Bae Sunghyun. We were in the same year in college. A poster-boy handsome face—everyone in the department knew him. We weren't close, so I was surprised when he remembered my name instantly.
"I thought you lived in Seoul? When did you move to Busan?"
"Recently. Wrapped things up in Seoul and came down. You work here?"
"Nah. Helping my father out while I have the time."
Sunghyun hesitated, glancing sideways. A woman caught his look and reluctantly stood up from the sofa. She was a beauty in her early thirties; the feline flick of her eyes suggested a stubborn streak. She grazed me with a look and, as a parting gesture, slid her palm down Sunghyun’s arm with a slimy, mollusk-like affection.
"I’ll call you."
Once she left, Sunghyun shook his head with a look of disgust. I didn't even have to ask. Whether in college or after graduation, he was the same. Tall, pretty-faced, silver-tongued—girls always swooned over him. There were rumors he’d go into show business. They said he was desperate for it, tried out everywhere, but since he was sitting in his father's office, it clearly hadn't panned out. Then again, in a world where "pretty boys plow the fields," climbing to the top isn't easy.
We were from the same year, but from different worlds. There were no common topics then, and there were none now. An awkward silence hung in the air, so I got down to business.
"You're obviously not here to catch up. You here for a car?"
"Yeah. Looking for a mid-sized SUV."
"An SUV is the way to go."
Sunghyun strode forward briskly, and I followed him out to the lot.
"This one came in last month. Mileage is tiny, no accidents. For a used car, it’s practically untouched."
The black Carnival Sunghyun presented with such pride looked new at first glance. The waxed body mirrored the overhead lights; not a scratch on the rims or tires.
"Can I check it?"
"You're offending me. Of course."
Inside the cabin, the sharp sting of air freshener hit my nose. The numbers on the dash were indeed easy on the eyes. Everything inside was scrubbed clean, but it didn't look like careful maintenance. It looked like a very thorough crime scene cleanup. Just in case, I pulled the seatbelt out to its very end.
There it was. Distinct stains of dried mud clung to the very edge. I didn't need to check the mats or turn on the AC.
"Drowned."
"What? This? No way!"
Sunghyun looked genuinely stunned. I didn't know him well, but he didn't seem like the kind of scumbag who would hawk junk to an old acquaintance. The shady dealings were likely managed by his father, the director, or the insurers.
The first option was too "flashy," but the rest of the cars were decent. Of all the SUVs that passed my inspection, I chose a silver Sorento. Unobtrusive—the perfect partner for breaking through crowds of zombies and marauders in the coming apocalypse.
"How much for this one?"
"Wait a sec."
Sunghyun quickly checked the price on his smartphone. Half a million won below market value. No point in looking further.
"I'll take it."
"Need to do the paperwork, but it's late. Pick it up tomorrow."
"Deal."
The business was done. I was ready to wrap up this bland encounter, but Sunghyun spoke first.
"If you're free tomorrow night, let's grab a drink."
I hesitated, and then, as if playing a trump card, he lowered his voice and smirked.
"There will be girls. You'll like it."
"...Sure, why not."
It wasn't about the women. In ten years of hell, through deaths and returns, I had never once encountered Sunghyun. We weren't enemies, so why not have a drink? Besides, I was curious how he knew I had gone to Seoul. We exchanged numbers, and I headed out to catch a taxi.
*****
The taxi ride back to the hotel was quiet. The radio played classics; the gray-haired driver drove in silence. We passed through a district of bars and clubs that was just beginning to stretch its shoulders in the dusk. At a red light, a sharp honk from behind shattered the peace.
The driver grimaced, glancing in the mirror. A tow truck was tailgating us, yellow lights flashing.
"Hey, taxi! Move it! Move the fuck over, I'm busy!" a brassy voice bellowed—the kind of voice belonging to someone with greasy pork soup broth running through their veins instead of blood.
The taxi driver didn't budge. Whether the tow truck driver couldn't wait two minutes for the green, or the silence enraged him, he hopped out of his cab and charged toward us. He started pounding on the window, demanding we pull into oncoming traffic to let him pass. The gray-haired driver just stared straight ahead, as if a dog were barking somewhere in the distance.
The blows to the glass grew more violent, but then the light turned green. The taxi smoothly pulled away. The tow truck driver, spewing curses, scrambled back to his heap. A roar of the engine—and he cut us off aggressively, disappearing into the distance.
The taxi driver frowned. "Seriously, they should put them all back in re-education camps..."
His words carried a total distrust of the law. I involuntarily thought of the people I met after the world collapsed. Almost everyone—young and old—longed for the times when civilization was intact. But was the world ever "fine" before the apocalypse?
