Chapter 9: You Ain't Nothing but Flesh Semi
My mind is yanked away from any thoughts of who I was and is thrust back into the present by a sound. It is a familiar jittering sound that I have heard more times than I can count in my life, but in Wandarando I have only heard it once before. From the far side of the park comes the sound of trolley wheels chattering across asphalt.
I can instantly guess what the source of the sound must be. It is likely another of the plastic bucket head kids. I have no reason to think they will try and hurt me. But so far the inhabitants of Wandarando have been a lot more hostile than friendly – and I'm not about to take any chances.
I duck behind a nearby ginko tree. The felling of the trunks rough bracken poking into my spine as I peer out towards the source of the chattering sound.
As I had guessed, I soon see a plastic head kid trundling down the road, pushing a trolley stacked high with random goods. It is hard to tell from this distance, but it looks like food for the most part. He is headed down the main street, away from the supermarket and towards the kombini.
'Well I guess that more or less answers one question...' I mutter myself. Although I am still confused as to why they would even bother taking supplies out – particularly if there is a risk to their life from the metal head kids and whatever else may be out there...
I consider stepping out and approaching the plastic head kid. After all even if he were to go rabid and attack me, he still has the physique of a 7-year-old. I could take him even with my injured leg. However, but a little voice in my head keeps me back. After all, he may look alone. But I have no idea how many friends he may have in this area. Maybe if my leg was healed and I could run if things went south, I'd give it a try. But in that moment I make the decision that this mission should be for supplies and basic information only. If I can get home without interacting with any of Umbake no Machi's inhabitants then that would be a job well done.
I pull my head back behind the tree and try to still my breath as much as possible as I listen to the rattling wheels. They soon pass and I slip back out from my hiding place. The coast seems clear so I dash through the park. I can see a large moss green wall that runs just past the parks fence-line. I'm guessing this is the supermarket. When I get to the fence I vault it quickly. I then crouch in the shadows between the wall and the fence as I shuffle down the rest of the the park. I'd hardly say I was hidden. But someone would have to look twice before they notice me.
As I get to the end of the narrow park I have to squeeze by a couple of large air-conditioning machines that have pipes leading into the supermarket. They are thrumming with life which makes me all the more confident there has to be something going on inside the store. Now I just hope it is something I can use to my advantage.
I make it to the end of the wall and glance around the corner. I can see there are a pair of glass automatic doors right next to me. Pass those the supermarket stretches out down the road. It has the colour scheme of a Maruetsu (green, orange and white) but I can't see their name or logo anywhere. At the far end there appears to be a similar set of doors. So I should have at least two potential exits if I need to run out.
All seems quite on the street, so I crane my neck around too look through the glass or the doors – all while being careful not to get close enough to open them. There isn't a soul in sight through the glass.
'Okay, here goes...' I mutter, and step out in front of the doors.
A moment after I stand in front of the entrance it come to life and slips open. I am greeted with the exact kind of scene you could expect when you think of a Japanese supermarket.
Directly in front of me is the "bento section". All kinds of premade meals stacked up on top of each other in single use plastic containers. Almost all of them feature large portions of rice and a tiny mouthfuls of salad along with a hunk of fish, pork, or some other kind of meat.
The left side wall features the bentos that need consistent chilling, such as the yakisoba or western style pastas.
I can see that past the bento area there seems to be a frozen foods section. Neither of these sections are going to be of much value to me as I am without a freezer or even a fridge at the shrine, so I ignore them. I Look to my right and see a "pan section" that features an assortment of individually wrapped buns and other breads. Still not ideal as I have been carb-loading on energy bars for days now, and bread will stay edible for only a week without freezing. But it is getting closer to what I am looking for so I turn to face the shelf of baked goods.
Between myself and the pan section is an ATM and a stack of grey-green plastic baskets. I take a quick look at the ATM and soon realise it will be no help. Where there should be a list of the locally accepted banks like Shinsei or JP Post there are just a series of the same hieroglyphic-like symbols I had seen on the station sign. Even if the machine took my bank card I don't think I would trust an ATM in a place like this. Besides – as much as it still lingers as strange in my mind to think about – it's not like I had any intention of paying.
