Canary's Song (4)
“Releasing the line at 800. Connect the traps on your way over.”
Acting on pure instinct, Bamtol issued the order.
“Releasing the line at… 800, sir!”
Private First Class Cha immediately echoed the command in a small voice, vaulted over the barricade, and climbed onto the bicycle that had been laid flat. He began pedaling furiously toward the far side of the bridge.
“Sergeant Jo… I’m sorry, sir.”
As Private First Class Cha moved farther away and the mood grew grim, Kim I-byeong muttered in a dejected tone. Bamtol kept his eyes glued to the binoculars and asked,
“Sorry for what?”
“It’s my fault for acting like an idiot… You boiled ramen to cheer me up, and because of that the zombies…”
“That has nothing to do with it, you dumbass.”
Bamtol cut him off sharply, as if there was no point in hearing any more. The ramen had been boiled over an hour and a half ago. If those zombies had detected the heat and come running, it would mean they had walked at least nine kilometers—twelve if you factored in the mountain path. That was impossible.
Even if they had somehow sensed the heat from that far away, the pot used to boil the ramen had long since gone cold. By all rights, the creatures should have lost their target midway and changed direction long ago.
“It’s just… their path happened to bring them here at this exact time today. So stop talking nonsense and quit feeling sorry. Just focus on following orders and fighting properly, got it?”
Bamtol gave the back of Kim I-byeong’s helmet a light smack. Kim I-byeong clenched his jaw, eyes hardening with determination.
“Yes, sir!”
Meanwhile, the zombies had closed the distance even further. The 800-meter marker at Danam Gas Station was now practically right in front of them.
Swish—! Swish—!
The zombies moved swiftly across the reed field that had been trimmed short for better visibility. It was time to abandon any hope that they might turn back.
Click—!
The moment the lead zombie crossed into the boundary of Danam Gas Station, Private First Class Cha, who had reached the western side of the bridge, lit the three long fuses dangling beneath the streetlights.
Whoosh—!
The oil-soaked fuses caught fire instantly. Moments later, the flames spread to the fuel inside the three steel buckets suspended from the streetlights.
Thud—!
After confirming three thick columns of black smoke rising alongside the flames, Private First Class Cha yanked the knot on the restraining line.
Rattle-rattle-rattle—!
The steel buckets, which had been pulled taut and secured above the streetlights, began sliding down the diagonal wires connected to stakes beneath the bridge, racing off in three different directions.
Clang—! Whoosh—!
Each bucket slid roughly fifty meters—south, north, and west—before striking the ground and tipping over. The dry grass piled around the targets immediately ignited.
Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo—! Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo—! Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo—!
Kim I-byeong, who had grabbed the bullhorn and turned toward the Buron-myeon direction to sound the siren, sprinted toward the container box housing the magnetic telephone. Bamtol pulled a box of live ammunition from the trunk of the supply van. They were now in irreversible combat mode.
Whoosh—!
Flames roared upward from three separate points. Because they had preemptively cleared wide firebreaks around the area, there was no danger of the blaze spreading uncontrollably. Instead, they had driven barbed wire and steel pipes into the upturned ground—to hold the zombies that charged toward the flames in place for just a little longer.
Groaaah—! Kwraaahk—!
The zombie horde, sensing the fire, split into four groups and began to run. Three groups charged toward the burning points to the south, north, and west. The remaining group barreled straight toward the bridge where Bamtol waited.
Swish—! Swish—!
By the time Private First Class Cha pedaled hard and returned to Bamtol’s side, the sound of the standby squad running up from behind reached them as well.
“Run! Run!”
The six newly awakened soldiers sprinted desperately. One of them, still half-asleep, tangled his legs and crashed hard to the ground.
“You okay?”
When the six soldiers crouched beside him, panting, Bamtol asked the one who had fallen.
“Ah, yes… Sergeant Jo. I just scraped my knee a bit. Hiss…!”
The soldier rubbed his asphalt-scraped knee and winced. A faint trace of blood showed through the threadbare fabric of his military trousers.
Groaak—! Kraaaah—!
The zombies racing toward the bridge had already passed the Welcome to Beautiful Chungbuk sign. That was the 400-meter mark.
“Splash some cold water on your faces and get your heads straight! We’ll be engaged in under two minutes!”
Bamtol pointed at the water bucket, then opened the ammo box and continued issuing orders.
