Chapter 4: Prologue

Day 3 of the Zombie Outbreak

After fleeing into the mountains to escape the police, I painfully realized I needed to live in the city.

“…”

I sat blankly in a shabby shelter built from tree branches and banners. The frame was loosely constructed with long branches, wrapped with cut-up fire prevention banners, and covered with dirt and leaves.

In other words, a shelter no ordinary person could survive in for more than a few days.

“The city… No, but for now the mountains are still best.”

I muttered, scratching my head, then quickly wiped the grease from my hand onto the banner spread on the ground.

Even though the current situation was terrible, I had to hold out in the mountains until the zombie apocalypse hit and paralyzed the police.

The situation was bad in many ways.

I couldn’t prepare properly. My status as a fugitive prevented me from building a proper shelter and stockpiling supplies. I had to avoid leaving traces since phone and card records could be tracked by police.

At least I had the supplies I’d risked getting yesterday.

Rustle-

“Let’s have a chocolate bar for breakfast.”

I dug through my duffel bag and unwrapped one of the many chocolates I’d brought. It was sweet. I could feel my mood lifting as the sugar hit my brain.

Crunch crunch, the sound of nuts in the chocolate bar crunching.

I carefully checked what I’d packed.

The supplies I’d risked getting from my apartment after escaping the holding cell yesterday. The duffel bag was stuffed nearly to bursting with clothes, several bottles of water, and chocolate and cereal I’d stockpiled for writing screenplays.

Plus tools like scissors, hammer, kitchen knife.

My appetite suddenly vanished.

“Not nearly enough.”

Really pathetic equipment for surviving a zombie apocalypse.

I suddenly turned to look at the shelter entrance. Moving aside the sunlit tarp revealed a view overlooking the city.

A city packed with concrete buildings.

Eventually I’d have to go back down there.

I drummed my fingers on my knee, reviewing the scenario I’d worked out overnight.

‘Zombie apocalypse. City.’

When logistics stopped, urban resources would gradually dry up, but there were still enough resources for people to survive for years.

Like primitive humans roaming fields hunting beasts, I’d have to roam the city, fighting zombies and gathering food from convenience stores, supermarkets, and other people’s homes. Not just zombies but humans would become survival competitors.

I clenched my fist.

“I need to get fighting equipment first.”

With force, food could be obtained anytime. I needed force to kill both humans and zombies.

Slingshots or crossbows, weapons like machetes or axes, protective gear like helmets and riding suits. Also needed tools to open locked doors. I remembered seeing news about using electric shocks to open electronic locks.

‘Wait.’

I suddenly laughed hollowly. Images of characters straight out of zombie movies came to mind, including one like myself now.

“I’m a marauder.”

Though it felt like criminal thinking no matter how I looked at it, I had no choice. It wasn’t that I was wrong. Everyone would become like this in an apocalypse.

Primitive humans competing for survival in the concrete jungle.

Once I set the character, various scenes came to mind. I wrote the scenario in my head.

How to survive as a marauder in the zombie apocalypse. Dark and grim imaginings endlessly surfaced. Ways to harm people. Inspiration seemed to surge.

I suddenly sighed with regret.

“Ah! If only I’d had ideas like this when writing screenplays!”

Time refused to pass.

I’d brought my old phone without the USIM card, but of course there was no WiFi in the mountains. And nothing else to pass the time with.

Even aimlessly swinging the hammer and kitchen knife out of boredom didn’t help – moments stretched into seeming eternity. The sun seemed nailed in place in the sky.

After hesitating, I slipped out of the shelter.

My joints felt ready to shatter after being cramped in that tiny shelter.

Carefully emerging from the shelter, I let out an exclamation.

“Flowers are blooming.”

Spring approaching. Flowers began blooming all over the mountain. Though human civilization would soon fade, unnamed flowers burst into yellow and white blooms.

Green shoots also poked up through the brown earth and fallen leaves.

I quietly looked down at the shoots.

Could they be edible?

“…No. Better not.”

With no access to hospitals, I couldn’t risk getting sick from eating strange plants. I kicked at the unknown grass or herbs with my toe.

A wistful thought occurred.

‘If I had the skills, the mountains wouldn’t be bad.’

Steep, rough mountain terrain. Perfect for blocking zombies. Good for setting traps too.

But I lacked survival skills. I’d probably starve if I stayed in the mountains. Couldn’t identify edible plants, and mushrooms were completely off limits.

And toilets were an issue. Though the city would be the same once the apocalypse hit…

I returned to the shelter, rubbing my aching stomach.

—

Day 5 of the zombie outbreak.

The water ran out. I’d drunk all the bottled water I’d brought. I stared blankly at the empty plastic bottles. Maybe it was the sunset light in the shelter, but my face reflected in the plastic surface.

Haggard and dirty. Though my nose was numb to it, I probably stank badly too. I’d never gone this long without bathing. My scalp itched, my body felt gross, I was going crazy.

An impulsive thought struck.