A used car market openly trading "drowned" vehicles. Tow trucks running wild on the roads. This was just the tip of the iceberg. The world was full of shit and injustice long before this. Law and morality are like those seatbelts: they protect a person, but on the hidden end, there are always stains of filth. Everyone is outraged, everyone screams about injustice, but why does nothing change?
I used to think the law was just a rigid ruler that had rotted, drowned in human filth. The problem was always the people. Even in a world teeming with zombies, the most dangerous things remained strangers with human faces. But the warmest things were people, too. In the lawlessness where the strongest survive, this muddy current created by humanity turned out to be surprisingly... human.
I was one of them. On the edge of my own "self," that mud had surely dried as well. For better or worse, a human always remains a human.
*****
The next morning, after training and breakfast, I returned to the shelter. A mountain of boxes and packs of water waited by the entrance—the Coupang courier had been efficient, finding the address even in this backwater. I was about to approach when I noticed a "guest."
It wasn't the courier. An old man in a cheap parka and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes was loitering near my supplies. The world hadn't collapsed yet, but this old man looked like he’d gone bankrupt a long time ago—wrinkles, exhaustion, the seal of poverty. An ordinary old pauper, if not for his gaze—strange, too intense.
"Are you the owner?"
"I am."
"When are you throwing these boxes out?"
"The boxes?"
The old man squared his shoulders and pointed at the stacks of cardboard from the canned goods.
"This cardboard. When you're ready to toss it, put it out front here, alright? I'm asking you."
"Yeah, no problem."
"Thank you."
The old man gave a bow and shuffled toward the exit. I watched him go, grabbed two packs of water in each hand, and hauled them up. I left the water on the third floor, took a swig from a bottle, and went down for the rest.
While I was moving supplies, the technician from the waterworks arrived. We signed the contract, and the water was turned on immediately. It was the start of winter, but Busan wasn't freezing yet, so the pipes hadn't burst—a powerful stream erupted from the tap. I cupped the water in my hands and sniffed. A faint scent of chlorine—the smell of civilization, a guarantee that the water was free of contagion. I used to hate it and bought bottled, but if you think about it, there is no water safer than tap water.
Right now, you just turn a handle. In two months, people will beat and kill each other for a sip of clean water. Water, food, fuel, weapons... In the apocalypse, everything becomes priceless. Only human life grows cheap.
SHHHH...
A hiss echoed somewhere. I snapped out of my thoughts and went to check the rooms. In a couple of places, taps were open or hoses were leaking from broken toilets. I shut the valves, surveyed the empty rooms that would soon be filled with goods, and went back to my space. I stepped out and found a company to pump out the septic tank.
I scheduled the service and hauled the rest of the water and canned goods.
Two rooms, a living room—I scrubbed everything until it sparkled, then went to have lunch at a nearby diner.
After lunch, the water filter arrived. I installed it on the third floor and shoved five boxes of spare filters into storage. I brewed a strong coffee and got on my phone: I needed to find an excavator to break the concrete in the parking lot and a company to install greenhouses. I needed to raise chickens and greens, so the greenhouse had to be as large as possible. I ordered plastic film, insulation, and frame pipes with plenty of spares. I timed the excavator work for the day the greenhouse installers would arrive.
Replacing the old gas boiler with an electric one was the final touch. The shelter had regained all the comforts of civilization. No leaking pipes, heat flowing—all thanks to the power of money. I lay down on the heated floor in the living room, and sleep began to pull at me. At the most pleasant moment, the phone rang.
"You can pick up the car."
Sunghyun’s father turned out to be just as handsome as his son, only shorter. Smily, silver-tongued. We finished the paperwork quickly, I transferred the money, and took the keys.
"7:00 PM in Seomyeon. A gopchang place just opened there—it'll blow your mind."
"I'll be there."
I drove the Sorento off, filled the tank to the brim, and went back to the hotel. I checked out immediately, moved my things to the shelter, and stopped in a nearby cafe to rest over a cup of Americano. I wondered how much longer I’d be able to drink this. If I stockpiled, I could make coffee last, but expiration dates were tight. Roasted beans last a month; instant lasts a year. It’s better to buy green beans and roast them yourself—that could last years—but even that isn't forever.
In my past life in Masan, near the station, there was a large market. Even when supplies were still somewhat available, a single stick of Maxim Mocha Gold coffee cost 50,000 won. And that was the floor price. When rumors of radiation drive the refugee throngs (and the zombies with them) toward Changwon and Masan, hell will break loose. Money will turn into scrap paper. You won't be able to buy expired rice for a million won. Only trade, theft, or robbery.
I have the car. I should head to Gijang and check out the nuclear power plant. And weapons. Getting a pistol or a rifle is hard, but a shotgun...
I reviewed my to-do list for tomorrow, checked the delivery schedule, and headed out at 6:00 PM. Since there was a drinking session ahead, I left the car at the house and took a taxi to Seomyeon.