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After making the scarecrow, I clearly felt the psychological distance between me and the street people grow. The criminal companions were still around, but the ordinary street folks subtly avoided me.

Something about the greetings became awkward, eyes avoided, and social conversations drastically decreased.

‘They really don’t understand my emotions.’

Feeling the sentiment of a lonely artist, I scratched my head. I had decorated the street quite impressively, yet I was being ignored like this.

This rejection reminded me of the days before the apocalypse, and oddly enough, it made me feel nostalgic.

‘I always got rejected every time I entered a scenario contest.’

In a way, things are better now than back then. At least there were people who liked the street I decorated. I walked to the window and looked out at the street.

The sky at sunset. The shadow of the corpse cross stretching long across the street.

“Hehe.”

“Must be an idiot.”

Two elementary school kids, armed with masks and gloves, were playing pranks in front of a tied-up zombie. The kids who had cried when they first saw the street quickly adapted to the environment and were now tormenting the zombie.

Poke, poke, they jabbed its face with a stick.

The tightly bound zombie groaned, turning its head to avoid the stick, occasionally jerking its body and opening its mouth wide. As if it wanted to kill those annoying kids.

“Kyaaak!”

“Run away!”

Then the kids laughed and ran far away, only to come back and play pranks on the zombie again.

I watched the scene with a warm heart. Kids are pure. Their purity allowed them to adapt well to the world of the apocalypse, and they accepted my scarecrow without prejudice.

‘Is this also a form of art? Fun.’

But a child’s innocence is always suppressed by adults.

“Kids! Mom told you not to go out on the street!”

A strict mom jumped out of the villa, smacking the kids’ backs and dragging them away. The kids just giggled. A peaceful scene in the apocalypse.

Who knows how long it will last.

I sat back down at the computer. I logged onto the internet, which was somehow still running. Many sites kept crashing randomly, but it was still operational.

And the shadow of the apocalypse loomed clearly over the internet. Depressing news, proofs of madness, and doomsday theories.

I filtered out the worthless information and checked various updates.

“Fires… really scary.”

A wildfire that had been spreading for days in a distant neighborhood was finally extinguished. Thanks to the rain.

Firefighting efforts were meaningless. Even though there were still firefighters left nationwide, there was no way to move them and their equipment. The highways and national roads were all blocked.

Someone had filmed the state of the roads with a drone.

Barricades made by survivors, abandoned cars in the middle of the road, the scene of a chain collision on the highway, roads blocked with no one to clear them.

Even if factories producing goods were intact, the veins to transport those goods were clogged.

‘Modern society was really a machine.’

As the gears fell out one by one, society gradually began to stop.

I realized this fact while reading various posts.

Neighborhoods experiencing blackouts due to electrical failures, neighborhoods with water supply issues due to broken water and sewage systems, gas stations running out of fuel…

The infrastructure and resources symbolizing modern society were gradually disappearing.

Perhaps the world we knew had already died, and the corpse of that world was rolling on by inertia.

“Apocalypse…”

Yet, people live on. Human adaptability is terrifying. When the world becomes a corpse, they survive by feeding on it.

Lost in a strange sentiment, I read people’s posts. With the apocalypse quite advanced, people were sharing wisdom on repairs and recycling.

I also borrowed human wisdom. The farming knowledge we lacked the most. Planting seeds and managing them according to manuals, but unsure if we were doing it right.

I contacted someone to supplement that knowledge.

An expert who farmed in the city. A professional farmer who made money from agriculture. A master of indoor farming.

– Selling weed. Weed I grew myself. Quality guaranteed. Price in food.

A criminal growing weed secretly in a building. Using plant growth lights, of course, and even setting up a makeshift greenhouse. I consulted with this expert.

***

The knowledge from the weed dealer, exchanged for my trivial survival tips, was definitely helpful. He generously shared practical know-how, and my amateurish indoor farm started to look decent.

I sorted the randomly mixed pots by seed type and set up simple devices to maintain the right temperature for each seed. Watering became easier too.

The haphazardly placed lights found their proper positions.

Jeondohyeong, who had just finished organizing, wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced at me.

“Where did you get this knowledge? It’s quite detailed.”

“I found a dealer on Messenger who grows and sells weed. I asked him.”

“…Right. That guy is a farmer too.”

Anyway, we don’t need to recruit him. Just getting the knowledge was enough.

I changed the subject. How’s the atmosphere lately? Any signs of someone planning a raid?

“People haven’t been coming around lately. Aren’t they plotting something behind our backs? Forming alliances, preparing weapons, recruiting people here, luring zombies, preparing to set fires, planning to put zombie corpses in the villa’s water tank, or targeting power poles and gas lines—”

“Stop with the horrifying talk. Who would go that far?”

I blinked. Isn’t that the basics for an attack?

I learned from the case of nomads wandering in search of electricity that infrastructure could be attacked. Even I learned from that.

Jeondohyeong sighed deeply and turned away.

“Let’s go to the strategy meeting. Uncle got some information.”

“Really?”

Information. Uncle, who was adapting day by day, had been sharing a bit of food with individual survivors to use them as informants. Seems like it paid off.

We headed to the villa’s meeting room, where Park Yang-gun and Sajihyeok were waiting. Uncle hadn’t arrived yet.

Sajihyeok, fiddling with his phone, nodded his head. His words, which somehow felt sarcastic, followed.

“You’re late. Must’ve been busy.”

“Can’t you speak nicely? You always seem to be mocking me.”

