Pillars of Light

Last night’s sweet rest had been brief. Yet it had been deeper and more peaceful than any sleep before it. We no longer doubted or guarded against one another. Having crossed seventy meters of empty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠air together and shared the last remaining candy, we had been reborn as a single community of fate.

When morning broke, the sunlight bathing the rooftop of Apartment Building 108 felt unusually warm. From below, the faint groans of zombies still drifted up, but high on this rooftop they sounded like nothing more than background noise.

“Alright, shall we get moving?”

The first to call out with surprising energy was Yang Jin-ju. Unlike her usual responsible self, her face was full of the vitality and excitement that belonged to a woman in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her early twenties.

“Wow, moving around in broad daylight like this—and so freely—I can’t even remember the last time. It feels like we’re going on a picnic.”

She stretched, soaking in the warm sunlight with her whole body, as if trying to reclaim all the months spent moving only under cover of darkness or dawn, drowning in suffocating tension. The isolated safety of an apartment rooftop free of zombies gave us a liberation we had never felt before.

“Right? It feels just like the morning of a club trip!”

Nam Jin-ju chimed in beside her, skillfully coiling and packing the rope we had crossed on the night before. The terror of yesterday no longer lingered on her face. Their successful escape seemed to have planted real confidence in her.

Even Yeong-ju, who was always cynical and curt, wore a faint smile as she helped Nam Jin-ju. She brushed dust from the rope and occasionally traded small, casual jokes with her.

I watched the peaceful scene for a moment, then focused on my own role. No matter how safe it looked, carelessness was forbidden. I picked up a few chunks of concrete rubble from a corner of the rooftop and hurled them with all my strength toward the rooftop of the neighboring Building 107.

Clack-clack—

The concrete chunks struck the floor of Building 107’s rooftop. I immediately raised the binoculars and scanned every corner—the rooftop access door, the ventilation shafts, behind the water tanks—any place a threat might be hiding. Fortunately, nothing moved.

“Good. The next building’s clean too.”

At my words the three women stopped what they were doing and began preparing for the next operation.

The distance to Building 107 was only about twenty meters—short compared to seventy—but we took no chances. Yang Jin-ju first used the grappling hook she had fashioned from the disassembled harpoon gun to send a thin lead rope across, then used that line to haul over the thick main rope we had used yesterday and secure it firmly to both railings.

“Alright, let’s switch the order this time. Yeong-ju, you go first and secure the far side. Then Nam Jin-ju, then Yang Jin-ju. I’ll bring up the rear.”

No longer mere survivors, we set out with the feeling of explorers pioneering a sky road.

Building 107, Building 106, Building 105… Like children climbing a giant jungle gym, we crossed from rooftop to rooftop in turn. At first our hands were slick with sweat from the tension, but after several successful crossings we gradually grew accustomed to the aerial travel.

Below us a vast river of zombies flowed, yet to us gliding serenely above it, the sight felt almost unreal.

Sometimes laughing, sometimes teasing one another, we slowly began to reclaim the everyday joys we had forgotten.

“We’re finally here.”

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠don’t know how much time had passed. With me last, we at last reached the rooftop of Building 101—the final building of the complex—looking straight down onto the Buk-gu District Office Sports Ground. It was the end of our long sky-road journey.

Heart pounding, I habitually checked the system window.

Four hundred ninety-one meters. Now it truly felt close enough to touch. Just across the road below lay my destination—the sports ground.

“Guys! We’re here! We’re really almost there!”

I couldn’t hide my excitement as I shouted to the three women.

“Only four hundred ninety-one meters left! I was right, wasn’t I? The Shelter really is there!”

But no answer came. Yeong-ju, Yang Jin-ju, and Nam Jin-ju stood frozen at the rooftop railing, staring down toward the sports ground like statues.

“What’s wrong? Why is everyone…?”

Uneasy, I walked to the edge of the railing where they stood.

“Fuck… what the hell is that?”

Yeong-ju muttered as if her soul had left her body.

I followed her gaze to the center of the sports ground. In that instant my own heart froze solid.

In the middle of the wide grass field, a strange and overwhelming spectacle was unfolding.

Four enormous pillars of light rose toward the sky. They were vivid blue, semi-transparent columns of light.

The four pillars formed a perfect square, enclosing the central area of the sports ground like a massive barrier. Geometric patterns I could not understand continuously flowed down their surfaces, and inside them blue sparks occasionally burst like thunder and lightning.

“That light… it’s getting stronger the closer you get…”

Yang Jin-ju said in a trembling voice. She was right. When I first arrived at Building 101 the light had been faint; as I crossed the rooftop and drew nearer, it had grown powerful enough to be clearly visible to the naked eye.

And as if responding to the intensifying light, every zombie scattered throughout the apartment complex was now surging toward the sports ground even more fiercely, like iron filings drawn to a magnet.

I stared blankly at the system window again.

Everything became clear. Those pillars of light were the precursor phenomenon of my Shelter activating, and the closer I drew to the destination, the stronger the light grew—drawing every zombie in the vicinity.

