The Road to the Seed Vault

Three days after the strange bargain with Sim Geum-a and the frank talk with Yeong-ju, our shelter began humming from first light like a staging ground for a major expedition.

The Bonghwa Seed Vault. What had once been a vague ambition now stood before us as a concrete task — parked right beside a one-ton ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠truck.

Every morning we gathered around the large table in the support room and put our heads together.

Spread across the center were maps Yang Jin-ju and Kang Po-gyeong had spent the night preparing, marking every possible route from Daegu to Bonghwa, along with inventories of the resources we already had and exhaustive lists of everything we still needed.

"The biggest problem is still the route," Yeong-ju said, tracing the highway sections in red ink.

"We have to avoid the freeways. Tollgates and rest stops are almost certainly dens for zombies — or other survivors. And the odds of them being completely blocked are a hundred percent."

"Yes, ma'am. Agreed, Yeong-ju-nim."

Kang Po-gyeong nodded and tapped a winding national road with her finger.

"Even if it takes longer, old national routes and local roads will be safer. We might even scavenge unexpected supplies from abandoned villages or farmhouses along the way."

We all nodded ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at her practical advice.

Our roles divided themselves naturally.

The final expedition team would be just two people: me, handling combat and mobility, and Yang Jin-ju, responsible for map analysis and situational judgment.

Yeong-ju, Nam Jin-ju, and Kang Po-gyeong would remain behind to keep the shelter secure.

"First things first — we need to work on this truck."

I pulled on a Foundation Suit and stepped outside.

Our immediate goal was to turn this ordinary one-ton truck into a vehicle with at least minimal armor — something that could punch through roads crawling with zombies and, quite possibly, hostile survivors.

We tore usable steel plates and wire mesh from the wrecked cars scattered around us.

The Foundation Suit's energy saw sliced through solid chassis like paper, and its raw power let us hoist heavy plating as if it weighed nothing.

"Oppa! There's too big a gap between the plate and the glass there! You need to seal it tighter!"

Nam Jin-ju circled the vehicle, watching our work and calling out every weak spot she thought needed reinforcing.

Over the next several days we fitted wire mesh over every window and bolted thick steel plates onto every vulnerable section of the body. It wasn't proper welding, but it was the best reinforcement we could manage.

It was nowhere near a real armored car, but it ought to shrug off three or four ordinary zombies without much trouble.

Food and water went into metal drums we'd fabricated in the resource processor, then we lashed them down hard in the cargo bed.

A full week passed that way.

At last, on the evening everything was ready, we finished a final supper and gathered at the shelter entrance.

Before us waited the minimally modified truck, packed solid with supplies, and the two suits that would keep us alive — all of it ready for departure.

"…Do you think you'll make it back safely?"

Nam Jin-ju asked in a small, anxious voice.

Yeong-ju patted her shoulder.

"Don't worry yourself sick beforehand. Those two will handle it and come home."

Then she looked at me and added,

"And you — don't go falling head over heels for some random woman out there again. Yang Jin-ju, keep a tight leash on him. Got it?"

The gruff words carried real warmth and trust underneath. I smiled and nodded.

The next morning, before dawn, departure day finally arrived.

We had decided to rotate driving and lookout duty. One person would take the wheel while the other wore a suit in the cargo bed, watching the surroundings and clearing obstacles or zombies that blocked the road. We would pull over at intervals to switch, keeping fatigue to a minimum.

Yang Jin-ju took the first driving shift — she had owned a car in college and had more experience behind the wheel than I did. I climbed into the cargo bed in a Walker Suit.

"We'll be back!"

With Yang Jin-ju's bright call, our modified truck rumbled to life and rolled slowly out of the shelter.

The doors sealed behind us. After about twenty careful minutes on the road, a voice crackled through.

And last of all came Yeong-ju's voice, calmer and more sincere than I had ever heard it.

With that, a burst of static swallowed the channel, and contact with the base cut out completely.

For a moment I looked back at our shelter, growing smaller in the distance, a hollow ache in my chest. Then I faced forward again.

From here on, it was truly just the two of us — and whatever strength we could muster — against a long and brutal road.

A full day had passed since we left the shelter. The distance we had covered, though, was barely thirty kilometers — a fingernail's width on the map.

We simply could not make any real speed.

They show up the second you start to forget about them. Every damn time.

From the cargo bed I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stared at yet another massive tangle of wrecked cars blocking the road ahead and let out a long breath.

The roads were far worse than we had imagined.

The scars of the chaos from the earliest days of the outbreak still marked every route leading out of the city: cars twisted together into unrecognizable heaps, the rubble of collapsed overpasses, and countless zombies shambling across the asphalt.

All of it stood stubbornly in our way.

"Jin-ju, blocked again. Pull over for a second."

I shouted toward the cab. The truck screeched to a halt. I jumped down from the bed and began shoving the wrecks aside one by one with the suit's strength.

Then a wet, gurgling moan rose up, and several zombies that had been pinned beneath the wreckage dragged their grotesquely twisted bodies free.

"Ah, shit—!"