“You all remember what to do, right? Do not fire until they cross the gate! You won’t hit anything anyway!”
“Yes, sir! Pffft!”
The soldiers answered while scooping water from the bucket and splashing it onto their faces.
The “gate” referred to the tall steel door fixed to the railing at the western end of the bridge. From their position, it stood roughly two meters high and two hundred meters away—deliberately installed a little lower than a height zombies couldn’t clear. That way, the gate wouldn’t collapse entirely, and the zombies wouldn’t scatter in other directions.
They had to force the creatures to bunch up on the narrow two-lane bridge and make them teeter precariously on the gate before tumbling down. Only then would their kill rate increase. If the zombies began crossing the river from all sides, nine men would never be able to handle them.
Kieeeh—! Groaaah—!
At the three flame points, zombies caught on the barbed wire thrashed wildly, trying to get closer to the fire. They had bought a little time, but such tricks would never get them through this wave. Their goal wasn’t simply to escape this place—it was to prevent the zombies from crossing the river in order to protect Chungju. The three fires existed solely to split the horde and buy time so that this nine-man Canary squad could face a manageable number of enemies.
“I called Mokgye GOP, sir!”
Kim I-byeong, who had run to the container, came sprinting back, gasping for breath.
“Good work. What did they say?”
Bamtol asked while stuffing magazines into his tactical vest. Kim I-byeong answered with a half-dazed expression.
“They said… do your best to hold them off… and good luck…”
“…Right. Luck… We’re definitely going to need that.”
Bamtol bit his lip and nodded. He had held the tiniest sliver of hope that they might say they would send helicopter support… but of course that wasn’t going to happen. He already knew exactly what their role was, but facing that cold reality still felt utterly fucking miserable.
“Everyone to your positions!”
Bamtol tightened his core and gave the order as calmly as he could. If the squad leader showed fear here, that anxiety would spread to the entire unit. No matter how badly he felt like pissing himself, he could not let it show.
Clack! Clack!
The six soldiers lined up in a row on the bridge. Standing at the center, Bamtol looked left and right and shouted,
“Think only about covering your own lane! It’ll be much easier that way!”
“Yes, sir!”
The soldiers answered in unison. Six lines had been painted across the two-lane bridge. The original solid white lines on both shoulders, the solid yellow center line, and two additional red lines that split each lane in half.
The person who came up with this plan had divided the bridge into six firing lanes roughly 1.2 meters wide. This allowed every soldier to clearly understand their area of responsibility. Not only did it improve accuracy compared to swinging their muzzles around wildly, the psychological stability it provided was even more significant.
It felt far safer for one man to be responsible for 1.2 meters than for six men to cover a nine-meter-wide bridge. It also drastically reduced wasted time caused by hesitation or overlapping targets.
The other three soldiers were tasked with watching the opposite bank from the sides of the bridge and providing supporting fire when necessary. This was another core element of the plan. It prevented the fatal mistake of missing zombies crossing the river while everyone focused solely on the bridge, and it also allowed them to maintain a better overall view of the battlefield.
Clang—!
Finally, the steel gate two hundred meters away shook violently. Zombies gripping the pipe gate rattled it fiercely, then leaped upward, stretching their arms.
Riiip—!
The belly of a zombie caught on the bars above the gate tore open, spilling its intestines. But that kind of damage meant nothing to them.
Thud—!
A zombie that had vaulted over the gate after ripping its own stomach open landed heavily on the bridge. The moment it planted its hands and tried to rise, the soldier responsible for Lane 2 pulled the trigger.
Rat-tat-tat—!
The loud burst of three-round fire rang out. The zombie that had been scrambling upright had its skull blown apart and was hurled backward. Although he had scored a hit on his first attempt, the soldier in Lane 2 showed no particular pride. After all, the rifle’s zero had been set at two hundred meters. Missing at this distance in a straight lane would have been downright shameful.
Riiip—! Thud—! Thump—!
The number of zombies tumbling over the “gate” increased rapidly. The K-2 barrels in each lane began spitting fire almost simultaneously.
Rat-tat-tat—! Rat-tat-tat—! Ratatat—! Ratatat—! Tututu—!
Even as zombies died or were barely grazed in the head and collapsed on top of one another, more creatures with torn abdomens and split thigh flesh dropped from above the gate. While they were being aimed at, a third wave leaped over the gate.
