Chapter 71 - Chapter 69: A Story About HELP!
I left the elementary school immediately after that.
I wanted to bury Yui's body, but there was no time. Her roar as she turned into an infected echoed throughout the town, and furthermore, the gunshots had given away my location to the infected. If I stayed at the school forever, I would be attacked by the swarming infected. After giving my wounds some cursory treatment, I packed my things and fled the school at once.
But what was I running for? Even if I fled and clung to life, I no longer had a purpose for living. Just last night I had resolved to protect Yui, yet the person herself had already been sent to the other world by my own hand.
How ironic. For the three who had a purpose and hope for living to die, while only I, who has nothing, survives.
No, there was no hope from the beginning. On that night when I beat my infected mother and father to death with these hands, hope had already been lost from within me. Until now, I had turned my eyes away from that reality, creating a make-believe hope in my heart to keep living. Even though I have nothing left, I tried to convince myself that there must be something.
But now I understand. In this world that has turned into hell, hope no longer exists. There is no salvation. There is only despair and death.
Until now, I was just deceiving myself and looking away from that fact. The one who truly wasn't looking at reality was me.
If only I had let go of Naomi-san's hand quickly back then on the bridge. If I hadn't tried to save everyone like a hero in a story and had acted according to my own limitations, at least Yui might have been saved.
There were only two choices presented to me then. Either everyone dies together, or sacrifice Naomi-san to save Yui. But I tried to create a third option where everyone survived, and I failed.
Come to think of it, I've been making the wrong choices all along. If I hadn't met everyone, I wouldn't have had to feel like this. I wouldn't have lost all the comrades I finally gained, nor would my body be dominated by this sense of emptiness.
Before I knew it, there was a riot police personnel transport vehicle crashed into the cinder block wall of a private house in front of me. The side door of the transport vehicle, which had white lines drawn on its blue body, remained open, and two black boots (T/N: original uses katakana for 'boots') were sticking out from there.
I drifted toward the transport vehicle. In the driver's seat was a body that had died slumped over the steering wheel, and another body lay on the floor as if it had collapsed into the vehicle from the side door. Both were the remains of riot police officers, armored in helmets and protectors. They had already passed the stage of decay, and skeletonization was progressing.
Beside the officer collapsed on the floor lay a submachine gun. Equipped with a telescopic stock and a long, slender magazine protruding downward, it was likely the submachine gun equipped by the police called an MP5. It's a gun frequently seen in police dramas and movies, so I at least know the name. And I was taught how to operate it by the now-gone Naomi-san.
The submachine gun, which was overwhelmingly lighter compared to the M1A rifle, had no bullets in the magazine. When I flipped over the skeletonized remains, the head encased in the helmet detached from the torso and rolled away. However, the pity I felt for the deceased riot officer lasted only a moment, and my interest immediately turned to the spare magazines stored in the pouches of the protective vest.
I pulled the cocking handle, removed the empty magazine, inserted a spare, and returned the locked handle to its original position. The metallic sound of a 9mm round being fed into the chamber echoed.
I don't know if a gun left for half a year will work, but the MP5's 9mm rounds can also be used in handguns. With the submachine gun hanging from my shoulder by a sling, I discovered .38 caliber rounds stored in a plastic case left in the front of the vehicle.
Police officers usually don't carry much spare ammo, but it seems they couldn't face the infected with just five rounds. If I search abandoned patrol cars and such, I'll probably find more ammunition.
The corpse in the driver's seat was also skeletonized, but this one likely died from being hit by a stray bullet. There were spiderweb-like cracks in the windshield, and there was a mark on the driver's neck as if they had been shot.
I pulled the revolver hanging from that corpse's belt out of its holster and took it. The straps of the rifle, backpack, and the recovered submachine gun dug into my shoulders, but strangely, I felt no pain. My body feels heavy as lead, yet my heart is floating.
I feel as if my own body has become a rubber balloon doll filled with air. I'm wearing various things, but the inside is empty. I don't even know myself why I'm gathering these weapons. It feels like my body is moving on its own.
I've stopped caring about everything. However, deep in the depths of my heart, a desire for survival—the wish not to die—still remains. Only that obsession with survival is what's moving me now.
Otherwise, why would I have let go of Naomi-san's hand to survive, or shot Yui after she turned into an infected? If I had a suicide wish, I would have pressed a muzzle to my head and pulled the trigger right now. I have plenty of means to die easily now.
