Marauder of the Apocalypse-Chapter 108: Poverty

Famine was like rising water, soaking the ankles of the poor first. Unlike the alliance with its wealthy resources as a foothold, individual survivors in the stream area were already beginning to suffer from hunger.

The home of a survivor we'd raided based on a report.

Companions who were rummaging through the home of a corpse with a cracked skull came back with a meager amount of resources, shaking their heads.

"Nothing here. This guy didn't have anything either."

"What about the gun? I heard this person had a handgun."

I asked the companion who had been searching the corpse. We'd deliberately raided someone with a handgun, but could it be that there wasn't even a gun? If so, the situation was truly dire.

The companion crouching before the corpse pulled out a pistol and spun the magazine. The empty magazine rotated like a top for a moment.

"Just one bullet left. Maybe he was saving it for suicide?"

One remaining bullet. A loss.

Perhaps because he thought he'd starve to death immediately if raided by us, this survivor had resisted fiercely, and we had no choice but to shoot and kill him.

It wasn't like before when we could intimidate and coax them into disarming. That scenario didn't play out anymore.

This was a world where famine was approaching. A world where you couldn't be confident that you could find food if you lost your supplies but remained physically intact. A season where food was life itself, treated as preciously as one's own existence.

The companions tossed what little resources they found into the transport cart. Truly minimal resources. A bit of kimchi and rice, masks worn so thin they must have been recycled countless times, slim bars of soap, sugar that looked like it had been eaten straight from the bag.

I fingered one of the masks and slowly turned around.

"We still have many targets from the reports. Let's take down a few more."

No matter how little we gained, we couldn't stop. Staying idle only consumed resources. We needed to constantly raid to replenish what we used.

***

This was a true famine. There was no one healthy or wealthy. At one house we visited, a person rubbing their stomach with a pale face raised both hands.

"Wait! My stomach hurts, just a minute, let me use the bathroom."

"...Go ahead."

The survivor quickly ran into the bathroom. In this world where plumbing had already broken down, I caught a glimpse of a toilet with a garbage bag inside instead of water.

The companions averted their eyes and began searching the house. Then they sighed deeply. They were shaking food items that looked in bad condition. Rice crawling with insects, expired ramen, and the like.

"It's all spoiled."

"Ugh..."

It had gone bad during the intense heat and humidity of the past summer. This survivor in particular seemed incapable of properly managing supplies. With proper storage, it could have at least been edible.

Just then, clattering noises came from the bathroom. The sound of something blocking the door, the small window being opened with a slide, and grunting noises.

Was he escaping?

I strode over and rattled the bathroom door. It was locked. Only after smashing the handle with my hammer did the door open, revealing the scene inside.

"Hurry, hurry."

The survivor had forced his legs through the narrow window and was struggling to push his head and arms through, attempting escape. This was unacceptable.

I grabbed that wobbling head firmly and raised my hammer. A friendly voice flowed from my mouth.

"Oh my. You're in such a hurry to escape. Let me help you get out for good."

"No, I'm fine!"

"Don't be so modest."

Thud, thud, the sound of striking the head was repeated several times, and a corpse hung from the window like laundry. My shoulders drooped like the limp corpse. The reward had been small.

"We still have plenty of daylight left, so let's move quickly."

The companions moved silently.

We visited several more houses and barely managed to fill one transport cart. Even then, hygiene products like soap outnumbered food items.

In contrast, the fighting was dangerous. Survivors who attacked desperately. Some waited behind doors and threw themselves at us with knives the moment the door opened, while others, figuring they were going to die anyway, used lighters to set wooden furniture on fire so we could die together.

Thoroughly exhausted, we walked slowly along the stream.

"Is your wound okay?"

"Yeah, it's just a shallow cut. I cleaned it right away with clean water and applied medicine, so it should be fine."

A companion whose nose bridge had been cut by a kitchen knife while opening a door. He'd even put a bandage on it immediately.

Looking around the stream area, the sunset had turned the entire world red. The world tilted by the chairman had accelerated its fall through spring and summer.

The street trees had all been cut down by people needing firewood. Even the ginkgo trees. Despite their edible nuts.

Even the stream water had diminished. Perhaps because I'd seen it overflow in summer, but the water level seemed significantly lower. If the period without rain continued...

That's when Park Yang-gun muttered:

"Isn't Chuseok in a few days? Instead of a happy holiday, it'll be a day of death."

"Ah, Chuseok."

It was September. The month with the Chuseok holiday. But there would be none of the old joy. In this broken world, there were no holidays.

The companions' mood sank slightly. Each muttering gloomily as they recalled memories from when the world was normal.