Jeondohyeong, who dislikes scammers, frowned deeply and grumbled. Sajihyeok awkwardly shrugged.

“I was just saying you’ve been working hard…”

He quickly changed the subject. He showed us the screen of his phone.

“Have you seen this? Someone filmed a zombie observation. It’s scary.”

“Zombies are always scary—”

I tried to ignore it, uninterested, but the moment I saw the CCTV footage, my eyes fixed. My mouth dropped open, and goosebumps covered my body.

“Ahhh!”

The zombie opened the glass door. By pulling it. A scream escaped me, and I instinctively stepped back.

Opening a door by pulling it? That was terrifying. Pushing a door is human instinct, and going against that instinct was horrifying.

‘Zombies aren’t human. They’re monsters.’

As I trembled, people looked at me with bewildered eyes.

“…It’s just opening a door. Their learning speed is no joke, but is it really that surprising?”

“Do you have a phobia of CCTV footage?”

“No, no. The door, the door.”

Sajihyeok suddenly rewound the video. To the part where the zombie opened the door.

“Scary, huh?”

Even watching it again sent chills down my spine. I rubbed my goosebump-covered arms. The intelligence to suppress instinct and open a door by pulling it.

The reason for staying in the commercial district with that intelligence…

“They’ve been eating all the packaged food and fridge supplies.”

Most zombies stay in large marts or commercial areas. But these zombies also need to eat to survive. In other words, zombies that have already finished learning are eating the food stored in restaurants or marts.

Then, if the food in those commercial areas runs out…

It’s a wave. The second wave is coming. Zombies that have run out of food, zombies that have learned to some extent, will push into human territory.

Of course, the resources in commercial areas are incomparably larger than in homes, so the wave might be delayed.

Slightly different from me, but Park Yang-gun also seemed to sense the threat. He, who had been dozing off, opened his eyes slightly.

“The world is really dangerous. This means we’ll have to fight each other.”

Zombies crowded in commercial areas. Rather than dealing with all those zombies, it’s better to target homes. Forming groups to pillage weaker groups.

Zombies devour commercial resources, people fight each other, and infrastructure slowly crumbles…

‘I wasn’t wrong after all.’

My prediction at the beginning of the zombie outbreak was correct. A primitive world where hunting, combat, force, and pillaging are essential. Securing a villa house before a mart was a step ahead in adaptation.

Then, shouldn’t we also think about what happens after the city’s lifespan ends?

Around that time, Uncle came in.

“Sorry I’m late. I was cross-verifying some information.”

“What information?”

Everyone looked at Uncle. He plopped down and spoke in a subtle voice.

“It seems like they won’t bother us for a while.”

Is that possible? The desire for food won’t disappear overnight. Unless food falls from the sky.

“Did they attack a mart?”

“No. Soldiers are distributing combat rations.”

“Soldiers?”

I clenched my fist. Hope and anxiety flashed simultaneously. Is the military finally moving? Are they targeting the zombies concentrated in commercial areas now? No, that’s not it. If they were, they wouldn’t be distributing combat rations. They’d be in combat.

Then, could this be a chance to recruit deserters? At least get some real firearms?

Uncle, not fully understanding the situation, shook his head.

“I don’t know the exact details. We’ll have to see for ourselves.”

“I’ll go with you.”

I quickly raised my hand. Military information is essential. How intact are they? How many infected are there? Are there any military bases nearby worth targeting?

A day passed, and we headed to the location where the military was distributing combat rations.

***

Due to the terrible road conditions, the location where the military distributed combat rations changed daily. Places accessible by car. And places far from the zombie-infested commercial streets.

When Uncle, a few from Villa Street, and I finally arrived after a difficult journey, many people had already gathered, forming a long line.

Where and how they survived, countless people were bustling about.

This wasn’t just a supply line. Around the people waiting for combat rations, a market-like atmosphere had formed.

“Cigarettes! Anything! I’ll trade for cola!”

“Any electric technicians here?”

“Anyone with glasses? I’ll adjust them to fit your eyes!”

“Looking for people!”

This is the power of a functioning military. Their mere presence guarantees safety and brings order.

On the flip side, they could also become a terrifying presence.

“Combat rations aren’t urgent, so let’s split up. Get what you need.”

“Alright.”

We also split up.

I slowly walked through the street, observing people. There were so many. Some were promoting their groups. I briefly saw Rider Zero and a firefighter.

“Hello. Take my business card.”

The firefighter stopped me and handed me a card. The card had some strange name like a safety security company? I stared at the firefighter, who awkwardly smiled.

“It’s a company founded by retired firefighters and their families. If you need any heavy work, contact us. Armed with fire axes and fire suits, we can handle zombie cleanups.”

So, not an actual firefighter but a related company?

“…What about active firefighters?”

The firefighter smiled bitterly.

“The remaining ones are still responding to fires. If we don’t put out fires, it’s a big problem. We supplement food through the company. So, if you need anything, please contact us. We also accept donations. The food you give helps maintain the fire station.”

Unlike the police, who were attacked, it seems some humanity remains.

I nodded vaguely and headed to my destination.

Soldiers.

The soldiers controlling this large crowd. Their numbers weren’t small, but they weren’t large either, and their morale and atmosphere weren’t great.

‘…This isn’t the military atmosphere I know.’

I quietly observed the soldiers.

They didn’t seem like soldiers who had endured tough training or emergencies. Instead, they seemed to have gone through something even more horrifying.

 

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