Doubts in the Fog
Youngman stroked his chin as he paced back and forth inside the barracks.
It was because of the story Jaejeong had told him about the warehouse.
“Isn’t it strange?”
“What is?”
Youngman stopped walking and spoke.
“Think about it. If there was really something worth hiding in that warehouse, they wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.”
“Maybe they mentioned it ahead of time since you’ll be patrolling around everywhere as security.”
“No, it’s too quick for that. It’s almost like…”
Jaejeong stared intently at Youngman, who paused for a moment.
“They told you on purpose.”
“What, I thought you were gonna say something big.”
Jaejeong let out a sigh mixed with a chuckle.
“I see it differently. The timing’s suspicious. It feels like they’re hoping you’ll go find it yourself.”
“Aren’t you jumping ahead a bit?”
“Maybe. I’m just following my gut.”
“Hm…”
Jaejeong fell into thought.
He did want to check it out.
The thought kept nagging at him too.
It popped into his head even when he woke up from sleep, and especially when passing the production zone while walking around.
Of course, Youngman’s point wasn’t entirely wrong.
Mentioning such an important place without giving details felt off.
He couldn’t just go if they told him not to.
Relations with the army base were delicate, and both the safe zone and his own position here were still unstable.
That’s why he couldn’t act on impulse.
“By the way, how’s the work going?”
“They’re about to fire flares to draw the zombies’ attention. The fog hasn’t lifted, so it’s risky, but they don’t seem to plan on delaying. Construction equipment’s lining up already.”
“That explains why they need fuel.”
Jaejeong recalled the yachts without gas at the pier.
“Once they secure the riverside properly this time, getting to the big mart and gas station should be easier. Looks like they’re surrounding it like a game of Go. The problem’s Beom-sik, Hyun-soo, and Anna. Especially Anna—she’s a woman. How long can she hold up doing hard labor with that body…”
Youngman trailed off worriedly.
Tearing down and moving the outer wall wasn’t light work.
Construction machines and heavy equipment would play a big role, but everything else relied on manpower.
Lifting heavy loads was basic, and there were no safety measures for accidents.
Not even helmets provided.
Youngman felt guilty lounging comfortably in the barracks while others suffered.
Reading his face, Jaejeong stretched and stood up.
“Then let’s go see. Maybe there’s something we can help with.”
“No need, my friend. We’ve got our own task.”
“Our own task?”
“We should go take a look.”
Youngman nodded toward somewhere with his chin.
Hard to tell from the direction alone, but from the conversation, it had to be the warehouse in the production zone.
What to do?
It was different from brooding alone.
Having someone egging him on beside him made a difference.
He knew his mind was already leaning that way, but he still hesitated.
Yet Youngman’s face looked like he’d already decided.
He’d keep persuading Jaejeong.
Fine. If I’m not gonna hold back forever, better to check it out sooner.
Jaejeong stretched again.
Right then.
A loud boom echoed as flares burst into the sky.
The Work Leader stepped in front of the laborers.
Today was full of problems from the start.
The thick fog was one thing.
It had changed the work order too.
The doctor had shown up before dawn.
Demanding people.
What kind?
Someone to guide the work through the fog.
Someone to push the field liner—a wheeled machine for marking tracks or courts—all the way from the end of Riverside Park to the big bridge. And another to wait nearby with a flag.
Whether by volunteering resources or force.
He wouldn’t interfere with the method.
The Work Leader slowly scanned the laborers’ faces.
Today, everyone from the sprawling boundary zone was gathered in one spot.
Quite a crowd when bunched up.
Enough to make the news if they protested.
And their ragged appearances made him hesitant to speak harshly.
Summer was ending, but it was still hot.
After nearly two weeks without a proper shower, they looked like refugees even refugees would pity.
In the chaotic atmosphere, he spotted some who’d staked out positions.
A tall guy with a deathly pale face.
Quiet, so hard to peg, but the little brothers trailing him gave it away.
Some thug from who-knows-where.
He’d acted pissy a few days back, but not yet.
Time for probing.
He’d hold back even if they poked at his gut or whatever.
Plenty of chances ahead.
Behind him, a tall woman and a younger guy who looked relatively mild.
The old man had been taken by the doctor that morning.
He’d asked why, but got no answer.
What the hell was going on.
A newbie who’d barely entered the safe zone waving a card around, kidnapping useless old folks like that.
