Chapter 1: Prologue

Day 1 of the Zombie Outbreak

Before I killed a zombie, I killed a person.

It had been about three weeks since I’d locked myself in my room. I was focused on a screenplay competition, chasing my dream of becoming a screenwriter.

With the deadline approaching, I’d been sleeping less and hammering away at my keyboard when noise from outside drew me irritably to the window.

My haggard face briefly reflected in the grimy window of the old apartment building before I slid it open, looking down at the shadowy alley below.

A group of uniformed students rushed past.

“Hey! What’s wrong with you? Snap out of it!”

“What are you doing? Pretending to be a zombie?”

I glared silently at the students. They were shouting, laughing, making a complete racket.

‘This noise is driving me crazy.’

I was already stressed from writing the screenplay and lacking sleep. These small disturbances were particularly grating.

But I couldn’t bring myself to yell at them. I’d probably lose if it turned into a fight. Kids these days are scary.

Instead of complaining, I grabbed my coffee cup and watched them from above, slowly sipping as I wondered if this might help with the screenplay.

I happened to be writing a zombie apocalypse story, and these students might provide some inspiration.

“Grrrr.”

One student was staggering around, drooling and flailing their arms. They were gnashing their teeth, trying to grab and bite another student. Saliva dripped heavily from their mouth.

‘Are they playing around? Or is it rabies?’

They looked exactly like a zombie, but I couldn’t believe they actually were one. Who’d believe in zombies these days?

The other students seemed to share my thoughts. They laughed and pushed the sick student around.

“He’s turning into a zombie!”

“…Wait, I think something’s actually wrong with him.”

Some treated it as a joke, others began to realize something was seriously wrong.

I absently fiddled with my coffee cup, thinking.

‘Maybe I should modify the opening scene. Something like this.’

The peaceful moment seemed to stretch on. Students playing, me gathering ideas.

But that peace shattered in an instant.

“Graaaaah!”

Suddenly, the sick student lunged at one who’d been pushing them. They wrapped both arms around the victim’s neck and pulled, tearing into their face with widely opened jaws. The sound of flesh ripping reached me even on the fourth floor, as bright red blood sprayed everywhere.

“Aaaagh!”

Piercing screams filled the air. The students scattered like locusts. Most ran away, though one or two tried to pull the sick student off.

“Are you crazy? Hey! Hey! Someone help grab him!”

“O-okay!”

“B-blood!”

I drummed my fingers on the windowsill before slamming it shut. I’d seen enough.

“Must be rabies.”

At least I’d gotten some good ideas. Better modify the scene before I forget. I quickly sat at my computer and typed frantically.

Then suddenly, my phone started blaring.

Beep-! Beep-! Beep-!

Emergency alerts.

Not just one. Messages from the local government, city hall, and national level came in rapid succession.

I stared blankly at my phone.

[Civil unrest reported. Citizens are advised to…]

[Unidentified virus infection confirmed. Please refrain from going outside, wear masks, wash hands, and follow disease prevention guidelines.]

[Nationwide virus spread. TV and radio…]

My head spun. These weren’t spam. I’d never heard of spam being sent through the emergency alert system.

“TV, TV.”

I turned on the TV with trembling hands to find emergency broadcasts in progress. The announcer was speaking urgently, but I couldn’t process the words. All I could focus on were the videos of people attacking other people.

Infected individuals howling and biting others. The footage was horrifyingly vivid.

“…Real zombies?”

They were real zombies. I remembered the student from earlier. And the student they’d bitten.

The outbreak started here, where I live.

Countless thoughts flashed through my mind. Zombie apocalypse, screenplay, competition, my research, protocols.

I jumped up. This was no time to sit still. I needed to act. To do something appropriate.

“Pot, water, shampoo.”

Wracking my tired brain, I mixed water and shampoo in a large pot and headed out.

