Chapter 223
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 223
Chapter Title: End of April (10)
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Although there had only been one incident, a report had already come in of a reinforced variant firing a small-caliber weapon. A burst of uncontrolled fire that lasted a mere two seconds. It meant that, at the very least, it could pull the trigger for unaimed directional shooting. The beta ghoul in question had been immediately killed on the spot. Word was, its chamber was empty. Whether the thing actually knew how to swap out a magazine was anyone's guess.
‘But assuming it won't keep learning from here on out would be way too optimistic. It's being shown over and over like this... Probably soon enough in this world too...’
When facing a horde of infected charging in, every one or two seconds counted. Because with every tick of the second hand, the distance shrank by ten meters. That made surprise gunfire all the more dangerous. No matter how low the accuracy, few soldiers wouldn't flinch in the face of an enemy armed with automatic weapons.
There had even been cases in the past of ghouls stripping corpses and donning their body armor.
Which was why ammo leaks had to be prevented at all costs. Automatic weapons consumed it at a ferocious rate.
*Gurk, guk!*
Someone let out a choking gasp. Everyone who was still awake jumped in alarm.
“Everyone, calm down. It's nothing. Don't wake the ones who are sleeping.”
Winter raised a hand to settle the agitation. The person whose mouth had gaped open with no breath coming out soon started snoring with a *drrrng*.
Damn! The soldiers, now grasping the situation, muttered quiet curses. One had been about to hurl a rock but stopped himself. Another private first class was still clutching his rifle, chest heaving up and down. A burnt child dreads the fire. For these routed survivors who'd been hunted for so long, they had no choice but to be wary of even the slightest signs of infection.
“Major.”
Lieutenant Casper called out to Winter, his eyes bloodshot.
“If I may ask, how much longer can you stay? As you can see, we're all a mess...”
Winter checked his watch. The size of the force here, the odds of reaching the rally point safely, the gains from moving out immediately to hunt tricksters—all flashed through his mind in an instant.
“Like I said earlier, if an emergency order or rescue request comes in, I can't help it. Otherwise, I'll stick around for another forty minutes. No more than that. You get some rest too, Lieutenant. That's an order.”
Different units, so no real chain of command, but Lieutenant Casper nodded gratefully.
With a firm time limit set, the number of people dozing off with relief grew. With a war hero here, it'd be fine. That kind of vibe. Meanwhile, Winter kept watch in all directions except downwind. The horses, Excel and the others, were as sensitive to smells as hunting dogs, so anything approaching from upwind would be spotted right away.
The sounds of exhausted dreaming multiplied.
He used the downtime to check the updated intel. The mobile unit members who didn't desperately need rest did the same.
Among the info now accessible with his rank were plenty of useful bits. Matters not shared with regular soldiers for morale reasons.
‘GPS signal jamming, huh. Might be overkill, but better safe than sorry.’
The Department of Defense's Quarantine Strategy Lab was worried tricksters might crack GPS signals. If any signs of that popped up on the front lines, report it as top priority.
The variants' mass movements converged on human-built road networks. The vast continental landmass itself acted as a geographic barrier. One reason countries like Russia and Australia were still holding out.
Carpet-bomb the roads into oblivion—whether with airstrikes or whatever—and variants without systematic geographic data would wander lost for ages. Weren't the trial-and-error of explorers and pioneers part of civilization's legacy? Russia, where the time gap between the nearest bases could be thirty minutes, had even more of an edge. No tricksters over there to pinpoint positions. Different continent.
“Have you seen this?”
The mobile unit members were just as thirsty for news. Morales showed his PDA screen.
“Says they're awarding the Silver Star to every combatant in the Preventive Scalping op. KIA get at least the Silver Star or the Cross.”
“That's weird?”
“Feels like they're not acknowledging how dangerous this op really is...”
Loss rates for the forces deployed on this op had already hit thirty percent. Also restricted info to a certain rank and up, but if it were a single unit, it'd be a wipe and pulled back by now.
“Be grateful it's thanks to me.”
A few burst out laughing at Winter's joke.
“You think we don't know? Anyway, pay bump incoming. Won't need it for a while, though. And hey, no need to grind out the full twenty years either. Oh—probably shouldn't say that in front of you, Major?”
Winter managed an awkward smile at Morales's deadpan delivery.
Twenty years of service was the max for military pension. Officers retiring and re-enlisting as privates just to hit it wasn't uncommon—plenty of incentive.
The DoD had recently announced they'd add award histories to service time. To boost troop morale. How many would make it to discharge unscathed was the question.
Added leave scaled with medal tier. Distinguished Service Medal was five years. Winter, guaranteed multiples, already had ten from that alone. Toss in the rest, and it hit nineteen years and six months. Combined with prior service, over twenty. So he'd get the thirty-grand bonus for fifteen years in, and from here on, max pay grade regardless of rank.
With the new quarantine war award system coming, a few more on top.
Dress blues were gonna be plastered on the left chest with medals.
