Chapter 231
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 231
Chapter Title: Stay of Execution (3)
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Afternoon, 5 PM. After finishing their rest in the air raid shelter, Winter left the forest and entered the riverside road stretching eastward. The landscape sparkled with the late spring light reflecting off the slowly flowing river. Warm breezes blew through the deserted villages. Despite intermittent attacks from lone variants, the march proceeded without tension.
There were still living Tricksters out there, but their numbers had dwindled to the point they couldn't even jam communications. Dodging tracking missiles required multiple individuals stepping up in sequence.
Along the way, they continuously encountered routed soldiers heading south. Frontline control aircraft flew at lower altitudes than before. Helicopters evacuating the wounded appeared frequently.
"Bombing again. They're pouring it on without end."
Schultz clicked his tongue. Bombers bursting through the clouds dumped several bombs in a hail. The vineyard near the horizon erupted like a volcano. Rising smoke billowed like a mushroom cloud, and the distorted shockwave swept across the abandoned fields. The opaque wind rasped like sandpaper.
In Winter's eyes, fallen variants were visible. Their bodies shredded to rags, like meat ground against steel plates. Some staggering to their feet collapsed again soon after. No matter how tough and resilient, they were still mutated human flesh. The kill radius of aerial bombs was far wider than it appeared. Beyond the direct blast radius, a broad circle where dust and shrapnel rose became a zone of death.
"The ones who should be leading packs have vanished. The remaining variants are just instinctively clustering together. Perfect time to sweep them from the sky. It'll be noisy for a while."
As Winter spoke, other horizons flashed in succession.
The cavalry passed dirt paths between vineyards, skirting several ruined wineries. They arrived at their destination, the ranch, at 6:11 PM. Two hours remained until sunset.
"Marigold was mistaken. This place is a ranch in name only."
Alejandro pointed to a shattered sign fragment. This was actually a Catholic religious retreat center. The fences and barbed wire erected in preparation for the apocalypse looked bleak, but beyond them stood a cross and bell tower in the distance.
Rattle—clatter—
The squad members flinched. Winter alone, who hadn't detected danger, was the exception. Looking back, it was supply crates being dragged along by parachutes. Around the collapsed fence, dozens of empty boxes were visible within sight, along with dozens more parachutes strewn about. Like jellyfish washed ashore by waves, the parachutes lay flat, then puffed up as if alive when the wind carried dandelion seeds.
'Why? No need to wipe them out completely... Survivors vanished from here five days ago, right?'
Winter pondered from the monsters' perspective while inspecting the empty boxes.
He'd heard it multiple times: the Department of Defense's Biosecurity Strategy Research Institute analyzed that variants were deliberately sparing civilians. Like ants extracting honeydew from aphids, targeting relief supplies dropped to civilians. In fact, variants had scavenged the relief rations.
Here too, traces abounded everywhere. To avoid Trickster suicide attacks, they had to maintain safe altitudes, and drops from that height lacked precision. More landed outside the fence than inside. Far more variants than civilians must have gorged themselves.
Five days ago was when the Trickster hunt hadn't yet yielded major results.
In other words, focusing solely on pursuing stragglers had already strained control in areas like this.
Well, with special variants concentrated at the blockade line, it wasn't surprising if things were tight from the start.
Satisfied with his reasoning, Winter spurred his horse toward the collapsed fence.
"Not something like a Grumble that smashed it. Looks like regular ones just pushed through in a horde."
Morales grimaced. Crushed bodies lay in heaps under the rubble.
Muttering complaints followed. If you're building a wall, make it thicker. Barely two bricks deep.
It wasn't incomprehensible. In the chaos, nothing was easy to obtain.
"These bloodstains are recent. Probably after the wall fell."
Winter remarked while examining a concrete-flecked brick fragment. He sniffed. No plague-specific stench. Two to three days ago. The "Tracking" skill detecting bloodstains roughly indicated the elapsed time.
"You mean there might be survivors?"
"Don't know. Whether people who escaped the fire slipped out, or new survivors entered after the variants left... Harper, Ayel. Secure the retreat route here. The rest, follow me in."
Hooah. The two cleared obstructing rocks and secured cover. Several anti-personnel mines were laid. Unless special variants showed up, even a hundred charging in could be repelled.
Inside the fence, several buildings stood at wide intervals. As a former retreat, each had a neat, cozy atmosphere. Amid that, a blood-soaked swimming pool with floating corpses created stark dissonance. Winter drew his pistol.
Crack! Crack-crack!
Each trigger pull convulsed variants floating like corpses. Morales and Schultz just accepted it, seeing Winter instantly distinguish the living.
They searched the first building. Open terrace with ivory bricks. Ivy clung to the outer walls, sprouting lush buds. While Schultz watched the rear, Winter covered as Morales opened the door. He lifted the handle and pushed to minimize noise. But the plank floor was the issue. Fully armed soldiers were heavy, and each step creaked.
Flinch. A small child crouched by the fireplace reacted to the footsteps. Like waking from sleep.
