Grandmother's Warning

When she was alive, Grandmother had a saying she never tired of repeating.

"When I die, don't you dare set out an offering table for me."

Every time I heard it, I understood it to mean exactly the opposite—that I absolutely should set one out.

Today was Grandmother's memorial day.

I transferred the assorted jeon, seasoned greens, and acorn jelly I'd bought from the supermarket onto dishes and arranged them on the offering table. Then, gazing at her photograph, I spoke aloud.

"Well, I did grill the corvina myself, at least."

The spread was modest, but every last item was something Grandmother had loved in life.

Glu-glu-glu—

I poured a glass of liquor and set it before her photo.

"How's heaven treating you?"

Whether Grandmother had actually made it to heaven, I honestly couldn't say.

To be blunt, she hadn't exactly been a saint.

She made a habit of pilfering potatoes, scallions, peppers, and garlic from other people's fields, and she was an avid gossip. When misfortune befell someone she disliked, she'd be in high spirits for days.

And yet, when it came to her one and only grandchild, she loved me fiercely.

My parents died in an accident when I was young, and I grew up alone with Grandmother in the remote mountains of Inje, Gangwon Province, all the way through high school. She had lived her entire life in poverty in that back-of-beyond wilderness, and raising me made ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her struggles that much harder.

The day she pressed my university enrollment tuition into my palm with those calloused hands, not a single intact fingernail among them, I broke down and wept, gratitude and guilt tangled together in my chest.

From the following semester on, I covered my tuition with money earned from part-time jobs and student loans—but I always told people the same thing: that I'd managed to graduate thanks to my grandmother.

That night, Grandmother appeared in my dream.

She was weeding the vegetable garden behind the old country house. Overjoyed, I ran toward her, calling out.

"Grandma!"

She turned to look at me—and her expression was grim. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Her face was clouded over with worry, as if something heavy weighed on her mind.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

At my question, Grandmother opened her mouth to speak.

But the voice that came out boomed like thunder from a clear sky. It bored straight into my ears and carved itself into my mind.

Ha!

I jolted awake, heart hammering.

What kind of dream is that vivid?

Checking the clock, I saw it was time to get ready for work.

It was mid-November. I shrugged on my coat and stepped out of the house.

The subway was packed as always—but as luck would have it, a seat opened up. Hugging my backpack to my chest, I slid into the empty spot.

Under normal circumstances, I'd have pulled out my phone to browse the news or watch videos. But not today. Grandmother's words from the dream were still circling in my head.

Was something really going to happen? Was returning to the country house I'd shared with Grandmother truly the only way to escape disaster?

And yet I couldn't just abandon my commute and bolt for Gangwon Province on the strength of a dream alone.

That was when it happened.

Strange characters floated into view before my eyes.

I wasn't wearing AR glasses, yet the text was crystal clear.

Zombies? Four hours left? What the hell is this?

I slowly turned my head, studying the faces around me. Everyone was either glued to their phones or dozing with their eyes shut. These absurd characters were clearly visible to me alone.

Which meant it was one of two things. Either I'd gone insane and was hallucinating—or some special power had awakened in me and no one else.

If I was crazy, I needed to get checked out at a hospital. But if a zombie apocalypse was truly about to break out, I needed to make arrangements to survive.

It was five more stops to the office.

I was getting off here, though.

Whatever this is, it doesn't feel like a day for work.

I stood up from my seat, and the man standing right in front of me plopped down with an expression that practically said about time.

Moments later, the train ground to a halt and the doors slid open.

The instant I stepped off, I dialed my team lead.

Riiing-riiing—

Manager Park was my supervisor of four years. Older and more experienced than me, he still spoke to me politely. He was the type who kept everyone at arm's length—outside of company dinners, we'd never once grabbed a beer together, just the two of us.

I deliberately answered in a drained, feeble voice.

"Team Lead, I'm on my way in right now, but... I've suddenly come down with something. I'm feeling really awful..."

"I see. Let's switch to a video call."

"Yes, of course."

The moment the call turned to video, Manager Park's eyes swept over my outfit and my surroundings. Satisfied that I was in commute attire and standing in a subway station, he asked what was wrong.

"My head feels like it's splitting, and I keep feeling like I'm going to throw up... So I got off the train. Ulp!"

I made a show of retching.

It was pure acting, of course. My body felt perfectly fine. But in case the zombie crisis never materialized, I couldn't afford to be marked down as an unexcused absentee.

"Alright, alright—get yourself to a hospital, and fast."

"I'm so sorry, Team Lead."

Hanging up, I filed for sick leave through the employee mobile app.

I made my way out of the subway station.

The bizarre message still hung in the air before me.

The remaining time kept ticking away.

