Chapter 159
Only after experiencing the unnecessary over-the-top kindness of the man managing resident registration did Olivia finally step outside the building.
Beside her, a New Zealander named Jasmin chatted away, and up ahead, her mother—delighted by the rare outing—looked around from her wheelchair as if bouncing with excitement.
She was swept up in new and unfamiliar feelings. Life in Naaik had barely been living; it was just surviving. The weight of the apocalypse, which she had been numb to, only felt real after being rescued.
She was grateful to the one who had saved her.
Hajin. In a camp this large, she probably wouldn’t see him often again. He seemed like an important figure here.
<That’s the sports field. Contact sports are forbidden for safety, but things like tennis or table tennis are allowed.>
Jasmin’s friendly explanation barely registered. Olivia’s mind was occupied with thoughts of what she owed him.
‘Even if not now, there’ll be a chance.’
His words had been comforting. She never finished her father’s story, but at least it didn’t weigh on her as guilt.
Now, she could understand. With people who had rebuilt this much, their research on zombies was probably advanced. She could see why they said there was no hope; they simply said what needed to be said.
Truthfully, she’d already given up. It was just lingering attachment.
“Hey, are you a new resident?”
Survivors carrying guns greeted her in passing. She could feel their eyes sweeping over her, but it wasn’t unpleasant—curiosity rather than malice. Not that she was in any state to care.
After about ten minutes of walking, they arrived at a surprisingly tall, modern building. Even at a glance, it was well-maintained and cleaner than any other building nearby.
<You’re free to walk around inside the building. I’ll be in the lobby on the first floor, and your meals will be delivered to your room. If you go outside your accommodation, please call me.>
Olivia nodded.
<Anything else I should watch out for?>
<Not really. Just don’t leave the camp. They’re very sensitive about people moving outside.>
<Alright.>
She answered obediently but couldn’t shake her doubts. Why were people who called themselves rescuers so wary of outsiders? Had something happened?
<Is there a reason people outside the camp are such a sensitive issue?>
Jasmin hesitated but then answered easily.
<Wandering survivors with no identification are dangerous, and sometimes people who’ve been expelled try to sneak back in. Most of Auckland’s zombies have been cleared, so rather than running far away, exiles try to live secretly nearby.>
<Oh… there are people who get expelled?>
Olivia had suspected, but asked for confirmation.
<Of course. This land was claimed from zombies, but someone might say it’s unowned. Our boss declared it Camp Yohan’s territory and fought to keep it. To survive here, you have three options: join, leave, or fight.>
<Ah…>
It was different from what she expected. Sensing Olivia’s thoughts, Jasmin smiled.
<Most of the expelled are serious criminals—assault, murder, rape. They’re dangerous. They’ve even ambushed search teams for food.>
Now she completely understood.
She was surprised that the justification for territory came before the threat itself, but her own thinking was no different. You’d feel uneasy if criminals driven out of the camp were nearby.
The more she heard, the more impressive the camp seemed.
They even expelled people who’d once worked with them, maintaining strict order against outside threats. How thorough and cold did you have to be to keep such a system going?
It was hard to even imagine.
Theoretically, it was flawless. By thoroughly excluding ‘outsiders,’ those ‘inside’ could feel safe and maintain order.
‘Is it about creating external enemies and showing harsh rule to maintain internal discipline?’
She remembered a class from her college days. Even just hearing about it made her feel respect for the camp leader.
<This is the new resident dormitory. You’ll only be here a day, but it won’t be uncomfortable. In fact, it’s better in many ways than the actual islands. It’s all about giving a good first impression to new survivors, so please use it carefully and respectfully.>
<You’re very honest. Okay.>
<Normally we give the highest floor, but since you have a wheelchair, you’re on a lower one. Electricity only goes where you use it, so let us know if you want to switch rooms. And don’t miss the rooftop garden—the view is great.>
Olivia gave Jasmin a thankful kiss and walked into her room. Unlocking the door, she found a spacious, clean room clearly designed for multiple people—almost like a luxury hotel suite.
The bedding and personal items looked brand new. A small refrigerator chilled canned drinks inside. Even the lights worked.
Just when she thought she couldn’t be surprised anymore—how was electricity being supplied? Had they restored a power plant? This place was like an onion: the more you peeled, the more mysteries you found.
Olivia moved her sleeping mother to the bed, lay down herself, then suddenly got up and headed for the roof. She liked high places and wanted to see the new place from above.
<Whew, it’s high…>
Panting, she finally reached the rooftop, which had a beautiful garden.
