Chapter 13

A few days passed.

Even after spending a night barricaded in the home center, the phone lines were still jammed, making it impossible to call for help. Even if I posted on social media, there were so many similar posts that it probably wouldn’t help. I felt a sense of resignation.

On TV, they were calling the people who had lost their sense of self and were attacking others "infected." They said it was a kind of rabies due to its aggressiveness and the fact that a bite could spread it. They advised to isolate those bitten by the infected and to stay indoors because it was dangerous. There were also discussions about whether the infected had human rights or not. The TV was filled with such trivial content.

After two days, the stations themselves seemed to be failing, and the number of channels that didn’t work kept increasing. Soon, it became impossible to even call the police for help. Eventually, the electricity and water stopped working.

If it could be called fortunate, the third floor had a toilet, and I had managed to secure some water using furniture before the water supply was cut off, so that problem was solved.

I woke up in the middle of the night, covered the flashlight I had with a towel to make it less bright, and turned it on. To avoid waking my father, who was sleeping next to me, I quietly left the room, guided by the dim light.

The door creaked slightly, and I turned back, but my father, wrapped in a blanket, only stirred a little.

I quietly closed the door and walked to the women's changing room. Unlike the men's changing room, heavy furniture was placed in front of the door to block it.

I slowly approached and called out softly.

"Mom?"

In the silent air, after a moment, a dragging sound came from inside the room, followed by a groan and loud banging on the door in response to my call.

Suddenly, I was pulled by the hand, my mouth was covered, and I was dragged into the staff room.

"Maple!"

My father, who had pulled me, whispered.

"Maple, don't you understand! Mom has become one of them..."

I didn’t want to hear the rest of his words and tried to break free and leave the room, but my father held me down.

"Maple! Calm down!"

My father’s face was scary, sad, and angry, yet he seemed to be desperately holding back tears, a look that was indescribable.

"Finally, understand. You must have seen it on TV or the internet, those people who have become 'them.'"

Since that day, I had been calling out to the "thing that was my mother" through the door every day.

"Accept it, Maple. Mom is dead. What’s in there is something else."

Why can my father say such things? Why can he cut it off so easily?

My father hugged me tightly.

No, I do understand. The "thing that was my mother." The fact that I refer to the mother who should be in that room in such a way means that I had already recognized it as a fact on some level. But still, because it was moving, I couldn’t help but think that maybe she was still alive.

I had cried so much since that day, until I thought I had no more tears left, yet somehow they still came.

A tear fell from above onto my cheek.

I realized my father was crying and hugged him tightly.

+++++

It was about a week later in the morning. When I woke up, my father was already up and preparing something.

"Dad?"

"Maple. Good, I was just about to wake you up."

My father’s face looked determined and very serious.

"I’m going downstairs to get food."

"What! It’s dangerous!"

My still groggy head snapped awake. My father put on gloves and picked up a metal table leg, which we had taken off to use as a weapon when we arrived, gripping it tightly.

"But we’re almost out of food, and we still have some water..."

Indeed, we had been conserving, but we were almost out of food. After all, the emergency bag only had enough food for three people for three days, and we had been here for about ten days.

"Besides, we need to do it while we still have the strength to move."

My father’s reasoning was sound, but it was still dangerous.

"But, maybe the rescue team will come before then..."

"It’s possible, but if they don’t, we’ll starve to death."

I tried to stop my father, but he put his hand on my shoulder and said,

"It’s okay, I’ll come back if it looks too dangerous."

My father’s gaze was firm as he looked into my eyes.

My father and I left the staff room and moved to the fire door of the emergency stairs. I grabbed my father’s arm tightly as he moved the furniture.

"Dad, do you really have to go?"

My father, as if answering, hugged me and stroked my head, just like he did on the day my mother became infected.

"Maple, be a good girl and understand. This is necessary. Dad will be okay."

I noticed his hand was slightly trembling and protested.

"Dad, you’re scared too... Let’s not do this dangerous thing, okay?"

"'Them' aren’t scary..."

I felt like my father swallowed the next words, and I looked up at his face. He smiled and said,

"Well, I’m going. If it looks too hard, I’ll come back right away, so don’t be mad, okay?"

He hugged me tightly again and quietly left through the fire door.

I sat there, hugging my knees, and listened for my father’s return. I thought I heard some noise downstairs.

My father didn’t come back.