Even if something was wrong with me, the hospital could wait until that afternoon. But if the message was telling the truth, I had to get out of here right now.

I had no way of knowing exactly what route the virus would take as it spread. One thing was certain, though: once the outbreak began in earnest, all transportation would grind to a halt. So I had to move somewhere safe before that happened.

The country house. I'm going to the country house.

If the "zombies" in the message were anything like the zombies I was thinking of, then this outbreak boiled down to a terrifying plague with a one hundred percent fatality rate.

And what do you do when a plague breaks out?

You flee to somewhere with a low population density, obviously. Like the band of nobles in The Decameron, who abandoned plague-ridden Florence for the solitude of a country villa.

Even without Grandmother's warning in my dream, Inje in Gangwon Province—home to the old country house—was, without exaggeration, one of the least densely populated corners of all South Korea.

So that's where I was going, right now.

What do I take to get there?

Inje had no rail line. That left a bus or a taxi.

A taxi would be faster than the bus, but the fare wouldn't be pretty. Then again, this was no time to be pinching pennies.

As I moved to hail a cab, a sign across the street leaped out at me.

I had a driver's license but no car of my own. My salary wasn't so pitiful that I couldn't have afforded one—yet I'd unconsciously obeyed Grandmother's lifelong decree that a house came before a car.

Although, to be fair, Seoul housing prices are kind of insane.

Whenever I needed wheels, I rented. And honestly, in this situation, a rental was my best option.

"I'd like something with plenty of cargo room."

Grandmother always used to say that doing anything half-heartedly was worse than not doing it at all. Since I'd decided to trust the message hovering before my eyes, I intended to stock up on as much food, drink, and other essential supplies as the remaining time would allow.

"Going camping somewhere far off, are you?"

"Something like that."

"Well, the largest vehicle available for immediate rental is a full-size SUV."

The clerk handed me a catalog. A domestically made, gasoline-powered large SUV.

"Nothing bigger?"

"That's the biggest we've got."

I couldn't afford to burn more time hunting for a larger vehicle.

"I'll take this one."

I presented my license, signed the paperwork, and took the keys. The fuel gauge showed the tank about half full, so I stopped at a gas station first and filled it to the brim. Then I took the Olympic Expressway and merged onto the Seoul–Yangyang Expressway.

I'd buy the supplies near the Inje County Office. Drive about thirty minutes further from there toward Seoraksan, and you'd come to a tiny little village called Deoksu-ri. The country house where Grandmother and I had lived sat deep in the wilderness, roughly five kilometers down an unpaved mountain track from the village.

If all goes well, I'll make it in time.

Being a weekday morning, the expressway was nearly deserted.

Vrooom—

I pressed down on the accelerator.

At last, I reached the area around the Inje County Office.

I parked in the outdoor lot of the Nonghyup supermarket and stepped out of the car, striding toward the entrance with a deep lungful of mountain air.

The air really is something.

It was on a whole different level from Seoul's. Even if the zombie crisis never came to pass, I knew I wouldn't regret coming here today and breathing this clean air.

Setting my expression to serious, I entered the store and began loading a cart, starting with food and drink.

Long shelf life, easy to prepare. That's what I need.

I filled the cart mostly with canned goods and instant meals, adding dried fruit, jerky, green tea, and coffee. Rice, flour, salt, and sugar went in too. A stream ran less than fifty meters from the country house, so water wasn't an issue—but you never know what the future holds, so I grabbed a reasonable supply of bottled water as well.

Lanterns, batteries, power banks, a portable solar charger, a car charger, lighters, rope, sleeping bags, a cookset, a camp burner, butane canisters, tissues, winter outerwear, winter boots, long underwear, socks, gloves, face masks, safety goggles, a first-aid kit, toiletries—I swept all of it into the cart. Anything the supermarket didn't carry, I hunted down at the shops nearby.

As for tools like shovels, sickles, axes, and a lumber knife, the country house shed already had those. They'd double as weapons in a pinch, too. I picked up a fresh tool set with screwdrivers, wrenches, and pliers, just in case. And on the off chance I'd need it later, I withdrew a generous stack of cash from an ATM.

There was no end to the things I wanted to grab, but time was running short.

I had no idea how long it would take the zombie virus to reach this far-flung corner of the country, but I needed to hurry regardless. I swung by the gas station again to top off the fuel I'd burned getting here, then filled several 20-liter jerrycans and loaded them into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the car. With the exception of the driver's seat, the entire interior was crammed to the ceiling with supplies.

Leaving the town behind, I drove along National Route 44 for about thirty minutes until the road split. Keep straight on the highway and you'd reach Deoksu-ri village; turn off onto the unpaved track, and you'd find the country house where Grandmother and I had lived.

Has it been three months already?

I turned onto the unpaved track.