Marauder of the Apocalypse
Chapter 119: Moving

We couldn't move at night. If we were going out to raid, that would be different, but to move all these belongings and people, we needed to travel during daylight.

So I first called the reconnaissance team to my house to ask about the townhouse.

"How's the townhouse?"

"It was quite a nice property," the real estate guy said, gazing into the distance as if reminiscing about his working days. He quickly snapped back to reality and answered.

"It's not in great condition. The upper part of the townhouse going up the mountain was swept away by landslides, and there's only one house with working solar panels."

He said this kind of place wouldn't sell in the past and no one would buy it, but in times like these, it was an excellent home you couldn't find even with billions.

A facility that drew groundwater, situated with mountains behind for gathering resources, yet close to the city center.

But good homes naturally attract survivors. I fingered my hammer and narrowed my eyes.

"What about the numbers and firepower of the survivor group?"

"We couldn't confirm that. We couldn't visit claiming we were there to see the property like before. We couldn't even enter the townhouse grounds."

The real estate guy held out his palm.

"They've built fences and barricades around the townhouse. They have people standing guard and traps set up. We barely managed to scout by climbing up the mountain."

The real estate guy tapped his thigh, complaining of leg pain. For a moment, he revealed a murderous intent similar to mine.

"But they didn't seem to have proper rifles, and on the other hand, they were growing crops in the yard. If we just take it..."

"Of course we should take it."

I grinned in agreement. Society had collapsed. There were no contracts or laws anymore. If you wanted a house, you killed the people living in it and moved in.

Might alone determined a person's rights. And our rights would likely be stronger than those of the townhouse residents.

I patted the real estate guy's shoulder and helped him up.

"You've worked hard. Go back and rest well. We're moving tomorrow."

"Yes. Get some rest."

***

This was the apocalypse. Moving carried countless dangers. Raiders and zombies targeting the resources we'd packed for the move. Paths that might be rigged with traps. Entering another's territory couldn't be anything but dangerous.

So we moved fully armed and vigilant of our surroundings.

We placed our belongings and non-combat personnel in the center, with combat personnel walking in a protective circle around them. Some watched the rear.

"Can we use electricity? They said there was a generator. Could we listen to music and watch movies?"

"What good is electricity? We don't have any files."

"We could find some."

I heard bored people whispering, but they kept their voices down. They knew not to interfere with our vigilance.

I pushed the combat cart with force and looked around.

Had it been just over half a year? The city had become a complete ruin.

The streets, covered with dirt, garbage, and corpses, showed patches of asphalt and sidewalk tiles here and there. The few surviving street trees shook their bare branches, waiting for the day they'd be cut down.

Road signs, utility poles, and traffic lights still stood stubbornly, but they were covered in dust, tilted, or turned off—they felt like traces of a collapse.

'With more time, these will all disappear too.'

Probably by human hands. Wouldn't the people who had somehow banded together and survived try to recycle the valuable steel resources?

Come to think of it, today's survivors were like a swarm of locusts. Devouring the city's remaining resources, consuming ammunition and medical supplies, dissecting cars and electronics for needed parts.

If all traces of modern civilization disappeared, it might be at the hands of people rather than nature.

"Stop. There are signs of zombies."

A report from up ahead.

I snapped to attention and moved forward. A companion at the front pointed to a corpse on the ground. The body hadn't been dead long, showing little decay.

And in its mouth, something shiny—plastic garbage.

"A virus generator?"

This was a trace of the zombie we'd tied to the street like a cross last summer. A zombie with the twisted habit of stuffing garbage into human mouths, one that had observed and learned human behavior patterns.

My criminal companions and I knew this zombie, so we reacted with curiosity.

"Is this one still alive? How did it find water and food?"

"It's smart, you know."

"It must have learned from watching someone, so it wouldn't be easily caught."

But other companions who didn't know the situation shuddered fearfully. I glimpsed their goosebumped skin.

"Do you know this one? It's really dangerous."

"This is the one we used as a virus generator before. The one that luckily escaped."

"This one?"

A companion looked at me with wide eyes. I stared back, puzzled. Was this zombie dangerous?

Originally, zombies were less intelligent than humans. This meant they lacked the capacity for the strongest human weapons—malice and ill intent. Even if the virus generator was smart, it was only at the level of an animal, with the same weak physical body.

The companion gulped and looked around.

"This one mimics human voices."

"What?"

"It circles residential areas at night, crying or laughing. When people can't stand it anymore and come out, zombies this one controls ambush them from hiding."

Was this possible? Well, actually, it made sense. If people could imitate zombies, why couldn't zombies imitate people? They had the same vocal cords.

