Marauder of the Apocalypse-Chapter 43: Military

The soldiers armed with guns, bulletproof helmets, and ammunition belts looked unwell.

Dark circles hung under their eyes like they hadn't slept, and blood vessels showed in their irises. Some stared blankly into space, while others jumped and trembled at any loud noise from the crowd.

I casually walked around reading the soldiers' name tags.

'Want information. Any names that suggest they'd be good for reporting or desertion?'

Unfortunately not. Just ordinary names.

Listening in on smoking soldiers' casual chat would be best, but due to the virus, none lowered their masks to smoke.

I tried asking directly once but that didn't go well.

"Hello. Could I ask you something?"

"What? No, you can't."

"Could you just tell me a bit about the situation? My brother's in the army but I can't reach him. I'm worried if something happened, if he's eating enough."

I made up a non-existent brother trying to find common ground, but the soldier avoided my eyes and shook his head.

He seemed firmly silenced.

I turned away, adjusting my mask. The more they tried hiding things, the more convinced I became something was wrong with the military. What that problem was and how serious - that's what mattered.

Scenarios played in my mind.

'Lots infected? Had to shoot fellow soldiers? Gun accidents too?'

Then an opportunity to dig for information appeared.

"Kraah!"

In the crowded gathering, someone suddenly turned zombie. They'd been negotiating cigarette prices when they suddenly lunged and bit their partner's throat.

"How dare you."

People reacted routinely. They swarmed in instantly, beating the zombie with weapons. Then they quietly took cigarettes and food from the dead zombie and person.

A common apocalyptic scene.

But one soldier watched with dilated pupils, then backed away and quietly disappeared.

I followed him. To a first floor bathroom in an empty building.

Muffled crying sounds came from behind the stall. Though trying to hold back, sobbing leaked through.

'If I killed just this soldier here I could get the gun... No. What good is one gun.'

Acting impulsively would be too costly when military movements seemed suspicious. They were distributing combat rations and checking public sentiment, seemingly preparing to enter the city.

I knocked on the stall.

The crying cut off like a strangled breath. I spoke kindly:

"It's hard, isn't it? The army's tough enough without all this. It's okay to cry out loud. Honest crying is good for mental health."

Crying was important. Like expelling waste products, it released negative emotions. A kind of emotional cleaning.

Also perfect for my intended psychological approach.

"You can tell me what's troubling you. Keeping it all bottled up isn't good. Shared sorrow is half sorrow, right?"

Silence fell briefly. I stared intently at the stall door. Would this approach work?

Most people would avoid revealing psychological weaknesses, but my target was psychologically broken and young with only military experience - it might work.

Fortunately it did. Like a heart opening, the bathroom door opened.

A young-looking soldier with puffy eyes looked up at me from the toilet seat. I channeled the gentlest emotions I could into my eyes.

The soldier broke down and words poured out:

"It's too, too hard."

No formal speech? Good. An unbroken military spirit, will to resist oppression - excellent informant material.

The private first class wiped tears with his sleeve and rambled his story.

Early in the zombie outbreak.

The military was fine, he said. Just vacation restrictions, mask wearing and disinfection - no major issues besides soldiers complaining.

But as time passed and the virus spread, turning more soldiers into zombies, things got serious.

"We put the infected in empty barracks. Right next to mine. Every night I heard their howls, scratching at doors. I still hear it. The scritch-scratch of fingernails on wooden doors we sealed..."

The soldier spoke blankly while frantically scratching his ears. The scratches looked old, like he'd been doing it for days.

I listened silently. Let him talk, don't interfere.

"During roll call, meals, sun exposure, anytime - people started changing. Soldiers, NCOs, officers, didn't matter. More and more zombies locked in barracks, the sounds, the sounds."

The virus spreading...

Among people living together, seeing each other daily. The transmission rate was naturally horrific, and the impact couldn't be ignored.

With infected sounds coming from right next door, making sleep impossible...

Eventually the military surrendered the buildings, he said.

"Orders came down to use barracks as temporary containment. Soldiers were told to pitch tents on the parade ground. The day we were setting up tents, my senior..."

The soldier's hands trembled violently. Clouded eyes stared at shaking hands. He clenched them.

"We were setting up tents. My senior suddenly turned zombie, tried to kill me. He was such a good person. I swung the shovel without thinking. Just like that, just like that."

He killed him.

I had a thought.

Say the military attacks zombies. Then what about soldiers who turned? Kill them? What about soldier morale after shooting comrades? And if they only killed civilian zombies, how would civilians react?

Without a cure, fighting the I-virus meant fighting people. Soldier against soldier, survivor against survivor, person against person. frёeωebɳovel.com

A victim of that fight was here.

The soldier bowed his head, tears falling. His mask was soaked.

"I killed him. With my own hands. I. I."

"That must have been hard. You went through a lot. You did well."