While writing my zombie apocalypse screenplay, I had one firm belief:

A mere zombie outbreak couldn’t possibly cause an apocalypse.

Zombies in this day and age? The military would wipe them out. With drones, tanks, fighter jets, biochemical weapons – even regular guns would do the job.

In our modern world of advanced science and technology, simple zombies couldn’t bring down civilization. Not with all our weapons and social systems hardened by COVID.

That belief hadn’t changed even now that the zombie outbreak was actually happening.

‘The government can handle this within two weeks.’

I just needed to protect my home until then. That would be plenty of time for an official response.

Fortunately, I had enough food and water to last two weeks.

I hurried down the old stairwell.

“No elevator anyway. Just need to block the stairs.”

My fourth-floor apartment was in an old building with no elevator, just stairs. If I could block these stairs properly, zombies wouldn’t be able to reach me.

I splashed soapy water on the first-floor stairs, refilled the pot, then the second floor stairs.

‘Zombies are still human. If they keep falling and tumbling down the stairs, they’ll break bones and die.’

And those dead zombies would form a natural barricade, making it harder for others to reach the fourth floor.

The old building’s stairwell filled with the strong scent of shampoo.

Sweating heavily, I covered all the stairs up to the third floor with soapy water. My breath came in gasps from climbing up and down so many times.

“Just two weeks. I can do this.”

I muttered like a mantra. Who knows? Maybe this outbreak would make zombie stories popular and my screenplay would win the competition.

Holding onto that hopeful dream, I filled the pot with more soapy water and was about to pour it on the stairs leading to my fourth floor.

Crash-!

The sound of someone falling and screaming came from below.

“Yeonseo!”

A man’s anguished cry. Standing on the landing, I wondered if it was a zombie and peeked through the railing. And saw:

A person dead on the landing below.

Not a zombie, but a person.

I stared wide-eyed at the scene below. My body went rigid.

“Yeonseo! Yeonseo!”

The young couple from the third floor had fallen. The woman I occasionally greeted had somehow fallen wrong and broken her neck. The man was slapping her cheeks repeatedly when he looked around with bloodshot eyes.

Our eyes met through the narrow railing.

His gaze shifted to the pot in my hands. I looked down at it too.

A pot full of soapy water, bubbling with shampoo added for extra slipperiness. Clear evidence of my guilt.

“Uh…”

A drop of water from the pot fell onto his face. He opened his mouth.

“You! You did this! You killed Yeonseo!”

“I…?”

My mind went blank. The image of my neighbor’s corpse with its broken neck burned into my retinas. My hands trembled violently. Murder? Me? Soapy water overflowed, chilling my hands. It felt like my body heat was draining away.

‘I’m a murderer? What about the screenplay competition? My screenplay. What happens to me now? Prison?’

Dizzying vertigo hit me. Even seeing zombies hadn’t affected me like this. It felt like my world was crumbling.

But I had no time to despair. The world wouldn’t allow that luxury.

The man gripped the railing, grinding his teeth. Though slipping, he climbed up like a beast, clinging to the rails. Veins bulged on his clenched fists.

His mouth opened wide as he roared.

“You! Because of you, Yeonseo-!”

His voice thundered through the stairwell. Time seemed to slow. I saw everything in slow motion – his contorted face, flying spittle, dynamic movements, fist drawn far back.

I didn’t think. My body just moved.

Whoosh-!

I threw the pot full of soapy water. It flew through the air, spraying soap suds, and struck his head.

Clang!

“Agh!”

The man squeezed his eyes shut as soapy water drenched him. He lost his balance. Tumbling backward, he crashed down the stairs. Hitting the railing, cracking his head on the corner of a step, his neck snapping under his own weight.

Then he was dead too. Or would be soon. He let out a strange gasp, his hands reaching toward the ceiling like playing piano keys. A fatal injury.

“…”

It felt dreamlike. None of this seemed real. I collapsed, strength leaving my body. The sweet smell of shampoo mixed with the stark reality of death. Soap bubbles flowed and popped.