"When this one makes these sounds, it's after confirming humans weaker than them. So when people hear this one's voice, they're all terrified..."

Had its twisted habits worsened? No, this wasn't simple malice. It was a technique for easy hunting.

I blinked quietly, then suddenly had a thought and approached the corpse. Moving my gloved hand quickly, I rolled up the corpse's sleeve.

Clear marks appeared. Roughly cut flesh from the thighs and forearms.

"I wondered what zombies ate to survive..."

It seemed they now hunted humans too.

I looked down at the corpse, then raised my head to the sky.

How much had the surviving zombies learned by now? To what extent had they adapted to the world? Just as survivors had become more skilled, had zombies honed human-like malice in places I couldn't see?

People whispered nervously, perhaps thinking similar thoughts. The atmosphere wasn't good.

I took out my pistol from my chest and fired into the sky. Then I slowly stood up and responded calmly.

"The smarter they are, the better they understand power differences. They won't bother us deliberately. Let's keep going."

Though hungry beasts do attempt desperate hunts. They'll even attack powerful animals they would normally avoid.

But there was no need to lose the psychological battle before the fight even began. The companion who had been frightened checked his gun again and nodded.

"That's right. Actually, I wish we would meet it. I'd put a hole in its head."

I'm not so sure. A zombie of this caliber would only show itself when we were at our weakest.

I shook my head inwardly and pushed the combat cart again.

***

We moved slowly. Walking cautiously with heightened nerves gradually wore down our mental stamina, and the heavy bags, carts, and wagons drained our physical strength.

Eventually, we had to take breaks.

Sometimes we caught our breath in commercial buildings that zombies had swept through, with shattered neon signs, or ate meals under gazebos when we spotted parks...

"Let's eat."

People spread out and took out the lunch boxes they'd packed. They stuffed hastily made rice balls into their mouths.

I also claimed a bench and absentmindedly chewed and swallowed a rice ball.

'This feels like traveling.'

Perhaps because I hadn't traveled such a long distance since the apocalypse began, the entire city felt unfamiliar.

And wandering through unfamiliar areas was no different from traveling.

Seeing exercise equipment in the park overtaken by ivy, finding albums or movie DVDs in failed commercial buildings, meeting strangers and communicating with guns.

Jeon Do-hyung in particular seemed excited, as if he was feeling a camping vibe.

"The city air is really good now. In the old days, you'd have to go far to feel air like this."

Maintaining a three-meter distance, Jeon Do-hyung sat across from me and took a deep breath. I followed suit and sniffed, then coughed and cleared my throat.

"What's good about this air? It smells like corpses and garbage."

"No, not that air. Try to smell the trees. It's really clean."

I couldn't catch that scent. All I could smell was decomposing corpses abandoned in the park. It was the apocalypse smell that permeated the city. A stench that made people uncomfortable.

I glanced around at my companions and saw everyone eating their meals indifferently.

Their noses must have become numb to the smell they'd grown so accustomed to.

Jeon Do-hyung clicked his tongue and pulled out a map from his chest.

"We're about halfway there, so we should reach the townhouse by sunset. What's the plan? Attack right away?"

"They said there are traps. We can't attack at night. We should sleep somewhere suitable tonight. And we might not even arrive by evening."

I stared blankly at a corpse.

"There are too many variables on the way."

Information gained from the reconnaissance team and from kidnapping a few survivors we met along the way. The territory of dangerous zombies, occasional sightings of raiders, the activity range of skilled survivors.

Since we couldn't all ride bicycles to avoid encounters with overwhelming mobility, fighting would be unavoidable if we faced them.

Sa Gi-hyeok jumped in with a smile.

"We're certainly appetizing prey. Just look at these resources. Aren't they bait that would make anyone's eyes roll back?"

Resources loaded on wagons and carts. Displayed for all to see.

Park Yang-gun also spoke in a low voice.

"I wasn't sure so I didn't mention it, but I felt like someone was following us. I don't know if it was just my imagination or real."

What could be a more tempting target than a group of survivors moving house? Non-combat personnel to protect, too much luggage, the advantage of being in their own territory.

They wouldn't even need to kill everyone—making us abandon just one cart would be profitable, and with luck, they could get even more resources.

'If I saw a group moving house in front of me, I'd attack too.'

But we weren't just an ordinary group of survivors. We were raiders. I gulped down my rice ball and smiled.

"Tell them all to come."

We could kill and raid anyone who resisted in a nomadic style. For us, armed with rifles, every building was a home, and every person was a potential target for raiding.

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