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The police officer leader wrapped up his speech by planting seeds in the hearts of the apartment residents.

“Yes, there will be a modest reward for those who report helpful information in the future, so keep that in mind.”

It seemed like the police had their own way of running things, using informants and tactics like rewards, voluntary reporting, and encouraging internal whistleblowing.

“…”

“…”

The apartment residents rolled their eyes busily. Some coveted the whistleblower’s food, while the whistleblower clenched their weapon, frozen in front of the reward. Others were already looking for another way out.

A woman holding a baby approached the evangelical elder, tears streaming down her face. The police officers, seeing the baby, subtly turned their heads and made way.

“Is this the Hope Church? Can you take us in? Just the baby, please—”

“…I’m sorry.”

The evangelical elder avoided eye contact and refused weakly but firmly.

“Villa Street, right? Please.”

The baby’s mother now reached out to me.

It was a crisis. Sirens seemed to blare in my head. An unnecessary burden. But it was a baby. I looked at the baby as if it were a bomb. Scarier than any zombie or robber.

Still, turning away a crying baby and mother would make me look worse than a beast.

Luckily, a model answer was right beside me. I quickly mimicked the elder’s response.

Looking down, I spoke weakly.

“I’m sorry. We can’t…”

“Ah…”

The outstretched hand dropped. The sleeping baby and the young mother holding it trudged away.

Did I pull it off? It must have looked strange. If I crossed some invisible line that people shared, even my pillager companions would reject me. From that moment on, I wouldn’t even be a pillager. Just a lunatic.

Luckily, the people just silently wore dark expressions. It was just the suffocating feeling of the situation, or maybe the world itself.

As I let out a sigh of relief, the elder gave a bitter smile, interpreting my sigh in his own way.

“It’s a sad situation. If the pastor were here, he would have taken them all in. He had the ability to do so.”

The pastor, who had become a symbol rather than a person through his death. I also thought of him.

‘Well, if it were him…’

He might have truly become hope. Even in an apocalyptic city, he gathered people, absorbed various groups, and used the characteristics of religion to maintain order. He had the ability to swallow the city whole.

That’s why he was killed.

The elder shook his head.

“We’re not the pastor. Just maintaining one community is hard enough.”

“Yeah… I miss the pastor for no reason.”

I blankly looked up at the top of the high-rise apartment, then changed the subject. It was time to head back. It would take a while to move all those resources.

“Let’s meet again next time. If you need help, contact the police station.”

“Deacon Kwon, be careful on your way back.”

“Let’s all stay alive.”

With that, the neighbors who had finished their harvest parted ways with smiles. No one looked back at the apartment residents left behind. The world was too harsh to care about others.

***

The harvest from the apartment was divided fairly. Sajihyeok, who used his dangerous rhetoric, and Park Yang-gun, who worked hard opening doors, received more, while others got their share based on their contributions.

After that, peaceful times flowed.

A monotonous and boring routine. A rural-like daily life focused on farming.

I diligently cut plastic bottles. The cut bottles were passed on, someone else filled them with soil from stolen planters, and another person planted seeds.

Endless labor. Farming that went on all day.

The minimum rule was that you had to work to survive, so everyone, including me and the street people, worked.

Grandfathers, grandmothers, aunts, uncles, young men and women, and even kids who should be in elementary school all gathered in the villa, working hard. They played trot music loudly, creating a warm atmosphere.

“Hey, dummy. Don’t mess up again. I told you not to.”

“Haha. I just can’t get used to it.”

“You talk well.”

“Talking is my specialty.”

Sajihyeok, completely melted into the group, laughed while clumsily working.

“So, how’s your love life? How far have you gone?”

“Ah, really. Why are you asking that?”

Jeondohyeong was being pestered by the fussy aunts.

“…”

I kept a straight face and worked like a machine. No one talked to me. I wasn’t the type to start conversations either. Still, I couldn’t understand these human relationships.

I didn’t get it. Didn’t I fit in well enough? I even stepped up for annoying confirmations. Yet, Sajihyeok, who arrived late, fit in better.

‘Something feels off. Is it because there are too many people? I want to reduce them.’

