The Survivor

A dull clatter drifted out of the beverage storeroom behind the convenience store refrigerators, and my ears snapped toward it on instinct.

A zombie still in here?

I meant to keep coming back to this store, so anything that might turn dangerous later was better dealt with now. I turned around mid-step, closed my hand tight around the baseball bat, and headed for the storeroom behind the fridges.

"Whew. Better clear it, just in case."

I eased the door open. Something was moving on the other side. I kept a light grip on the bat and held the tension as I stepped farther in, and a human silhouette came into view. At first I took it for a zombie and nearly swung—then it flinched back in shock, and I froze.

"AAAAAH!"

Whoever was screaming in the storeroom was shaking with terror. The clothes said convenience-store part-timer: an ordinary-looking man in his twenties, and the store vest on him left no room for doubt.

"P-please, spare me...!"

His voice trembled. His eyes were packed with fear. He dropped to the floor, wringing his hands as he begged.

"What are you even do—"

I started to go on, faced with a person instead of a zombie, and then a window bloomed in front of my eyes and the words died.

The man's information window hung in front of me.

So this is what the Third Eye does.

It was more detailed than I'd expected. A satisfied smile pulled at my mouth.

"H-heeek...!"

A man had appeared out of nowhere and was smiling while he stared, and the part-timer only grew more terrified.

"What were you doing in here?"

I got a hold of myself and picked the question back up.

"A-a person? You're a person?"

Tears welled as he answered, his unsteady voice thick with confusion.

"Can't you tell just by looking?"

I stared at him like he was hopeless.

Just like the window said. Intelligence isn't exactly his strong suit.

"So. What were you doing in here?"

I asked again. I still wanted the answer I hadn't gotten.

"I—I was stocking drinks, and then outside people started b-biting and killing each other, a whole mess, so I hid in here."

"You've been in here for two days straight?"

"Hic—yeah. I could see them through the fridge glass, but those bastards just wouldn't leave. They kept hanging around out there."

Two whole days? Lucky.

I was faintly impressed that he'd managed to stay alive at all.

"Th-those things are zombies, right? A customer who got bitten turned into the same thing."

He stumbled on and looked to me for the answer.

"Ugh. Yeah, they are. You didn't have a phone? The news would've been all over it."

It was such an obvious, stupid question that the boredom ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠leaked into my voice.

"Hehe. I left my phone on the register."

Kang Gohun laughed, awkward and sheepish. I sighed at how hopeless he looked.

"So. You planning to stay here?"

Only then could I ask the question that actually mattered. This store was a mountain of food I meant to haul out. One freeloading parasite squatting in the middle of it was not something I could allow.

"Uh..."

His mouth hung open while he tried to decide. I closed my hand hard around the baseball bat and waited through it, hoping I wouldn't have to use the thing on him.

"I... I should go home. I'm worried about my mom and dad."

The moment the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠answer landed, the strength drained out of my grip.

"The world's gone completely sideways. You really think you can make it home?"

"It's not that far. And you made it here, so I figure I can manage too."

"That so? Then I hope you get home in one piece."

I let out a breath of relief and saw him off.

"Haa..."

Once he was gone, I dragged a hand down my face and sighed.

"What the hell was I about to do?"

Only after he left did it hit me. If he'd decided to stay, that bat would have come down on his skull without a second thought. But with him gone, thinking it through cold, I couldn't stand watch over the store around the clock anyway, and some other survivor was bound to find the place. Him remaining here had never been a problem worth killing him over.

"Haa. Get a grip."

Was my judgment shot because I'd nearly died on the second floor to a woman I'd already written off as dead, and I was still riding that rush? I slapped my own cheek and pulled myself back together.

"All right. Time to head back."

I shouldered the bag stuffed with food, stepped out of the convenience store, and started for home. The pack was heavy enough that I dodged every zombie I could. When I reached the apartment, I climbed the stairs toward our place on the third floor—and swallowed hard. The female zombie's corpse on the flight leading up to the second floor dragged that dizzying moment back into my throat.

"Hey! Young man!"

"Shit—don't do that!"

I shoved the memory aside and was about to keep climbing when the voice hit out of nowhere.

"Why are you shouting, young man! You scared the life out of me!"

The voice belonged to the ajumma from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the floor below, the middle-aged woman I'd passed a few times on the way upstairs before the outbreak. I knew the face.

"What do you want?"

I was tired, and it came out curt.

"You're the young man from upstairs, right? I'm the lady from downstairs. You remember me?"

"Yeah. I remember. So why'd you stop me?"

I answered coldly.

"That bag... that's food, isn't it? Could you share a little? This whole mess blew up on the day I was supposed to go shopping."

She watched my face and asked for my food.

"Are you serious? I risked my life getting this—"

I scowled, ready to tear into the shameless woman, and then I stopped.

No. If hunger drives her outside and she stumbles on the convenience store, there's no telling how much she'll haul off. Better to just hand over a reasonable ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠amount.

I wasn't cold-blooded enough to kill her over begging, so I decided the smarter play was the bare minimum.

"I can't spare much."

I set the bag on the floor, pulled out three packs of ramen, and held them out.

"Oh my, thank you, young man!"

She snatched the ramen and headed straight for her own door.

"Haa. Why does the floor under me have to be an ajumma like that, and not a beautiful woman the way it always is in novels?"

I sighed and went home.

After that, I went out once a day—to clear the daily quest of killing five zombies, and to keep moving food out of the convenience store.

"Young man! Don't you have anything besides ramen? Four days of nothing but ramen and I'm sick of it. I saw earlier—there was tuna or something in that bag, wasn't there?"

The ajumma who'd been living off what I handed her once a day had gotten tired of ramen, and now she was brazenly demanding something else.

"How about you eat what you're given? I risk my life every time I bring this back."

She was an ugly-faced ajumma to begin with, nibbling away at my food a little at a time, and that already grated. Demanding other food on top of it was enough to make me angry.

"Ugh, fine! I'll just eat the ramen, then. Young people these days... not a scrap of neighborly feeling."

"This woman, I swear—!"

Before I could actually blow up at her, she bolted for her apartment with the ramen she'd already taken.

"Haa... that goddamn bitch."

I briefly considered planting the baseball bat in that fat skull. Killing someone who was still alive didn't sit right, though, so I decided to let it go. Just this once.

The next day, that decision saved my life.

I headed for the convenience store the way I always did, to haul more food.

"Ramen's all cleaned out. Hmm... should I take the snacks?"

Trip after trip, I'd finally moved every last pack of instant noodles out of the store.

"Snacks are bulky. The return's terrible... haul them just for today, and start scouting somewhere new tomorrow?"

True to Korean junk food, the bags were more nitrogen than cracker, and the efficiency was awful. I decided I'd move snacks only through today and go looking for new food starting tomorrow—and I was just about to step out of the store when it hit.