The Axe-Armed Boy
How long does it really take for the world to end?
Luckily—and unluckily—I got to find out for myself.
Three months. Exactly three months after the third zombie outbreak hit.
What used to be our government made one last desperate thrash and slammed missiles into our own soil.
That became their final act, and somehow their greatest achievement.
Those missiles saved quite a few people.
I was one of them.
Then a year went by.
In this thoroughly fucked world, one thing was certain: our country, South Korea, was finished. As for the rest of the planet, I had no clue—radios didn't pick up a damn thing anymore.
For better or worse, we'd already taken two unexpected rounds of zombie-outbreak "vaccinations." Plenty of people had managed to stay alive through them.
Rattle-clank!
"Kkagak… kkagak!"
"Ah, for fuck's sake, just die already."
I was one of the survivors still scraping by in this ruined world. Of course, right now a former survivor—current zombie—was thrashing around in the rattle trap I'd set at my hideout, shaking the whole place.
"Just… get lost already!"
"Kak?! Kkagak… kkeugeu… kkeuk—!"
Crunch—!
I hadn't lasted a full year as a survivor for nothing. I kicked the charging bastard back, then brought the axe strapped to my left arm down and casually split its skull in two.
That thick black blood unique to zombies ran down the axe blade and dripped onto the floor. Inside a house that had once been some survivor's base, I stepped onto the yellow linoleum of a cluttered living room with muddy boots and started looking for anything worth taking.
I shoved the corpse aside with my foot so it wouldn't keep staining the linoleum black, then sliced through the can-trap noise alarm with the axe blade. In the dusty mirror in the corner of the room, I caught a look at myself.
A motorcycle helmet blackened with dried blood. A tattered coat over a slash-resistant vest covered in scratches. Hard iron plating wrapped around my right arm and shoulder. And from the elbow down on my left arm, where a forearm and hand should have been, an axe was tightly bound in their place.
"Still looks fucking terrifying, I'll give it that."
I looked like I could star in a slasher movie as the killer. Even though it was my own reflection, I clicked my tongue, turned away, and started gathering supplies.
"Water, canned food, purifier filters… hell of a haul."
"…Gigeuk."
"…"
I was stuffing everything into my bag when a faint sound reached my ears. In the silence, a zombie's moan came through especially clear, leaking from a door left slightly ajar.
"…Yeah, well. I did say there was a lot."
I raised the axe on my left arm, ready, and headed for the door. Through the gap I could see white tiles—a bathroom.
"Kkeugik…! Kkeureureuk…!"
I nudged the door open with the flat of the axe. The scene inside was grim.
A bathtub caked in blood, and a bound female zombie half-submerged in it like she was taking a bath.
"Ha… fuck."
Torn school uniform. A face gone pale with dried blood, pupils bleached white. I'd seen the story plenty of times—people who couldn't bring themselves to kill a zombified family member and just tied them up and kept them. But that wasn't why I swore.
Bones and skulls scattered across the bathroom floor. Human bones. The kind you inevitably end up seeing if you live long enough in a world like this. Whether the guy had hauled them here himself or scavenged them off raiders, they'd clearly been food for the zombie. I shook my head.
"This guy was a real piece of shit."
The house-owner zombie I'd just killed apparently couldn't stand watching his "daughter" go hungry. While the zombie thrashed around after noticing me, her skirt flipped up—nothing underneath. It wasn't hard to figure out the rest of a fact I really didn't want to know.
"A great big piece of shit."
"Kkigigik!!"
Who knew there were still freaks out there doing this kind of thing. Scanning the floor, I saw more than bones—used condoms, and something sticky smeared on… fuck. Plastic wrap, too. That pretty much confirmed my theory. Did he actually think wrapping it in a condom or plastic would make it safe? Maybe it would. But there's always a chance, right? If you're going to risk your life for it anyway…
And if he did, then I had no choice but to acknowledge this great big piece of shit.
If he'd risked his life for it and ended up a zombie, at least it was a happy death. In a world like this you see people get infected for all kinds of reasons. This yellow-linoleum zombie was a special case worth remembering. Don't worry—cases like this aren't rare. He won't be lonely.
Crunch!
"Still. Gotta do what needs doing."
