Shadows of the Past
A short while later, the three men reappeared, each with an energy bar clamped between their teeth, and set their gathered items down on the workbench.
Jaejeong placed a bag full of fireworks.
Beom-sik a small box.
Youngman had brought mostly potential weapons, everything from kitchen knives to wrenches—a real assortment.
The standout was the baseball bat he'd modified himself, bristling with thick, long nails hammered into it.
Smashing an infected's head with that would pulverize the brain far more effectively.
The only downside: a nail or two might work loose with every swing.
"What's this?"
Youngman dumped out the bag, and fireworks of all kinds spilled across the table in a cascade.
"Perfect for luring a pack somewhere. Nothing beats these."
"Not bad."
Youngman and Beom-sik nodded in approval.
They'd definitely come in clutch at a critical moment.
With the fireworks checked, their eyes turned to Beom-sik's box.
Out came three military-camouflaged walkie-talkies and a small alarm clock.
"Oh, nice. The alarm clock's handy like the fireworks—set it ahead and stash it somewhere for a distraction. But the walkie-talkies... aren't those riskier?"
Beom-sik shook his head at Youngman's concern.
"Keep 'em off and carry one each. They're just for emergencies. If we get separated inside or shit hits the fan, check every ten minutes on the hour—the zeros. I tested it; crank the volume all the way down, and you gotta press it right to your ear to hear anything."
It carried some risk, sure, but it was solid insurance.
In that massive new hospital, if they split up, these would be their lifeline.
Plus, with the timed check-ins set, no room for mix-ups.
Youngman nodded, then something clicked and he called to Jaejeong.
"What about those protective guards you made from the boxes? Scrapping them?"
"Yeah, they're crap. They rattle every time you move or step—draws more trouble. This is good enough prep... time to roll out?"
Jaejeong glanced at his watch.
An hour had slipped by already.
They'd scored big for the time invested, but seeing Youngman's barely contained anxiety made Jaejeong's own impatience spike.
Jaejeong slung the sledgehammer—the ohamma—from its spot in the corner over his shoulder.
Youngman and Beom-sik gripped their usual weapons.
"What's that over there?"
Jaejeong nodded at a machine in the corner of the shop.
"Ah, transceiver. Even if lines are down, tune the frequency to—wait, why didn't I check this sooner?"
"Huh?"
Youngman bolted to the shop, hands flying over the controls with practiced ease.
Nothing. No survivor signals, no official disaster broadcasts.
Two possibilities: too early, or no one left to transmit.
Youngman's face darkened.
Jaejeong recalled his words: I hope the whole world's not like this.
"Could still be too soon. It's only been a day."
"Maybe. But the military? They'd have every channel open in an emergency. And yet..."
Youngman was teetering on despair.
It ran so deep, Jaejeong half-feared catching it just by looking.
He talked tough, but deep down, he was clinging to hope.
Jaejeong soothed him.
"Look on the bright side. Soldiers could be dead or scattered, no one manning comms. Or too frantic to broadcast. Like I said, just a day."
"Yeah... could be. Sorry, ever since I learned Minyoung wasn't home, I haven't been right in the head."
Youngman rubbed his throbbing temple.
"Then let's move. No time to dawdle."
Beom-sik eyed the fence draping over the hillside.
But Youngman wasn't ready.
"Wait a bit. Sounds silly, but I need to talk to my wife, and I forgot something important. Let me rest in the yard a spell. Drink your fill of water."
He left those words and vanished into the house.
The two sat under the parasol shade by the shop, chairs pulled up.
The wide-open yard had a certain rustic charm.
"I'm not the worrying type, normally."
Beom-sik, gazing across the yard, spoke up abruptly.
"That's why I was set to go solo. But... one thing gnaws at me."
Jaejeong just stared, saying nothing.
"If the old man's daughter really made it to the hospital, that's a miracle. But I don't like her odds. This shit's beyond what normals can handle."
"The problem's when we confirm she's gone?"
Beom-sik nodded.
"Yeah. And if one of us buys it trying to save her? That'd piss me off way more."
"Since when do you overthink? Doesn't suit you."
It was surprising.
