Time Is on Our Side

I watched the video with a faint knot of tension in my chest.

What if the zombie suddenly lunged out of the decomposition acceleration chamber and tore the Mad Scientist apart?

Having just witnessed Park the team leader get mauled, I couldn't help it.

I scolded myself. It's not even a live stream. What am I getting worked up for?

Sure enough, nothing of the sort happened.

Inside the chamber, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠zombie was moving at an agonizing crawl. Its state of decay was severe — catastrophically so. The Mad Scientist checked the readout on the odor meter in his hand and spoke.

The zombie was pixelated into a blur.

Even so, one thing was abundantly clear: this zombie was nothing like the others.

The Mad Scientist continued his explanation.

He prodded the zombie with a stick. It reacted — but its movements were as sluggish as a sloth's.

Without realizing it, I clenched my fist.

These were exactly the experimental results I'd been hoping for.

He stared straight into the camera and summarized the heart of his findings.

He picked up the long blade lying nearby — a machete, the kind used in the jungle.

Whoosh—

He swung the blade and severed the zombie's neck. The head dropped to the floor, the body collapsed, and the thing stopped moving altogether.

And with that, the video ended.

The comment section beneath it was absolutely flooded. Every single comment brimmed with hope.

I nodded along.

The Mad Scientist's experiment was logically airtight.

Time is on our side!

Granted, in places where the temperature stayed below freezing year-round, zombies wouldn't decay easily. But such regions made up only a small fraction of the Earth's surface.

Korea got blisteringly hot in the summer, after all.

If we could just make it through this winter, the whole situation would pivot in a good direction.

"So that's what you're telling me... Hah! That's nothing!"

Chairman Ko Young-joon's face brightened after receiving the report on the zombies from his chief secretary. Then his expression clouded over again, and he asked, "What are the odds my father is still alive?"

"I'm afraid we can't be optimistic, sir. Shall I increase the search personnel?"

"Waste manpower on a hopeless cause in a crisis like this? No. Keep the current team searching a little longer, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if they come up empty, pull them all out."

"Understood, sir."

"And don't breathe a word about my father to anyone else. Especially not Serin."

"I'll keep that firmly in mind."

Just then, someone flung the door open and burst in, shouting at the chairman.

"Why on earth did you do it!"

Only two people in the world could yell at the Chairman of Hyunsung Group: his father, Honorary Chairman Ko Geon-hyuk, and his only daughter, Ko Se-rin.

Chairman Ko Young-joon dismissed the chief secretary and addressed his daughter in a placating tone. "Serin, don't scream — speak to me gently. This is an underground bunker; the sound just echoes everywhere."

"If you'd known in advance, you should have ordered an evacuation!"

Ko Se-rin had been at the group's headquarters when, without warning, her secretary and bodyguards had practically bagged her up and hustled her into a helicopter.

"If you'd warned the employees beforehand, at least one more person would have made it out alive!"

Chairman Ko Young-joon defended himself with a wounded look. "I was only half convinced myself! What if I'd ordered an evacuation and then the outbreak never happened? Your old man would have been a complete lunatic!"

"Dad, you care more about saving face than about people's lives!"

Thud!

She slammed the door behind her and stormed out, went straight to her own room, and sat down heavily on the bed. Once her anger had cooled, she murmured under her breath.

"Why hasn't Grandfather come yet? He's safe... isn't he?"

I climbed the hill behind the house and came to a stop before my grandmother's grave.

Every time I'd come up here in the old days to gather chestnuts, she'd said the same thing.

'When I die, bury me right here.'

I was six the first time I heard those words. As a little kid I'd bawled my eyes out every time she said them, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠after a few years I'd just grunted a curt "Okay" in reply.

I'd come by at Chuseok to mow the grave, but the weeds had already grown back in a thick tangle. Swinging the sickle through them, I spoke.

"I survived thanks to you, Grandma. Thank you."

And it felt as though she answered me.

'You fool — this is only the beginning!'

Fair enough. Hope only existed if I made it through this winter alive.

The message still hung in front of my eyes.

What on earth could the reward be?

In the mountain valley, the sun set earlier than in the city. It wasn't even five o'clock yet, but the shadow of the mountain had settled over everything, dimming the surroundings.