Suddenly everything felt very real.

“I’m finished…”

Murder. Not zombies, but killing people. A crime. I hadn’t lived particularly well, but I’d been chasing my dream of becoming a screenwriter. Now that life was over.

My hands shook uncontrollably. My whole body convulsed. The sound of my chattering teeth hammered my eardrums.

‘What do I do? Turn myself in? No, no. It’s a zombie apocalypse.’

The anxiety suddenly stopped. A screenplay rapidly unfolded in my mind.

‘1. Act innocent. They’ll be busy with zombies.’

Zombies had appeared. Law enforcement and administration would be paralyzed. No, that’s wrong. The zombie situation would be contained. Eventually they’d investigate and catch me.

‘2. Confess.’

Try for a lighter sentence through confession? No, that won’t work either. I killed not one but two people. And the man’s death was practically intentional murder.

I tapped my knee, continuing to write the scenario in my head. Topics: zombie apocalypse, murder, perfect crime. Suddenly my finger stopped. A strange thought occurred.

I rolled my eyes toward the corpses. A quiet murmur escaped my lips.

“Option 3. Zombies.”

If I infected that man and the dead woman below with the zombie virus… at least I wouldn’t be suspected of murder.

This old building didn’t have CCTV anyway.

But as always, reality wasn’t so accommodating.

Click-!

A door opened behind me. I quickly turned around. I couldn’t be caught at the crime scene.

My next-door neighbor, a college student from what I could tell, cautiously poked her head out, phone in hand. With only two apartments per floor, the central stairwell was visible as soon as you opened your door. Our eyes met.

“M-m-murder!”

The college student screamed when she saw the man’s corpse. She quickly raised her phone, clearly about to call 112.

I jumped up, grabbed the railing and rushed up the stairs. I tried to sound as friendly as possible.

“Wait! This isn’t what you think, absolutely not!”

“Kyaaaa!”

She looked at me with terror-filled eyes. Then slam, she shut her door. I reached it a half-beat too late.

Bang bang bang, I pounded on the door until it seemed ready to break, shouting until my throat was raw.

“That was a zombie! We neighbors need to stick together in times like this! How much food do you have? Hey! Open the door! Open up! The police are probably too busy to answer calls anyway!”

Words spilled out without thought. Too late, I heard click-click-click as she engaged multiple locks, not just the electronic one.

I slammed the door one last time then leaned my head against it. The cold entrance temperature touched my cheek as I heard her sobbing voice inside.

“Police? There’s a murderer outside my door! Please hurry!”

Seems she got through to the police. One word floated through my mind.

Finished.

I was really finished.

Click, handcuffs closed around my wrists. My face reflected in the shiny metal. Greasy hair unwashed for days. A mask hiding my unkempt beard. Hollow eyes.

A well-built detective sighed and spoke.

“I’ll read you your Miranda rights. You’re under arrest for murder. You have the right to an attorney, and-“

I couldn’t hear his voice. I went limp like someone falling through a collapsed floor, and two detectives carefully helped me down the stairs, supporting me from both sides.

The detective in front almost slipped and grumbled.

“Why would anyone spread this stuff on stairs people use?”

“Zombies, zombies.”

I mumbled weakly, and the detective holding me clicked his tongue and roughly pulled me along.

“What zombies? They’re just virus-infected patients. Killing them is still murder, idiot.”

He was right. Because the world was still functioning normally.

Leaving the building, I saw an ambulance that had just arrived and the student zombie being strapped to a stretcher. The zombie student thrashed against the ropes binding them, paramedics treating the student with the torn face. And two corpses being cleaned up.

I hung my head.

Day 1 of the zombie outbreak.

I, Kim Da-in, aspiring screenwriter, killed people before zombies did, society continued functioning normally, and I, a murderer, was locked in a holding cell.