Ch.3Chapter 1. Human Unprotected Zone (2)

The zombies here possess hearing equivalent to an average person, a sense of smell 1.5 times stronger than normal, and average vision.

However, they don’t react to everything they hear. They’re indifferent to the ordinary noises made by other zombies. Instead, they respond intensely to sounds that anyone would find unusual—gunshots, screams, or the sound of helicopters flying overhead.

The most important thing to avoid is giving off the scent of blood. When it comes to blood, they go absolutely crazy and charge at it. Zombies are always hungry fiends, after all.

So the smell of blood wafting from a house with doors blown off and windows shattered is practically like free food service.

Just like now, when all the neighborhood zombies are swarming in.

I need to hurry.

I take a step forward. If my shoes get soaked in blood, it’s over. Maybe because I’m conscious of it, the creaking sound of the floorboard beneath my feet seems unnaturally loud.

A dead zombie looks up at me with its split face. Its eyes are rolled back white, and its slightly open mouth resembles the head of an ill-tempered fish. I deliberately avert my gaze and open the wooden cabinet door.

There should at least be some drinks here. One drink. One food item. One weapon. That’s the rule. So I need to find something here. I need to…

“Hah.”

I barely managed to grip the cabinet with what strength remained in my arms. My legs nearly gave out, almost making me fall on my backside.

One automatic pistol. One pistol bullet. A seemingly new mobile phone with charger set. One briefcase. One lighter and an opened pack of cigarettes, plus an unopened pack.

I examined the pistol. It’s an “Alter 22” model, familiar from seeing it so often in games. Of course, I’ve never actually handled one in real life, but with practiced movements, I removed the magazine to check the remaining rounds and inspected the chamber.

Not a single bullet. It’s empty. And the pistol bullet is 9mm. The Alter 22 takes .22 caliber bullets. They’re not compatible. Useless.

The mobile phone is turned off, but I don’t want to turn it on yet. The only thing that seems to work properly is the lighter. It’s similar to a Zippo, filled to the brim with fuel—it doesn’t even make that sloshing sound. When I flick it on, the flame rises quite high.

For now, I only pocket the lighter. I sweep the rest of the odds and ends into my bag. The briefcase is too large to carry anywhere but in my hand. It has a six-digit combination lock and feels quite heavy. No way to know what’s inside.

I’ve never seen anything like this before.

“What now?”

The meager findings are problematic enough, but there’s something even more serious.

The fact that even the starting tutorial has changed like this means this world isn’t the familiar place I knew. Something has been severely twisted and altered, but I don’t know exactly what has changed.

One drink. One food item. One weapon.

The rules have been broken. And only the things beneficial to me have disappeared. The disadvantages remain the same.

That’s unfair.

My churning emotions feel like they’re about to spill over. This can’t be happening. It’s already strange enough to wake up in a place like this, but to find it’s even worse than the world I knew?

My legs are going numb.

I slump down onto a wooden kitchen chair.

BANG.

The zombies finally pour out into the street. They seem to struggle even to hold their heads up.

“Grrrr.”

They’re coming. The sound of gas leaking is distant.

‘So it ends up like this again.’

Someone in my head whispers.

It was like this when I was young, too. Not every household was noisy every day. Not everyone came home drunk and caused trouble. Not everyone found stability after earning money, pretending nothing had happened.

Why am I the only one who’s different? Why? My head goes blank again.

Empty.

Just like when I froze in front of that empty space.

– Teacher, I wish everyone in the world would become fools.

The fools are coming—those who lie on the floor bleeding, thinking only of devouring their neighbors.

– When you become a fool, you only think about what’s right in front of you. You don’t overthink things or worry whether someone will deceive you or not.

Here come those who know nothing but eating, getting angry, and sleeping.

– When you’re hungry, you eat; when you want to cry, you cry; when you want to get angry, you get angry. And when it’s all over, you forget.

I “know” this world is doomed. I also “know” I might die before the complete apocalypse. Dozens of playthroughs are proof of that.

The end of this game is either the world’s destruction or the player’s demise. Only one of the two. I don’t know any other ending.

If I give up everything now, I could avoid the suffering I’ll experience.

The zombies’ footsteps quicken as they approach. The sound of their heavy steps is clear. And they’ve seen me. They’ll devour the corpse first because they’re hungry, but I’ll certainly be next.

I close my eyes. I ask someone who might not listen to me what I should do.

– I wish everyone would become fools.

There’s no response. The stench intensifies. The sound of dragging feet grows louder.

Time slows down.

Something warm touches me.