The legendary gangster who'd crushed the capital with his fists, fretting like this.
The guy who'd barely blink at a corpse.
"Everything I've fought and crushed till now was human. Hit 'em, they hurt; stomp 'em, they drop; talk, they cower. But this? One slip, and you're done."
"Isn't your world the same?"
"Nah. Who swings meat cleavers these days? Old-school flicks overhype that shit. Doesn't happen now, and no one orders it."
Beom-sik's face twisted in complication.
Jaejeong felt a rare spark of human curiosity.
How'd a guy like that even survive?
A chuckle escaped Jaejeong's lips.
Could people simplify like this?
Irony piled on irony: he'd hated this worm, wanted to crush him, yet now felt this camaraderie.
Gazing at Beom-sik's uncharacteristically soft expression, Jaejeong ventured haltingly.
"You... never worry about your family?"
He eyed Beom-sik carefully.
But the response was lukewarm.
Beom-sik stared blankly at some spot in the yard, lost in memory.
"Family? Hell if I know. They're probably worrying about me right now. But you cuffed me and all—don't know my backstory?"
"Cops don't dig that deep unless it's relevant. I was after evidence, not you. Honestly, didn't peg you for the family-man type."
Jaejeong looked away, embarrassed.
"What? That look... tough guy like you peeking at me?"
"Come on, you'd think the same. Even raised right, would he turn out like this? Yeah, something like that. Ahem..."
Jaejeong spilled unprompted, like confession.
Beom-sik burst out laughing, pointing and howling.
"This fucker... you're a naive bastard! Why apologize? I'm sorry. Lied to you about one thing."
He wagged a finger around the yard, smile vanishing.
"Dad beat Mom bad. Beat me too. Little bro was too young, disabled, so he skipped him... till Mom went first. Then Dad doubled down on us for her share. See this?"
Beom-sik rolled up his sleeve, revealing the flashy tattoo.
He tapped the goblin's eye.
"Cigarette burns. Small potatoes. I took it. But when he started on my bro... couldn't stand it. Told him hit me instead—he just beat bro harder to spite me. So I grabbed what was handy and cracked his skull. He never got up. Juvenile hall after that, came home to an empty house. Hunted everywhere, flames in my eyes—no trace of bro."
"How old was he?"
"Ten when I went in. Eight years younger. Get the lie? I've killed, yeah—my own dad."
Jaejeong shut his mouth.
It clicked.
Why Beom-sik froze at the tubed kid.
Little girls were trauma incarnate.
And his aggression toward old-man Youngman.
Maybe Beom-sik didn't even realize he projected it unconsciously.
"So earlier..."
"Alright, let's head out."
Youngman emerged from the front door as Jaejeong started.
The abruptly severed talk left them standing reluctantly.
"Speed is life from here. Who knows how long our stamina holds."
Jaejeong's face was dead serious as he vaulted the fence.
Unlike leaving the building for the shop—this was infiltration.
No telling how many infected, how many wild cards.
The hike was tougher than expected.
A chain of small hills, but hills all the same.
Only fuel: energy bars and water from Youngman.
All gutting through gnawing hunger.
"Old man, how much farther?"
Beom-sik, trailing, grimaced.
"Quick pace, twenty minutes tops."
"You don't seem worried. Brighter than when you thought she wasn't home. Don't take it wrong—odds are slim in this mess."
Beom-sik blurted thoughts freely.
"Minyoung's no easy kill. Knows survival better than most. What'd she learn under me, wading battlefields her whole life? Parents' nagging sticks, even if boring—flashes in crisis."
"Hm..."
Beom-sik just nodded.
Family talk was awkward to touch.
Best to note Youngman's faith and leave it.
"Like I said before, faith starts unseen—that's how you accept reality later. Bad faith? Like you two dismissing each other before knowing. That poisons it."
Jaejeong and Beom-sik exchanged silent looks at Youngman's words.
"That's bad faith. Even proven wrong, it locks your mind. To you, my hope's foolish; to me, your mutual disdain is the folly. Good you're getting along now, at least."
Muttering like a priest, Youngman picked up pace and overtook them.
Infected People