Jobless Man’s Zombie Survival Life - Chapter 47: Swarmed by Zombies

Chapter 47: Swarmed by Zombies

“Whoa… what’s this?”

A sea of zombies—zombies, zombies, and more zombies—spreads before me.

It’s almost majestic in a way.

Could be a twisted kind of landmark.

…A grim one, though.

Why am I here? It all started yesterday.

※

“Boo?”

“Nuo?”

“That’s right, Ichirouta-chan.”

While doing squats with Miku-chan on my shoulders—a quirky strength training variant—Sachiko-san looked troubled.

I asked what was wrong, and she said the shelter’s low on fabric.

Why does she know the shelter’s inventory? Like Mondo-occhan, she’s been helping out.

Sachiko-san’s skilled in Western and Japanese tailoring, having worked at a renowned shop in Shiiya City before marrying occhan.

With evacuees stuck indoors, they’re bored beyond small tasks.

Unlike a nimble, unemployed loner like me, regular folks going out is suicide.

So, Sachiko-san teaches willing evacuees basic sewing and clothing repurposing.

Solar power’s enough for sewing machines on sunny days.

It’s not just for kids—easing frustration’s key in confined spaces.

I offered to grab fabric on my next scouting run.

The Nakamuras have helped me tons, so it’s no big deal.

I’m on a perpetual 365-day vacation, after all.

Sachiko-san, after hammering a hundred warnings not to overdo it, reluctantly asked.

No need to feel bad about it.

“I suggested it, but I know nothing about fabric. That okay?”

“Anything rolled up at a craft store will do. We’ll manage.”

Oh, I’ve seen those rolls before.

Might as well explore a new spot.

I glance at Miku-chan on my shoulders.

“Miku-chan, what’s your favorite color?”

“Hm… indigo!!”

Not pink, huh? Classy taste.

※

So, here I am at a new place.

A sprawling, single-story superstore along the river in South District.

This area used to be rice paddies, but a landowner sold part off, and this store was built on a raised plot.

It’s the biggest shop around, with multiple tenants inside.

I loved the cheap pasta and doria chain here pre-zombie.

I vaguely recall a big craft supply store, so that’s why I’m here.

The parking lot’s full of abandoned cars—windows smashed, fuel caps pried open, a mess.

My truck’s been targeted a lot, and I get why.

It’s old but clean, a tempting mark.

There’s an auto parts store here too—might find something useful.

Or so I thought…

I parked my truck discreetly among the wrecks and headed to the craft store’s entrance.

That’s when I saw it—the zombie sea from the start.

…They all look like middle-aged women.

Was there a bargain sale when the outbreak hit?

What now? This is too much.

I’d end up like a zombie movie cliché—swarmed and torn apart.

I circle the store quietly, checking inside.

I flash my light on zombie faces; no reaction.

From experience, zombies’ senses—except hearing—are dull.

That kid zombie at the school had sharp eyes… a mutation, maybe?

The zombies are densest around the craft store, or rather, the supermarket’s fresh food section next door.

Definitely a sale.

What to do?

Another spot’s an option, but passing up such an untouched place…

Wait, if I do that…

※

“Nghhh…!”

I’m pushing a compact car with all my might.

Its window was smashed, so I unlocked it, released the handbrake, and shifted to neutral.

Now it’s just pure effort.

The car inches forward, finally reaching the lot’s edge.

“Hnnggg…!!”

With a grunt, I push it over a curb, teetering on the edge of the fallow field below.

I catch my breath.

“Here goes!”

I kick the car’s rear, and it slowly tips toward the field.

Rushing back to the store, I hear a crash behind me.

A beat later, the car’s anti-theft alarm blares.

I dive behind a vending machine by the wall, holding my breath.

“GAAAH!!” “RRRAAA!!” “GOOOOH!!!”

A horde of zombie aunties pours out the open automatic doors, screaming.

Incredible—like the start of a marathon.

The ground shakes.

They swarm the lot’s edge, tumbling into the field.

