The Lone Runner
“Boss! You can’t!”
“Please reconsider.”
“Why make it us… We’ll go!”
The burly gangsters stamped their feet, not daring to lay hands on him.
But Lee Beom-sik’s face remained unchanged.
The Work Leader flashed a peculiar smile.
“Alright then. Who’s joining the soldiers near the bridge?”
People were strange creatures.
Crowd psychology or whatever it was—once someone stepped up boldly, volunteers popped up everywhere like they’d rehearsed it.
Was it hesitation catching fire, a love for volunteering, impatience for a quick decision, or something else entirely? Who could say.
“I’ll go!”
It was close to Beom-sik.
A man in his late thirties waved his hand high and shouted.
He’d been quiet until then, but suddenly he was acting like he’d die if he didn’t go.
“Blue shirt! You’re in!”
The man in the blue shirt crouched to his young daughter’s level, meeting her eyes.
She wailed for him not to go, but he had to convince her.
Watching over her was important too, but in this world…
Setting an example might matter more.
That was education, after all.
“That makes two. Look, I’ve said it again—I could go instead, but I get that it’s not up to me. Time’s running out, so follow orders, move out properly, and stick to the routine we’ve drilled for days. Stay clear of heavy machinery, hold your positions. Let’s use this to finally live like humans in decent homes.”
As the Work Leader stepped down from the table, people scurried to find their teams.
Once laborers stripped the outer wall, they’d clear the debris.
They had to signal with hand signs for heavy equipment loading chunks onto trucks and manually remove obstacles from the new wall sites.
The fine details machines couldn’t handle.
That’s why they’d formed teams of ten, moving in sync under their team leader to avoid chaos.
Even in these harsh conditions, the expansion plan was meticulously detailed.
The Work Leader reported every decision to Park Yi-hyun-seok daily.
If this went well…
The Work Leader slipped into the ranks, heading for Beom-sik.
“Bro, you really going?”
Yong Tattoo asked, his face pale with shock.
“Yeah, I said I am.”
“Seems dangerous.”
“If you nitpick every risk, you do jack shit.”
Beom-sik brushed dust from his hands, replying indifferently.
His underlings tried again.
“We’ll go, boss. Please think it over one more time?”
“Should’ve said so from the start.”
“That’s…”
They trailed off.
They knew his temperament.
He wasn’t one to volunteer lightly, but when duty called, he charged ahead without hesitation.
And once decided, he hated backing down.
He thought long and hard before acting.
Few words, deep thoughts.
The burly men bowed their heads and retreated.
Pushing further might be worse than fighting infected out there.
To them, Beom-sik was the law.
Then the Work Leader approached.
“You sure you can handle it?”
“Think I can’t?”
Their rapport had grown casual after that prior clash of interests.
The Work Leader eyed the gangsters.
“Not saying that, but honestly… you could die. It’s that risky. You know what you’re signing up for? And if something happens to you, these guys won’t let me off easy.”
“Problem?”
“…No issues, boss.”
Beom-sik’s sidelong glance made them bow in unison.
“Good?”
“Simple enough. Job’s simple too. Just run, like we said. Nothing tricky, right?”
A nod.
Conversation over.
* * *
The flare burst in the sky opposite the safe zone.
A massive boom drew eyes as red light bloomed through the fog.
In pitch darkness, it would’ve lit the area like day, but daylight dulled the effect.
The flare’s pop was quiet, but enough for sharp-eared infected.
Somewhere in the thick fog, it would draw every infected in Yeouido.
Beom-sik perked his ears.
Right after the flare, a roar erupted beyond the outer wall—thousands strong, by the sound.
He turned.
Heavy machinery and construction rigs lined up beside him, operators tense in their cabs.
Time to tear down the wall.
The battalion behind was just as wired.
If hordes remained, the plan was doomed.
Once numbers exceeded melee capacity, gunfire was inevitable.
And gunfire…
Brought the horde back.
Then they’d seal the wall without progress.
Even that might fail—rushed construction in panic, infected surging through gaps, turning the safe zone to ruin.