Beyond the railing, she could see Auckland Harbor. In front was hell; behind, the wild.
The camp wasn’t that large. The semicircular iron wall had watchtowers manned by armed guards at intervals.
‘That must be Cuisine.’
Recalling Hajin’s explanation, Olivia found the artificial island connected by a two-lane bridge.
There was another wall at the entrance to the island.
The harbor and the artificial island were connected, and from there, people could take helicopters or boats to the surrounding islands.
<Amazing. It’s like…>
She couldn’t help but let out her honest thoughts. It was like a military base from a medieval war film. She imagined defenders falling back to Cuisine for a last stand against waves of zombies.
To enter the island, you’d have to cross that barrier. It looked like a giant seawall painting. She could easily imagine how safe the islanders must feel.
She’d been told she had 24 hours to decide whether to stay, but she’d already resolved to adapt before coming.
In truth, the camp was so impressive that the 24 hours felt unnecessary.
There wasn’t a single flaw. Even the most skeptical person would want to join after stepping inside.
That 24-hour grace period wasn’t for thinking about staying; it was for what she now held in her hand.
[Camp Regulation Guide Book]
Camp rules. They were asking survivors if they could follow these rules in order to live here.
‘Once you register, you’re considered to have agreed to all rules and punishments.’
Sitting on a sunbed, Olivia nervously opened the booklet.
The first page detailed the two-month basic military training.
Three days of theory, fifty days of physical and technical training, then actual search parties fighting zombies and gathering supplies. After all training, there’s a special aptitude test and assignment to a job.
Olivia read every word carefully, sometimes nodding, sometimes impressed.
The second chapter covered resident life.
‘All residents live in teams of two or three, with partners responsible for protection and for reporting and dealing with infection.’
It read like a survival manual born of experience. Olivia got absorbed in the pages, then suddenly burst out laughing.
[Every job requires 50 hours of work per week.]
Because of that line. A good workplace, she thought. Whoever made these rules could’ve been a great CEO. But under that, “Squad leaders are exempt,” made her laugh again.
The next section covered crimes and punishment—rules for dealing with camp conflicts.
That chapter was thick. As usual, most of the rules and lawsuits were about daily life. Olivia turned the page.
[All produced or recovered goods (luxuries, food, industrial products) must be handed over to supply without a single error. Those who produced or recovered them have first priority to claim what’s needed.]
She turned another page.
[Supplies are distributed based on position, job, and performance.]
<So it’s communism.>
Olivia chuckled. The contents regulated by the guidebook resembled normal laws and morals.
Murder, assault, rape, molestation, theft, insubordination, insubordination, unauthorized absence, negligence, embezzlement, and so on. Below that were general punishment standards.
[There are four types of punishment for rule violations depending on the severity: execution, expulsion, supply reduction, warning.]
What caught her eye was the next line.
[Any act you can prove in a situation where your life is threatened is considered self-defense.]
That was a risky rule.
[If you’re punished for the same crime more than once, or are the subject of three or more lawsuits, regardless of the nature of the crime or punishment, you’re expelled from the camp.]
Wow, that’s tough. Basically, don’t commit crimes or get involved in disputes.
[If murder or rape is proven, execution is carried out regardless of mental state or intent. If not proven, the accused is expelled until proven innocent, and the victim is placed in protective isolation. If false accusation is proven, the accuser is punished accordingly.]
She liked that murder and rape were treated the same. If proven, execution; if not, expulsion and protection for the victim.
It was a harsh system that made it hard to commit a crime or be falsely accused.
Not perfect, but you could tell a lot of thought went into it.
[Any crime committed under the influence of alcohol receives aggravated punishment.]
She really liked that one.
It was obvious—the system was focused more on prevention than punishment for major crimes.
She recalled his expression. He didn’t seem like the type for leniency or mercy.
As long as you didn’t commit crimes and behaved reasonably, there’d be no major issues.
[Any other disputes are resolved by trial, which is conducted by the camp leader (or deputy), and three witnesses/lawyers from each side.]
As she kept reading, a bold, starred line caught her attention. Olivia rubbed her eyes in disbelief.
[The camp leader’s orders override all rules. My word is law, and my decision is the regulation and punishment.]
Below that, a note: “This sentence was written by the leader himself. I tried to stop him.”
<What a dictator!>
A true one-man dictatorship.
She couldn’t believe they’d put something like that in the guidebook. How shameless.
But somehow, she didn’t dislike that boldness.
She found herself liking the camp more and more.
