Jobless Man’s Zombie Survival Life - Chapter 26: The Honorable Cop

Chapter 26: The Honorable Cop

“…And so, we shall bring forth a shining future.”

“Give thanks!! To the great king and his 300 warriors!!!”

“March to victory!!!!”

On the screen, burly warriors flipped their capes and charged toward me.

Then the credits rolled.

Man, that’s so good!!

It’s my number-one favorite charge scene.

Number two, by the way, is the final scene of that biopic about the Scottish independence hero.

That war cry and the greatsword soaring through the sky… gets me every time.

The day after my rampage at the convenience store, I was chilling with my usual movie marathon.

Yesterday got me a bit down, but now that I think about it, that convenience store was weird.

They left me alone while I was rummaging for cigarettes, then pulled that stunt right as I was leaving.

Those two clerks seemed way too comfortable with rough stuff.

Maybe it was one of those setups where they let you steal, then demand crazy compensation.

If I’d gone along with them, they might’ve taken my truck, my stuff, and maybe my life.

Could be they were aiming for a payout from the start.

Was that place a “trap”?

…Ugh, this town’s getting sketchier by the day.

It’s only gonna get worse, not better, until the police or Jieitai (Self-Defense Forces) clear out the zombies and things go back to normal.

Should I fortify the house even more…?

Come to think of it, zombies don’t seem to rot for some reason.

Does that mean they’ll stay like that forever unless you kill them?

Do they even starve?

If they stay like that over time, clearing them out’s gonna be a nightmare…

Well, no point in me stressing over it!

Ganbare, Jieitai and police bigshots!!

One good thing from yesterday was those makeshift rod shuriken.

Just as I thought, they’re great for keeping people at bay.

Pretty handy weapon at close range.

No sound, either—that’s a plus.

With practice, I could throw them faster and with more force.

They’re just iron rods, so I won’t care if I lose one.

No way an amateur could use them properly if they stole one.

Wait… am I a genius?

For now, I’ll make a bunch when I’ve got time.

They’re the best projectile I can manage right now.

Fancy shuriken shapes need grinders or heavy tools, and bows are bulky and take practice.

Crossbows? No clue how to even make one.

They’d be nice to have, though.

Like I said before, guns are out of the question.

Too hard to get in this country.

I’ll probably never have one.

…Wait, hold up. Didn’t I hear police stations have gun lockers?

And there’s a chance some zombie cop is wandering around with one.

I don’t care about guns myself, but if some psycho got their hands on one, it’d be bad news.

A nutcase with a knife is scary enough, but a nutcase with a pistol? Total disaster.

…If I find one while scavenging, I’ll grab it and hand it over to Miyata-keibu.

For the town’s safety.

Ugh, once I started thinking about pistols, I couldn’t shake it.

I wanted to laze around, but they say to act when inspiration strikes.

So, here I was at the nearby police station.

Might as well check the ones close by.

This one’s about a five-minute walk from the convenience store I hit first.

No people around, not a sound.

I haven’t seen any normal survivors lately.

Just the unhinged idiot types keep popping up.

Maybe people are scattered at shelters?

Besides the police and Jieitai, there might be small groups of individuals holed up together.

Not like I’m itching to get involved, though.

I stepped into the station slowly and tossed a stone toward the back.

It hit something metal, ringing out with a sharp kaan.

I listened closely.

No other sounds or signs of life.

After a moment, I turned on my flashlight and moved deeper, gripping my bokken short.

The floor was littered with papers, glass, and… some kind of meat chunks.

I headed to the back room.

A kitchen, a bathroom, and a Western-style room came into view.

I slowly opened the door to the Western room.

A choking smell of blood hit me.

A male cop, maybe in his 40s, was dead, slumped in a chair.

I’m no expert, but he didn’t look too decayed, so it probably hadn’t been long.

A huge hole gaped in the left side of his head, its contents splattered on the floor.

His limp right hand still clutched a pistol.

Looking closer, there was a small round hole in his right temple.

…He shot himself.

I heard bullets make bigger holes on the way out.

A piece of memo paper lay at his feet.

The handwriting was messy and bloodstained, but I managed to make it out.

“Five hours since the bite. Losing control of my body. I don’t want to become one of them and cause trouble.”

“I’ll end it myself. Forgive me. Forgive me, Akira. Please be safe. Takayama Noboru.”

A suicide note.

So this cop was Takayama-san.

Akira… maybe his family? His kid?

…There’s a bite mark on his neck.

Got it. He killed himself before turning.

What incredible resolve.

If I were in his shoes, could I do the same?

