Chapter 133 - Chapter 116: A Lone Survivor's Tale
The moment he woke up, he was assaulted by a violent headache and nausea. Through vision clouded by sweat and oil, he realized he was in a room that looked like it belonged to a private house. Sitting on a sofa in a room lit by a single candle, it seemed the boy had been unconscious until now.
Looking around, he realized the place he was in appeared to be the living room of a house. The room, with its storm shutters closed tight, was dim, but thanks to the candle flame, he could vaguely make out the interior. A television against the wall and a low table in front of the sofa. Scanning further, there were several dining tables and chairs behind him.
Considering the situation, that man in camouflage must have brought him here. It was then that the boy finally noticed his hands were bound with handcuffs.
His dislocated left shoulder was now fixed in place with a triangular bandage and a splint. His right hand was extended and cuffed together with his left arm, which was firmly fixed protruding forward in a simple yet sturdy manner. His right leg, which had been constricted by the wire, also felt somewhat cold, perhaps because a compress had been applied.
It was fine that he had been saved, but they were ultimately strangers. It was only natural to be cautious. Just as he thought that, a familiar voice echoed from behind: "Are you awake?"
It was the man in camouflage. Even though he had just woken up, the boy hadn't noticed his presence, as if the man were merging with the darkness. The man in camouflage wasn't wearing his helmet now, but he still held the carbine. The suppressor at the tip of the gun had been removed, but it was easy to predict that if the boy made any suspicious move to attack, the man would fire instantly.
"You are..."
Without answering that question, the man walked over to the front of the sofa where the boy sat. The man's face, with a light growth of stubble, was stern, and his gaze was sharp. His cheeks seemed a bit sunken, but he looked perfectly healthy. Maintaining a distance where the boy couldn't reach even if he extended his hand, the man looked him in the eye and spoke.
"I'm sure you have many things you want to ask, but first, I'll be the one asking a few questions. Who are you? Where have you been until now, and why were you in that place?"
By "that place," he likely meant the bridge where the boy had been hanging. He was reluctant to blather about his information to someone of unknown identity, but the boy understood that currently, the man held the overwhelmingly advantageous position. He was asking questions relatively calmly for now, but if the boy didn't respond, the man would likely use violent means to get information. Furthermore, he had to convey that he bore no ill will toward the man.
The boy honestly told him his name and where he was from. And that being in that place was a coincidence.
"You said you came to this area yesterday? By any chance, were you the one having a shootout last night?"
As soon as the boy mentioned he had come to this vicinity while searching for a safe place, the man cut him off. As far as the boy remembered, there were no other groups engaged in a gunfight besides them. If there were, he would have heard the gunshots. The boy nodded.
"How many were attacking? What weapons?"
"I didn't count exactly, but I think there were ten. I took down five of them. Weapons... everyone had guns."
"One question: the guns loaded in your car. Did you steal those from them?"
The man had apparently searched the boy's belongings and the car while he was unconscious. Naturally, he must have seen the numerous firearms the boy had piled up. It would be unbearable if those were confiscated.
"No, I got most of them before coming to this city. I picked them up, or took them from people who attacked me... The only ones I took from the people last night were a hunting rifle and the rifle I was carrying."
The boy swallowed the words the one you took from me. His weapons remained confiscated since the man helped him, and there wasn't the slightest sign they would be returned. If he had a gun on hand, his anxiety would be eased somewhat regardless of what happened next. However, since the boy was also an unknown entity to the man and there was the fear he might turn his fangs against him, it was only natural for the man to keep the boy's weapons taken away.
The man looked into the boy's eyes for a while, then muttered as if satisfied, "...Doesn't seem like you're lying."
"Just one last question. How many have you killed so far?"
It was the question he least wanted to be asked. He didn't remember how many he had killed so far. No, he didn't even want to remember.
Everything was something he had caused. But the boy saw the people he had killed in his dreams and was tormented by nightmares every night. Ever since he saw the hallucinations of the dead blaming him in the ruined middle school, he realized that many of the murders he committed were unnecessary. He clearly understood the ugliness of his heart, which, because he was weak, had no choice but to choose the path of continuing to kill because he couldn't trust anyone.
"...A lot. Probably more than forty."
"Why did you kill?"
"Self-defense. But mostly because I was weak and stupid. Because I couldn't trust anyone, I killed everyone if I felt even a little bit like they were an enemy."
