The World Doesn't End
I woke up in a detention cell on the second day of the zombie outbreak.
The sharp clanging of metal batons against iron bars mixed with someone shouting.
“Wake up! Wake up! It’s time to rise! Breakfast will be served shortly.”
I dragged myself upright, body aching from sleeping on the hard floor. My vision swam as the sterile, lifeless scene of the detention cell came into focus. Iron bars. Police officers. The memories flooded back.
Murder. Arrest. The physical exam, the confiscated pot, and the investigation postponed until today with the promise they’d proceed once I got my head straight.
“Ah…”
I buried my face in both hands and let out a long, heavy sigh. My life was as ruined as the darkness behind my eyelids. Murder, of all things. I’d made the wrong call from the start. Even if zombies appeared, it didn’t mean the apocalypse was coming. There’d been no need to react like that.
The view I’d caught through the van window yesterday while being transported after my arrest flashed through my mind.
The world really was fine…
Even though the zombie outbreak had begun, there were no zombies on the streets. People were just wearing masks, that was all. The world hadn’t changed much. Only my life had.
“I must be crazy. Seriously. Why the hell did I kill someone?”
I smacked my head repeatedly. Was it from lack of sleep? Or had I gotten too immersed while writing that zombie apocalypse scenario? Either way, I’d acted on impulse. And this was the result.
A detention cell. Soon to be a prison inmate. It would probably make the news.
When I lowered my hands, I saw an older man sprawled on the floor reeking of alcohol and a young guy whose arms were covered in tattoos. Cellmates.
“…”
The tattooed young man glanced at me cautiously, then slowly backed away. Whether from my muttering or something he’d overheard, he clearly knew I’d been arrested for murder.
The heavy weight of reality settled over me again. I was now a violent criminal that people avoided.
I slumped my shoulders and stared blankly through the bars. Since I’d already been caught, there was no point in writing scenarios or planning for the future. Hire a lawyer, wait for the trial… that was it.
There’s nothing I can do.
I leaned my back against the corner. Aside from the cop sitting in front watching us and the TV flickering beyond the bars, there was nothing to pass the time in this cell.
A detention cell… I guess this counts as experience…
I unconsciously started thinking about whether I could use this situation in a future scenario, then laughed at myself bitterly.
I’m about to go to prison. What scenario? Or maybe… once I get out, I could turn what I’ve been through into a story?
But I’d probably get at least ten years. What was the point? With a murderer label stuck to me, who would even read it? Or maybe it would be better if the zombie apocalypse actually happened. Prison life seemed worse.
My thoughts wandered stupidly until my eyes landed on the large TV outside the bars. It looked like a disaster broadcast. An emergency news special was on.
I listened carefully.
The anchor received a sheet of paper and smiled brightly.
“Yes, we have breaking news just in.”
The screen changed to footage of armed tactical units storming a building. Several people in handcuffs were dragged out.
The footage shifted rapidly. Images of objects resembling agricultural drones flying over various locations appeared. Concert venues, stadiums, rallies, transportation hubs, crowded public spaces. The anchor read the report clearly.
“According to information provided by a whistleblower, Immortal Company, under direct orders from its headquarters, systematically and deliberately spread the virus across the world using drones.”
“Ah.”
I let out a groan. So a zombie apocalypse really was too much to ask for. A virus with easily identifiable symptoms that was simpler to handle than coronavirus. A functioning government with full administrative power. Even if they used drones to spread it, the world wasn’t that fragile.
Why the hell did I spray soapy water? I could’ve just locked the door and held out.
A single moment of poor judgment had turned into an accident that shoved my life off a cliff.
Buried in deep regret, I kept watching the TV. The screen changed again. This time it wasn’t just Korea. Immortal Company buildings and labs were being raided all over the world. The United States, China, Russia, Japan, France, Britain. In every country.
“Doctor, will this affect the development of a vaccine and treatment?”
“Of course. Since they created the virus, there should be research data. Acquiring that information alone will greatly help with development.”
The expert paused briefly before continuing.
“At the very least, we’ll be able to establish effective quarantine protocols.”
I wasn’t sure if that was true or if they were just spouting irresponsible optimism because of broadcasting guidelines. Everything looked bleak to me.
“Yes, we have another update. The chairman of Immortal Company’s headquarters has also been arrested.”
The screen showed the arrested chairman being led away with a strange smile on his face. That smile seemed to mock me through the screen.
I clenched my fist so tightly my nails dug into my palm.
“Because of that bastard.”
If not for that insane Immortal Company, there wouldn’t have been any zombies. I wouldn’t have killed anyone. Everything, everything was because of that man.
My life. If only that bastard had made the virus properly in the first place, killing that potential competitor in the same building would have been the end of it.
“If only…”
I muttered under my breath. A dark fantasy took shape in my mind. If only the zombie apocalypse had truly arrived. If the world fell into chaos. If a world where killing a few people was just part of daily life came to pass. Maybe then my crime would be buried. Maybe I could live as a normal person again.
