Outbreak at the Border Outpost
Somewhere near the 38th parallel, inside a North Korean military outpost in the DMZ border zone.
The biting cold wind unique to the northern regions whipped fiercely through the area.
Every gust that swept past drew chilling screams from the trees blanketing the ridgeline.
In the pitch-black midnight, the sounds felt even more terrifying than usual.
Early winter's chill had crept in swiftly, permeating the entire region, its icy fingers now reaching toward the soldiers standing guard inside the outpost.
A junior private clutched his rifle, posted up at the outpost. His comrade the platoon leader's words about unusual climate changes around the peninsula suddenly rang true.
The revolutionary events in South Korea had brought massive changes to the North as well.
Supply lines had transformed completely, for one.
Just last winter, they'd suffered through frostbite by breathing into holes in their padded jackets and patching cracked boots with whatever they had.
But as South Korea crumbled under that bizarre plague, weapons and supplies were instantly replaced with Russian and Chinese gear.
The gloves the junior private wore now were Russian-made.
No one knew why, but among the troops, Russian stuff was way more popular than Chinese.
Above all, the shiny canteen was a favorite.
When it came to duty gear, nothing beat the mechanical auto-rotating searchlights that swept the area on their own—no more manually shining lanterns everywhere.
All they had to do was watch where the beams fell.
Rumors said Russia and China's aid had a clear motive: keep the plague monsters from overrunning the peninsula.
That way, they'd stay safe too.
Put harshly, it was like turning all of Korea into their forward operating base. But in the end, it was the only path to mutual survival.
Still, the fact that they offered zero manpower—just material support—was an uncomfortable truth no one could ignore.
Who cared, though? Life was getting better.
For months now, meat stew had been on the menu every damn day.
And it wasn't just stew—steamed dishes, soups, everything was meat-based.
A true revolution.
The Party had armed the entire populace and thrown them into training to maintain alert status.
Thanks to that, the people weren't starving anymore. With full backing from China and Russia, everyone was putting on weight day by day.
Which was why border security here was tighter than ever before, in any era or crisis.
Monsters appear? Shoot to kill.
Kill first, kill second—no confirmation shots needed.
They were dead the moment they stopped moving anyway.
Nothing like humans who could play dead.
In any case, South Korea's misfortune was a blessing for these guys.
So the soldiers maintained peak vigilance without anyone ordering it.
Most of the time, anyway.
Not always.
Like right now.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The junior private stepped aside at the sound of boots climbing the stairs.
A senior private, looking a few years older, entered the outpost.
The senior private glared at him with a sleazy smirk.
"You fucking dog, didn't I tell you not to move a goddamn inch while I was gone?"
"W-what the hell are you talking about? I stood here stiff as a fucking icicle."
"For real?"
"For real."
The junior private swallowed dryly.
Of all days, he had to pull guard duty with this asshole.
If there was a god, he'd curse the bastard.
This senior private was infamous in the unit as a total psycho.
Rumor had it he didn't shoot monsters—he sliced their throats with a knife.
A complete lunatic.
Plus, he bullied rookies whenever he could and ditched his post constantly. Rookies prayed every dawn not to get stuck on duty with him.
Suddenly, the senior private's face twisted oddly.
"This prick, check your attitude. You questioning me? Wanna rot?"
"No, sir!"
"Your face says otherwise. Oh, is that it? Here, try it yourself if you're so smart. Smart-ass smartphone."
The senior private half-pulled a smartphone from his pocket.
How the hell did this idiot smuggle in contraband that could get him executed?
If it got found out, everyone connected would be fucked.
The junior private swallowed again. "All clear, sir."
But as the senior private fiddled with the phone in his pocket, he suddenly hacked up a cough like he was puking.
"Hack! Hack! Hack! Caught a fucking cold? Been like this since yesterday, aigoo, hack! Hack!"
"Want something warm, sir?"
"You watch front."
"...Got it."
Embarrassed, the junior private turned to scan the lit-up front.
"Gonna hit the shitter quick. Stay sharp."
"Yes, sir!"
As the senior private stepped out, the junior private muttered under his breath, suppressing rage.
"Fucking prick, like I need to stay sharp around your crazy ass."
Coughing echoed from outside.
The junior private kept cursing inwardly.
Shove a rice ladle down his throat and stir.
Rip out his tongue and swat him like a flyswatter.
Guy looks like a half-rotten potato anyway.
He was still stewing when—
Crash!
Something tumbled down the stairs the senior private had descended.
