A week later.
Sitting in his dimly lit room, Jiwoo stared at the cracked ceiling, thoughts churning in his mind. The air inside was heavy, stale from days without fresh circulation. His fingers absentmindedly traced the worn edge of the table beside him, mind drifting between fleeting memories and the grim reality he now faced.
"I need to scout my surroundings," he decided. There was no use staying locked away, waiting for death to find him. If he wanted to survive, he had to move.
With cautious movements, he eased open his door. The second floor of the apartment complex was eerily silent, the air thick with the scent of flesh and blood. He had no choice but to explore, to map out his environment and find possible escape routes.
Moving like a ghost through the deserted corridors, he kept his senses razor-sharp. His katana, secured against his back, was a silent promise of steel and death, while the AR-15 gripped in his right hand offered cold, mechanical certainty. The oppressive quiet of the building made every creak of the wooden floor beneath his boots feel like a gunshot.
Only the faint glow of emergency exit signs provided light. In the distance, beyond the confines of the building, he could hear the grotesque symphony of the infected—low, guttural groans punctuated by occasional, distant shuffles.
He reached the stairwell and paused, straining his ears. Any misstep could mean death. The infected were drawn to sound, and one wrong move could bring a horde crashing down on him. He steadied his breathing before beginning the climb, every step deliberate, avoiding loose debris that might betray his presence.
At the third floor, the hallway forked. Jiwoo chose the narrower path, leading toward the elevator shaft. It was a claustrophobic route but offered fewer openings where the infected could ambush him. The darkness pressed against his back, thick and suffocating, as he edged along the wall. A sudden groan echoed behind him, distant but clear. He froze, fingers tightening around the rifle's grip.
Had something followed him? Or was the sound from below?
His pulse hammered in his ears. He forced himself to remain calm. Panic was a slow death.
He continued forward, muscles coiled, every movement precise. At the end of the hall, the heavy steel door to the rooftop loomed. He pressed an ear against it, listening. Silence. He slowly pushed it open, wincing at the faint creak of metal.
Cool night air swept in, carrying with it the acrid scent of smoke and decay. He stepped onto the roof, the vast openness a stark contrast to the suffocating corridors below. The city stretched before him—a graveyard of steel and concrete, painted in flickering hues of distant fires. It was too quiet.
Jiwoo crouched at the rooftop's edge, rifle raised, scanning the streets below. Shadows moved among the abandoned cars and shattered storefronts. The infected wandered aimlessly, their bodies broken yet relentless, trapped in an unending hunger.
He swallowed hard. No human voices. No running survivors. Just the dead.
His mind turned to escape routes. Seongnam City was about 17 miles away. By car, it was a half-hour drive. On foot, it could take a day—longer if he ran into trouble. He wasn't sure if the military still held the city, but it was a possibility.
Scanning the horizon, he noted key locations: a convenience store two blocks away—potential supplies. An electronics shop—possible gear. A cluster of low-rise buildings—defensible positions. Every detail mattered.
His katana pressed against his back, a weight both familiar and reassuring. Firearms drew attention. The blade, however, was silent—a weapon that demanded precision and skill. His parents had taught him well. Even if they had only been kendo instructors, their lessons had kept him alive.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. There was no room for hesitation. Survival meant preparation. The infected weren't his only threat—there were other survivors out there. Some would help. Others would kill for supplies.
A sudden clatter of metal on concrete jolted him to full alertness. He snapped his rifle up, scanning the adjacent rooftops. Something had moved. Had it been an accident? Or was someone watching him?
Silence resumed its suffocating grip.
Jiwoo stayed crouched, heart pounding. Minutes passed. Nothing.
It was time to leave.
He moved back to the stairwell, slipping inside and shutting the rooftop door behind him. The heavy lock clicked into place, echoing in the empty stairwell. Taking a slow breath, he began his descent, every step controlled, every movement precise.
Just as he reached the second floor, he caught movement in the corner of his eye. A figure slipped through the shadows at the far end of the hall. Not an infected—too fast, too deliberate.
He raised his rifle. "Stop."
The figure hesitated. A girl, no older than him, stepped into the dim light. Dark hair, a backpack slung over her shoulders, a knife in her grip. Her eyes flicked to his weapon but showed no fear.
"Who are you"jiwoo asked.
"Park Eunji "she replied.
"Where are you headed?" Jiwoo asked, keeping his voice low.
She adjusted the straps of her backpack, eyes scanning the ruined street beyond the building. "Seongnam City," she said. "There's a military shelter there."
He gave a small nod, as if the answer didn't surprise him. "I know."
For a moment, neither spoke. The distant groans of the infected echoed through the dead city, a grim reminder of what waited beyond the shadows.
Finally, he shifted, gripping the rifle at his side. "It's not going to be easy getting there," he murmured.
She smirked, though there was no humor in her eyes. "Nothing is."
He lowered his rifle slightly, but the tension remained. Trust was a luxury. Yet, if they had the same destination, traveling together increased their odds of survival.
"Got a plan?" he asked.
She tilted her head. "Same as yours, I imagine. Avoid the infected. Stay out of sight. Keep moving."
Jiwoo exhaled sharply through his nose. "You any good with that knife?"
"I'm still alive, aren't I?" she countered.
Fair enough. He weighed his options. The streets weren't safe, but neither was staying here. He had to move someday.
"Let's go together," he said finally"we move at dawn."
She nodded, and together, they went back to his room, shadows moving between the complex of the apartment.
The road to Seongnam City was long, but for now, they had to rest to survive.
And in this world, survival was everything.