In the game it would have been a friendly guideline clearly marking the objective. In reality it had become aggro that blocked our path.

“Seriously… why are you doing this to me, Shelter?”

I let out a hollow sigh. The system that had been my only hope was now pushing me into the greatest danger.

I don’t know how long we stood there. The four of us remained nailed to the railing of Building 101’s rooftop, staring blankly down at the unreal scene unfolding in the sports ground below.

“I’m sorry.”

The one who finally broke the long, heavy silence was, unexpectedly, Seo Yeong-ju. Her hands gripping the railing had turned white. Her voice carried a clear, anxious tremor I had never once heard in the past five months.

I turned to look at her, but she was not looking at me.

“…Everything I said about you being crazy… I’ll apologize for all of it.”

The supernatural phenomenon before our eyes, far beyond human common sense, had shattered the hardest wall of her convictions. She could no longer dismiss my words as a madman’s delusion.

“Um… I’m sorry too, Seo Yeong-chan.”

Yang Jin-ju spoke first. Deep confusion and sincere regret were written on her face.

“…I didn’t believe you. I only tried to use that insane goal of yours as a tool for our escape. I’m sorry.”

Nam Jin-ju added in a voice close to tears.

“Oppa, I… I’m really sorry for calling you crazy too. It was just… so unbelievable…”

Under the sudden barrage of apologies from the three women, I was the one who became flustered. I waved my hands, accepting their words.

“No, it’s fine. You don’t need to apologize. If I were you—or anyone else—I would have treated me like a lunatic too. That’s the normal reaction. So everyone, lift your heads.”

I forced a smile as I spoke. Their apologies somehow made me feel even more wretched.

At my words Nam Jin-ju looked up at me with glistening eyes and asked like a child.

“Then… Oppa. You’re not going to abandon us now, right? When we get there, you’ll take us with you too, right?”

To her, my Shelter was no longer a delusion but an existing utopia, and the fear that she might not be allowed inside had suddenly seized her.

“You’re worrying about the weirdest things.”

I gently stroked her head and smiled as reassuringly as I could.

“Of course. I’ll never abandon you. We promised we’d go together, didn’t we?”

At that exact moment my eyes met Yeong-ju’s, who was staring at me with a sullen expression. Her gaze seemed to say, Aren’t you standing a little too close…? I flinched without meaning to and hurriedly looked back down.

The time for reconciliation and promises ended, and we faced reality once more. How were we going to break through that glowing hell—the remaining four hundred ninety-odd meters?

In front of the apartment complex lay a six-lane road and a small park for residents. Beyond that was the sports ground itself. The park that once would have been filled with children’s laughter was now a massive gathering place for zombies. Even while we talked on the rooftop, they continued to stream steadily toward the pillars of light.

“First… a frontal breakthrough is impossible.”

Yang Jin-ju spoke, her cool-headed self returning.

“Crossing that road and park would be suicide. We have to find another way.”

“Another way… what could there even be?”

Nam Jin-ju asked in a despairing voice.

Leaning against the railing, we put our heads together, analyzing the terrain and offering opinions.

“There’s a small three-story building at the left end of the park. If we can somehow reach that rooftop, the distance from there to the sports ground’s chain-link fence is pretty short. We might be able to connect a rope again.”

Yeong-ju pointed it out sharply.

“The problem with that plan is that the path from this Building 101 rooftop to that building has almost no cover. We’d have to cross the road completely exposed.”

Looking around, I agreed with Yeong-ju. Advancing with nowhere to hide was reckless.

“Then… what about the underground parking garage? The complex’s underground parking might connect to an exit closer to the sports ground side.”

Nam Jin-ju suggested.

“Too dangerous. The underground is likely their nest. If we run into even a few dozen in a closed space, we’re rats in a trap. No visibility, nowhere to run.”

Yang Jin-ju firmly opposed it.

Countless ideas were exchanged, yet none offered a sure solution. Time kept flowing, and the number of zombies continued to swell.

Twelve hours. If it reset after that, we would have to wait for reactivation all over again—and we had no time left. Time was truly running out.

I made up my mind. We could no longer sit here theorizing.

“…I have a proposal.”

At my words, all three women’s gazes turned to me.

“From here, the three of you will cover me.”

“Cover you?”

“Yeah. From this rooftop, using the guns and remaining grenades we have, you’ll make as much noise as possible to draw their attention in the opposite direction from the one I’ll be moving. While they’re distracted, I’ll go down alone, approach that commercial building as quietly and quickly as I can, and scout. Whether there’s a path we can take or not. We can’t just stay up here forever.”

Even as I said it, the plan felt bold ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to the point of recklessness. Using the three women’s firepower to create a diversion while I alone reconnoitered the heart of the enemy lines?

If it succeeded, fine. If it failed, I would be isolated and die on the spot.

“Alone?”

