It was a fine afternoon. The sky was a bottomless blue. Snow-white clouds drifted by like a flock of sheep. The air was neither hot nor cold, but possessed a festive softness. The gentle sun brushed against my face… Everything was perfect.
In weather like this, one should have packed a lunch, headed out for a picnic, and snapped a few photos. That alone would have been a cherished memory.
I think it was back in elementary school… I was playing basketball when the ball caught me square in the nose. Blood gushed. I lay on a bench, staring at the sky while trying to stem the flow, and the sky then was just as beautiful. The score had been fantastic, too. 52 to 35. I had put up twenty-five points all by myself.
More than ten years have passed since then. Once again, I am lying on the ground. The sky is as mesmerizing as ever, but the situation has changed fundamentally. I am bleeding out. I am dying.
"Haah... haah..."
I gasped for air in desperate, convulsive hitches. I slowly closed my eyes—and opened them again.
I have to hide. Somewhere safe...
Inside my head, a stubborn survival instinct kicked at me with all its might: Get up. Crawl. Live. But my body refused to obey. I had lost too much blood.
Was there even a chance? I forced myself to assess my condition with cold detachment. A wound in my side, which I clutched clumsily with one hand, and a right thigh pierced through by a bullet... enough blood had already drained out that a few more drops would mean the end.
And in this dead city, there was no one to dress the wound, and no hospital with a transfusion ward. Where the blood ebbed away, the cold bit in. I began to shake. The pain had drifted somewhere distant, and my vision was blurring.
That foul, icy sensation, as if my consciousness were being switched off... I knew it well. It was the sensation of death.
Shuffle... shuffle...
Instinctively, I turned my head toward the sound of approaching footsteps—as if Death itself were walking toward me. A man entered my distorted field of vision: lean, wiry, with a hiking backpack on his shoulders. Using the last of my strength, I frowned, trying to focus. I could barely see his face, but I knew him instantly.
Shin Taeik... So, I’m to die at this bastard's hands after all. I should have finished him sooner.
A belated regret tightened my throat—nasty and mocking, like a pre-arranged "Omen." An omen, indeed. I wonder where the sign was that this specific man would kill me?
Looking back, the gut feeling had been rotten from the start. We had crossed paths in the Haeundae district during a supply run. Shin Taeik was like a stray dog. Ragged, with a hungry glint in his eyes, he moved silently and was always on edge. No one knew what his life was before the world ended, but the mere fact that he was still alive made him dangerous.
I had raised my shotgun and aimed—but he was too far. He had taken cover behind a scorched truck; a clean shot was impossible.
What if I’d had a rifle?
If I’d found an M16, a K2, or even a rotting carbine from some police station or military warehouse... would it be Shin Taeik lying here instead of me?
Ever since the living dead destroyed the world, almost everything encountered was an enemy. Or a burden. But a fight was always the last resort. If I decided to kill, the opponent wouldn't just stand there. The risk of catching a stray knife or being stabbed in the back by a zombie drawn to the noise was too high.
Shin Taeik understood this. He simply bored into me with a haunting gaze from behind the truck, not daring to attack. We froze among abandoned cars and shattered storefronts, waiting, until the familiar shuffling of dead feet echoed nearby.
Before they reached us, I slowly backed away. Shin Taeik, never taking his eyes off me, vanished behind the vehicle as well.
Since then, I never set foot in Haeundae. There were still supplies in the affluent district, but there were too many marauders and zombies. The Haeundae shelter was turning into a bandit's den, and encounters with Shin Taeik were exhausting.
A month later, we met again near the burned-out Bujeon Library. Since we hadn't started a firefight last time, we were able to get closer. He was within arm's reach—perfect range for a shotgun blast.
But we both lowered our weapons. And we talked.
I gave my real name. Yoon Gangjun. Shin Taeik didn't hesitate for a second. Apparently, his name was a fake.