I came down the hill and returned to the house, planning to eat dinner before full darkness fell. I'd fobbed off lunch with a cup of instant ramen, and I was starving. Tonight, I'd eat properly.

Stepping into the kitchen, I set up a portable burner.

Let's hold off on lighting the stove.

There was no law saying zombies would only ever come from the Seoul area. This place was close to the East Sea — an incident like the one at Songdo, Incheon could just as easily play out there. And North Korea, bordering China, might already have become a zombie den. They could come pouring down from the northern slopes of the mountains at any moment.

So I had to act as cautiously as possible.

A portable burner should be fine.

I shut the kitchen door and blocked the window so no light from the flame would leak outside. To be extra sure, I wrapped the burner in a steel-plate windbreak before igniting it, then set a frying pan over the fire.

Sizzle—

I seared a can of ham on the hot pan.

Gotta keep the noise down!

Was it my subconscious trying to offset the psychological stress of the zombie crisis? Before I knew it, I was making a show of delighting over the smallest things.

Spam goes with a steaming bowl of white rice. That's just the rule!

I poured water boiled in the car's electric kettle into a pot, dropped in a pack of instant rice, and gave it a double-boil for about ten minutes. When I peeled back the lid, steam billowed up from the glossy rice in a soft rush.

I laid the golden-brown seared ham on top of the rice and dug in with a heaping spoonful. The savory salt of the ham melded with the mild taste of the rice into an exquisite harmony of flavors.

Delicious!

This wasn't me trying to force myself to enjoy it.

It was genuinely delicious.

The country house had two rooms, and both stood completely empty. I'd long since sorted through my grandmother's belongings, and my own things had been thrown out or moved to Seoul on my last trip. I'd cleaned the place thoroughly on that visit, so the floors were in decent shape — they just needed a quick wipe-down for dust.

Sleeping in a room as cold as an icebox, though? I'd be better off in the car. And the car was safer, too.

I'll sleep in the SUV.

I shoved the clutter piled inside the SUV to one side, reclined the seats to create a flat space big enough for one person, and spread a sleeping bag over it. I double-checked that the doors were locked properly. On the passenger seat sat my bow, arrows, and knife.

Here's hoping for an uneventful night.

I slipped into the sleeping bag. I'd tucked a heat pack inside beforehand, and a warm glow lingered there.

Hoot—

The faint cry of an owl drifted through the darkness, and that sound gave me a sense of relief.

This had nothing to do with white noise or sleep-aid sound waves. When someone intrudes into an owl's territory, it either calls in short, irregular bursts or falls silent altogether. So the steady hooting meant no intruder was nearby. I'd grown up falling asleep to the sound of owls — I knew their calls better than anyone.

I hadn't set any alarm, but my eyes snapped open in the predawn dark on their own. The heat pack in the sleeping bag had gone completely cold.

That heat pack's performance was disappointing.

I surveyed my surroundings through the car window first, then threw on a coat, grabbed my weapons, and stepped out of the SUV. Breathing in the cold, crisp air, I turned my gaze toward the eastern sky.

A short while later, dawn broke.

I wonder if anything happened overnight?

I picked up my phone, charged to a full one hundred percent, and scanned the internet.

The zombie virus appeared to have already spread across all of Seoul. Expected — no reason to be newly surprised. The pace of the virus pushing outward into the satellite cities, however, seemed relatively slow. That too matched my predictions. The greenbelt between Seoul ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and its satellite cities was slowing the spread of infection.

There was no word of zombies appearing in Gangwon Province. The same went for the eastern and southern coasts.

Oh!

The Korean government had uploaded a video to the internet.

I played the video, and the President's face filled the screen.

The President and his advisors had evacuated to a bunker, though its exact location was not disclosed. Once the boilerplate opening of the speech was out of the way, the substance began.

It sounded almost exactly like what the Mad Scientist had said.

And I wasn't the only one who thought so. The comment section had descended into chaos.

Plenty of people seemed to be watching American videos through a VPN. And then there was this comment:

It was asked in jest. The replies beneath it were jokes as well.

I let out a soft snort.

As if an ice age would suddenly begin out of nowhere.

But a moment later, a strange, inexplicable unease prickled at me.

Oh, come on... no way.

An ice age couldn't just descend out of the blue.

...Could it?