But my heart and body continue to refuse to die. Even though there's nothing left to do. Even though there's no one left to protect.
Continuing to live alone, continuing to expose this ugly desire for life. Is that the punishment imposed on me? I laid hands on innocent people to live, drove my comrades to death through carelessness, and lost everything as a result of trying to act beyond my means. Continuing to live all alone, tormented by a sense of loss and loneliness. That might be my retribution.
"...The bridge, it was still there."
How many hours have passed since I kept walking? I left the elementary school just after sunrise, and now the sun is shining overhead. Under the cloudless blue sky, the chirping of birds echoes.
But I hear nothing else. No engine sounds of cars, no bustle of people. Even the roars of the infected are silent for now.
I, who seemed to be walking west, had come upon a river before I knew it. Upstream from the river where Naomi-san lost her life. Turning my eyes to the north, a single bridge with no signs of destruction spans the river.
It seems the JSDF didn't destroy all the bridges. Did they fail the demolition, or did they leave it on purpose? Before I realized it, I had started walking toward that bridge.
Decayed, skeletonized corpses were rolling here and there on the road, but I saw no sign of the infected. Even when I peered at the town on the opposite bank through the rifle scope, there were no infected within sight. After confirming that, I crossed the bridge. It was a small bridge, incomparable to the one we passed yesterday. It was only wide enough for two cars to barely pass each other.
Although the water level had decreased compared to yesterday, the river was still muddy brown. Perhaps washed down from upstream, several corpses were washed up on the riverbank. The corpses, decayed with gas accumulated in their abdomens, were swollen like balloons. For some, the accumulated gas had exceeded the limit, and their bellies had burst, spilling their entrails. Crows swarmed those corpses, dragging out and pecking at the organs.
I crossed the bridge and headed south through the town. By the time I noticed, the sun had tilted considerably. While the blue sky was being dyed orange, I came out to a familiar place.
I had come to the road where we were running from the infected yesterday. If I follow this path, I will eventually reach that bridge. In the form of crossing the river and making a large loop around the town, I have returned to the place I originally came from.
Even though only one day has passed, yesterday felt like years ago. Too many things happened in a single day.
Even while losing Mana-chan, we were trying to live by cooperating together. We thought if the three of us combined our strength, we could surely survive. But that was just an illusion.
Why only I survived, I don't know. If I had been the last to cross the bridge, I would have been the one to fall into the river. Even before that, I've encountered life-threatening situations many times.
Was my survival mere luck? Or the result of a "choice"? Or an inevitability created by my obsession to live?
The evening sun set, and the town was shrouded in darkness. Thanks to wearing night vision, my eyes can capture the surrounding scenery as clearly as in the daytime.
In the corner of my circular, green-tinted vision, several figures were wriggling. As I approached the blown-up bridge, the number of infected increased. However, it seemed they didn't have good night vision either, as there was no sign they noticed me even as I passed by in the distance in the darkness. Ignoring the groaning infected, I aimed for the main street leading to that bridge.
The wagon we came in remained parked in the same spot as yesterday. In the lane blocked by a fallen utility pole, the wagon was left with its doors wide open. Since the infected have no interest in weapons or ammunition, there were no signs of the interior being ransacked. Countless branches and leaves blown in by the wind were scattered inside, and the seats were damp from rain that had entered through the open doors.
However, other than the luggage we had taken out, nothing seemed to be missing. The infected who were swarming so much yesterday had gone somewhere else now, leaving only a few corpses rolling on the road.
I could confirm the figures of infected still wandering around the bridge and the defensive position in front of it about 200 meters away. It seems they've been wandering around the bridge ever since they failed to eat us yesterday. Since the defensive position is swallowed by the swarm of infected, I can't go that far. Even in the darkness, the infected would surely notice my presence if I got that close.
I tossed my backpack into the back seat and sat down in the driver's seat. The back of my pants and shirt became damp and cold from the moisture remaining on the seat.
Whether I looked in the rearview mirror or at the passenger seat, there was no one else in the car. I knew that, but it felt somehow empty. No one would talk to me anymore, and we would never laugh together again.
This is fine, I've just returned to square one. Even as I tried to convince myself of that, everyone's faces were burned into my mind and wouldn't leave. Certainly, I was alone. And now, I am living alone again. But I lost too much.