I tossed him a cigarette—the currency of the apocalypse. His gaze softened instantly. We smoked and traded rumors. Seoul still resembled a hell where the living mingled with the dead. In Busan, the population density had dropped due to rumors of radiation at the Kori Nuclear Power Plant. Frightened by propaganda, survivors fled in droves toward Changwon and Gyeongbuk. The zombies followed them, making it livable here.
Contrary to the government's claims, my Geiger counter showed normal levels. Just like before the catastrophe. During that conversation, I felt like I was sitting in a morgue’s smoking room, discussing stocks or crypto with a stranger.
The news that looters had ransacked the Seomyeon shelter sounded as hollow as news of losing millions on Samsung stocks. After finishing the cigarettes, we parted ways. No promises made.
But a sense of a boundary had formed. Not allies, not partners. Just parallel lines: don't cross, and everything will be fine.
But in the end, he crossed the line. To me, it’s obvious: the bastard stabbed me in the back. He’d have a different opinion, of course. Or maybe he just didn't care from the start.
In the death-throes panorama of my thoughts, Shin Taeik’s steps grew closer. Seeing the shotgun in his hands, I went completely limp and lay on my back.
"Phew..."
Staring into the piercingly blue sky, I moved my hand away from my side. I unzipped my jacket and slid my bloody palm into the inner pocket. My fingers brushed against my last grenade. Despite the despair, I felt a wave of relief. My trump card was still with me.
With my left hand, I pressed the grenade through the fabric; with my right, I resolutely pulled the pin. I hooked my middle finger through the ring and clenched my fist tight.
Shin Taeik walked up and stopped beside me. The dust he kicked up flew into my face, but I looked him straight in the eye. He stood against the blue sky, looking down at me with equal indifference.
Meeting his gaze, I felt not rage, but curiosity.
"...Why?"
I couldn't help but ask. Yesterday, the radio broadcasted that Seoul had been retaken. This son of a bitch definitely has a receiver; he heard it. A landing was planned here in Busan next week.
Of course, you can't trust the radio. There were plenty of traps and misinformation. But this was the first time such a large-scale operation had been mentioned. Based on the facts, it was likely true.
It was almost over. The walking dead would become dust, the ruins would come to life, and civilization would return. People who survived in hunger and horror would stop being beasts and start a new life. I only needed to wait five days. Five days to find out if the woman's voice on the radio was an angel or a demon. To see if the sea brought salvation or only emptiness. Just five days.
So why the hell...
Seeing that I wasn't afraid of death, Shin Taeik narrowed his eyes as if weighing my question. Then he answered:
"I like it here."
Utter nonsense. But now I knew exactly what kind of creature he was. The world had collapsed, authority had vanished, and laws were forgotten. In this lawlessness, where one could kill and plunder without consequence, Shin Taeik felt free.
There were many such dogs, snapped off the leash of civilization. Maniacs, looters using children as bait. Shin Taeik was just one of them.
As if finishing the conversation, he broke the barrel of his shotgun.
Click! Clink!
Two empty shells flew out, smelling of gunpowder. I involuntarily winced. Coming here without even reloading his weapon. Even as I lay dying, I was amazed by his carelessness. The thought that he would die because of such stupid negligence brought a foolish smile to my face.
As he reached for fresh shells, I jerked the ring. As soon as my hand cleared my jacket, the safety lever flew off. The striker hit the primer. The delay fuse hissed.
Shin Taeik snapped the loaded shotgun shut and aimed at my chest.
"Heh-heh-heh..."
I squeezed out a chuckle. Shin Taeik, finger already on the trigger, froze.
"...Do you like basketball?"
Remembering that score that no one ever recorded, I gathered my last strength. I thrust my right hand up, right in the bastard's face. My trembling fist opened, extending my middle finger in a gesture of contempt—with the grenade ring hanging from it like cheap jewelry.
Shin Taeik realized it too late. He tried to turn away, but he was too slow.
BOOM!
The explosion roared right under my jacket. Before the shrapnel could tear my body apart, the shockwave shut down my heart. A flash, and darkness swallowed me.
Fear, anger, or resentment didn't trouble me in that moment.
“What a shame...”
That was the only thought. It really was a shame to die on a day like this.