Instead of thinking about the ATM and how quickly I accepted shoplifting into my day-to-day routine, I reach to the top of the basket stack and grab the top one. It clatters as I pull it out and the echo of sound ripples out and down the supermarket isle. I bite my tongue as nerves creep into my body. It may look clear right now. But if anyone is in here they probably heard that.
As if on queue I hear the sound of bare skin slapping against the linoleum ground.
Footsteps, fuck! I think to myself and throw myself behind the ATM.
Though I can't see anything the increasing sound of smack, smack, smack skin on soft plastic tells me whoever is, they are getting closer and closer. I instinctually reach for my hatchet and slide it out a little. I can tell from the number of sounds there has to be more than one person approaching. But it is impossible to say exactly how many. My grip tightens all the more, but I try to remind myself that it is likely one of the plastic head kids. So far I have no proof they are hostile. So if they do see me I shouldn't just attack right away.
However, even if they aren't normally violent, I likely strange creature to them. And here I am planning to rob them; with a bag already full of their stuff that I took from their kombini... Yeah, I really can't afford to get caught...
I huddle in all the tighter. Whoever has come to investigate the sound can't be more than a dozen meters away now. I clench my teeth and try and to stop them with my willpower – praying to a God who surely cannot hear me in this place. But what else was there to do?
Then, the footsteps stop.
A wave of relief washes through my body and I release the tension in my jaw. However, I leave my hand on the grip of my axe and stay as motionless as possible. Just because they stopped moving doesn't mean they have left.
'Pukukusha...' I hear a voice that crackles like breaking straw mutter.
'Creekt!' comes a shrill sound that reminds me of something more like an animal call than comprehensible speech. My heart starts to pick up the pace. Do they have something akin to a sniffer dog with them? In that case I'm as good as found... I pull my axe free of my belt strap. But beyond that I don't move. I just stay ready.
'Choooo kata...' says the crackling voice. He sounds disinterested, even irritable. If bucket head people have the same inflection as humans I would guess from the slur words in his words that he may have only just woken up.
'Zukoa tencha?' comes a puzzled sounding comment from a voice that sounds youthful and feminine – I'd guess a girl of around 11-years-old if it was coming from a human throat.
There is a clear pause for a moment. A silence lingers in the air like a waft of cigarette smoke. It leaves my throat rough and dry. I don't even let myself breath as I hold completely still.
'Fuukata,' grunts the crackling voice and I hear the sound of shuffling.
'Creekt!' comes the shrill sound again followed by more shuffling. I realise it is the sound of the investigators turning around and leaving.
Oh thank Christ! I think to myself as I let the stale air I had been holding escape my lungs. I knew the safest choice would be to keep my head down and wait till I was sure they had left. However, I also feel like it is important to know what I will be up against in this place. So once again I find myself peering out from around a corner at yet another bizzare creature.
The source of the crackling voice was another of the bucket head kids. He wore a plastic mop bucket like the two that I have seen pushing trolleys. However his is yellow. He also stands out because of how tall he is compared to any of the other bucket head kids. He has the same skinny limbs and a fairly youthful physique as the others, and I would still be about a foot taller than him. But if I have to guess I'd say big yellow is about the same size as a 15-year-old human boy.
I consider whether the yellow bucket and apparent greater age may mean something. Perhaps it signifies he has some kind of leadership role? If that is the case it seems weird that he would be personally scouting out a potential danger...
However, maybe he doesn't feel fear of any invader with the monstrosity that is stomping beside him like some kind of hunting dog. It appears to be a similar shape to a cicada. But it is far larger – perhaps a meter and a half tall and two meters long. Where you would expect to see some kind of a hard exo-skeleton, this oversized semi isn't black, shiny or skeletal in any sense. In fact it's whole body apears to be made of flaps of pale human-like skin. I watch on as the wings, which are large and leathery – almost bat-like in appearance – flutter and kick. The movement reveals that underneath the whole body is made of the same fleshy skin. It walks along beside its yellow headed master in a way that reminds me of Golem in the Lord of the Rings films. An awkward, bouncy gait that is akin to shuffling. I look closer at the creatures legs and realise it isn't scuffling on "feet" – at least nothing like the feet I have seen on insects, humans or any other beast of the Earth. What this flesh semi is walking on looks more like gnarly human hands.