I don’t think I could pull it off so cleanly.

…What an honorable cop.

I bowed to Takayama-san, then closed his still-open eyes.

I took the gun from his hand.

A revolver, right?

Heavy as hell.

Five rounds in the cylinder.

One’s been used, so four left.

Wait, don’t cop guns have blanks or something? I heard that somewhere but forgot.

Whatever, I’m not using it and don’t plan to, so I unloaded the bullets and stuffed them in my pants pocket.

The rounds went in my vest.

…These won’t go off randomly, right?

Should be fine unless I toss them in a fire. I’ll deliver them to Miyata-keibu tomorrow.

I lowered Takayama-san from the chair to the floor and found a blanket—probably for naps—and covered him.

Something fell from his left hand.

A photo fluttered to the floor.

It showed a school gate, cherry blossoms in full bloom.

Probably an entrance ceremony.

A man, likely Takayama-san, and a girl clinging to his arm.

Both smiling, happy as can be.

Is this girl Akira?

Looking at it, I suddenly felt like crying.

Maybe it was the photo, but my chest tightened.

Dying alone here, leaving his daughter behind… that must’ve been brutal.

I can’t even imagine his regret.

I have to deliver this pistol to Miyata-san.

This honorable cop, this honorable father—his gun can’t fall into the hands of someone who’d hurt others for fun.

At the very least, it should help someone who protects people.

I’d love to give him a proper burial, but this is the best I can do for now.

I grabbed the note and photo, tucking them into my chest pocket.

His police ID was in his chest pocket too.

I’ll deliver that as well.

Miyata-keibu, being a cop, might know where his daughter is.

I was gonna deliver it tomorrow, but I’m going now.

This isn’t something I should hold onto.

I bowed one last time and left the room.

As I stepped out of the station, I passed three guys.

I gave a light nod, but they ignored me. Rude.

First survivors in a while, and this neighborhood’s full of jerks.

I’ll head home, grab the truck, and go to the shelter.

A bit later, I heard footsteps chasing me.

Thinking it was a zombie, I turned—only to see those guys.

Bad feeling.

“Hey! You got a gun, don’t you!?” “Hand it over!!” “Hurry up!!”

They shouted all at once.

Did they go to the station?

…That was close.

A pistol-wielding idiot nearly got born.

“No way. I’m delivering this to a cop I know. Neither me nor you should have this.”

No point lying—they wouldn’t believe me anyway—so I told the truth.

“Don’t mess with us! You’re not delivering it anywhere!” “You’re gonna use it yourself, huh!?” “Wanna die!?”

They got pissed and stepped toward me.

A knife, a cleaver, and a bat for weapons.

“Don’t come closer.”

They didn’t listen and charged.

I can’t let them have this gun, no matter what.

I hurled a shuriken full-force at the bat guy on the right.

It hit him square in the gut.

He screamed and fell on his ass.

Take out the longest-reach weapon first.

No time to throw at the cleaver guy in the middle.

I rushed in, slamming the hilt of my bokken into his solar plexus with both hands.

Pulling the scabbard with my left hand, I drew my sword, slashed his collarbone, and knocked him down with a weighted strike.

I turned to the knife guy on the left, slashing upward from a low stance.

The blade grazed his fist, cutting the surface.

Flipping the sword mid-air, I sliced into the inside of his elbow.

He clutched his wound, losing his will to fight.

I spun back to the cleaver guy, who was getting up, and slashed his face from above.

Blood gushed from a graze on his forehead.

Head wounds bleed a ton even if they’re shallow—handy for breaking their spirit, or so I hear.

“Still wanna go? …Next time, I won’t hold back.”

I shook the blood off my blade and glared at the three guys writhing in pain on the ground.

“Get outta my sight!! I’ll kill you bastards!!!!”

I roared with every intent to kill if they came at me again, and the three scrambled away.

I watched them for a bit, confirmed they weren’t coming back, and returned to the station.

As expected, it was a mess.

The place was trashed, and Takayama-san’s body was dragged out from under the blanket.

Those jerks… I should’ve cut their arms off.

I carried Takayama-san outside and dug a grave behind the station.

Luckily, there was a shovel, so it didn’t take too long.

I changed my mind from earlier—leaving him here might attract more guys like that.

I wanted him to rest in peace.

On the way home, I kept an eye on my surroundings.

…No sign of those guys.

Just in case, I took side streets and cut through strangers’ yards to throw off any pursuit.

When I got home, I didn’t go inside—just hopped into the truck and took off.

Sucking on a cigarette that tasted bitterer than usual, I floored the accelerator.