*Arf! Arf!*
A dog bark out of nowhere. Winter doubted his ears. The mobile unit hadn't heard it yet. It was that faint and distant. But looking toward it, a small dachshund was visible struggling along near the horizon. Black fur with brown spots. Its short legs made the gait look awkward somehow. Joint issues, probably. Still, it flapped its long ears and ran hard.
‘How'd it track us here? Smell? Or the horse tracks?’
Either way, not normal.
*Thud.* Front leg buckled, and it tumbled down a gentle slope. Didn't get right back up. Lay there panting. Tiny chest heaving with ragged breaths. Emaciated frame made the ribs stand out even more. But it struggled up, shivering. Willpower, or what? Uneven gait sent it tumbling several times, but it kept coming straight this way.
Winter side-eyed Schultz. The team member with a soft spot for strays. He'd been showing more agitation lately—cause for concern. Seemed like there was a story there, but how shaken would he get seeing this dog make it all the way here?
*Click.* Rifle safety disengaged. A split-second aim would do. Muffled shot through the suppressor might draw a few eyes, but claiming a variant kill at this range would shut it down.
But he hesitated. Humanity was always inefficient. The efficient were just functions. In that pause, soldiers who'd noticed something followed his gaze. Too late now. The ones who hadn't spotted it yet relied on scopes. Winter lowered his muzzle.
“Huh...”
An emotion too raw for words. Not just Morales who voiced it—everyone stared through their sights, unable to look away. Just blankly watching the mud-caked dog keep falling and getting up.
This is a problem. Winter turned to the soldiers drawn by the barking. Shoot it now?
*Arf! Arf!*
The renewed bark was the clincher. Winter let out a long sigh. Finally took his finger off the trigger guard. Hard enough to leave it behind. In the VR era, it wasn't just kids that got abandoned. VR dogs outclassed real-world ones in every way. Streets back then were full of pathetic strays—lonely kids' and teens' poor friends.
The dachshund finally reached its goal. Tail wagging weakly despite the shivers.
The team members glanced at Winter.
“We're not killing it. It'll just keep following otherwise. Muzzle it and ship it out on the next airlift. Feed it enough to keep it alive. Careful it doesn't bite.”
Dumping it on Lieutenant Casper felt irresponsible, passing on a hazard. One sour look, but the rest lit up. Schultz, who'd been extra tense, was on the verge of tears.
Attention and affection poured on the short-legged dog. Soldiers bickered over not overfeeding it. Mobile unit and stragglers mingled naturally. The dog rolled onto its back, whining softly. Fierce-looking breed, but low odds of going berserk.
Watching the joyful faces, Winter thought: Life's enough like this. I didn't ask my parents for much...
“Time to head out. Good luck, Lieutenant.”
Clock was up. The brief rest had invigorated the stragglers. As Winter said goodbye, Lieutenant Casper—absentmindedly sniffing the lingering dog scent on his hands—replied.
“Belated, but thank you for the save. Honored to meet you. Stay safe.”
Crisp salute showed real recovery underway. In the end, life was hope.
Probably regiment-sized by now.
Plenty of troops linking up with Colonel Rogers this way. No major incidents? At least a regiment, maybe a division. What better news for citizens who'd written them off as dead? When a ship sinks, don't folks cheer every single rescue?
Afternoon took them across between Santa Rosa and Mark West into the western woodlands. Ruined vineyards and orange groves first, then a passenger jet crash site whipped by. Far off, Sonoma County Airport's triangular runways, packed with abandoned planes. Explained the wrecks here.
American bird, so in a collapsed-government world, he'd have scavenged it for sure. Food and weapons jackpot.
*Day after Apocalypse* started in 2016. Post-9/11. Cockpits always had locked cabinets under the seats for the captain and FO's guns. Plus two federal air marshals among passengers. Four pistols total.
The whole ride, something kept grunting behind him on the saddle.
[Those filthy bastard spawn are getting a lot sloppier.]
Harper's voice over the receiver. Winter fired bursts in reply.
“You can be happier about it. Means your practice is paying off.”
Horseback shooting accuracy: 100%. Winter could hit every round at fifty meters firing from the hip. Mountain-wandering variants dropped in clusters.
The forest grew massive. Famous American sequoia habitat. Trees rivaling the Statue of Liberty, thick green canopy. Millennia-old crowns blocked even midday sun. Not a spot variants would wander into lightly, but with a rescue signal pinged, search was mandatory.
‘Looks like at least one trickster slipped this way...’
The ones that spotted the big hunt must've gone to ground to evade pursuit. For Winter, this was the op's endgame. Assigned zone might expand, but.
Not plunging into this hellhole unprepared, of course.
Suddenly, amid the giant trees, a white concrete wall emerged.
Months passed before Morgellons crossed the Pacific. In that time, bunker-building boomed across the Americas. The ruins they faced now were remnants. Never finished. Supply couldn't keep up with demand. Government's priority: shield the big cities. Thanks to that, New York and D.C. had medieval-style walls.
Winter gave orders to the team.
“We camp here tonight. Good spot for four, five days—search it properly.”