Then dumping all the dirty work on them.
The Work Leader wasn’t thrilled with the situation.
But no choice.
He was just the guy who followed orders quietly.
Thanks to the hat they gave him, he was sucking honey in this hell.
He had to do it.
Too bad to send those gangster punks—they’d never go willingly.
“Plans changed this morning.”
Unlike his worries, the Work Leader clapped like a talk show host and stepped forward.
Anyone could see he was built for hyping crowds.
They called it a natural fit.
“The fog’s too thick… Hey! You in the back, you hear me?”
He pointed at the last row on tiptoes.
A bit hazy, but they nodded.
“Good. Fog’s too thick… Impossible for construction machines to work precisely all at once. Once we start, it’s a race against time, as you know. Flares won’t work great in this fog. They’ll swarm on the noise, sure, but we gotta finish before the effect wears off. So here’s the plan!”
The Work Leader swallowed.
Now came the key part.
“Bring that thing.”
His sidekick dragged the liner over.
“You know this? Saw it in school as kids, for marking fields. We’re using it to mark the construction line. Some say follow the road by the outer wall, but too many cars riverside. So we’ll mark along the park.”
His sidekick pulled the liner on cue, leaving a white line on the ground.
“Need two people total. One waits at the endpoint with a flag. Trucks with torn wall sections and heavy equipment arrive right after the line’s marked. The other runs this from the wall-tear spot all the way to the bridge. Stamina matters, no gender bias. Can’t stop midway. Got it?”
“So who’s going?”
One laborer raised a hand and shouted.
“Volunteers first.”
People glanced around silently.
No one stepped up.
“And if none?”
“Then… we draft.”
The mood turned rowdy instantly.
Murmurs everywhere, faces panicked.
Questions flew.
“Could die, right?”
“Risky, sure…”
“You go, Work Leader! You look healthy.”
“I gotta hold my post.”
“Why us again? Why send us to die!”
As complaints erupted, the Work Leader squeezed his eyes shut.
He spread his hands to calm them.
Please, just stop. No time!
“I don’t wanna go either! Anyone here wanna step up and draft me instead? I do hard work too. Whatever I choose, I get hate. I’m just following orders. Right? Then you do it.”
They called it pleading.
The Work Leader appealed desperately.
No tears, but begging understanding from the angry crowd.
Making the furious nod instead.
That was pleading’s power.
He pulled off his hard hat—symbol of his rank—and appealed emotionally.
And damn if it didn’t work.
They shut up like honey-mouthed fools, swallowing dryly as tempers cooled.
“Not sending you alone. Soldiers go too. A whole company escorts. I’ll do everything to keep you alive. Asking again: anyone to run the liner?”
Dead silence.
Who’d want to?
Dragging a noisy liner through endless fog, or standing alone at the bridge with a flag.
Then, someone broke from the ranks.
The woman from that group spreading scary survival tales lately.
Guarded weirdly by the gangsters.
Archery athlete, right? No way I’m drafting a woman. Gotta mind optics. But zero volunteers. Expected, but this bad?
The Work Leader checked his watch, glanced toward the tower.
Getting anxious.
Had to resolve fast.
Short as two weeks was, he wore that flimsy hat by executing orders swiftly.
There’d been someone above him originally.
Gone now.
Early safe zone days, he’d witnessed it.
What happens to those ignoring orders or dragging feet.
Partly health crash, but vanished like a mirage, no trace.
Still gone.
To the tower?
Production zone?
Thought so at first, but not anymore.
That guy’s personality—he’d have swung by boundary zone multiple times.
Loved showing off.
Production Manager was at least human.
Opportunist, quick, sly—but human.
Doctor was different.
Never seen above him, but doctor was off.
No smiles, no anger, no frowns.
Same face always staring.
Experience said those types weren’t normal.
Better cozy up, win favor over risking ire.
Rewards solid.
To escape this hellhole boundary zone, he’d ditch the hat gladly.
Even live buried in fields all day, just for a house with water.
“Then, no volunteers, so we’ll draft…”
The Work Leader trailed off.
Had to.
A volunteer emerged near the middle.
But he tilted his head.
Least expected person.
“Not a question? You’re volunteering?”
The volunteer nodded.
The freakishly tall, unnaturally pale-faced guy from earlier.
Face more model-celeb than thug, yet making the tough guys quake.
But why you?