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Two police friends came by at dawn a few days later. They said they couldn’t figure out the zombies’ patterns lately, so they seized the opportunity to visit.

“It’s really our handgun.”

The police friends, who had been robbing people on the streets, came into my house and examined the handgun I handed over with an unreadable look in their eyes.

I smiled innocently as I packed a small amount of rice into a plastic bag.

“I was really shocked. They suddenly pointed a gun at me and threatened me to open the mask box.”

I’m the victim here. Those ruthless thugs used us as mine sweepers. It was so terrifying that my hands were trembling.

“They threatened that the masks were bombs, kicked us out, and even dropped a ladder from the rooftop to kill us. We almost didn’t make it.”

“Hold on. Let me check the serial number first.”

Police Friend 1 plopped down and tapped on his phone. He carefully checked the serial number engraved on the handgun several times, sent a message, and then nodded.

“I wondered where it leaked from, but it turns out it belonged to a senior who passed away after visiting the school.”

I blinked.

They’re managing firearms this meticulously during the apocalypse? Recording and cross-referencing serial numbers and people? Isn’t this a bit excessive in such a chaotic world?

Police Friend 2 sighed heavily as he looked around my room.

“Thanks for returning it.”

“Really, thank you. You’re actually the first person to return a firearm.”

What can I say? It was a voice filled with emotion, as if they had seen a shred of conscience left in this harsh world. I quickly played the good guy and waved my hands.

“It’s dangerous if firearms get into the wrong hands. It’s better if the police manage them like this.”

At that, the police friends exchanged glances. They had ambiguous expressions, as if they wanted to say something but hesitated. They scratched their heads.

Then, they reached out and handed the handgun back to me.

“Take it. Keep it.”

“Huh? The handgun?”

What’s this? Are they setting me up to kill me later? Are they going to use the fact that I have a handgun as an excuse to kill me?

When I didn’t take the handgun and just stood there, the police friend placed it on the floor.

“We haven’t officially announced it yet, but we’re planning to sell handguns soon.”

“Sell handguns? Why?”

I was baffled and looked down at the police friends. I couldn’t understand why they, who were so dedicated to firearm management, were doing this. Were resources really that scarce? But if so, couldn’t they just pillage?

“We have too many police members, and resources are running low. If we don’t start selling weapons, we won’t make it through the summer.”

“But won’t that make the police more dangerous?”

Police Friend 1 grinned. He tapped the police vest he was wearing.

“Instead, we’re planning to limit bulletproof vests. We’ll control the number of firearms and ammunition released. Most importantly, we’re planning to arm ourselves with stronger weapons.”

“Are you talking about the armory…?”

“Yes. Reserve firearms, shotguns, and the ammunition we’ve been storing together. We’ll have enough to last for a while.”

In that case, selling handguns wouldn’t be a problem.

The police’s bulletproof vests can stop handguns. And if they arm themselves with more powerful weapons, pillagers with handguns would be a joke.

Moreover, it would give them a pretext to pillage firearms at will.

Perhaps because we had talked enough, the police friends sat down comfortably and continued to chat.

They asked if I got hurt dealing with those robbers, said they’d inform the Electric Nomad that the criminals had been caught, and lamented how the world was getting harder to live in…

I naturally engaged in the conversation and gathered information.

“Do Electric Nomads make improvised explosives?”

“Yes. According to some seniors, homemade bombs aren’t that hard to make.”

Changes in groups like the Electric Nomads and others.

The Delivery Vigilante Group has stockpiled fuel mixed with stabilizers, the Tower of Life, where doctors and pharmacists gather, focuses on medical services and poisons, and even zombies can’t be ignored…

“No matter how many guns we have, there are too many people we can’t mess with.”

After chatting for a while, the police friends got up as the sun rose.

“We’ll head back now.”

“Take this with you.”

I handed them a plastic bag of rice, and though they initially refused, they eventually accepted the gift.

“It seems like you don’t have much left… We’ll make good use of this.”

“I gave you the handgun. This is just a token of my gratitude.”

“Well, then. We’ll come by to see you when we have time.”

As they walked a few steps past the doorway, one of the police friends suddenly turned back and casually said,

“I think we might have some good news for you soon. News that will bring hope to a good citizen like you.”

And with that, the brief encounter ended.

