"Hhhmmmmm... aaaaahhhh."
After taking a deep breath, I decided to take stock and count the problems that needed solving right now—like, literally *right* now.
1. The car that wasn't working now runs, thanks to my mom and dad. That's great, since—given how the world was going to hell—having a car would definitely help.
2. To get the car running in such a short time (considering they were working on the engine without any specialized equipment), my dad had to be a bit... rough with it; consequently, it'll only run for two hours, tops.
3. It needs fuel to run, but the "modifications" my dad made were very... "crude and brutal." To get it working, he had to ramp up fuel consumption to an almost insane level.
4. Fortunately, we're at a gas station with a storage tank full of fuel. Unfortunately, the tank is underground, and the forecourt where we'd access it was infested with zombies and slimes (and probably other things the zombies were ignoring).
5. Finally, even if we managed to get the necessary fuel (over 150 liters), how were we supposed to fit all that into a car that holds a maximum of 45 liters???????!!!!!!!! (including the reserve).
.....
.....
"Isn't it supposed to be that when God closes a door, He opens a window? Why does it feel like the door's been barricaded and the windows are sealed shut with reinforced glass?" I said to no one in particular, just complaining for the sake of it.
"I wouldn't say the windows are sealed shut—just a bit stuck and hard to open," my father replied, gazing at the zombie-infested area. I shot him a look that said, *You're seeing what I'm seeing, right?*
He raised an eyebrow and pointed toward Mom. At some point, she had sat down in a prayer position without me even noticing, and I could now make out a faint halo of light surrounding her.
'Oh! Right.'
Maybe it was the stress of constantly facing complicated problems with difficult solutions and "little" time to rest. But I had subconsciously assumed our situation would involve another major hurdle requiring Mari's help.
Buuuut, my mom had turned into an Angel (God only knows why).
No matter the medium, the relationship between angels and the undead is even worse than that between angels and demons. Which is great for our current situation: if a praying cleric can weaken or repel the undead, what could a literal Angel do?
'Of course, there's also the issue of high-level undead, variants, and so on. But against a horde of apparently low-to-mid-level zombies? I doubt we'll have much trouble.'
.....
Wait a minute...
"If it was that easy, why did the two of you stay here until now?"
Even if Mom could just push the zombies back a little, that would probably give them enough time to at least reach one of the buildings or houses. Then they could use the same strategy I did to avoid the zombies and most of the monsters—jumping from rooftop to rooftop to shake the zombies off.
"For two main reasons. First, we didn't know if we could actually make it through that sea of zombies—and remember, before they were just zombies, there were monsters too."
Fair enough.
"Second, even if we made it through, we weren't sure we could shake them off. We didn't know if they'd be able to track us down, even if we were on the rooftops."
I was surprised that he'd actually thought about that, and he noticed my surprise. He rolled his eyes and continued.
"Yeah, we thought about doing that too, but like I said, we didn't know if we could lose them—or even if the roof tiles would hold up under my... 'new' weight."
Okay, the second part is a valid concern; moving carefully across rooftops while standing over two meters tall and carrying—presumably—quite a few kilos of dense muscle can't be easy, especially when you have to jump between buildings. But that "first" concern is pretty lame.
"Dad, zombies aren't exactly fast—especially these ones," I said, pointing at the mass of them outside.
And it was true; the zombies here were like the classic kind—slow. Though they didn't go around constantly moaning "braaaains... braaaains..."
"Maybe, but we didn't want to put you guys at risk. Plus, you were still inside that white cocoon when we left," he countered, crossing his arms.
Before I could retort, my mom walked over to us.
"There's another reason, too." She said, standing directly in front of the window. "I still don't quite understand these... things," she added, making small sparks of white, bluish, and yellow energy appear in her hand.
"But I understand there's a limit to it. Just looking at that mass of walking rotting flesh, I can tell that even if I used up all my..." She gestured toward the sparks.
"Mana?"
"Yeah, all my mana at once. It still wouldn't be enough to clear a path all the way home. It would barely be enough to get to the other side of the street."
Honestly, I think that might be an exaggeration, but I don't know exactly how much mana she or my dad actually has, so...
"When I suggested trying this to Mari, she gave a flat 'no.' She said I might pass out or something worse."
That makes sense, too. I never actually fully depleted my mana (or did I? During the fight against the drake? I really can't remember right now) but when I was in that semi-comatose state earlier, my body felt stiff and unresponsive.
What would that be like for an Angel? Would it be the same, or worse?
Considering the situation they were in, it actually made sense. At least, from my mother's point of view.
I looked at my dad with the obvious question in my eyes.
"What? Even if it were possible, I already explained why we couldn't keep moving across the rooftops. Just looking after me would be a problem; if you add your mother—possibly unconscious—into the mix, there was a high chance things would end badly."
....
I still felt like something was missing. But if you combine the two reasons, there's actually a "good" justification for why they didn't try to escape on their own and waited instead—especially since I was bringing the missing components for the car.
"So, what are we going to do?" I asked after hearing everything.
"I can create a temporary zone that will stop the zombies from reaching you. During that time, you can open the cap, insert a hose, and have your dad pull it over to put the different fuel into the car's tank," she said, clasping her hands together to form a sphere of light.
The light bothered me a bit, but fortunately, no message appeared saying my HP had dropped.
"Do you have a hose long enough to reach from there to here?"
"No, that's why we're going to make one," my mother replied.
"How?"
My father answered by stepping away from the window facing the reservoir and heading toward a window near the door on the other side; there, he pointed to a faint outline hovering in the air, shimmering slightly amidst the mass of zombies. It was the rope I'd used to get here.
"You used that rope to get here?"
I nodded.
"Do you still have some of it in your [Item Box]? Ideally, I'd like about 8 or 10 meters, but even just 1 meter should help."
I opened my [Item Box] right away and went straight to what I was looking for.
[Item Box:....
.....
Polyamide rope (35 meters): 3.3 kilograms
....]
'Phew... I swear, if I'd had to go back and fetch the rope I dropped earlier... I probably would've used up all my mana just to destroy everything around me out of sheer frustration.'
"I've got 35 meters. Do you really just want 10?"
He paused and thought for a moment. He accessed his own [Item Box], thought a bit more, and said:
"No, it's better to use all the rope you have; that way, it'll be stronger."
I raised an eyebrow as I pulled the rope out.
"How exactly is the rope going to help with getting the fuel?"
"It's simple: I'm going to make a fuel discharge hose—like the ones on tanker trucks—using the rope."
"Oh, I see... Wait, what? (O_o)"