The junior private flung open the door in alarm.
Instead of heading down, the senior private lay sprawled in the grass.
"Comrade! What happened?!"
The senior private just rasped heavily instead of answering.
The junior private rushed down in one leap and checked him.
Hack!
The senior private spewed a mouthful of bright red blood.
The junior private's eyes bulged.
Up close, something sharp protruded from the senior private's side.
The jagged bottom of a half-severed sapling.
"W-what the—? Comrade! Stay with me! Comrade!"
The senior private, mouth agape in agony, groped the spike through his gut.
Then he gasped like he was dying.
"Comrade! Comrade!"
The junior private's calls grew urgent as consciousness faded.
He regretted cursing the guy at the outpost.
Hated his guts, sure—but not enough to wish him dead.
Just that much hate.
Radio! He grabbed it late and radioed frantically.
"...Comrade's badly hurt! Send help fast! Fast!"
After, he gripped the fading man's face, shaking and yelling.
Desperate to keep him conscious.
No use—he went limp like a dead hunk of meat.
"Y-you're not dead, right? Comrade! Say something!"
Shaking wildly, he felt a faint twitch.
He scanned the limbs.
Fingers twitching slightly.
It worked.
"Can you hear me? Open your eyes first!"
He shook harder now.
A dying man coming to—excitement was natural.
Needed to call for help.
"Comrade, I'll be right back. Just lie still."
As he stood—something grabbed his wrist.
Looking down, the senior private's eyes were wide open, gripping hard.
The intensity froze the junior private; he yanked instinctively.
"C-comrade, I'll be quick—let go!"
Too strong—couldn't break free.
Unnameable dread crept in.
Then—
Grahhh!
The senior private's eyes flashed red. He crunched down on the hand.
"Aaaagh! You crazy motherfucker!"
Thwack!
The junior private kicked his face without thinking.
Hard enough to send him tumbling down the slope several rolls.
Blood dripped from the trembling hand.
Too deep for a quick bite.
But more shocking was the senior private's state.
He'd seen it before.
Bloodshot eyes burst with veins, lightning-fast leap to his feet.
A monster.
But... impossible.
You had to get bitten by one to turn.
That was the only way. Always had been.
This guy hadn't been bitten by anyone—then suddenly changed.
Eyes flicked to the wood spike in his gut.
No connection there.
What the hell happened?
'Am I infected too? Turning into one of those things?'
Couldn't die like this.
Unbuckled his belt, wrapped his arm tight, cinched it.
Excruciating pain as flesh compressed—but had to endure.
Better than bleeding out or whatever.
First... run.
"Hya!"
The junior private bolted while the zombie senior private slipped on the slope.
Find the platoon leader.
Report this shit, kill or capture the thing.
Bang!
"P-platoon leader comrade!"
The junior private's face flushed red as he burst in.
Couldn't speak straight, gasping.
The startled platoon leader stared.
"What happened?"
"I-it's..."
"Spit it out!"
He caught his breath and explained calmly.
The platoon leader's face darkened with each word.
Fury boiled, grinding teeth.
Should've handled it on-site.
Now that crazy monster was wandering, chasing lights.
"Ha..."
The platoon leader sighed, covering his face with both hands.
Had to hunt it down ASAP.
"Wake everyone! Find that monster and smash it now!"
"Got it!"
"Hold up."
He stopped the junior private heading out.
"Lift your arm."
The junior private froze by the door, back turned.
"Lift your fucking arm!"
Heavy silence under the yellow bulb.
Click!
Platoon leader drew his hip pistol, aimed.
Blood drops plopping to the floor.
"P-platoon leader. Got scratched clearing branches..."
"Don't move! One step and your head's gone!"
"Got it. P-please don't shoot. It ain't a bite, just a scratch. P-platoon leader?"
The platoon leader's face crumpled like paper hearing it.
The junior private's breaths grew ragged, back turned.
"Your name and rank. Now."
Gasp! Gasp!
Suddenly heaving shoulders.
Platoon leader backed up, finger on trigger.
"Name and rank!"
Grahhh!
The crouched junior private whipped around roaring.
Yellow light gleamed off a monstrous face.
First time seeing one this close.
First time in such tight quarters.
Maybe that's why.
Bang!
The bullet shattered the window, missing the head.
Cold sweat down his back.
As he squeezed again, the monster was halfway there.
"Gah! Aagh!"
Throat vessels tore; hot blood sprayed like a fountain.
Seconds later.
Two monsters screamed down the hall toward footsteps.
Infected People