Chapter 1
Part 1: The Apocalypse Happens at the Dinner Table
“Tell us,” they said, “when will this happen, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?”
(Matthew 24:3)
“Infected wave, three o’clock! Small-scale, estimated one hundred plus. Snipers, engage! Don’t let them breach the wall!” a voice crackled over the radio.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The gunfire was incessant. Bullets, now worth more than water, tore through the air. Some found their mark in the bodies of the Infected; others whizzed past into the night. But the Infected—creatures that wore human forms but were no longer human—felt no fear. They charged forward, their rotting maws gaping, driven by a singular hunger for human flesh.
Bang! Thwack—!
It was a battle of bullets against bodies. On a dark night, the moon choked by thick clouds, only the erratic flashes from muzzles lit the world. In those flickering bursts of light, one could glimpse the putrid flesh of the living dead and the tears of humans, their eyes filled with the desperate resolve to never become one of them.
From atop the precarious rampart, the survivors fired relentlessly into the approaching horde.
Screeee!
But the Infected advanced faster than the defenders could spend their ammunition. They scrambled over the backs of their headless comrades, trampled the bodies of the fallen, and swarmed up the wall.
“The western line is breached! Get the RPG!” the radio blared.
BOOM!
A weapon’s worth is measured by two things: how effectively it kills the enemy, and how effectively it terrifies them. Normally, an RPG excelled at both. But against the Infected, the latter was meaningless. They were dead; fear was a language they no longer spoke.
Dozens were blown to bits, but the rest continued their charge, letting out a chorus of grotesque wails.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The men and women holding the wall trembled, but their fingers never left the triggers. They couldn’t. If this place fell, their safe zone would be gone. Their families, their friends—everyone they loved was in the shelter they had fought so hard to build. Retreating meant dying.
They had to hold out.
About half the horde was down. With a bit of strategy, victory was within their grasp.
“Aaaargh!”
“Die! Just die, you monster bastards!”
But fear is a poor strategist. Muzzles wavered, sending bullets into empty air. Any shot that failed to pierce an Infected’s brain was a wasted effort.
At this rate, they would lose. The people in the shelter would become food, and then they would become the Infected.
But I had no intention of letting that happen.
Bang!
A crisp gunshot echoed, and an Infected’s head exploded.
I kept my eye pressed to the scope, took a steadying breath, held it, and squeezed the trigger.
An Infected that had been lunging for one of the defenders collapsed. The man it had targeted scrambled back, his life spared, and glanced around wildly. I didn’t stop.
The heads of the Infected scaling the wall vanished one after another. Not a single miss.
Finally, the moonlight broke through the clouds. As the darkness receded, the ground became visible, carpeted with the bodies of the dead. I raised my rifle one last time, aiming at the few that still twitched.
A nightbird took flight with a startled flutter.
After emptying three magazines, the world finally fell silent. I let out the breath I’d been holding and pulled my eye from the scope.
“Infected extermination complete. Uninjured personnel, proceed with incineration,” the radio commanded.
Ugh, my eyes. I rubbed my dry, strained eyes and rolled my stiff neck. The survivors were cheering, throwing their arms around one another in celebration of having survived another day. Cheering in a world like this—it was absurd.
“Hey, Min Ahyeon! Still got it, huh?” Kim Chunshik, the director of the Cheongna Shelter who’d hired me, jogged over, beaming. He boasted to the injured nearby that there hadn’t been a single casualty, crowing that hiring me was the best decision he’d ever made.
“Hah, I’m telling you. The moment I heard about Min Ahyeon, I thought, she’s the one! If we hire her, we’ll make it! So I ran all the way to Seoul and practically begged to get her. A former national sharpshooter and a soldier! Where else are you gonna find someone like that, am I right?” The director gave me two thumbs-up, flashing a gold tooth. “Alright, what are you all standing around for? Thank the mercenary who saved your asses!”
“Ah, yes! Right! Thank you!”
“Thank you so much!”
Spurred by his words, the survivors snapped to attention and bowed their heads toward me. To an outsider, it might have looked like simple gratitude. To me, it felt like a prelude.
The director nudged a young woman in the ribs. As if on cue, she began to speak, her words tumbling out.
“Um, about that… We were planning to move to the airport before it gets any colder… Do you think you could help us just a little longer?” The woman clasped her hands together. “W-we don’t have any money right now. But since you helped us once… c-could you please help us just one more time?”
Some might have found her pitiful, but I found her shameless. She was asking me to work for free. My expression must have soured, because soon everyone, not just the woman, was on their knees before me.
“If you leave, my mother and the children… they won’t survive the winter. None of us will!”
“I’m not asking for myself! It’s for everyone in the shelter… Please, just this once. Just one more time?”
It had been four years since humanity was knocked from the top of the food chain. As soon as people realized how skilled I was, they’d use their weakness as a weapon, begging me to fight their life-or-death battles. They’d prey on my sympathy, demanding I show some humanity. I’d given in a few times at the beginning, but it never ended well. I unconsciously traced the scar on my waist and scowled.
“Old man.”
I addressed the director, who was busy stoking the crowd while gauging my reaction.
“What was our original deal?”
He hesitated, then gave an awkward laugh. “To stop the wave from the Infected colony near the Cheongna Shelter, right?”
“Right. That was the job.” I pulled the revolver from my hip and swung open the cylinder. Six rounds. I spun it, snapped it shut, and reloaded. “So why are you feeding me this bullshit instead of the money you owe me?”
“Well, about that, Miss Min Ahyeon… First, calm down, okay? There are reasons for all this.”
“Old man,” I cut him off, raising the revolver. “I get it. There’s no one left here who can actually fight, and at this rate, you’ll all be dead long before you ever see the airport.”
The distance from Cheongna to Incheon Airport was deceptively short. Even with the nearby colony cleared, countless other Infected still roamed the area. The path ahead was treacherous. One wrong move and today’s brutal fight would have been for nothing.
“R-right! That’s why we have no choice but to ask!” The director, apparently thinking I was on his side, ignored the gun pointed at his face. “If you just help us this one time, we’ll never forget what you did for us—!”
“Then you should’ve just taken the deal from the Seoul branch.”
“Ah, no! Don’t talk about that!” He lunged to cover my mouth, but I sidestepped him and raised my voice. The moment he tried to break our deal, he was finished.
“Did you all know the Seoul branch offered to take you in?”
Seoul, one of the few places in this ruined country that still resembled a city, rarely accepted refugees. But this group had doctors and technicians, so an exception was made. The one who refused the offer was the director.
“You’re going to lecture me about saving lives when you dragged everyone out here just because they were going to take away your precious title?”
“…What?”
The crowd stared, stunned, their gazes shifting between the director and me. Murmurs turned into voices.
“Director? Is that true?”
“You told us the Seoul branch rejected us!”
“Director!”
“Why did you lie to us?”
The director’s face went pale. A pathetic, predictable man. The world ends, and he’s still obsessed with a title. The Infected are at the gates, and he’s blinded by a sliver of power. How exhausting.
I addressed the chaotic crowd. “You can sort this out yourselves.”
They would contact Seoul now, and a safe transport would be arranged. I was no longer needed here, which meant I was free to go. A part of me wanted to leave this very second. The whole situation was nauseating.
I cocked the hammer of the revolver.
“The money.”
I pressed the muzzle against the director’s forehead.
“Hand it over.”
I wasn’t leaving without what I was owed. As if I’d fucking let you get away with this.
