Chapter 89
Chapter 89
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 89
Chapter Title: 47. Flu
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Whether before the war or after, the most important thing to worry about is your health.
If your body breaks down, so does the person.
I'd always had a sturdy constitution, but throughout my bunker life, I'd been careful about maintaining my health.
Nothing fancy about health management, really.
Just keeping the temperature from dropping too low, eating the right amounts, avoiding booze and smokes, and above all, trying not to stress out.
Stress doesn't just mess with your mind—it eats away at your body, too.
I popped supplements whenever needed, and even eating them daily, I still had enough for five more years.
Exercise was non-negotiable, of course.
I held back on anything that'd leave me gasping, but I never skipped workouts to keep decent lung capacity, muscle, and flexibility.
Still, no matter how well you manage your health, you can't stay healthy forever.
Just moments ago, a guy fresh from the gym could drop dead of a heart attack in the elevator on the way home. Or get food poisoning from gifted shellfish and fight for his life.
Even I, Park Gyu, am no exception.
"Cough! Cough!"
Looks like I overdid it in Je Phong-ho City.
I'd caught a cold.
A nasty flu, at that.
The thermometer tucked under my arm read 39.5 degrees.
Cold sweat drenched my body, chills and fever alternating.
The bunker was muggy with late autumn heat, but I had to lie stock-still under a thick blanket.
Gurgle—
My stomach growled from barely eating, but I lacked the energy to even stand, let alone prep a meal.
Instant rice was down on sublevel 3—down a ladder I couldn't manage right now.
All day, I lay battling fever and chills in bed.
Medicine didn't help.
My headache worsened, coughs kicking in.
Thermometer: 39.6 degrees.
"Cough! Cough......!!"
Humans are tougher than people think, yet sometimes we die ridiculously easily.
Day two of the flu: I drifted in endless agony, mind fuzzy, sketching and erasing vague images without real thought.
I dragged myself out to eat, but dizziness kept me from the basement. I soaked some crackers from the first floor in water instead.
That evening, the communicator buzzed, but I missed it.
I registered the sound dimly through the haze of meds, drowsiness, and pain, but couldn't turn it on.
I woke at dawn.
Around 2:10 a.m.
Starving and parched.
Had to eat something. Grabbing a lantern, I shuffled toward the ladder to sublevel 3, one agonizing step at a time.
"Ughhh......"
The hatch wouldn't budge.
More precisely, my body had no strength left to open the one to sublevel 2.
Desperate, I chugged water and crawled back to bed, stuffing glucose candies into my mouth until my belly felt full.
Hellishly, sleep wouldn't come after.
Pain lingered, but my mind was razor-sharp.
That clarity meshed with my aching body, spawning fresh mental torment.
Too alert to do anything useful—body hurt too much—or zone out or sleep, with this wakefulness blocking even that.
Trapped, I tracked time by the second, waiting for sunrise.
Day three of the flu.
Thermometer: 38.6 degrees.
Fever down a bit.
Still high, though.
Pounding headache persisted, hyper-awareness intact.
Gurgle.
Had to eat now.
Forced myself up and yanked the hatch again.
Screeech—
Managed it, barely.
But luxury turns to misery.
"......"
Motion sensor flashed red.
Location: Main bunker perimeter, east side.
No doubt.
Intruders.
A hollow laugh nearly escaped; I choked it down.
Always the same.
Fate doesn't wait.
It doesn't care if I'm sick or off-form.
My dead comrades prove it.
There was this junior, Park Sun-mi.
Talkative girl.
That day, she said she felt off—probably cramps, too embarrassed to say outright.
I told her to rest.
But ambitious, she asked for light duty instead.
Wedding coming up; wanted more points for promotion, better honeymoon setup.
I denied her, but she pulled strings with my superior, joined the op, and died.
Her terrifying speed—100m in the 12-second range—slowed that day. That's what killed her.
I'm worse off now.
Can't control my body through fever and chills; haven't eaten properly; strong flu meds fog my mind.
Have to fight like this.
Click—
Couldn't wield the axe, so left it holstered.
Trusting two rifles and three pistols.
No time for booby traps. Rainy-season-dug main bunker entrance wide open.
Kim Daram's killers probably know of two entrances, get confused, spot one empty and doorless, then head to the main.
Sensor keeps blinking.
East to south.
I closed my eyes briefly.
No scenes or people surfaced.
Surprisingly, no regrets.
Just... I'm dying, huh.
That's my emotion right now.
Maybe from the fever, chills, agony. But reflecting, nothing I'd desperately craved in life.
Not a power fiend like Lee Sanghun, nor pragmatic like Kim Daram, nor dream-chaser like Gong Kyungmin, nor impulsive like Woo Minhee.
