No Time for Despair
His arms trembled uncontrollably.
The thin thread of reason he'd clung to so desperately finally snapped.
Letting out a roar that startled even the infected, Jaejeong madly stomped the furniture barricading the rooftop door.
Helplessness.
Of all the emotions surging through him, it was this powerlessness that fueled his rage the most.
Watching someone die right in front of him, unable to do a damn thing—that was what drove Jaejeong insane.
He cupped his face with both hands, gasping for breath.
But he didn't have the luxury of wallowing in despair.
A good number of the infected had chased after the helicopter and vanished, but who knew when they'd circle back.
Besides, plenty more lurked on the streets below. They had to get out before their numbers swelled further—or come up with some other plan.
Truth be told, there hadn't been a moment to process any of this.
Jaejeong knew full well that figuring out the situation and plotting an escape was the smart move, and fast.
It had all just happened too suddenly.
Just a few hours ago, life had been perfectly ordinary.
An everyday routine, no different from any other day.
Then, without warning, people turned, killed, and died.
Streets spotless mere hours before were now drenched in blood, the city paralyzed.
The few survivors still scurrying about had mostly perished too, making it harder to find a living soul than a needle in a haystack.
Even scrounging up a bottle of water to drink was no easy task now.
Jaejeong squeezed his eyes shut.
He had to make a decision.
How many hours had it been since he'd last had a sip?
Beom-sik wasn't showing it, but he looked worn out too.
No major physical exertion since reaching the rooftop, but the nonstop shocks and tension had drained their bodily fluids through sweat at an alarming rate.
These two had been through hell and back in their lives, but today's ordeal shattered every lesson learned from the past.
To navigate the crisis ahead, they needed to grasp the situation first.
Understand what these things were, their traits, everything they'd face head-on.
Jaejeong spoke up.
"I was too out of it to ask before... but you were watching the news earlier, right? That virus shit from Japan—looks like that's what turned Seoul into this mess. That it?"
"Quick on the uptake."
"Those fuckers... it's connected to that thing a couple days back, right? Foreigner biting people on a plane, got shot dead?"
"Probably. Don't know for sure. I didn't catch much myself."
"Spill it. Everything you heard."
As Jaejeong pressed, Beom-sik swept his sweat-matted long hair behind his ear, staring blankly into the distance.
Like he was straining to recall the scene from hours ago.
Beom-sik's explanation dragged on for a while.
"...Japan's probably wiped off the map by now. Looking at those things swarming out there, it's a miracle they lasted days. Nothing special about 'em. Smash the head, they die—like in every zombie flick."
"Never had time for movies like you. So spell it out. What makes someone turn into one of those fuckers?"
Jaejeong demanded, badgering him.
"Contact. Their blood seeps into your wounds, you're infected. Bites or scratches go without saying. At first, it took days to turn, but now? Less than a minute. That's it. No clue on the minimum dose needed."
"Something's off..."
Jaejeong stroked his chin, lost in thought.
Japan couldn't contain it.
Knew about it and still failed.
Tried sealing it off, but it leaked out anyway.
Which meant there was another transmission route people didn't know about... or...
Japan's cities crumbled in days.
Korea—smaller, denser population—would fall even faster.
Maybe they'd die here, or never see the old world again.
Despairing.
Jaejeong pulled out his smartphone and switched to the camera.
Then grabbed a chunk of concrete from the floor and thrust his arm out over the edge.
"What're you doing?"
Beom-sik watched with interest.
"Watch close. Those fuckers move slow like turtles right now. But stimulate 'em like this..."
The concrete chunk dropped sharply toward the ground.
Moments later, it shattered with a crack, shards flying everywhere.
Just as expected.
Jaejeong couldn't tear his eyes from the screen.
The sluggish infected surged toward the impact site in unison.
Their reaction was so swift, it raised goosebumps even through the phone.
"Sound, impact. Sound especially."
Jaejeong nodded, saving the video.
Beom-sik chimed in, chin propped thoughtfully.
"Visual cues too. Saw it when they chased those runners—locked on precise."
"Duh, they got eyes. Of course."
"Point is, corpses can see. Gotta acknowledge that."
"Corpses..."
"You think they're alive?"
"Dead things don't move."
Beom-sik frowned at Jaejeong's firm reply.