'Creekt!' shrieks the flesh cicada as is bucks lightly and raises its head in the air. The yellow bucket head kid beside him pauses and for a moment I worry it has caught my sent or something. But then the yellow bucket head grunts and they continue trudging along until they disappear behind an isle.
It occurs to me then that there was a third voice that had spoken to get their attention in the first place. But if the owner of that voice is still around, I can't see it anywhere.
'Okay, so there are at least three of them,' I mutter quietly. 'Four if you count the one who I saw leaving on the way in...' I had no idea how long his "delivery" would take him. I didn't even know if he went to just one location in town or if they were the reason the camping supply store – and who knows how many other places – was well stocked when I found it. So I need to be conscious of his potential return.
I raise up into a crouch and start to creep past the bread section and into the isle. Obviously my priority is not to get caught. But I also need my supplies. Hygiene, first aid, and non-perishable food. Ideally I will find canned vegetables or fruit – some meat is also important too. It's not all that relevant, but I do choose to maintain a mostly vegetarian diet. In my normal life I rely on eggs for protein. But that may not be a practical solution in this place. Still, if I don't talk about eating meat very often. That is why.
I have now passed the bread section and am have entered the liquor area. It still strikes me as odd to have booze out in the open like this. In my home country booze has to be sold in a separate room to the main supermarket. However, right now it is to my benefit. I grab a bottle of strong vodka for disinfectant, and a bottle of Suntory whiskey for my state of mind.
I slip them into my bag and nestle them in next to my haul from the kombini. I'm careful to rest them in a way that they shouldn't rattle.
A quick look at the next isle tells me that it features cleaning supplies. I start to turn down it. But as I do I see a couple of the blue bucket head kids. They are facing away from me and slowly walking down the isle side-by-side. They appear to be mumbling in unison in their incomprehensible language as a strange grey mist softly wafts off them and billows out and into the air. In a twisted way they remind me of monks from both eastern and western cultures.
'What the hell...' I can't help but whisper at the site. It really strikes me in that moment that I have no understanding of the plastic bucket heads and their culture. I mean the metal head kids seem to hunt and sacrifice someone for their Finger God. As dark as that is at least the logic is clear on the surface. But the plastic buckets society seems to have rules and traditions that go beyond any surface level logic. I won't pretend that I'm more worried of them than the metal head kids at this point. But there is a certain amount of comfort that comes from a devil you know.
The chanting bucket heads soon disappear behind the next isle and I dart into the hygiene section. I find soap, detergent, a variety of sponges, a first aid-kit and packet of plastic bags.
I throw them all into my basket.
The backpack is getting pretty full now. But I am still hoping to find some food, a shovel, and maybe some extra clothes.
I get back into a crouch and start to scamper down the isle – trying to keep an ear out for both the chanting, and the shrill sound from the flesh-cicada.
As I come to the end of the hygine products I spot an assortment of kitchen utilities like a can opener, chopsticks, knives and forks hanging on hooks. I grab a selection of them and stuff them into my pockets. Then I focus on what is directly in front of me. The non-perishables.
'Yes!' I mutter a little too loud – causing myself to pause and wait to see if I had given myself away.
Thankfully after a few moments nothing changes and I continue on my way.
I find some canned tuna, various vegetables like bamboo, taro and baby corn. They go into my basket. That, along with what I found in the Kombini should keep me feed for a week or two if I ration it properly. However, I consider how much is in my bag, against how much is in the basket. I really don't have any room left.
I'll have to skip the other items on my list for now. But I should be able to find most of the remaining items at the camping store anyway. I scurry into a corner and open my bag. I don't want to keep carrying the basket with me in case I need my hands free. So as quietly as I can I begin to stuff my haul into the backpack.
This is really one of those moments when things are starting to feel like they are going a little too well. As a result it feels almost inevitable that something had to go wrong. But to muy shock I soon have my backpack loaded and over my shoulder.
Then as quickly and quietly as I dare, I scurry towards the exit.
I make it past the ATM without issue and through the glass sliding doors. A huge weight feels like it has been taken off my shoulders and I take a moment to stop and breathe. Then I hear a familiar growl. The growl of the metal head kids...
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone