Chapter 23

20. Injection

Who would ever like zombies?

There are.

Scientists.

While monsters cannot be captured alive in any way and do not leave corpses, making human analysis and research impossible, zombies leave corpses.

At this point, when the world has collapsed by half, no one would question whether you hack or shoot zombies, but surprisingly, there were people who worried about zombie rights at the beginning of the apocalypse.

To be sure, it might not have been the zombies themselves they were worried about, but rather their own future as potential zombies.

The experimental subject in the most cited research paper by Professor J. Catterall, which studied how the mutation factor affects the brains of dead humans, was a former zombie rights activist.

In my case, zombies are,

Annoying.

Especially when I meet them when I'm tired like this, I really feel like closing my eyes like my fallen comrades.

"Rrrrrr!!"

Annoying.

But the reason I fiercely swing my axe and push them back is not because I'm afraid of dying, but because I have too much to lose.

I'd rather see the world's end than see some other creature settle in my bunker, which is my own sanctuary built with my blood and sweat.

With this mindset, I stubbornly pushed back the zombie horde and reached a safe zone.

"......Phew."

I took a deep breath and checked my wounds.

There's a rumor that if you get bitten by a zombie, you turn into one, but it's a myth.

The mutation factor that causes zombies only affects the brains of dead humans.

The academic consensus is that if it penetrates the highly functional human brain, it will die out like the monsters that invaded Earth.

Some argue that the occasional appearance of zombies in areas without necromancers is a counterexample, but it's not that they've contracted the zombie disease; rather, the mutation factor was embedded somewhere in their body and, upon death, caused a mutation in the dead brain, turning them into zombies.

Still, there's always a chance.

After thoroughly checking and moving every part of my body from head to toe, I found no injuries.

My cargo bike, my means of transportation, was also intact.

The Defender siblings' gift was unharmed as well.

I peeled a chocolate bar and put it in my mouth to replenish calories and energy.

"......Ha."

They say that going out is hard, but I thought that in the long run, it might be better for my mental health than staying cooped up at home.

But that was before I checked the community.

Before I learned about the Defender siblings' atrocity on the bulletin board, it was a naive thought.

Unaware of the miserable future that awaited me, I felt the sugar from the chocolate spread pleasantly through my tired body and mind as I gazed at the mountains and terrain rising in the dim light, assessing the surroundings.

I had a rough idea of my location.

It was a place I had seen and memorized many times.

However, something unexpected happened.

A light turned on in an abandoned apartment.

It was where an old woman who used to feed cats lived alone.

Since her death, no one should have been living there.

Was there a new resident?

The apartment was about 6 kilometers away in a straight line, not too far from my territory.

However, it was blocked by a low mountain and a stream, and the road was a winding side street, not a major route, so the actual distance was quite far without a vehicle to cross the rough terrain.

It had no particular strategic value, but the fact that someone had entered my territory piqued my interest.

*

If asked what moves people, most would choose food, but in my case, it's curiosity.

I'm not lazy, but the way I move when I feel curious and when I don't is like two different people.

The biggest difference is in action.

I went straight to the abandoned apartment instead of returning home, largely due to my incurable curiosity.

<22nd Pioneer Corps, 218th Pioneer Team>

A flag indicating their affiliation was fluttering at the entrance to the apartment.

As expected, they were pioneers.

I checked the remaining ammunition.

I had plenty of pistol rounds but not many rifle rounds.

My condition was not at its best.

I hadn't recovered from the fatigue of long-term movement and combat.

That means there's a possibility that my body might not move as I wish in a critical moment.

I usually avoid combat, but I mentioned it this time because of my prejudice against the pioneers.

The red-pants gang is particularly vicious, but my experience with the Chongmyeong gang in the past revealed their true nature.

Legally sanctioned plunderers recognized by the state.

Perhaps that legitimacy gave them the license to be excessively unreasonable and cruel.

It's not directly related to my territory, but the presence of pioneers nearby is a concern.

I approached the apartment to do a light reconnaissance.

"!"

Something was there.

In the darkness.

Was it because of fatigue that my senses had dulled?

I couldn't even hear breathing.

I glared into the darkness, scolding myself.

A person, or something similar, was sitting motionless.

On closer inspection, it was an old woman.

An old woman, nearly eighty, sat on a cold rock like an old industrial product, glaring at me.

"Grandma?"

The old woman said nothing and showed no intention of speaking.

When I called to her, she only smacked her nearly toothless mouth and continued to stare at me meaninglessly.

A sudden shout erupted from above.

"Hey, you bastard! Hey! Hey! You damn bastard!"

"What? What? What? What the hell, you son of a bitch!"

It was the apartment.

The sound of a quarrel came from the open corridor of the corridor-style apartment.

Under the pale light, two old men were grabbing each other's collars and arguing.

A shameful scene, the kind you might see in a subway or a square where old people gather, was unfolding in the ruins of the apocalypse.

I entered the apartment, knowing I wouldn't get an answer from the old woman.

The fight was happening on the third floor.

Two old men were grabbing each other's collars between two open apartments, and other old people were watching, crossing their arms or tsking.

There were about ten people, and from the sounds heard on other floors as I climbed, I assumed quite a few people were living here.

However, they were all old.

There wasn't a single young person among those gathered.

No one had a gun, and it didn't seem like anyone was going to fight, so I boldly revealed myself.

When I appeared, the old people's gazes turned to me.

Even the old men who were fighting let go of each other's collars and looked at me.

A sudden silence fell over the apartment corridor.

I was thinking about what to ask first when an old man approached me.

"I'm sorry. They're making a lot of noise."

One of the old men who had been fighting.

I can't read faces, but I thought he must have been quite cunning when he was young.

"Are you from the pioneer corps?"

He neither confirmed nor denied it.

He tried to shake my hand, but I waved him off, clearly expressing my refusal.

The old man awkwardly fidgeted with his fingers and continued.

"No, listen to me. The pioneer corps that came before assigned apartments, but this guy says his room is cold, the heating doesn't work, and he's taken someone else's room and is acting like the owner."

An old man standing behind him burst out in anger and raised his voice.

"What do you mean? 302 is my room. I drew it in a lottery! Look! Young man! This guy is lying! Lying through his teeth!"

It seemed they thought I was with the people who brought them here.

I wasn't wearing a uniform, but I had on similar pants and carried a gun, and most importantly, I was young.

There's a saying that youth is a privilege, and here it was indeed so, even connecting to a kind of power.

"I'm from somewhere else. It's not my jurisdiction."

I made up an excuse and looked around the old people.

"What are you doing here?"

I had a rough idea.

It was a problem that didn't require much thought.

"What do you mean, what? Damn it. We came because the country sent us. We came because the damn Republic of Korea sent us. The country is falling apart because the stupid citizens elected the wrong politicians."

An old man standing behind him cursed and said.

"When is the next ration? My stomach is sticking to my back. They said they'd give us rice, but they only give us trashy nutrition bars. I can't eat that anymore."

It seemed the old man was the type to start fights.

Even in the short time we spoke, his aggressive nature was evident.

If our Mr. Kim had been here, it might not have been like this.

Seeing the face of the grumbling old man, I was reminded of the hanged corpse.

"That's not my jurisdiction."

"Damn it. Then why are you here? Are you just here to play around?"

"What?"

"If you're not going to give us food, get lost, kid!"

"Hey."

I turned to the old man.

I glared at him and said clearly.

"Watch your mouth."

When our eyes met, the old man shuddered as if electrocuted, averted his gaze, and fled into an open room.

The old man who had been wrestling with him chuckled and followed.

"Hey, that's my apartment!"

The sound of another scuffle and bickering came, but it only added to my fatigue.

"......Phew."

Feeling no need to stay, I headed for the stairs.

An old man followed me.

He wore a cheap vest over a dirty shirt, and the vest had a shiny badge.

I wondered if he was in charge and examined the badge.

<Playground Security Officer>

"?"

The old man tried to shake my hand.

Why are there so many people here who like to shake hands?

I pushed his hand away with a bit of irritation and looked down at him.

"What?"

"Look, young man."

"Yes."

"I, when I was young."

At that point, I considered interrupting the old man.

The content that would follow was too predictable.

"I worked for the country all my life. I devoted my youth to the development of the Republic of Korea day and night. I never evaded taxes, never speculated, and lived quietly. What's going on? Why are you sending me to a place like this?"

"I don't know."

"I paid so much into the National Pension, but I never got a penny."

"Same here."

"Tell the commander. We may be old, but we don't deserve to be treated like this."

"I'll pass it on if I meet him."

The old man bowed repeatedly, expressing his gratitude.

While he was doing so, an old woman had come up to me and was staring at me.

I apologized in advance.

"I'm sorry, but I'm busy."

"No, I have something for you."

The old woman handed me something.

It was a hardened mix of dog food and unidentified meat, something I couldn't eat.

"I'll take the thought."

"Take it."

The old woman suddenly spoke in a commanding tone.

"Take it!"

When I reluctantly took it, as expected, there was a contact number and a request to make a call written on the back of the dog food bar.

Why do these people do this?

It might be presumptuous for a young person to judge the elderly, but the old people here were strange.

I felt more exhausted after dealing with them than with a horde of zombies.

As I left the apartment, I noticed the old woman who had been sitting alone.

The image of the old woman who used to guard the entrance of the International Residence flashed before my eyes.

Since I didn't need it, I approached her and offered the nutrition bar.

"Here, take this."

Finally, the old woman moved like a living person.

Her hand, which had been in her pocket, was holding a rosary.

"Thank you. Thank you. Namu Amitabha. Namu Amitabha."

"Why are you here alone?"

"Because I didn't get the injection."

"What?"

"Because I didn't get the injection, they didn't let me in."

The old woman put the cockroach-colored food in her mouth and chewed.

"What injection?"

"The zombie injection."

"The zombie injection?"

"There's an injection that prevents you from turning into a zombie when you get bitten."

Such a thing doesn't exist.

If you don't want to turn into a zombie after death, you need to wash. You need to clean your clothes to remove the mutation factor.

"How did you get here? Did you walk?"

"I came by car. They gave me a ride on a bus. The driver and the commander saw this apartment and suddenly dropped me off here."

"I see."

It was as expected.

I had no time to feel anything, so I turned to leave.

"......That injection kills you."

The old woman muttered from behind.

"It's poison. Your hair falls out, and you die with water pouring out of every orifice. At the place I was before, everyone but me died......"

Perhaps because she had gained nutrients or because her emotions were stirred, the old woman, unlike before, swayed her body back and forth and chanted.

"Namu Amitabha, Namu Amitabha."

*

I returned to the apartment a week later.

The apartment, which had been filled with vulgar curses, was now immersed in a peaceful silence.

I found new tire tracks on the road covered with dirt and dust.

The flag that had been fluttering was gone, and the old woman who had been guarding the entrance was, of course, not there.

There was a large pit at the back, and a smoky smell lingered.

This pit seemed to be the source of the black smoke that had brought me back here.

On closer inspection, charred wood and white ash were mixed together, and occasionally, burned bones could be seen.

They were human skulls.

I sensed movement behind me.

A zombie was standing unsteadily.

In its hand was a rosary. It was the old woman who had been sitting in front of the apartment, chanting.

A bullet hole, along with dried blood, was on her forehead.

The sight was so tragic, and the thought of having to lay this body down again made me say something I didn't really mean.

"......You should have just gotten the injection."

The old man who had wandered off joined the other old men.

I set fire to the paper with the contact number the old man had given me and threw it onto the old woman's body.

Coincidentally, the fire spread to the old rosary the old man was tightly holding.

"Namu Amitabha."

I wished for her peace in the way she would have and climbed the stairs of the apartment.

I did this in the hope of finding survivors or other clues, but it was in vain.

Finally, I went up to the roof and looked at the autumn landscape still fresh with sunlight.

I saw movement.

People.

In the open fields where no one had ventured, groups were moving east and south, waving flags.

The number was considerable even at a glance.

I suddenly remembered what Defender had said.

You can't hide forever.

I had been confident, but seeing this crowd, I felt how flimsy my confidence was.

Still, they say there's no such thing as a meaningless act in the world.

I don't entirely agree with that, but the old woman chanting Namu Amitabha gave me inspiration.

Bang!

I moved a piece of debris from the collapsed bunker.

Beyond the debris, the underground passage leading to my main bunker revealed its secret darkness.

If you can't hide forever, you might as well hide well.

The people who brought the old people here chose this apartment as a high-turnover nursing home because it looked so shabby even to them.

I plan to build a camouflage house on the site of this collapsed bunker.

A shabby home even zombies would avoid.