"I was supposed to visit my parents this Chuseok."

"I had plans to travel. I told my wife and child we'd go somewhere special next Chuseok. But my child left first."

No one had escaped loss in the apocalypse. Except the chairman. He was the only one who had realized his dreams through the apocalypse.

I tried to force some energy while picturing the chairman's face, which I could barely recall now. I should strive to achieve my life goals, following his example.

"For Chuseok, we should eat well. Shall we work until night today?"

"Isn't night dangerous? We might not notice enemies approaching."

The psycho mercenary blinked as he asked. I looked at him with ambiguous eyes.

Even after watching him for days, I still couldn't figure out his true purpose. He was too moderate to be causing trouble. If he wanted to create cracks and stab us, he would have used more insidious methods.

This felt more like offering sound opinions to gain my trust.

'Is he more interested in raising his position than killing and destroying?'

In any case, there was no harm in being cautious. And wariness and hostility should be hidden behind smiles and goodwill. I kicked at the stump of a cut-down street tree.

"That's a good point. If we carelessly go out on the streets, it's dangerous even with guns. There's also the risk of friendly fire in darkness. But as I said before, today might be the most prosperous day we have left."

I pulled a lighter out of my pocket. Click, when I lit it, a flame as red as autumn leaves flickered upward.

"People use fire at night, trying to hide the smoke. Let's attack by following those lights. At the very least, it means they have enough resources to cook with fire."

"Couldn't we leave out just one person?"

The companions' gazes turned to Sa Gi-hyeok, who had been quiet. The man with miraculous shooting skills who could hit ten different targets with ten shots.

Sa Gi-hyeok backed away in confusion.

"Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"...Mr. Sa Gi-hyeok. Please guard the house."

"What? I'm a good shot now!"

But no one came to Sa Gi-hyeok's aid. Everyone subtly turned their heads or avoided eye contact, and in the end, Sa Gi-hyeok was excluded, his eyes full of resentment.

***

Night fell. At night, cumbersome armaments weren't necessary. Observing the enemy, avoiding what could be avoided, and keeping track of companions' positions were most important.

And we had Park Yang-gun with his night vision. Park Yang-gun became an excellent guide for us.

"Looks like zombies ahead. Let's go around."

"Yes."

We avoided areas where zombies were still quite numerous at night. Even with guns, there was no answer if zombies swarmed us.

"Over there, I see smoke. Looks like someone's living there."

"Please lead the way."

Experienced survivors could detect signs of life from smoke, even if they tried to hide their light.

Naturally, he also handled picking locks like a proper thief. He had even brought a locksmith's tools from somewhere and skillfully unlocked the mechanism.

After that, it was my job and my companions'.

"Hello there. We came because we smelled something delicious."

"You people..."

People holding weapons glared at us, likely having sensed us opening the door. I walked in with long strides, and companions with rifles followed behind me in a rush.

These survivors seemed to be a group of friends, and they appeared to know who we were.

"Who reported us? This isn't even your territory, is it?"

"It's a side job, just a side job. Business hasn't been good lately."

One survivor made a subtle movement. Feet slightly touching the stove where wooden logs were burning. The intention to kick it over if things went wrong was blatantly obvious.

Fire is a hassle. I quickly waved my hand.

"I'm telling you, this is just a side job. We don't necessarily intend to kill you."

"...Robbery? This is all we have."

A survivor lifted a pot from the stove. A bubbling porridge. They seemed to be boiling rice or wild grass of some sort.

But the movement of the hand holding the pot was suspicious. It reminded me of when I threw a pot of soapy water.

'Planning to pour boiling porridge on me?'

I panicked and pulled out my pistol to shoot. Bang, a gunshot rang out. I was lucky this time. I'd aimed for the body, but a hole opened in the forehead of the one holding the pot.

He collapsed backward with a thud, and the pot rolled around. The terrible weapon spilled messily on the floor.

The remaining survivors jumped up and raised their weapons. The blades gleamed red in the firelight.

"What the hell! You said it was a side job! Said you wouldn't kill us!"

"He just tried to attack me with a dangerous weapon."

Others might be fooled, but not me. I know what it's like to use a pot as a weapon.

"So you were planning to kill us anyway. If that's the case, we can't just sit still. Let's die together."

The survivors gritted their teeth and raised their blades. The distance was close.

I'd heard that American police have a 21-foot rule, maintaining a distance of 6.4 meters from suspects. Any closer is dangerous even with a gun. The current distance was definitely dangerous.

That's when one of the quiet survivors suddenly raised his hand. He pointed at the other survivors with an unrestrained voice.

"I'll report them! Please kill these people!"