This was the first time he had told someone that he was wrong. Until now, he had always convinced himself he was right, and he had even said so when he was living with other survivors for a while. But that was nothing more than an excuse to protect his heart and his tiny pride; he just didn't want to admit that he had been killing other humans because his heart was weak.
He was finally able to tell someone about those feelings that had been stored deep in his heart, only to rot away. Even in a situation where he was restrained and might be killed if things went poorly, the boy felt that being able to tell someone his feelings was a good thing.
"...And how do you feel about the murders you committed?"
"Regarding self-defense, I think it was unavoidable, and I feel I was right there. If I didn't kill, I would have been killed. But many of the other murders were no different from a massacre. I couldn't trust anyone. I was scared they'd become an enemy, scared they'd take revenge. That's all I could think about, so I killed everyone who took even a slightly hostile action."
"Do you regret it?"
"I didn't before. Because if I didn't think what I was doing was right, I felt like I'd be crushed by fear and anxiety. But now it's different. I regret it. But at that time, I didn't know what else to do."
Again, silence. A silence fell between the boy and the man, and the shortened candle flame was giving off its final glow. Perhaps the wind was blowing, as the storm shutters were rattling.
He didn't know why the man had asked about his experience with killing. Perhaps he would be judged as "this guy is dangerous" and killed. Whether to be honest with his feelings and be killed, or to continue deceiving himself and keep living. The boy didn't know which was better.
The candle flame went out and darkness arrived; after a while, the room became bright again. The man had lit a new candle. Without saying anything, the man approached the boy, inserted a key into the keyhole, and removed the handcuffs.
"Sorry for restraining you. For now, you seem safe."
"Safe? Even though I've killed so many people?"
"At least you don't look like a psychopath who commits murder to satisfy his own pleasure. And you properly understand and regret what you've done. Assuming everything you said is true, it doesn't seem like everything you did will be forgiven just because you regret it, but at least you don't look like the type who kills anyone and everyone. Well, even if the current you tried to kill me, you don't have weapons, and with that body, you wouldn't be able to kill anyone anyway."
True, his gun, knife, and axe had been taken, and his dislocated shoulder hurt. The boy, who staggered from the pain in his right ankle when he tried to stand up, finally noticed that his boots had been removed. The man probably took them off while treating him, but there should have been a folding knife hidden in the boot.
"Well, your cautiousness is a point to be wary of, though."
The man said so and flicked the knife he had taken from the boy's boot between his fingers. With all his weapons taken and in his battered state, even if he tried to punch the man, he would likely be subdued barehanded. Above all, the man didn't seem to have any intention of killing the boy right now or harming him. In that case, it would be better to follow the man.
"Then, can I ask some questions this time?"
"I don't mind."
"Who are you? You look like a JSDF member, but why are you in a place like this? Do you know anything about the people who attacked me yesterday? Are there any other comrades?"
From what he could see, there was no doubt the man was a JSDF member. The speculation that he was just a military geek who got his hands on weapons didn't apply, as he knew from the fact that the man had accurately shot and killed infected that were moving.
"I am Sato, a JGSDF First Lieutenant. My unit is the Special Forces Group."
"Special... what?"
"Special Forces Group, the JGSDF's special forces. I'm not supposed to talk about my affiliation, but I doubt there's anyone left who cares about that anymore."
In other words, he was a special forces operative. With that, many things made sense to the boy. The fact that the equipment of the man who called himself Sato—though it was questionable if it was his real name—was different from other JSDF members he had seen, and his skill in accurately hitting moving infected, would be natural if he belonged to special forces.
"Why is someone from special forces in a place like this?"
"To put it simply, I was left behind. We received word that there was someone who didn't turn even if bitten by the infected, and we came to rescue them. That was March 21st of last year."
March 21st of last year was around the time the boy was running around trying to somehow escape from the infected and the aerial bombings. At that time, the JSDF still had a proper chain of command left.
"Since you're in a place like this, it seems it didn't go well."
"You catch on quick. When we arrived, the rescue target was already dead. Eaten by the infected. Then, when we tried to return to the destroyer offshore, a large number of survivors who saw the helicopter came and started shouting to be let on. They were attacked by the infected there—well, you can imagine the rest. The helicopter left us behind and went back. It ended up with me and one other person being left behind, but he was attacked by the infected and died shortly after. I thought I'd escape by land somehow, but by then, the police and JSDF that had been deployed were already in a mess. I didn't know where to go."
Since then, it seemed Sato had been staying in this city.
I look forward to your opinions and impressions.