I gathered my thoughts and chose words carefully. Still had many questions.

Self-diagnostic kits, military reorganization after losing troops, protecting infrastructure or safe zones. Though a soldier wouldn't know everything, I might get some clues.

But the soldier seemed trapped in his own world, muttering while staring into space.

"All those dead people. Still buried in the ground now. No, they're beside us. I hear them. People who starved to death locked in barracks."

"...Starved to death?"

What was this about?

"Abandoned people. Their wailing sounds, ah."

I tilted my head looking down at the soldier. He clutched his ballistic helmet, curling up tightly and starting to cry.

"There was nothing I could do. This isn't right. It isn't right."

He wasn't in a state for conversation.

I let my imagination run.

Military units reformed gathering uninfected troops. Forces deployed to defend infrastructure or frontlines. And those left behind.

Unable to maintain all bases, some units disappeared, abandoning infected soldiers they couldn't handle.

A scene flashed by. While moving supplies like guns, protective gear and food - infected soldiers wailing from barred windows. Those who starved in abandoned barracks.

I quietly backed away.

'Twenty percent? Seems like way more got infected.'

The remaining functional soldiers focused on defending and maintaining key facilities.

I could guess why this unit was entering the city now. A rear unit. But with supply lines cut, they were probably looking for ways to survive.

A dangerous military. Forces that left infected comrades to die, mentally broken soldiers, troops facing resource depletion.

I hurried back to the street, leaving the crying soldier behind. Didn't suggest desertion. Such a weak person would fail as a marauder.

"Kim Da-in. Good timing. The military wants to talk to us."

The man found me right as I returned. The ration distribution had finished and traders had left the street.

I looked around. Police, RiderZero, firefighters, evangelist elder, doctors, archers - representatives of surviving groups remained.

A chill ran up my spine.

'Mass killing? Planning to wipe out vocal survivors? Smoothly take over the city and evolve into warlords?'

Mentally unstable soldiers gripping guns glanced our way.

A subtle pressure. Though no survivor failed to feel wary, those hardened by daily survival struggles showed fierce determination. Determination that said if you kill us, you die too.

The police captain glared at the soldiers while holding a radio.

"Don't know what you're planning entering the city. But try anything and it's war."

The police had that capability. Their armory. With reserve forces' guns and ammo, they could organize forces to match the military.

Not hard either. Plenty of experienced men who'd completed military service.

"If the military tries anything, we all need to work together."

"Let's see how things go."

Everyone eyed the soldiers suspiciously.

How to describe it? Fundamental doubt? Dislike? A sense of not really accepting the military itself. They couldn't shake suspicions of the military evolving into warlords to oppress and plunder people.

Perhaps the wariness of the weak.

No matter how survivors honed their own weapons, an army focused on combat was scary. Who would win in direct confrontation?

'Really scary. They wouldn't actually massacre us here, right?'

I trembled while examining the soldiers again, and fortunately concluded they wouldn't.

Their formation suggested withdrawal, not combat. Checking numbers, roughly gathered in one place. Looking again, their glances seemed directed at RiderZero's unhelmeted members.

Then an older-looking captain appeared.

"Yes, company commander here. Representing remaining forces near the city."

He looked unwell too. Or maybe he just looked old being a soldier.

The police captain stepped forward.

"What's the military's goal? Been quiet till now but doesn't seem like zombie elimination. You must be short on food too."

"I understand your wariness. Warlords, domination. I know what concerns you citizens have. But that won't happen."

The commander sighed deeply like he was tired. He looked at the survivors gathered here.

"Let's be honest. If the military pushed in, would you stay quiet? Concrete city, local resistance, vicious terrorism. We don't want to risk that."

That made sense.

Making the city an enemy would hurt the military too. Direct confrontation wasn't everything in combat.

So the military seemed to be showing maximum cooperation.

"We're just like you. Supply lines through roads are cut, we're barely surviving day by day. We just want to survive like you do."

"...No plans to plunder?"

"We won't. Don't have the will for it. Soldiers shouldn't do that anyway."

The commander rambled on.

"Even as soldiers, they're just green kids. Poor things drafted against their will - we can't let them starve to death. Just accept us as neighbors. That's all."

People exchanged glances.

Some took it positively, while others like me maintained suspicion.

Reputation building? First step in causing trouble? Couldn't trust if those words were sincere, and who knew how things might change later.

But the military's conditions were too good to reject.

"We'll clear zombies soon. Marts, shopping areas. Though we'll take remaining resources there, you'll all be safer."

Zombie elimination.

The other conditions were good too. Military-secured markets, farming connected with surviving farmers outside the city.

The city's people decided to accept the military for now. They couldn't really refuse anyway. Lacking force.

People just planned to watch the situation slowly while suspecting and being wary of the soldiers.

I too quietly watched the commander.

'The military... Can I use them? Will they help me?'