Yeong-ju repeated as if she couldn’t believe it. Worry and distrust mixed in her voice. She seemed to think I was trying to play the reckless hero.

Yang Jin-ju and Nam Jin-ju were the same. Shock and opposition were clear on their faces.

“That’s insane! How is that even possible?”

Nam Jin-ju nearly screamed.

“You’re going to cross the middle of that zombie horde by yourself? Even with cover, how long do you think it’ll last? There aren’t few of them—they’ll spot you right away! That’s just suicide!”

Yang Jin-ju also shook her head coldly and began offering realistic objections.

“Your plan carries too much risk. You’re proposing to burn almost all our remaining firepower as bait for a single scout. If you fail and don’t come back, we lose the information and the firepower and end up isolated here. It’s the worst possible move.”

Finally even Yeong-ju.

Everyone’s opposition was natural. Rationally, my plan was a mad gamble with failure far more likely than success. But I could not back down.

“No. Right now it’s the only move we have left.”

I spoke firmly. And at last I revealed the secret I had been hiding until now.

“We’re out of time. We have less than twelve hours remaining.”

“Twelve hours? What are you talking about?”

Yang Jin-ju asked, puzzled.

I pointed at the system window floating in the air—the red warning message visible only to me.

“It’s on my system window. If I don’t reach those pillars of light within twelve hours, the Shelter’s activation procedure will be forcibly reset. The pillars will disappear, and everything… everything we’ve done to get here will turn to foam.”

At my confession a heavy silence settled over the rooftop. The clear twelve-hour death sentence turned the present situation into a breathless race with a hard time limit.

“So we can’t keep sitting here theorizing any longer. I have to go myself and confirm the path with my own eyes. And only as far as that commercial building at the end of the park. I know anything farther is too much even for me. Just to there, check whether we can connect a rope, and come straight back. I promise.”

I pleaded earnestly with the three of them, but Yeong-ju still bit her lip as if something didn’t sit right with her.

“…What if we just clear a path with guns from here? Use every bullet we have to thin out the zombies crossing that road as much as possible, then move together. Wouldn’t that be safer?”

She proposed it, yet her voice lacked strength, as if she herself knew the plan’s feasibility was low. Facing hundreds or thousands of zombies with a few rifles was like pouring water into a bottomless jar. The greater noise might only draw every zombie in the area straight to us—the worst possible outcome.

Yang Jin-ju and Nam Jin-ju also offered a few other methods, but none provided a clear solution to this desperate situation.

In the end every gaze returned to me, and after a long silence Yang Jin-ju finally spoke heavily.

“…Alright. We’ll do it your way. But remember this, Seo Yeong-chan. This is a gamble with all our lives on the line. You must—must—come back alive.”

Once her permission was given, the operation proceeded swiftly. We gathered again on the rooftop and began the final briefing.

“The direction I’ll go down is that way—the building on the left side of the park. So the first diversion should be the opposite direction: the right side of the park, near that bus stop. There are plenty of structures that will carry sound well.”

I pointed with my finger, and Yang Jin-ju nodded and continued.

“Good. When I give the signal, I’ll throw the first grenade that way. The problem is the second grenade. Timing is critical.”

“Around the time I’m almost at the commercial building, their attention will likely swing back toward me. That’s the most dangerous moment. Right then you have to set off the second grenade and pull their eyes again. This time farther than the first spot—that oil tanker visible at the end of the road. The explosion will make bigger noise and flames.”

At my explanation Yeong-ju cut in sharply.

“How are we supposed to know when you’re ‘almost there’? Radios are too risky. We can’t shout either. How do we signal?”

Her point was exact. Without any way to exchange signals, perfect timing was nearly impossible. After a moment’s thought I pulled a small hand mirror from my bag and showed it.

“I’ll use this. When I reach the commercial building and secure safety, I’ll reflect light toward your rooftop three times with this mirror. The moment you see that signal, don’t hesitate—throw the second grenade right away.”

Primitive, but the only method available to us now.

“…Understood. I won’t miss that signal.”

Yang Jin-ju answered solemnly.

One hour later.

All preparations were complete. I stood before the rope hanging long down the side of the building. Now I had to climb down that rope along the cold outer wall of Building 101, straight into the middle of hell.

“…Yeong-ju.”

I called to Yeong-ju, who stood beside me watching in silence. She looked like a cat with separation anxiety, pale-faced, chewing her lip. Her hand trembled faintly as it gripped the arm that held the rope.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

When I forced a smile, she closed her eyes for a moment and took a long breath. When she opened them again, the anxious tremor was gone.

“Be careful, you crazy bastard.”

She spoke in the same strong, curt voice as always. Yet I could still feel the faint tremor at the end of it.

“You have to come back. Without you, that Shelter or whatever is completely useless. Got it?”

“…Got it.”

I squeezed her hand once, then finally looked at Yang Jin-ju. She held a grenade, watching me with a hard expression. I nodded to her without a word.

And then I entrusted my body to the rope and began descending the cold outer wall of Building 101, down into the depths below.