Minutes pass, their numbers thin, then stop.

I wait longer, then creep along the wall to the other side.

Peeking through the doors, no zombies remain.

I slip inside, moving silently, flashlight scanning.

Last time, a half-zombie lingered, so I’m cautious.

None in sight… wait, there!

A young male store clerk, upper half only, a zombie.

He’s facing away, unaware.

The light highlights his grotesque torso stump.

I raise my bokken, approach quietly, and smash his head in one hit.

I check carefully—no others around.

I enter the craft store.

Tons of buttons and fabric scraps.

Pushing through, I find rolled fabrics.

There they are—neatly bundled.

Normally, I’d order by the centimeter, but now I’ll take whole rolls.

They’re heavy, so I make multiple trips to the truck.

I grab indigo for Miku-chan and a mix of other colors.

No harm in extra, so I take thread and clothing parts too.

The truck bed’s half-full—good enough.

Now, the auto parts store.

Another half-zombie, just legs, no threat.

Guess heads are the weak point?

Whatever, time to scavenge.

I find UV-blocking window film.

UV’s irrelevant, but it’ll make windows harder to break.

A sound-based alarm? After that stunt, it’d attract zombies—pass.

Steering wheel locks? Too cumbersome for quick escapes—nah.

Battery-securing bolts? Didn’t think of that.

Can’t lose my battery—taking these.

A foldable canopy!

Perfect for rain.

A reinforced bumper for my truck?

Like those off-road pipe ones.

I’ll install it at home!

…Wait, won’t this make my truck more noticeable?

For now, I’ll park in low-key spots…

A fuel cap lock—definitely taking that.

I haul my loot to the truck and take a smoke break.

Food next?

Cigarettes… only mainstream brands here.

Might grab some for emergencies…

One more sweep.

This place was pristine, thanks to the zombie swarm.

I stuff my backpack with honey—nutritious and long-lasting.

I snag two eco-bags from the store, cramming them with cans and preserved food.

No room for cigarettes, so I drop the loot in the truck and go back.

At the service counter, I hunt for smokes.

No Mandrake—figures.

I grab a carton of mainstream ones—better than nothing.

Tons of snacks left, so I pack my bag for shelter souvenirs.

Pockets stuffed with calorie bars too.

Big haul today!

Time to swing by the shelter and head home.

Then, engine noise from the open door.

Not my truck—a louder, bigger vehicle.

I hear sounds from the other entrance too.

Damn, no time to reach either without running into them.

No choice—hide in the craft store’s back, where no one goes.

I dart to the staff area behind the fabric section, kill the light, drop my gear, and hold my breath.

Good spot—both entrances are visible.

Soon, people enter—four from each side.

Their flashlights make counting easy.

Mostly bats, but two have machetes.

“Wow! Almost untouched!!”

“No zombies—jackpot!”

“Hell yeah!”

No zombies, so they’re relaxed, sitting on chairs or the floor, chattering.

Their voices sound young—twenties, maybe teens.

Five minutes pass.

They’re hyped, talking nonstop.

Go scavenge already, idiots!

I can’t leave!

No way these guys are the “let’s explore together” type…

Gotta keep watching.

“Hahaha!!”

“So he’s like, ‘H-Help!’ in this pathetic voice!”

“Lame!! Hahaha!!”

“Smashed him with a bat! Human watermelon splitting!”

Fifteen minutes.

I was annoyed, but their talk chills my blood.

Robbery.

Assault.

Murder.

Arson.

They gleefully recount their “exploits.”

They’re like those scum I “handled” at the civic center.

Thriving on theft and slaughter.

Worse, they’re young—plenty of time to keep this up.

I’m no saint, but these guys are subhuman beasts.

I check my shuriken, grip my sword’s handle for looseness.

Quiet wrist stretches.

They’re off-guard, weapons on the floor.

Like Kanzaki-san said, attackers never expect to be attacked.

I plan my approach, my mind cold and clear.

Then, a familiar name catches my ear.

“So, when’re we hitting Yurei?”