“Ha…!”
The soldier in Lane 6 let out a fearful sigh. It had already been over four months since the zombie outbreak, yet he still couldn’t get used to the relentless, ceaseless tide of bodies and their overwhelming numbers.
“Don’t panic! We have time! Shoot calmly!”
Bamtol roared at the top of his lungs to encourage the men. Then he sighted down his rifle again and carefully squeezed the trigger.
Rat-tat-tat—!
The three 5.56mm NATO rounds that flew from his K-2 shattered the forehead of a zombie that had just landed. Bamtol took a quick breath, held it again, and fired another three-round burst at the next target.
Ratatat—!
This time he missed. The damn zombie had tripped over a corpse and staggered, causing Bamtol’s bullets to gouge deep scars into the iron bars before ricocheting off somewhere.
“It’s okay… It’s okay…”
Bamtol whispered to himself, trying to stay calm. The basic manual for this defensive operation called for expending six rounds per zombie. Taking one down with two three-round bursts was considered a success. The important principle was to neither desperately chase one-shot kills nor panic and spray full-auto fire. Following that alone dramatically increased both accuracy and survival rates. Bamtol calmly aimed once more and repeated the process.
Ratata—!
Fortunately, these three rounds struck true, blowing off the entire upper jaw of the target. Success! Bamtol narrowed his eyes and swung his muzzle toward the next target.
Rat-tat-tat—! Bang-bang-bang—! Ratatat—!
On both sides of him, the soldiers’ gunfire thundered like lightning, ceaseless and loud. The fact that every shot was still a controlled three-round burst told him the battle situation remained stable for now. But…
Groaak—! Kwraaaah—! Groaak—!
The number of zombies dropping over the gate soon outpaced the rate at which the soldiers could kill them. No matter how hard they tried, they could not exceed their own capabilities. The marksmanship of Bamtol’s squad members was only average. Slightly better than regular soldiers, but not enough to overcome this crisis.
Groaaaah—!
The distance the zombies covered while running grew shorter and shorter. Some were now occasionally reaching the 150-meter line. On top of that, the three fires lit to split the horde were slowly beginning to die out.
“Sergeant Jo! Three o’clock! The fire at three o’clock is out! Those bastards are coming this way!”
Kim I-byeong, who had been watching the far bank, clutched the bullhorn and screamed. Even Bamtol, whose ears were ringing from the gunfire, clearly heard the warning.
“…Fuck.”
Watching the flaming zombies sprint across the riverbank, Bamtol cursed under his breath. They were already struggling badly. If those things joined the fight, it would only get worse. And the fact that the fire on that side had gone out meant the zombies from the other two directions would soon join them as well.
“Just hold on a little longer…”
Bamtol stared regretfully at the flame traps that were still spitting occasional sparks and smoke. They had even added steel pipes and barbed wire to slow the zombies down, but the duration was far too short. That was how it felt right now.
Of course, if they made a much larger fire over a wider area, they could probably survive this wave—but that would be no different from calling every zombie in the vicinity straight to them. That would make things infinitely worse.
“It’s fine! Don’t panic, keep watching the approaches! We’re still okay! Still okay!”
Bamtol shouted the order to Kim I-byeong before turning his gaze forward again.
Groaaahk—!
While he had been distracted, five zombies had entered his lane and closed the distance to 150 meters.
Rat-tat-tat—! Ratatat—! Ratata—! Ratata—! Rat-tat-tat—!
Bamtol gritted his teeth and fired three-round bursts with everything he had. In the heat of battle, the thirty-round magazines emptied in the blink of an eye. Every time he slammed in a fresh one, he felt as if his life was being chipped away bit by bit.
“Lane 3! 120!”
Kim I-byeong shouted the warning through the bullhorn. It meant the zombies in the third lane had crossed the thick horizontal line painted at the 120-meter mark.
Rat-tat-tat—! Bang-bang-bang—! Tututu—!
The two soldiers waiting on the flank opened supporting fire toward Lane 3. There was no time to feel relief at the sight of the approaching zombies being knocked down. Kim I-byeong’s piercing voice rang out again urgently.
“Lane 6! 120! Hey! Lane 1! 120!”
The distance was shrinking everywhere, without exception.
Fuck… Did the gate collapse?