The villa felt cramped with too many people. If someone suddenly turned into a zombie, it would be a hassle.

Then it happened.

Bang bang, someone knocked on the door. The voices quieted down, and the music stopped. Everyone turned their heads to stare at the front door. A scream was heard from beyond the door.

“Gah!”

“It’s a zombie. Just leave it. It’ll go back on its own when it gets tired.”

The people turned the music back on and resumed their work as usual. The front door was invincible.

Occasionally, a wandering zombie would hear the commotion and come to the front door, but if you didn’t open it, it would just tire itself out and leave. Compared to humans who could force their way in, zombies weren’t much of a threat.

But I quickly got up. I was feeling suffocated anyway, so I needed to do something else.

I grabbed a hammer and an awl.

“I’ll go chase it away.”

“Really?”

“We need to move the planters soon anyway. It’s better to clean up now.”

No objections.

I went straight to the front door, only unlocking the safety latch before opening it. A narrow gap. The zombie, as if waiting, shoved its hand and face through.

“Gah—”

“Uh, die.”

I smashed its hand with the hammer and stabbed its eye with the awl. It wasn’t enough. The zombie kept shaking the door, screeching. The door rattled unsettlingly.

I swung the hammer again. The zombie’s fingers twisted.

“Gah!”

Finally, it seemed to learn and ran away without looking back. It must have decided this wasn’t worth it. I felt a bit disappointed. Like I didn’t finish the job properly.

‘I feel like chasing the zombie and beating it up, but that’s not it. People who chase zombies are weird.’

After disinfecting the weapons, I pointed at the stacked planters.

“I’ll move these now.”

“Ah, sure. Good job chasing the zombie.”

***

There’s a reason the farming never ends. Carrying a box of planters, I headed to another house. The house filled with hope on Villa Street. The hope that you could survive long even in the city.

“The planters are here.”

Clunk, the door opened, and a proud uncle and a few others greeted me.

“Perfect timing. It’s almost done.”

He pointed to a large room, showing it off.

The room was stripped of furniture. Instead, shelves lined the walls like a library. Our indoor greenhouse.

The uncle, looking at the recycled plastic bottle planters as if they were treasures, tapped the installed LED lights.

“With these, we can farm properly. Good job bringing them.”

“I brought them because they seemed useful.”

Resources taken from the apartment. Not just food, but anything valuable was stripped, including purple lights.

Plant lights? Grow lights? Lights that emit light suitable for photosynthesis. There were a few in some houses, so I took them. Well, any light would do, so I took all the lights I could find.

Smart farms? Factory farming? Anyway, I thought we could mimic it. Turning all the empty houses on Villa Street into farms.

Of course, the government might fail to maintain infrastructure or an accident might cut the power, but we could just steal a house with solar panels and move them.

We diligently placed the planters on the shelves.

“They’ll grow well, right?”

“They better. Honestly, if this works out, we’ll have less to worry about food.”

I looked at the planters worriedly. The first planter I made had rotted and died. It’s still rotting by my window.

Then, Park Yang-gun, who was working here, licked his lips. Not because of the soil, but because of another thought.

“It’d be great if we could raise chickens. Getting eggs regularly would be nice. Can’t get them, right?”

Eggs. It’s been so long since I’ve had any. Suddenly, golden images flowed through my mind. Steamed eggs, rolled omelets, egg fried rice, sunny-side-up eggs.

It wasn’t just me. Everyone seemed to have similar thoughts, as swallowing sounds followed.

“Ah… Should we ask the Delivery Vigilante Group?”

“Probably not. To get real chickens, we’d have to leave the city. …Is it worth the risk for chickens? Maybe we should?”

It’s not just about eggs. If we raise them well, we could get chicken meat, chicken broth…

Even I was tempted. Then it hit me.

If we become self-sufficient, wouldn’t we not need to pillage? Couldn’t we just move to the final form of pillaging like the pastor? Turn the entire city into farms and make everyone farm slaves…

The scene before me was filled with such hope.

The life of an agricultural era recreated in the city. A post-apocalyptic life recycling the remnants of civilization.

 

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