Contact from September Blue
“Hey, don't hospitals usually have food courts?”
“Yeah, I think so? Most of 'em are in the basement, right?”
Han Jaejeong's eyes lit up.
A hospital this size was bigger than most university hospitals.
Which meant there had to be a food court, a big mart, convenience stores, clothing shops, banks, and all sorts of little stores packed in there.
But there was a problem.
“That's where the most people would be, too.”
Jaejeong grimaced at his own words.
Yeah, when he thought about it, that made sense.
If there was a food court plus a big mart and banks, there would've been a massive crowd during the outbreak.
Getting there would be a miracle in itself, but coming back alive? That'd be in the realm of gods.
Jaejeong vented his frustration in a irritated growl.
“Fuck, in movies, don't zombies just shamble around?”
“Yeah? Except for a few, right?”
“But shit, why the hell are these bastards all sprinting around like maniacs?”
Gazing down at the hospital grounds, Jaejeong spat out the curse.
“Hoo, tell me about it. Those fuckers should run like that all the time in peacetime.”
The two shared a hollow laugh, staring at each other's faces.
It was ridiculous how they were adapting to this shit.
Cursing at something that wasn't human or monster—it was funny. Even funnier that they could harbor grudges against it.
But then Lee Beom-sik, mid-laugh, suddenly eyed Jaejeong.
“Hey, wait. We can use their speed against them, right?”
“How?”
Jaejeong blinked and asked.
“You said it earlier. Can't we just scare 'em off with fireworks? If they shuffled, one or two pops wouldn't lure the whole basement. They'd creep back slow. It's 'cause they sprint that it works.”
“Oh, yeah, you're right.”
Their gazes shifted to the nearby underground parking lot.
The oval lot, hollowed out in the center, was more than half-visible from above.
“Once Anna wakes up, let's try that first. The old man's daughter or the others should know where the food court or mart is.”
Jaejeong said.
“Yeah. But we're going again this time?”
“Huh?”
Jaejeong reflexively asked back.
“Are we going again?”
“Then who?”
“There's a ton of people downstairs. It's fine if we make the calls, but we should split up the risky stuff. No need for us to shoulder all the danger. It's not like we get extra for it.”
Jaejeong faltered at the unexpected question.
Thinking it over, Beom-sik wasn't wrong.
Hell, maybe that was the normal way to think.
“Fair point, but can you trust the people downstairs?”
Beom-sik pondered for a moment.
“Honestly? Not really.”
“Not shitting on them, but all they've done is run around inside the hospital and get lucky surviving. We're different. In just two days, we've been through hell and come out breathing. We're the ones who should go. It's more efficient.”
“Yeah, alright.”
Beom-sik conceded cleanly.
No real counterargument, and Jaejeong was right—the current lineup was perfect as is.
“Aigoo, why's my back killing me like this?”
Now that the tension was easing, Jaejeong's whole body ached.
Made sense—he'd carried an adult woman, run, fought, survived. Nothing was unscathed.
He collapsed into the chair by the transceiver like a sack.
At least sitting loosened the knotted muscles a bit.
“The rescue team's coming, right?”
Jaejeong murmured lowly, a hint of unease creeping in.
“When'd you sound so doubtful?”
“They have to now. If they don't for some reason, we're really fucked. We already stripped everyone's personal shit by force. Looking back, maybe that was a bad call. We're raiding the basement for food anyway.”
“Forget it. What's done is done.”
Beom-sik said, consoling him.
Truth was, the backlash had been fierce, just like Jaejeong feared.
Everyone was on edge; normal talk was barely possible.
That's where the rescue team excuse had come in clutch.
Anyway, it was done.
The two fell silent, lost in their own thoughts for a while.
Jaejeong hoped Anna would wake soon—no other way around it.
Only then could they firecrackers to lure the infected and hit the food court safely.
He closed his eyes, imagining a hot meal there.
The kitchens would be empty or infested, so they'd cook themselves.
Suddenly, cooking scenes flashed in his mind.
What sounds good?
Ramen if they found some—boil two packs, mix with rice, stuff himself silly.
Or tteokbaegi bulgogi.
Hospitals always had those stone-pot bulgogi joints in the food court.
Or pork cutlet rice bowl.
Easy eats like that dominated.
Oh yeah, tonkatsu.
His mouth watered instantly.
Fresh crispy cutlet, dipped in brown sauce—crunch, then pork juices bursting with fat.
Old-school style? Sauce poured on top.
This crazy daydream made his gut twist like it was melting.
Stomach playing tricks, pumping acid like food was incoming.