Just wanted to erase monsters from the world.
That's it.
Wait, one more.
One thing on my wishlist: dreamed of it, but never wanted to do.
Set guns down, stumbled to laptop, powered on, connected to net.
"......"
Tap tap
Watched countless friends die posting on the board.
Some vanished quietly, others went out loud.
Some left deep impressions—final screams online before death.
Dongtanmom, now revived in Baek Seung-hyeon's body, for one.
Anyway, when my time comes for real, wanted to go like them.
Couldn't snap a pic, so dashed off text, slammed laptop shut.
"......Hoo."
Wishlist complete.
A smile crept onto my lips.
Smiling in this hell? How happy is that.
Thud.
Footsteps.
Human.
Body's a bitch—wide awake all dawn and morning, now drowsiness weighs my eyelids.
Furious enough to yell, but can't reveal position.
Even dying, take one more with me. My mission.
Front sensor flashed.
They're at the bunker entrance.
Hid under concrete platform with central toilet, propped guns against it, fixed muzzles.
"......"
No movement.
Prepping what? Dynamite? Welder?
Dynamite means I'm done.
Wonder how my final post did.
Any comments? Hope it doesn't flop with zero.
That'd piss me off for real.
Knock knock.
Fate knocks.
Stock-still, guns fixed, waited for door.
"SKELTON?"
Oh.
"SKELTON? You there?"
Forgot all about it.
"SKELTON? Hey~ SKELTON~!"
Having neighbors.
"Seriously, called on communicator tons. No reply? Huh?"
Intruders: Defender siblings.
Relief? Fatigue? Pain? Post backlash? Anyway, I opened the door for the Defender siblings and blacked out right after.
Before monsters wiped my family, we lived in a 79㎡ apartment—24 pyeong.
Three rooms, two baths, but tiny compared to bigger units.
Lounging in the living room, I'd watch Mom cook right next door.
Her food wasn't better than friends' moms', but sunset glow through the window, serene air, bubbling pot sounds—memories that hit when alone.
Mom died too.
Instant.
Neck snapped sideways, eyes half-popped.
Person who'd never raised her voice, dead like that.
That rage yanked me from unconsciousness.
Coming to, before me: eerily similar scene.
Serene air, sunset hues, bubbling sounds, woman with back turned.
"SKELTON?"
She tasted with ladle, turned to me.
Kind eyes.
"Awake?"
Defender sat by monitor, fiddling.
Game, up close—I Am Gzeros' place, hooked to screen.
"If sick, say so."
He grinned goofily at me, eyes back to screen.
Boing~
Dot character jumped; I looked away.
Snug in bed.
Ice on forehead.
"......"
Face blank, frozen.
Didn't know what to say or think.
Grateful, but... words felt hard to spit out.
Weird guy? Yeah.
"......"
Life made me that way.
Food smelled done.
Kind-eyes turned, tapped pot with ladle.
"SKELTON, you're screwed!"
That's how they say "dinner's ready" at Defender's.
Fragrant aroma wafted.
Defender's sister—forgot oven mitts?—gloved up, brought steaming porridge.
White steam cloaking face, glutinous rice scent brought appetite and lost scenes to my mouth.
"Eat up."
"......Thanks."
"What between us."
She smiled with eyes, served heaping bowl.
"Feed you?"
"N-no. Fine."
"Why?"
"Said fine."
Scooped hot porridge, blew, sipped.
Plain, nutty, soft, hot—tasteless stuff, but weirdly delicious.
Siblings eyed me.
"Call if needed. Still shy of us?"
"No, not that."
Avoided gazes, shoveled overdue meal.
Bowl empty in seconds.
"More in pot—warm slow."
"Borrowing game console?"
Defender siblings, sudden as their arrival sparking panic, vanished just as quick.
Their gentle door-close kept me staring at it long after.
"......Hoo."
Need to learn relying on others more.
Illness's little lesson.
Anyway, how'd my final post land?
Some had to worry, right?
Led recovered body—thanks to Kind-eyes' porridge—to laptop, checked.
"......Ha."
No comments.
"Baek Seung-hyeon, you bastard!!!!"
Finally comments, but ones I don't wanna see.
Ignoring, others trickle in.
"......"
What'd this SKELTON do so wrong?
Dump I Am Gzeros tale to lay down the law?
Nah, risky.
Anyway, fretting like this means I'm healthy again.
Grabbed communicator to thank Defender siblings.
It rang—perfect timing.
"SKELTON!"
Defender's sister.
Voice weirdly urgent.
"What happened?"
Answered quick.
"B-brother!"
"......"
"He got shot!"