I was left alone in my room, fiddling with a mask. I didn’t know what the police friend meant by his last words. It just didn’t feel like it would be good for me.

‘Good news for a good person? That’s bad news for me.’

***

The nature of the “good news” became clear a few days later. Jeondohyeong, who had gone to visit the Hope Community, came back all excited and gathered all the companions.

“I have good news!”

We all stared blankly at Jeondohyeong, who was jumping up and down alone. Sajihyeok let out a snort and shook his head.

“Where did you hear another weird rumor? Aren’t you too gullible?”

It’s a time when rumors spread like wildfire.

There are rumors that the government has created a safe quarantine city and evacuated only important people, that the COVID vaccine was actually the zombie virus, that the virus has mutated, that self-test kits are lies, that the military is coming to kill everyone…

The negative rumors alone were overwhelming, and there were even more rumors trying to force hope.

That a cure has already been developed, that rescue is coming soon, that someone has returned after defeating the I-virus, that there’s a vaccine somewhere in Immortal Company, etc.

I thought Jeondohyeong had fallen for one of those false rumors, but he thumped his chest in frustration.

“This is real! It’s news I heard from an elder at the Hope Community!”

“What news?”

Park Yang-gun asked bluntly. I was also curious. Could the good news the police friend mentioned be related to the news from the Hope Community?

Indeed, it was.

“They said if things continue like this, everyone will die. The survivor groups are discussing forming an alliance to create a survivor zone.”

“…”

I kept my mouth shut.

So this was it. What I had been wary of was finally happening. The fragmented survivors were coming together to form a massive group.

I muttered to myself without realizing it.

“This is dangerous…”

Electricity experts, doctors, pharmacists, metalworkers, archers, police, firefighters, riders.

If these people joined forces, the synergy would be beyond imagination.

Electricity experts would supply power, operate factory farms, doctors would treat, police would open armories to supplement firepower…

And that’s not all. A safe, large group would attract people on its own. The alliance might even grow to the point of dominating the city.

Perhaps imagining a similar future, the companions started showing interest in Jeondohyeong one by one.

“Is that possible? Where and how?”

“It’s hard to tell if it’s a scam or not. Do you have any concrete information?”

Jeondohyeong scratched his cheek over his mask, calming his excitement.

“They’re just talking for now. They’re discussing where to create the survivor zone, how to supply food, how many people to accept, how to operate the zone… There’s a lot of talk.”

Of course. There are too many issues. Too many groups with voices. There will be a lot of friction.

But no matter how many problems and conflicts there are, it will happen.

Because the world is almost wild. Because it’s human instinct to want more heads and a safer place.

I spoke up.

“First, Jeondohyeong. You keep visiting the Hope Community and listen carefully to how things are progressing.”

“Okay. But what will we do if the survivor zone is created? Will we join?”

“That…”

The companions looked at me. I couldn’t bring myself to speak. No clear thoughts came to mind.

‘I don’t see a way to cause trouble like with the Hope Church. Should we join the survivor zone? Or just watch from the sidelines?’

I really don’t know. I furrowed my brows and let my hands hang limply.

“Let’s wait and see. They’re just discussing it, right? We’ll talk again when things get more concrete.”

We’ll have to respond based on the situation.

And so, everyone went back to their homes. I sat at my desk, idly tapping the keyboard. Words formed and disappeared in my mind.

‘Should I join the alliance and the survivor zone, or not?’

It feels like standing at a crossroads. The world as it was before flashed before my eyes.

On the first day of the zombie outbreak, I accidentally killed someone and fell off a cliff. Maybe this is a chance to climb back up that cliff.

Instead of living by deceiving and killing people, maybe I could live as a proper member of society.

I suddenly remembered the look in my eyes when I last cut my hair. They were more alive than ever.

“Right…”

A realization flashed through me. How you die is less important than how long you live, and even more important than that is how you live.

Living like an ant, working and eating rationed food, isn’t fun. It’s more fulfilling to live as a pillager, even if it’s dangerous.

I tentatively reached a conclusion.

I won’t join the alliance. I’ll live as a pillager outside the survivor zone. I won’t bother with ambiguous survival and future preparations like I do now.

A purpose has emerged in my life, which had been adrift in the disaster caused by the Chairman. A laugh escaped my lips.

 

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