I swore and smashed their skulls with a kick.

Scenes like that had repeated themselves more times than I could count over the past day.

Clear the obstacles. Kill the zombies that crawled out of the gaps. Climb back into the truck. Drive a short stretch. Hit another wall of debris and undead.

We kept rotating between driving and lookout, trying to spare each other, but the mental exhaustion wore us down far worse than the physical strain.

"…At this rate, when the hell are we even going to get there?"

I had taken the wheel by then. Before climbing into the suit and heading back to the cargo bed, I asked the question weakly of Yang Jin-ju, who sat in the passenger seat studying the map so she could brief me on the route.

She said nothing — just gave my shoulder a firm little pat.

"Let's push a little farther. If we find somewhere decent to stop, we'll call it a night."

We crept forward in fits and starts until the sun had already set and the world sank into pitch darkness.

Late that evening we reached a tiny village that wasn't even marked on the map, sitting right along our path.

Not a single light burned. A perfect dead zone. The outbreak's devastation lay across the place like open wounds — shattered shop windows, a battered stroller abandoned in the street, ash from burned houses drifting on the wind.

We parked the truck in the farthest corner of the lot belonging to the village's only lodging, a place with the quaint name Rose Motel. Then both of us, still suited up, hauled a large tarp from the cargo bed and draped it over the truck for minimal camouflage.

(From here on, we move quiet.)

I said over the suit comm. Yang Jin-ju nodded.

We slipped into the motel like cats, footsteps deadened. Dust lay thick across the first-floor lobby; a single withered potted plant sat alone on the counter.

We took the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was dark. Most of the guest-room doors lining both sides hung open or had been smashed in.

At the far end, in front of room 208, we stopped. A rotten stench leaked through the gap under the door, and dark dried blood stained the floor. Inside, something crouched in the gloom.

(…I'll handle it.)

Yang Jin-ju drew the Foundation Suit's energy saw and spoke softly.

I nodded.

She stepped into 208 without hesitation. A moment later came a short, sharp shhk — and then silence.

Room by room, floor by floor, we cleared the second and third stories with methodical care until the entire building was secure.

In the process we quietly put down three zombies in total.

Once we were certain the place was clean, we claimed the corner room on the third floor — the cleanest one with the best view — as our temporary base.

Only after locking the windows and door tight did we finally sit down to a late supper.

Yang Jin-ju opened an emergency ration kit with practiced hands, poured water over the dehydrated packs, and waited for the food to reconstitute.

"Oppa, it's ready. Let's eat."

At her words I finally peeled off the Walker Suit and sat down. Shedding that heavy armor left my whole body feeling light.

"You already cleared the whole building. Why keep the suit on? Wasn't it uncomfortable?"

She ladled out soup for me as she asked.

"We took care of the zombies, sure… but you never know. Someone else might have spotted the truck we came in on and come looking."

Her expression tightened for a second. She thought it over, then nodded with quiet resolve.

"…You're right. Then tonight we should sleep in shifts too. I'll take first watch."

I shook my head.

"No. I'll go first tonight. You drove all day — you must be wiped. Get some real sleep."

Even in this brief overnight rest, we could not afford to let our guard down.

Out here beyond the shelter, we both knew perfectly well that the most dangerous thing was never the zombies. It was people.

In the pitch-black dark, five men armed with kitchen knives, clubs, and roughly sharpened wooden spears crept toward the Rose Motel on silent feet.

"Hey, Park. This is the place, right? You're sure? We're not wasting a trip?"

The tall, gaunt man in the lead whispered to the one behind him.

"I'm telling you it is! I watched from that hill this afternoon — clear as day! That one-ton truck pulled straight into this motel lot! No way I mistook a vehicle that big!"

The man called Park grumbled back.

They were part of a group that had fled into the hills behind the village when the outbreak hit and had been scraping by ever since.

"Heh… Whoever they are, waltzing into our town and sleeping without paying? They've got no right to complain if they die. If there's a woman, we'll enjoy her properly. And if they've got food, we can finally chew on something better than wild-herb gruel for once."

The lead man smiled, ugly and thin.

Moving with extreme care so they wouldn't rouse any zombies that might still be sleeping, they slipped into the motel.

The creaking first-floor door opened. They began a slow search, then climbed to the second floor — and there they found three zombie corpses, skulls either crushed clean or severed with surgical precision.

At that grisly sight their steps faltered.

"Hey… these guys aren't amateurs. Heads smashed that clean means at least a hammer or blunt weapon, and the ones that got taken clean off — they're carrying a seriously sharp blade. You sure about this?"

One of them asked, voice tight with nerves.

"Fuck… don't get cold feet! There's five of us. No way we lose."

"Still… maybe we just threaten them, grab whatever food they've got, and send them packing nice and quiet. People with a truck like that — who knows if they've got more of their crew somewhere we haven't seen?"

As they muttered among themselves, the tall man in front hissed,

"Enough! Shut up! I'll take point — just follow me!"

The other four fell silent and trailed him up into the darkness of the third floor.

Their hearts hammered hard — not with fear, but with the raw greed of plunder.