He writhed, groaning in pain, then shifted position pretending not to notice Beom-sik.
“How the hell do you work this thing?”
Feeling eyes on him, Jaejeong fiddled with the transceiver and muttered.
He'd seen plenty in the army, but never used one.
Beom-sik tilted his head.
“Beats me. I'm no good with machines—watching the old man fiddle gave me a headache.”
“This volume?”
Jaejeong's rough hands mangled the dials and buttons randomly.
Finally, it blasted an ear-splitting screech.
Kzzzzzzt!
“What the fuck did you do?”
“I-I didn't... I just...”
Beom-sik plugged his ears, pissed.
Panicked, Jaejeong spun dials wildly, trying to fix it.
Thankfully, the noise tapered off.
Right then.
Kzzzt— Kzzzt—
September Blue, September Blue. If you're receiving, respond.
Jaejeong's hand froze mid-dial.
Beom-sik whipped around from covering his ears.
Someone was talking.
They exchanged glances.
Beom-sik jerked his chin.
Jaejeong pointed at himself wide-eyed.
Me?
Beom-sik nodded.
They gestured like the mic was hot, even though it wasn't transmitting.
Kang Youngman would've busted a gut laughing.
No choice—Jaejeong mashed the mic button.
Static hissed out.
“Uh, uh, can you hear me?”
He released and muttered to himself.
“First time doing this shit.”
We wish to communicate with September Blue.
“What? Who's that?”
Pointing at the receiver, Jaejeong asked. Beom-sik explained calmly.
“That's the old man's code name. Military says it works anywhere. Tell 'em he's not here right now.”
“Ah, got it. First time, so I'm not used to it. The guy's you want ain't here—he's downstairs. Message to relay?”
Kzzzt—
Comrade?
“Yeah.”
Finished transmitting, Jaejeong waited intently.
Beom-sik focused too.
There are things to verify, but who follows radio protocol these days? We'll share our situation—reciprocate.
“Got it.”
For now, we can't dispatch a rescue team. Regrettable. Repeating: no rescue team dispatch possible.
Their faces hardened instantly.
Beom-sik bolted for the stairs, yelling.
“Tell 'em to hold on! I'll grab the old man!”
Jaejeong's hand trembled grabbing the mic.
So many questions, but words failed.
His mind reeled.
They'd quashed fierce backlash, seized personal items by force.
Everyone expected rescue.
They'd used comms with rescue as leverage to control them.
Irreversible.
No changing what happened.
“Why can't you come? Huh? Yesterday you said you could! Do you know how many people are waiting here? Kids too!”
Jaejeong's agitated voice shook with anxiety.
Maybe too emotional, one-sided.
No response for a while.
This tied straight to survival.
No rescue? Direction shifted completely—fend for themselves.
Group would head back to Youngman's place.
Escaping hospital was doable—lure infected like Anna did first time.
But after?
Food wouldn't rain from the sky at the auto shop.
And scavenging wouldn't last forever.
If this dragged on endlessly, they'd roam streets eating rotting scraps till death.
Everything had changed since day one.
Back then, just immediate survival.
Now? Realized it could be prolonged—or permanent.
Jaejeong craved a safe zone.
Survivors in numbers, rules or force to control them, organized food distribution—filling bellies systematically.
Simply: a place to live as humans.
He knew pre-outbreak world was gone.
But something similar? He'd take it.
No more stray cat wandering homeless.
Door creaked open by his ear, mic clutched, head down.
Multiple footsteps overlapped.
Jaejeong looked up.
Youngman rushed over, patted his slumped shoulder.
Then hit the mic.
“This is September Blue. You copy?”
Signal good. Speak.
The voice over the airwaves was robotic, flat emotion.
“Heard no rescue dispatch possible. That true?”
Youngman's eyes wavered badly.
Then the voice cracked sharply.
Conversation shifted tone entirely.
Ha... Guess I call you sir now you're discharged. No one's monitoring anyway. Captain Kang Jin-hyeok here. Call me Captain Kang. All rescue and search ops halted by order.
“Right, Captain Kang. Can you say who issued that and why?”
Youngman regained composure at the human touch.
Yeouido has the nation's largest safe zone. Government's hanging on there, with tens of thousands of survivors alongside troops. We're broadcasting from the West Sea.
“Safe zone? Then just bring us there.”
Excitement rippled through everyone at Captain Kang's words.
Safe zone!
Tens of thousands!
But the reply crushed it all.
Dispatch from your position requires helicopters overflying Yeouido—no op approval. Personal hunch: zombies trailing helis could endanger the zone.
Youngman squeezed his eyes shut.
Infected