Watching the number of zombies filling the bridge and charging forward increase exponentially, that suspicion flashed through Bamtol’s mind. But there was no way to check. Between the thick gunpowder smoke and the approaching zombies, the gate two hundred meters away was barely visible. Even if he could see it, he had no attention to spare for something that far away.
Ratatat—! Rat-tat-tat—! Ratata—! Tututu—! Bang-bang-bang—! Tutuduk—!
“Lanes 4, 3, and 5 have also reached 120!”
Groaaaah—! Gaaaahk—!
The deafening gunfire, Kim I-byeong’s desperate shouting through the bullhorn, and the zombies’ roars all blended together into pure chaos. Yet even so, the next warning from Kim I-byeong reached every soldier clearly.
“100! Fuck! 100!”
It meant the zombies had reached the 100-meter point where the traps were set.
“Get down!”
Bamtol pulled his finger out of the trigger guard and flattened himself beneath the height of the oil drum. The rest of the squad immediately stopped firing and ducked.
Tick—!
The shin of the lead zombie snagged the line stretched taut across the bridge railing, pulling the safety pin from the grenade. A moment later…
Boom-boom-boom—!
The three grenades, spaced roughly ten meters apart, detonated simultaneously, shredding an entire group of charging zombies into hundreds of pieces.
Thump—! Plop—! Splat—!
While severed limbs and chunks of flesh that had been launched high into the air rained down onto the bridge with sickening sounds, a shower of green brain matter poured over the squad.
“Fire!”
Bamtol rose again and shouted the command, squeezing the trigger toward the front.
Tutuduk—! Tututu—!
They had killed as many as they could and had just blown dozens apart with the grenades, yet the number of zombies remained overwhelming. When the 50-meter line was breached far too easily, Bamtol realized they could no longer hold this position. If they tried to defend it any longer… everyone would be dead within ten seconds.
“Abandon the bridge! Fall back! Grab all the ammo you can!”
Bamtol shouted at the top of his voice and signaled Kim I-byeong to withdraw as well. Understanding the gesture, Kim I-byeong bellowed through the bullhorn.
“Abandon the bridge! Fall back! Fall back!”
Tap-tap—! Tap—!
The squad members divided up the remaining ammunition exactly as they had practiced countless times and connected the last grenade’s safety pin to the final trap.
“Move!”
After confirming the trap was set, Bamtol swung his arm wide and gave the order to retreat.
Tat-tat-tat—!
The rapid thud of the soldiers’ combat boots echoed urgently. But far louder than that was the sound of the zombies’ feet pounding across the bridge behind them.
“Eat this, you fuckers!”
Bamtol hurled the grenade as far as he could and ran after his men.
Kwaaaang—!
The explosion of the grenade he had thrown rattled his eardrums. Soon the grenade trap installed at the barricade would take out another few dozen, but Bamtol knew all too well that it still wouldn’t be enough…
“Haa…! Haa…! If we can’t finish them off even after luring them to the three-way intersection, we’ll head north to the myeon office! Do not scatter under any circumstances! Everyone take care of the soldier next to you!”
Even while running so hard he was gasping for breath, Bamtol continued issuing precise instructions.
Of course, the Canary squad had a proper escape route. If they ran to the Buron-myeon office, climbed into the vehicles parked there, and drove two kilometers south, two rubber boats were tied up along the riverbank. If they got aboard and rowed just a little, the current of the Namhan River would carry them straight to Mokgye GOP.
But that would only pass the danger on to the platoon stationed at Mokgye. It solved nothing. In the end, they would have to return with a small reinforcement team to completely clear out the zombies here. By then, no one would know how many more zombies had already crossed the river.
That was what Bamtol feared most. Rather than spreading that unknown risk to other soldiers, he would rather fight with everything he had right now. That was the responsibility he had been given.
“Luck, my ass…!”
Bamtol ground his teeth and glanced behind him. They had fought with everything they possessed, yet in the end they had failed to hold even a single bridge. The frustration burned like fire. And to make matters worse, he could now see zombies crossing the river. It was then.
In that moment when everything seemed utterly hopeless, the sound of helicopter rotor blades drifted in from far away like a hallucination.
Whump-whump-whump-whump-whump—!
“…Huh?”
Bamtol unconsciously lifted his head. But there was nothing in the blue sky.
“Is this… only I can hear it?”