In these six months, I gained various things. Experience, knowledge, weapons, and comrades... Looking at the total, I probably gained more. However, I learned that losing precious people is like having half of your body torn away.
Father, Mother, Yui, Naomi-san, Mana-chan... Many friends from high school and middle school died too. I don't even know if other acquaintances are alive.
If I hadn't made the wrong choices, some of them might still be alive. My mistaken decisions led to their lives being taken.
From now on, this world will continue to force various choices upon me. If so, I will judge and decide what is best with a will as cold as ice.
If it's a choice between two victims or three victims, I will choose to sacrifice the two without hesitation. So that more people can survive.
If someone tries to hurt me, I will kill them all without hesitation. Thoroughly, so that no grudges remain to cause trouble later.
I will eliminate those who get in the way. So as not to suffer disadvantages because of them.
It's fine to have traveling companions or collaborators, but I must not make comrades. So that if I lose them, I won't have to grieve. So that I won't make a wrong judgment trying to save a comrade.
I made a new rule. Six months ago, the rules of this world changed. If so, I cannot survive unless I change my rules too.
No one will protect me anymore. The police, the JSDF, even the law disappeared six months ago. If so, I must decide my own laws and protect myself. Under those laws, if it's for my survival, I will actively affirm even murder or looting.
What is needed now is not vague things like trust, friendship, or bonds. It is a firm will to survive, and a cold decisiveness that doesn't mind even murder for that purpose. There are no comrades. There only exist enemies, non-enemies, or people who can be used—those three.
Blood is no longer coming from the wound carved on my face reflected in the rearview mirror. However, the scar left by Yui will likely remain for a lifetime. And as long as I see this scar, I will surely remember my foolish choice and its price.
I turned the ignition key and backed the car up. Since it's driven by electricity stored in the battery, the infected don't notice. After turning the car around midway, I stepped on the accelerator and started driving through the darkness-shrouded town without turning on the headlights.
What I have now will be lost someday. If so, it's better to gain nothing from the start. What is needed is not comrades, but only the power and weapons to defeat enemies. That was the rule for surviving in this world that I learned through experience over these six months.
With this, "Part 1" is finished. Part 2 will begin from next time.
...Eh? What happened to the promise to finish it within the year? That was a lie.
Actually, in the original plan, I envisioned an ending where the protagonist, having lost all his comrades including Yui, subsequently went insane and died by shooting himself in the head. But because that was too much of a bad end and the protagonist had too little salvation, and because many people are reading this, I switched to the survival route (I didn't say a bad end won't come later).
I've been writing this protagonist boy assuming he's the kind of person in a normal zombie movie who would be eaten in a corner of the screen, or a character in the position of Friend C who gets killed after a brief close-up to emphasize a grotesque scene. In other words, it's also a work about what happens when a person without a protagonist's temperament becomes the protagonist.
The reason the protagonist has no name set is also because he's equivalent to a nameless existence if he were in a normal movie. It's not (definitely not) because naming him was a hassle or anything like that.
A protagonist of a story that follows the royal road would not give up in any adversity, would think of a way for a sudden reversal, would never abandon comrades, and would be an existence that doesn't mind self-sacrifice. However, the boy who is the protagonist of this work compromises when he falls into adversity, gives up on everything with a single word of "It can't be helped," and is the kind of person who prioritizes his own survival above all else.
You might want to call him a piece of human trash, but realistically, I think there are many such people. No human exists in this world who can save everything. What the protagonist boy can do is strictly "to minimize the number of victims." In other words, to discard the few in order to let the majority, including himself, live. In a sense, it's also a tragedy of a person unsuitable for being a protagonist becoming the protagonist of a panic story.
In Chapter 64, he held a desire to save everyone like a story protagonist, but the result was the worst. He couldn't save Naomi in the end, and moreover, because he was late in letting go of her hand, he couldn't support Yui, which resulted in her being bitten.
Strictly speaking, this is the end of Part 1, and from here the story enters the halfway point. How will the protagonist, who lost all his comrades due to his own selection errors and has truly "adapted" to the collapsed world and imposed new "rules" on himself, live from now on? Will he stick to being a loner like this, or will he grow into a protagonist who follows the royal road? I would be happy if you continue to read.
So, not yet. It's not over yet.