‘Should I go down the mountain once?’

There were public restrooms at the trailhead. Just that far…

Rational logic constructed itself in my mind. Reasons I needed to go down.

No water. Humans can’t live without water. An immediate survival issue. Meeting zombies while weak from dehydration would be a huge problem.

“Let’s go.”

So I slowly stood, putting on my mask and pulling down my cap. It was a weekday anyway, and this mountain didn’t get many hikers.

The chocolate bar wrappers I’d scattered around crinkled. I’d spread them out for some warmth at night. Didn’t want shiny wrappers too close to the shelter either.

Grabbing several bottles for tap water and hiding the hammer in my roomy hoodie pocket, I headed down the mountain.

“…”

Going down as the sky turned navy.

With a suspicious expression, I carefully approached the public restroom.

A heavily tinted camper van sat in front, with a yellow cord stretched to the restroom entrance. But the cord was swaying. A human shadow also swayed in the entrance.

My hand automatically went to my hoodie pocket. Gripped the hammer.

‘A zombie?’

I killed my footsteps. Placing my heels down first, approaching slowly.

Then I saw the person.

“Jesus!”

A man in obviously expensive workout clothes. Short in stature, he glared at me while flailing trying to plug a charger into a high outlet near the restroom entrance.

The situation became clear.

Electric car. Electricity thief. An unethical, shameless person trying to charge his electric car from the public restroom outlet.

My hand loosened on the hammer. Whatever this person was doing, I just needed to wash up and fill my water bottles.

But the electricity thief looked at me with contempt and muttered like a curse.

“What’s a homeless person doing here.”

The words didn’t anger me. I was homeless after all. My clothes were covered in leaves and dirt.

Whoosh-

First I filled the water bottles. Beyond the water sound came the electricity thief’s sneering and footsteps heading deeper into the restroom.

Bang, a stall door closed.

I was roughly washing my hands with soap when I heard it.

Sound.

I turned my head. The electricity thief watching a video on his phone.

Squeak-

Turning off the faucet, I listened carefully. Precious news from the outside world. Though the muffled sound was frustrating, I couldn’t miss it.

Incubation period between three to four weeks…. Transmission starts from week one of incubation….

Drone-infected likely over 10,000…. Minimum 100,000 infected during incubation…. Likely many more….

Intensive social distancing….

My body naturally leaned toward the unclear sound. I frowned in concentration.

The electricity thief cursed.

“Ah shit. Stop with this news already. Everyone knows things are bad.”

Sound of roughly tapping the phone. Changed videos maybe, as a different voice came through. An excited voice.

Everyone remembers COVID, right? If you’re buying stocks, buy now! It’s a chance to buy cheap!

I clicked my tongue softly.

The world hadn’t collapsed enough yet, seems. Still talking about stocks. Needed to fall further.

I don’t recommend masks or hand sanitizer. They’ve risen enough already. Not pharmaceutical companies either. You need to change perspective to make money. Go for camping equipment manufacturers. Things like axes!

That’s when it happened. My movement stopped. I slowly turned around. A dark light flashed in my eyes reflected in the mirror.

‘Camping equipment…. If I act now.’

There was a camper van outside. That treasure goblin – no, electricity thief’s outfit had that camping vibe too.

I know this company, really, really secret, I’m only telling you all-

I muffled my footsteps at that voice. Going outside, I approached the camper van. If the door was unlocked, this could go smoothly.

I pulled the handle. The sliding door smoothly opened. My eyes widened.

A treasure vault door had opened.

“…”

I barely held back an exclamation.

The camper van interior brilliantly lit by streetlights. A dining table, sofa-like seats, chairs, microwave, small kitchen.

No, those weren’t important. I crouched and entered.

‘Speed is crucial now.’

Grab only essential items and flee. Petty theft was just right for now.

I quickly looked around. Choosing what to steal.

‘Bags of food. Take those. What camping gear to take? Folding chair? No. Sleeping bag? Take that too. Pot?’

That’s when I saw it. A wood stove? Heater? Whatever it was, something for burning firewood. Next to it, a bundle of firewood.

And a hatchet.

I quickly grabbed the hatchet first. It felt unstable. Like the hammer, not a real weapon. Real human weapons were ranged ones like crossbows or slingshots.

‘No, stop thinking and hurry!’

Just as I reached for the sleeping bag, a roar came from behind.

“You fucking thief!”

I turned slowly. The electricity thief stormed toward me, his face red.

I stepped out of the camper van deliberately. Still holding the hatchet. The electricity thief stopped. His aggressive demeanor vanished, eyes fixed on the hatchet.

I adjusted my grip on the hatchet. Blade toward me, poll outward. The hatchet had a leather sheath – removing it would expose the blade. And that moment of removing the sheath was a vulnerability.

Better to strike with the poll. That alone could hurt someone.

“Uh, that.”

The electricity thief trembled, gripping his phone tightly. I raised the hatchet and spoke.

“Phone. Throw it on the ground.”