The fear of trial and prison, the stigma of being labeled a murderer, the shattered dream of becoming a scenario writer, the hopeless future, everything pressed down on my brain like a vice.
I clutched my head and groaned. It felt like my skull was being crushed. I couldn’t take it anymore.
And then I heard it.
“Grrrk.”
A beast-like growl. It wasn’t the snoring of the drunk old man. It wasn’t me either.
I jerked my head up. It was the tattooed young man crouched on the opposite side. He had suddenly turned into a zombie.
It was just like the student zombie I’d seen yesterday. The tattooed young man who had just turned grabbed his head with both hands and snarled. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of drool dripping from the shadows beneath his face.
He lifted his head. Bloodshot eyes.
“…”
The headache vanished in an instant. I was trapped in a cell with a zombie. What future was there to worry about? The present was the problem.
Countless words and sentences raced through my mind.
Zombie. What properties does it have?
Transforms without warning symptoms. Clear aggression. But what determines its target? Its senses are probably at human level. What should I do right now?
Crack. Pop.
The tattooed young man cracked his joints as he stood up. He whipped his head around like an excited beast. In the silent detention cell, he pressed his face against the bars following the sound of the TV, then whipped his gaze toward the loudly snoring drunk.
I watched him quietly, then slowly raised my hand and covered my breathing over my mask.
It’s sound.
I held my breath in the corner of the cell.
“Urrk.”
The tattooed young man paced roughly between the bars and the snoring drunk. Drool dripped steadily behind him, leaving a trail.
Notice it already!
I desperately tried to signal the police outside with my eyes. I couldn’t shout. If I made noise, I’d become the target.
“Man, a rich guy like that. Why would he do something like this?”
But the officer just turned leisurely and kept watching the TV. And then the accident happened.
The drunk lay on the floor, snoring loudly. His face was still flushed from the alcohol, shirt and tie loosened. The tattooed young man crouched, staring at him with a twisted face. He looked like a man unable to contain his irritation and rage at the snoring.
He opened his mouth wide and lunged.
There was no scream. He simply bit into the drunk’s neck.
Crunch. Flesh tore violently. Red blood spurted out. The sound and color hit me with vivid clarity.
The drunk woke up instantly.
“Aaaargh! What the—aaaagh! Get off! Get off me!”
Screams and a detention cell stained with blood. The cell had turned into a crime scene.
I slowly crept toward the door while the officer who had been watching TV jumped up in shock. He blinked a few times before urgently grabbing his radio.
“Detention cell! A prisoner is attacking another prisoner!”
At that moment, our eyes met. I rolled my eyes desperately. I looked at the infected, then at the officer, gesturing silently toward the door. If he didn’t open it, I’d get attacked and die too. Please, just open the door.
The officer looked away.
“Contact 119. And send backup! It looks like an infected person. I don’t think I can handle it alone.”
What backup?! Someone’s dying right now!
I almost shouted but clamped my mouth shut. This was insane.
When I glanced at the tattooed young man, he seemed to have lost interest after taking one bite of the drunk.
“Ugh… kuhk.”
The drunk could no longer snore. He pressed both hands against the wound on his neck, gasping for breath, pupils fully dilated as he stared at the ceiling.
Splat. The tattooed young man stepped through the puddle of blood and looked around wildly. His bloodshot eyes swept across me standing quietly and the officer on the radio.
My body tensed on its own. Could I win in a fight? No, winning a fight wasn’t what mattered. Even if I won the fight, I could still lose in the end. The infection route was unknown. Bite, saliva splash, scratch, airborne transmission. I had to be careful of everything.
Not fighting is the best option.
I held my breath. Then I secretly signaled the officer again. I slowly moved my hand, mimicking the motion of knocking on the bars. Draw its attention.
“Ah!”
Luckily the officer was quick on the uptake. He quickly extended his baton and began banging loudly on the bars on the opposite side from me.
The tattooed young man’s previously dazed face twisted hideously again. He covered his ears with clenched fists, then the next moment charged at the bars.
“Graaaah!”
He slammed his head against the iron bars as if trying to crack his own skull. His forehead split open and blood flowed. It was practically self-harm.
The officer who saw the blood stepped back.
“Hey, you can’t do that.”
He was probably thinking about all the problems that could arise with prisoners. Inducing self-harm or something like that. But the officer was already too late.
The excited tattooed young man kept throwing himself at the bars, teeth chattering toward the officer. He didn’t spare me even a glance.
Good.
I adjusted my mask and smiled.
And then the chance to escape came.
Several officers running to the detention cell to subdue the infected. The cell door opened to rescue the bleeding drunk. The zombie that burst out and the officers tangled together in one spot. I looked at the wide-open door, the entrance to the detention area, and beyond it the empty violent crimes office.