The Boxer
I had ended up inside a zombie apocalypse novel. "I can do it now." After finishing the last of the food I'd brought from the officetel for breakfast, I figured I'd head out. Today's goal was to clear out all the zombies on the emergency stairs and then check the shops on the first and second floors. So once I'd eaten and tidied up, I packed the waist bag I'd used yesterday with food and bottled water. Then I opened the emergency exit, stepped out, closed the door behind me, and scanned the area. By now I was pretty used to gripping the baseball bat. I could probably handle one zombie without much trouble. "Heh..."
One appeared right on cue. It spotted me and started to open its mouth. I had to kill it before it could groan and call its friends, so I charged and swung the bat. From above, straight down, like swinging a sword. Even if it blocked, the stance let me keep attacking. But the bat smashed the zombie's head in one hit. "Huh." That was unexpected. I'd thought I'd need several swings. Plus, it hadn't even gotten its guard up; the zombie's half-raised arms went limp. I kicked the corpse aside and turned right. Better not to overthink it. I'd deal with it later. For now, I just needed to get inside. I pulled out the broom I'd wedged across the door like a bolt and stepped in, then hooked the broom back onto the handle. "That should be safe enough. Even if someone shows up, they won't get in easily."
I tightened the headset around my neck and strapped the baton to my wrist. Gripping the emergency stairwell door with one hand, I pushed it open. Strangely, no zombies were in sight. I'd assumed they'd all wandered off after a few days, but apparently not. Still, it was better than having them come down from above, so it didn't matter. "Hey!" I adjusted my grip on the bat and stood with my back to the door. Before long, zombies started climbing the stairs toward me. Just like I remembered—five or six of them. Actually, seven. But there wasn't much they could do. The entrance was narrow; only one or two could come at me at a time. "Haha, come on!" And if it was only one or two, I could handle that. I'd just crushed the first one's head in a single swing, after all. My confidence was soaring. But that was a mistake.
"Huh?!" The second and third zombies grabbed my ankles as if they'd been waiting for the chance. The fourth used them as stepping stones and leapt. I raised the bat in time to block, but my instincts told me exactly what they were planning: knock me down and tear me apart bite by bite. I had no intention of letting that happen. I planted my feet and braced. "......Ugh." The moment I thought about peeling the fourth zombie off, a heavy impact slammed into my stomach. The fifth one had headbutted me. That was it. My body tilted and I went down backward. But if I stayed calm, I could still win. I let go of the baton on my wrist, grabbed it, and smashed it into the fourth zombie's head. With a wet crunch, its skull caved in and it twitched. One more blow finished it, and the corpse slumped over me. I twisted free, shoved it aside, and checked ahead. "......Shit."
Something yanked me hard. Sharp pain flared in quick succession. The bastards were working together to drag me deeper into the stairwell so they could eat me. I wondered what the other two were doing when one of them lunged. "Shit!" I dropped the baton, gripped the bat with both hands, and swung with everything I had at the charging zombie's head. Lucky shot—the back of its skull burst open and it toppled away. But four were still left, and three of them had my legs. They were trying to cripple me, biting and tearing with vicious determination. Kicking did nothing; my lower body was completely pinned. If I tried to sit up and shake them off, the last zombie would go for my face. So I had no choice but to offer my legs as a distraction while I kept the final one at bay. "Good thing I'm used to this."
After yesterday's bites, I could handle the pain now. I planned to crush the last zombie's head and then deal with the ones on my legs, but something felt wrong. That one. It was raising both arms in a guard and charging straight at me. My mind went blank. How the hell was I supposed to deal with a guard like that? Where should I swing? "Hey!" I swung as hard as I could, but it didn't do any real damage. Instead, the zombie tripped over its own friends and collapsed onto my arm. Then came the familiar pain. It sank its teeth into my right arm and shook its head side to side. Cold sweat poured down my face. Tears followed right after. Of course they did. My instincts knew exactly what came next: the zombies would keep tearing at the wound until they ripped the flesh away. The thought that I'd stupidly walked into a tiger's den crossed my mind, but I forced myself to stay calm. Saline, ointment, medicine, gauze, and food. With those, even these wounds would heal. So as long as I could make it back, I wouldn't die. I threw the bat aside, forced my right arm to move, and grabbed the baton on my wrist with my left hand. Then I started pounding the end of the handle into the zombie's skull. It was biting so hard that every time its head moved, it felt like my arm was being torn apart. No—by now the wound was so deep that white bone was showing. "Haa...... hoo...... Hey!"