Even from the hunched back, the clothes were clean. The nape was pale white.
Winter shot the back of the head.
"Shit!"
Morales jumped at the sudden shot.
"Damn, it was a variant?"
A small, trembling question. Instead of answering, Winter flipped the body with his boot. Only then was the waterfall of blood on the front of the white dress visible. The girl's face was gnawed. Bite marks flanked the nose.
Schultz scowled.
"If the flesh hasn't rotted, it means infection was recent..."
Winter nodded.
"Probably hid and got bit late. Let's hurry."
The body was gaunt and skinny. Likely emerged from a closet-like hiding spot, unable to endure hunger and fear. Meaning other survivors might be around. Winter took point, picking up speed. In unknown areas, sensory augmentation efficiency dropped, but no special variants were certain.
"Down!"
The warning was a bit late. Rat-tat-tat! Gunfire erupted beyond the locked door. Winter dodged the line of fire, but Morales took two hits. Fortunately, the bullets didn't penetrate the plate. He just groaned from smacking his head while falling. Winter yanked the sergeant's shoulder, sliding him to safety.
"Damn it! Who's there! Human?!"
The shooter's shout, probably. Voice thick with strain. The unguarded yell suggested panic. Winter, pressed to the doorframe side, raised his voice while stopping Schultz from firing back.
He'd nearly returned fire himself, wary of variants using automatic weapons.
"Don't shoot! Rescue team!"
"...Rescue team? What goddamn rescue team comes here?"
Even so, the door creaked open moments later. The room dark from power outage. Light spilling in first revealed bright orange. It soon became a man in prison garb clutching a pistol.
Prison garb?
The man didn't lower his aim. Behind him, children clustered in fear. Small, terrified faces. Eyes unaccustomed to light squinted naturally.
"Lower your weapon first. Non-compliance means we shoot."
The squinting prisoner finally recognized Winter upon the warning.
"God! Lieutenant Han Gyeowol? For real? No joke?"
"Real. Major now, though. Anyway, when are you dropping that gun? Wanna die?"
"...Fuck. No escaping now. Some luck."
The aim on Winter shook continuously. "Combat Sense," "Survival Instinct," "Crisis Detection" gave minimal warnings, but it wouldn't look that way to Schultz and Morales.
"Drop it! Now!"
Cowed by the intensity, the prisoner released the grip. Okay, okay. One hand raised, he slowly set the pistol down with the other. Then kicked it to Winter without orders.
"Morales. Hurt bad?"
"Not Purple Heart bad."
His low groan was from bruising, probably. Morales replied, extracting kids from the shit-and-piss-stinking room.
"Come here, all of you. It's okay. You know the super badass Major Han Gyeowol here, right?"
The sullen, haggard children nodded blankly. Winter made a smile and waved.
While Schultz bound and frisked the prisoner, Winter checked the pistol (Sig Sauer P239). Not standard issue. Coast Guard or some Navy SEALs got them from the same maker, but different model.
'At least low chance it's from killing a soldier.'
No certainties, of course. Could be a soldier's personal weapon, or seized from someone who took it fleeing unarmed.
Still, kids didn't seem abused. No hatred toward the man. Trash and excrement ratios suggested severe food shortage.
Not killing the kids in extremis meant decent character for a con.
"Where'd you get this pistol?"
Hands bound behind, the prisoner hesitated.
"From a crashed plane..."
"Ah."
Federal Air Marshal's weapon.
En route to the shelter, international passenger jet wreckage was seen. Nearby county airport meant emergency landings or crashes scattered around. Runways blocked by other planes that landed first. Lucky pilots ahead fled without thought for aftermath. Panic does that.
"Questions later. Any guess where other survivors might be?"
Answering wasn't the man, but a child.
"That night zombies came, Mom said we had to go to the church!"
"Church? Thanks for telling me."
The child was pleased with Winter's smile.
The church was village-sized. Similar scale to Bradley's church with Li Ailing and Triad fighters. Exterior structure alike. But doors and windows fully barred stood out. Without cross and bell tower, it'd look like a prison.
Clunk. Schultz by the door curved his lips.
"Locked from inside..."
Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock-knock. Repeated knocking got no response. Anxious children. Opaque stained glass hid the interior. Winter scanned around, nodded, and Schultz yelled at the door.
"Rescue team! If anyone's alive, respond!"
Thud-thud-thud-thud! Boom! Kraaaah!
Immediate reaction. As Schultz jumped back, Winter fired his rifle. Rat-tat-tat! Wood door beyond bars punched full of holes. Then sliding sound, blood flowing from bottom hole and door cracks.
'Need the dog here.'
Children wailed for mom and dad. Winter regretted the Dachshund reduced to saddlebag luggage. Burly Morales floundered amid the tears.
"Cut the hinges."
At Winter's order, Schultz loaded a cartridge into the lightsaber-like torch. Ignited. Fwoosh—hinge glowed red-hot instantly. One cartridge per hinge. The third tore free from heat and bar weight.