"Japan's PM said it flat-out. They die, then reanimate. Medically dead, then mutation kicks in."
"Whatever. They're moving, so alive enough. Who gives a shit dead or alive? They pull this crap—that's what matters."
"...Fair."
"Lemme see..."
Scanning the rooftop, Jaejeong spotted something and headed to the edge. He picked up a rock a bit bigger than a soccer ball.
It looked heavy even at a glance.
Behind it, more trimmed rocks strung on ropes stretched out.
Probably for securing tarps over structures when the wind kicked up.
Beom-sik asked, watching.
"Now what?"
"Gotta confirm if head-smashing kills 'em. Can't just take Japan's word."
"Saw that old timer drop three earlier. But with you holding it, looks like a ping-pong ball."
Beom-sik marveled as Jaejeong sauntered back, balancing the hefty rock like a soccer ball on his palm.
His massive arm muscles rippled with every shift in the stone's center of gravity.
Imagining a punch from that fist, Beom-sik got chills all over.
Guys like that should be legally barred from touching people, he thought.
"That's beside the point. Gotta verify. And how'd those fuckers multiply so fast anyway?"
The street below teemed again with infected from god-knows-where.
Jaejeong let the rock slide off smoothly.
Then zoomed the camera as it fell.
Definitely heavier—dropping faster than the concrete.
Thud!
Two infected smashed into the pavement simultaneously.
And that was it.
Heads crushed, they never stirred again.
Jaejeong nodded queasily at the zoomed-in brains and gore splattered on the ground.
His stomach churned.
"Solid intel."
"Better than nothing."
"How so?" Jaejeong asked.
"Was worried you'd pull some shit like 'they're still human, virus means we can cure 'em, can't kill people.' That crap."
"You kidding? I'd be dead if I protected everything."
"Yeah. Folks with more to lose don't last. So, next? Got a plan?"
"Not satisfying, but head-smash kills for sure..."
"Why not satisfying?"
Beom-sik looked puzzled.
Struck like a perfect bowling strike, yet complaining?
"Don't know the impact threshold for it to work."
"Keep hitting, you'll get the feel."
Beom-sik said chillingly.
"Cut the psycho talk. Grab those stacked boxes over there."
"Boxes?"
Jaejeong pointed to a pile of cardboard boxes in the corner.
"Yeah, twine too. Wrap 'em on arms and legs."
"Then what?"
"What else? Punch through."
Jaejeong swept a hand over his arm, thick as a normal guy's thigh.
So reliable, Beom-sik actually felt reassured.
"Music to my ears. Was sweating dying here in some romantic bullshit with you."
"Quit yapping. Catch."
Jaejeong lit a cigarette and tossed the rest of the pack and lighter to Beom-sik.
For now, they were each other's only lifeline.
Nothing unites like a common enemy.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend—and nothing bonds like shared foes.
The same thought flashed through both their minds.
Just until we escape this building.
Cooperate till then.
They strapped the twine-bound boxes to their limbs, crafting makeshift armor.
Gaps here and there, but it'd serve as decent protection.
No way the infected would inspect before biting.
Could thrust the padded spots forward to block bites.
Left joints like ankles and knees exposed, focusing on the rest.
Wrapping joints would've hobbled them straight to death.
Clearing the rooftop door's barricade revealed an open toolbox.
Jaejeong glanced back.
"One floor at a time. Scrounge drinks or food, short break. Grab something decent from here. You good?"
Beom-sik laughed derisively, lighting what might be his last smoke.
"Like hell."
"Now that's more like a gangster."
"Don't get in my way."
"Got it."
Jaejeong snorted and shoved the door open.
They knew the infected's traits well enough now.
But facing them? First time.
Still, neither showed fear.
Life had taught them: when you can't run, fight.
They'd faced stronger foes, overwhelming odds, countless times.
Jaejeong his way.
Beom-sik his.
Each had their methods of survival.
"Not people. Got it? No guilt."
Jaejeong muttered, rolling his shoulders with hammer in hand.
"Guilt? Never felt that shit. Wouldn't be here if I did."
"Talk big... From now on, try living nicer. World's ending—who knows when we drop. Be a little decent."
"Always been that way. Save the lectures, watch your own ass."
Beom-sik followed, wrench gripped tight.
Infected People