I yanked the axe free from the bound zombie's skull, left the bathroom, and finished packing the rest of the supplies. Gathering things with one arm still took a long time, even after all these months. I was still slow, but at least I'd gotten the hang of it.
At first, just opening a bag zipper, stuffing things in, and closing it again took forever. And taking forever meant staying exposed to danger longer. I'd nearly died more times than I could count because of it.
Riiip—
These days I used a bag covered in Velcro strips. Peel, stick, done. I couldn't even describe how much easier it made things. Before the outbreak I never would've cared. But once you realize how long it takes to open and close something with one hand—and how easily that gets you ambushed—you start caring real fast. If I hadn't lucked into a roll of Velcro tape off a delivery truck, I'd probably be one of the zombies wandering the streets by now.
"Ha… weather's disgustingly nice."
It wasn't actually that nice. Ever since the missiles fell, clear skies were rare. Most days the sky was a dull gray, or that apocalyptic yellow you only used to see in movies. So cut me some slack for the sarcasm. I'd just climbed a mountain of a hillside to scavenge—I was allowed a little bitching.
Kkagagak—kkeeeik—!
"Honestly. Just another shitty day."
From high up in Daldongne, the city looked bleak as hell. Yellow-tinted sky, a crumbling cityscape with black smoke rising here and there, and the scraped-raw moans of zombies wandering somewhere out of sight. I never used to talk to myself this much. After more than five months surviving alone, it just stuck.
"…Time to head back."
Socks I'd layered under my shoes whispered against the ground as I moved, keeping the noise down. Not many people came up to Daldongne anymore, which made it perfect scavenging ground for me. The reason was simple. Too many alleys, too many narrow paths. If a zombie jumped you and you couldn't deal with it right away, more would pour in and you'd get boxed in and die.
But I was a natural-born Daldongne kid. Born and raised. I knew which walls you could hop and which ones you absolutely shouldn't. Sure, I'd left the neighborhood after I turned fifteen. But I'd spent my whole adolescence here, and since redevelopment never touched this place, Daldongne was still my territory.
"Kkeureureuk, kkagagak…"
"Damn it."
That didn't mean the zombies weren't a threat. The ones that burst out of alleys without warning were still dangerous—roughly on the same level as two middle-schoolers riding a shared electric scooter, assuming they were both on it at once. You had to stay sharp. Today, though, my luck was running real thin.
"Kkagagak!! Kkagak!!"
"Kkeeeik, keureureureuk!"
"Kkeukkaak!"
Who could've guessed a zombie would come flying out of the alley right in front of me the second I stepped outside? And who could've guessed there were several runners hanging around near that one? Runners weren't rare in a world crawling with every kind of freak zombie, but three of them circling the same spot felt like overkill.
"Ha…"
I charged straight ahead and knocked aside the reaching arm with the iron plate on my forearm. The one silver lining: it was a downhill slope, so I could build speed fast. I ran until my thighs burned, modulating my pace so I wouldn't wipe out. Even as I pounded down the hill, more zombies spilled out one by one from walls and side alleys.
"Kkaaaak… kkeeeik…"
The ones that couldn't run were easy enough to shake off. The real problem was the three still glued to my back. Too stupid to even try keeping their balance, they just sprinted full tilt. Their shredded shoe soles flapped free; bare feet slapped the pavement behind me, loud as a drumbeat in my ears.
"Kkagagagagak!!"
"Shi…it…!"
The curse tore out of me without warning. I wasn't looking back, but the footsteps were closing in. My head filled with the ugly image of those rotting hands snatching the back of my neck—and right then, the bottom of the hill came into view. A three-way intersection, and beyond it a neighborhood supermarket with every window smashed out. Familiar feeling. I'd been chased down this slope more than once. I bled off speed with practiced ease.
Then I cut hard right at the intersection—
"Kkeurreureuk!"
"Kaaaak!"
Crash! Bang!!
The zombies, who had never heard of "braking," went flying straight into the supermarket. Of course, until you actually caved their skulls in they never got tired, so it wasn't over yet.
"Looking real pretty in there!"
By the time they crawled back out, I'd already be long gone from their sight. They'd turn their heads this way and that looking for me, then go back to wandering the alleys like idiots. Still, the noise might draw more of them. My body was already at its limit, but I had no choice except to keep running.
I ran until their moans finally fell out of earshot. My legs never stopped.