The whole force would open fire, drawing more.
Gunfire was the last resort.
Laborers by the wall’s eyes gleamed.
This was their shot.
Boundary zone dwellers, bottom rung—success guaranteed future homes.
Failure meant tents again.
Sacrificing hygiene was abandoning humanity.
They couldn’t take it anymore.
Beom-sik gritted his teeth.
Mid-arrival or not, the wait had been hellish.
Living like this long-term? Madness.
His underlings felt it too—their grim faces said it all.
This wasn’t human squabbles.
No margin for error, no mercy or favoritism.
Fail, and die.
Grabbing the liner, he felt a kid staring.
The blue-shirt man’s daughter.
Her gaze was too complex for a child to read.
Time to go.
Silence fell; all eyes on the production zone apartments’ rooftop.
Fog shrouded it, but distance allowed a glimpse.
Soon, a flag rose, flapping side to side.
Infected had chased the flare.
From height, their snake-like masses were visible in patches.
Vroom! Rumble! Thud! Thud!
Machines belched exhaust, advancing.
They ripped the glued wall free; thick dust choked the air worse than fog.
Trucks queued to haul it.
More dust billowed.
Anna, Yong Tattoo, laborers—all watched.
Moments later.
Roll! Roll!
Wheels on pavement, then Beom-sik burst through dust in a grimy T-shirt, dragging the liner.
A battalion followed in formation.
Fog limited visibility to meters.
Beom-sik reaches the end, machines follow to erect wall along the white line.
Roll! Roll!
Only liner wheels and marching boots filled the air.
Laborers lined paths like marathon crowds.
Beom-sik’s breath burned.
But eyes pulled him more—curiosity, hope, worry mixed.
He wasn’t the volunteering type.
But someone had to drag the liner.
Machines couldn’t navigate fog precisely.
No one else stepped up.
Timing was critical post-infected exodus.
So he did.
Ignored protests.
Work Leader warned of death.
Fine by him.
Death didn’t scare; frustration at inaction did.
But these gazes.
Unfamiliar.
Not his men’s admiration.
Hope clung to his legs.
New feeling.
I have to nail this.
Their expectations dominated his mind.
Yeah, let’s run. To the end.
Each breath spat saliva; side ached like bursting.
Damn, Yeouido this big? Thought my stamina was top-tier.
Suddenly, no crowds.
Started at riverside kindergarten, bound for bridge entrance.
No people meant school district.
Station soon, one block more to bridge.
Running riverside, Beom-sik glanced left.
Hills, stairs steepening.
Apartment complexes beyond.
High-rises too.
Secure that, and…
Looked back.
Too fast? Soldiers gone.
Ahead, thicker fog.
Bridge reached.
Where’s the flag guy?
How much farther?
Then.
Figures in fog.
Relief fueled weary legs.
Distant truck engines—wall haulers.
Odd.
Not one figure.
Two, three, four, five!
More emerging.
Running.
Infected.
Beom-sik skidded to halt like braking tires.
Infected charged, jaws gaping.
Faces: flag man, vanguard soldiers.
No way…!
Blue-shirt among them, as expected.
Radio silence explained.
Bridge entrance hazy behind.
Fuck, so close.
Spit dribbling, he eyed blue-shirt, recalled his daughter.
Crouched tenderly, eyes level.
Her tears.
What thoughts as he met this end?
If he’d thought of her alone…
No.
Not for outsiders to judge.
Glanced back.
Could move, but not flee.
End here?
Where soldiers?
No. Can’t die like this.
Dropped liner, scanned.
Park branches, stones scattered.
Grabbed some; eyed five infected.
Five wasn’t hard, but pain immunity and headshots-only dragged it out.
Had to.
Or die.
Life tasted sweet, bitter, shit.
Mud-crawler dodging blood?
Flash: first fists exchanged.
Kid self: scared, hard, painful.
Survived, adapted.
Pain faded; memory vivid.
Same now.
Near impossible.
But survive, adapt.
No matter foe.
Beom-sik gripped branch and stone, stood firm.
Eyed their charge, steeled himself.
Infected