I look up in surprise. Everything around me remains the same. The zombies are still stumbling toward me, the curtains are fluttering, and the smell is getting worse. The stench of decay and gas threatens to bring back my headache.

And yet, my mind feels at ease.

It’s sunlight. The clouds have parted beyond the window behind me, and sunlight is pouring down on me.

“When has life ever gone the way I wanted it to?”

Looking at the sunlight, anger wells up inside me. Whether at my home or here, the sunlight was equally harsh. Whether at my home or here, I’m in an equally unfair situation.

But there’s a crucial difference.

Here, I can blow everything up.

“Teacher.”

I deliberately mutter as I stand up from the chair. Now that I roughly understand how this world works, I need to check the zombies’ condition.

“I became an adequate adult instead of an excellent one. I didn’t live up to your expectations.”

“Wooooo!”

The zombies moan, drooling. It oddly sounds like jeering, making me angrier.

“When I was young, I thought I was smart enough to understand people. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t understand others, and I couldn’t understand myself. Still, I don’t want to become a fool like them.”

Six zombies cross the threshold one by one. The doorframe creaks as if counting them. I grip the chair backrest firmly.

Just as I’m aware of them, they’re clearly aware of me. Judging by how they bare their teeth and crane their necks toward me, their hostility is considerable.

Yet they keep glancing at their fallen neighbor on the floor. They can no longer control their dripping saliva.

Eventually, they surround the dead zombie. Like diners sitting around a table for a solemn prayer, they kneel one by one and spread their hands shoulder-width apart.

Then, they bury their faces in it.

Crunch, slurp, slurp, crack, crack. They chew flesh with broken and shattered teeth. When they can’t eat thick bones whole, they lick them meticulously like playing a harmonica.

But there’s always a slow one in every group.

“Kihyak, kuhak.”

One smaller than the others, unable to eat much, rolls its eyes. Being able to eat only half a portion is worse than not eating at all, and this one looks that way.

“Want some more?”

Mocking it, I pull the chair. Screech! Another one’s attention turns to me. I open all the gas range knobs. Turn them. The hissing sound is sharp.

“Grrrr!”

Four are still busy eating, while two approach me. I stand pressed against the kitchen wall. I place the chair under the broken window. I throw the briefcase and backpack through the window. I grab the corner of the fluttering curtain.

The hissing sound grows louder. Two zombies stop walking simultaneously. I put one foot on the chair. Four zombies remain engrossed in their meal.

I step on the chair. I climb through the window. They rush toward me. I set fire to the curtain and let it go. The burning curtain, dry as tinder, sends sparks flying in the wind. The startled zombies back away.

I reach out and grab the chair backrest. I wedge it firmly between the broken window frame. As my arm tries to slip through the gap, fire suddenly erupts from the gas range with a “poof!” and I back away in surprise.

LPG gas is heavier than air, so when released, it settles on the floor. With all entrances and windows broken, ventilation is good. But with sparks flying everywhere…

“Aaaah! Aaaaaaah!”

It explodes and spreads. The fire catches on the zombies’ backs. They frantically try to escape the house but can’t.

Because they must eat.

Four are still dining. Even as fire spreads across the floor, even as two zombies flap their arms like birds with fire on their backs, even as the flames climbing the walls melt the gas pipes with a hissing sound…

They continue to consume flesh and chew bones until the very end.

I shoulder the backpack. I hold the bag in my hand. I walk slowly toward the road—a road wide enough for three cars to drive side by side, without even a center line.

The wind blows from my back toward the house. I walk slowly, unhurried. Across the road, I kneel on one knee and cover my ears.

A vibration shakes my body. The shock wave forces its way between my ears. The house has exploded. Black smoke rises. One zombie, completely engulfed in flames, barely makes it out the front door before collapsing.

Even then, it still scratches at the ground, chewing on one last piece of flesh until the flames cover it like a blanket.

“Teacher, they are not human. But I am still human. If I have to choose between being human or not, rather than between being a fool or being smart, I’ll remain human.”

Suddenly, I think of the cigarettes in my backpack.

I’ve never smoked before. I hated the smell from the start. I hated how people stubbornly continued despite being told to quit, despite knowing it was bad for their health. I disliked not just cigarettes themselves but all the fuss they caused.

Yet somehow I found myself lighting one from the opened pack. White background with red corners. The M had been discarded somewhere, so it read Arlboro instead of Marlboro.

I light the end. I take a puff. My mouth feels dry, so I gather saliva and spit. Not a smart move when I don’t have water. I end up throwing the cigarette away.

Still, it had some effect. The rancid burning hair smell seemed to diminish a little.

“I’m hungry,” I mutter, staring at the burning house.