap the truck batteries first. The old ones were fully drained and iffy."
"Yes, sir."
Nothing major, but everyone perked up. These guys were used to fighting despair too.
Even small joys were fine. Winter pried open the vending machine in front of the office. Jammed a crowbar in, twisted hard—shattered open in one go. Just cola. About half a year past expiration. They don't go bad easily, but to be safe, Winter tasted a few first. 「Survival Instinct」 stayed quiet.
"How is it? Edible?"
Eager question. Winter tossed over several blue cans instead of answering. The soldiers laughed cheerfully.
"I don't do flat beer or lukewarm cola, you know."
Morales still took one without hesitation. They loaded the rest after tasting. Chill 'em and it'd be an unexpected gift for the whole company. As Captain Langford said, the line between life and death could be a spoonful of ice cream sometimes.
For some of the physical world's audience, it'd be sex.
Winter didn't despise them for it.
Unexpected haul: two small tanker trucks. Normally, they'd be siphoning from stalled cars on long roads. Only 4,500 liters each, but enough to fill ninety Humvees solid.
Baker Company's options had expanded a lot.
'If we find an abandoned APC on the way, that'd be great. A tank even better.'
Luxurious thoughts from Winter. Fuel efficiency sucked, but armored vehicles or tanks had absolute power. Even without shells. Fort Roberts' M1117 Guardian had mercilessly crushed variant packs. 1,500-hp engine and high reliability made it possible. Noise was a downside, but usable in its own way. Great for rough roads or off-road. At least useful crossing plains.
U.S. tanks held 1,900 liters, good for over 400 km.
Soldiers wrestling the pump drew fuel straight from the underground tanks. Plenty stored, good condition. They had additives galore anyway.
Debate: fill both with diesel, or one gas? All secured vehicles were diesel. Future picks would prioritize pickups. Gas in those would wreck the engines.
Winter settled it.
"We're not crossing the continent right now, right? One diesel's enough. Gas for new vehicle types later. Like armored ones."
Tank engines ran on perfume, but not compatible with diesel. No guarantee future vehicles were diesel. Rumors of Russian military vehicles using both gas and diesel—who knew how they managed.
Fire truck and ambulance worked fine after battery swaps.
Food haul exceeded expectations by volume. Three bakeries in one block—flour alone enough for two weeks for the company. But soldiers hated it. Plenty of bugs in one. Flour doesn't usually have bugs, but left untouched too long, it happens.
"Ugh. We eating this?"
"Think of it as emergency rations. What if we're starving? Better than people or variants."
Winter's April Pacific reminiscence creeped them out more.
"Mark the bags separate. Take 'em now, ditch later if needed."
Sieving flour sacks took time. Heating would fix it. Emergency anyway. Without extra vehicles, they'd have left it. Psychology over nutrition.
No order to keep it secret. Wouldn't stay secret anyway.
The town's only grocery was a rot pit. Cockroaches everywhere—soldiers wouldn't enter. Winter going alone drew volunteers out of duty.
Odd trace inside shelves: amid crushed roach corpses, a conspicuously clean spot. Like something huge had sat there.
'Come to think of it, this was unfamiliar too.'
Experienced it multiple times, still no clue. Wasn't in past apocalypses. What did fearless cockroaches mean? Just atmosphere? Unlikely. Changes usually had reasons.
Started minor, but nagging now.
Half still fled humans, half dove fearlessly. Swat 'em, back in seconds. Blind flight and crawl freaked soldiers. What difference?
"Lieutenant! Gotta search here?"
Winter scanned shelves and floor. Dim inside, but handful of light gave full view. Saw lantern-unreached spots clearly.
Many jars broken. Empty sugar bags gnawed. But plenty intact seals. Mostly vinegar, strong sauces. Tried tasting, spat out—picturable. Liquor corner decent. Salt half gone.
Grabbed what they could, disinfected with vinegar and alcohol. Soldiers shook heads.
No time for houses. Transport at limit. Last stop: downtown medical center. Meds had expirations, but stocked vitamins, supplements, antibiotics plenty.
"Motorized except vanguard—head back with vehicles first. Gotta go far today. Tell Captain no later than EENT."
Winter gazed far sky issuing orders. Soldiers couldn't see: tiny prop plane passing distant. Faint contrail.
'What? No reason for that here...'
Confusing. Not revived frontline controller, no roundel—civilian. White paint gleamed in spring sun.
Escorted convoy to south bridge, Winter veered east. Advance recon for company's path, plus survivor traces. That plane bugged him. Unauthorized near quarantine airspace meant instant shootdown.
Air defense couldn't be that trashed.
Five riders led by Winter galloped toward risen sun horizon.
Over ridge, alpacas suddenly streamed past. Nearby ranch survivors, weird furballs fled spooked. Chased plenty by former-human monsters. Good food, but ignore now. Knew location—track later.
Path detoured lake. Dam abandoned with gates open—low water. Crossed bridge, pressed on.
Kwaaaah—!
Straggler or late-infected. Skinny variant popped from pileup site; Winter rammed without slowing. Head crushed under wheels, tripped following hooves.
"Whoa shit! Jesus!"
Spooked horse. Rider barely avoided fall. Better riding, it'd bucked clear—but 「Teaching」 limits.
After 1 km gorge, small basin. Plan: through basin, big northwest loop, south on Route 1, return. Check safer of east/north from temp base.
But now, nearby mountains echoed countless howls.
No visible pack. Trees blocking. If Winter couldn't see, they couldn't either. Screaming meant chasing other prey. Wildlife?
After morning funeral, hard to assume careless.
============================ Author's Note ============================
#Q&A
Q. Carpis: @Hearing about the quarantine line reminds me of the Maginot Line. Like the Maginot Line's end, the quarantine line too... no way...?
A. Better to watch with that "no way" anxiety. No spoilers. Haha.
Q. FlyingDori: @Chat windows have been rare lately~!! When will they appear? lol
A. They'll keep going with the bratty episodes until those wrap. But lots of backlash on chat parts across platforms, so hesitant to add often.
Q. Epsilon00: @(Strategy) Oh, and curious: U.S. has Atlantic east, Pacific west—aren't variants from sea a risk beyond Washington quarantine? And did it say variants differ by country? If so, with U.S. bordering both oceans, Atlantic and Pacific variants should differ—does top brass know?
A. Atlantic line holding strong. East safe. Citizens, resume daily life... kidding. :)
Special variants adapt to environment/resistance, so new ones per region possible. Plenty nations not fallen, U.S. gov has intel stockpiled.
Successfully blocking overseas variants now, but better watch anxiously for fun.
Q. NoblesseBuffer: @Monday love! Monday love~ That Russian story was touching... guy with wife and kid ㅠㅠ
A. Tragic, yeah.