Still, I managed to land the final blow before it was too late. Next were the three on my legs. Thankfully, I could still feel them. They didn't seem to have broken the skin either. That meant I just had to finish them one by one. I crushed the head of the one on my left leg first, then the one on my right, and finally the one on my right ankle. "Ha, shit." I staggered to my feet, grabbed the bat from the floor, and stood there shaking. It was a victory paid for in wounds, but winning was what mattered. Even with dark, sticky fluid leaking from the bites and even though I had to limp. The important thing was that I could now safely travel between floors. I was trembling with relief when I noticed someone slowly descending from the second floor. For a second I thought it might be a survivor, but the green skin told me it was definitely a zombie. "At least it's only one......?"
Suddenly my breath caught. My body refused to move. I remembered swinging the bat to finish the zombies just moments ago, but I couldn't recall why I was now pressed flat against the wall, trying to catch my breath. Only after getting a proper look at the zombie did I understand. It was a variant. The most dangerous kind because it looked almost like a regular zombie. "Boxer......!" It didn't mean the zombie was actually boxing. What mattered was that it had an athlete's physique and swung its fists without tiring or feeling fear. And after just taking down seven zombies, I was in no shape to fight it. Run? Too late. Limping away would only get me caught and killed. So I had to think of something here and now. "Grr......" "Eek......!" The Boxer hadn't even thrown a punch yet, but my body was already shaking. The injuries from earlier made movement difficult. I knew that if I didn't move, I might die. But I didn't want to get hurt. Those two thoughts existed at the same time. I knew how to deal with a Boxer. But I wasn't the protagonist. If I were, I would've already smashed its head in with a wooden sword. I definitely wasn't an agent either. I was just a public service worker with a body that had never been strong to begin with. Just a frail silver-haired, red-eyed girl. Nothing special. Just a loser who'd fallen into the novel some author wrote. Society's trash that everyone kept their distance from. So I didn't have nearly enough courage to face that thing. "......Kuh! Kuh...... ugh......" No, I had none left. After taking the Boxer's punch to the side, the fear only grew worse. The thought of running back to the PC Bang crossed my mind. But nausea surged up instead. It was disgusting. I'd sworn I'd change, yet here I was thinking about running away just like before. I knew the strategy. I had the body to pull it off. So I just had to do it. "Y-you bastard!"
I threw away what I was holding and scrambled forward on all fours, grabbing the Boxer's legs. The bastard might be called a Boxer, but all it could really do was throw telegraphed punches. And I knew it was even weaker against ground techniques. Of course, it had enough intelligence to hunch over and defend...... "Agh! Hwaa, hwaaaaaang......" "Grr." As if telling me to stop, the Boxer slammed its fists into my back. I understood the message. It wanted me to stop struggling so it could eat me nicely without wasting energy. If I kept this up, it would just smash me instead. But I wanted to live. I wanted to keep living, so I poured every ounce of strength into trying to topple it. I grabbed behind its knees, desperately throwing my weight into pulling and shaking. Every time I did, the Boxer pounded my back with its fists. Eventually it seemed to decide it needed to incapacitate me completely and started hammering my back nonstop. It hurt so much that the thought of giving up crossed my mind. But dying was far more terrifying, so I forced myself to endure. And just when the feeling in my back had almost disappeared, the Boxer toppled backward. "You...... hwaaang...... you fucking bastard......!" "Grr......!" Before it could get up, I climbed on top and drove my fist straight into its jaw. Then I pinned its shoulders with my knees and kept punching while sobbing. When my left fist hurt, I used my right. When my right hurt, I used my left. When both hurt, I just clasped my hands together and kept smashing down. The Boxer fought back desperately, punching my sides since it couldn't throw me off. We traded blows like that for what felt like forever. In the end, I was the one who won. "Shit." That was all I could say before I collapsed on top of the Boxer. My body felt like it was falling apart. I needed a moment to catch my breath.