Prologue: The Marauder's Resolve
Prologue: Day 3 of the zombie outbreak. After fleeing into the mountains to evade the police, I realized with painful clarity that survival meant returning to the city.
I sat inside my pathetic excuse for a shelter, staring blankly at nothing. It was a flimsy frame of long branches draped with a “Caution: Forest Fire” banner I’d cut down without permission, then covered in dirt and leaves. In other words, the kind of shelter an ordinary person wouldn’t last a few days in.
“Back to the city… No. For now, the mountain is still the best option.”
I muttered to myself and scratched my head, then quickly wiped the grease from my hair onto the banner spread beneath me. No matter how bad things looked, I had to hold out in the mountains until the police were completely paralyzed by the zombie apocalypse. The situation was shit from every angle. I hadn’t been able to prepare properly. My identity made it impossible to build a real shelter or stockpile supplies. Phone calls or card transactions could be traced back to the police, so I couldn’t leave any tracks.
At least I had the bag I’d risked everything to grab yesterday. That was something.
Rustle.
“Guess I’ll have a chocolate bar for breakfast.”
I dug through the duffel bag and unwrapped one of the many chocolate bars I’d brought. It was sweet. The sugar hit my brain and lifted my mood a little. Crunch, crunch. The nuts embedded in the chocolate snapped between my teeth. I took stock of my supplies, piece by piece.
The things I’d grabbed from home after escaping the detention center yesterday. Clothes, a few bottles of water, the chocolate and cereal I’d stockpiled while writing scenarios—enough to burst the duffel bag. There were tools too: scissors, a hammer, a kitchen knife. Suddenly the chocolate lost all its flavor.
“Way too little.”
It was laughably inadequate gear for surviving a zombie apocalypse. I turned my head toward the shelter’s entrance. When I pulled aside the sunlit flap, the city sprawled out below me at a glance. A concrete jungle packed tight with buildings. Eventually I’d have to descend into that place.
I tapped my fingers on my knee, reviewing the scenario I’d stayed up all night writing.
Zombie apocalypse. Urban setting.
Once logistics collapsed, the city’s resources would slowly dry up, but there would still be more than enough to keep people alive for years. Like primitives wandering plains to hunt beasts, I’d have to wander the city, killing zombies and looting convenience stores, supermarkets, and other people’s homes for food. And it wouldn’t just be zombies—other humans would become competitors too.
I clenched my fist.
“First, I need to secure weapons.”
Because with enough power, food could always be taken. I needed the strength to kill both people and zombies. Slingshots, crossbows, machetes, axes. Protective gear like helmets and riding suits. Tools to open locked doors. I remembered seeing news about using stun guns on electronic locks.
‘Wait. This is…’
I let out a dry laugh. Images from zombie movies flashed through my mind, and I realized the character I was becoming fit right in.
“I’m a marauder.”
No matter how I looked at it, the mindset was criminal. But there was no helping it. It wasn’t that I was strange. In an apocalypse, everyone would end up like this. Primitive humans fighting for their lives in a concrete jungle. Once I set the character, scenes kept pouring in. I wrote the scenario in my head.
How to survive as a marauder in a zombie apocalypse.
Dark, damp imaginations surged without end. Ways to hurt people. It felt like inspiration was exploding. I suddenly let out a regretful sigh.
“Damn! If only I’d written scenarios like this before!”
Time refused to move. I’d brought an old phone without a USIM card, but of course there was no Wi-Fi in the mountains. And there was nothing else to pass the time with. In my boredom I swung the hammer and kitchen knife around, but every moment stretched into eternity. The sun seemed nailed to the sky.
After hesitating, I slipped out of the shelter. My joints had stiffened from crouching in the cramped space; they felt ready to snap. The moment I stepped outside, I let out a soft exclamation.
“The flowers are blooming.”
It was the season when spring approached. Flowers were beginning to open across the mountain. The human era would soon end, yet nameless blooms were bursting with yellow and white petals. Fresh green shoots were also pushing up through the brown carpet of fallen leaves and soil.
I stared down at the shoots. Could they be eaten?
“…No. Bad idea.”
I couldn’t go to a hospital. Getting sick from eating something weird would be disastrous. I kicked at the unknown weeds or herbs with my toe. A pang of regret hit me.
If only I had the skills, the mountain wouldn’t be a bad place to live.
Steep, rugged, full of slopes and ridges. The terrain was perfect for blocking zombies. Good for setting traps, too. But I didn’t have the ability to survive here. If I stayed, I’d probably starve. I couldn’t even tell edible plants from weeds, and I knew better than to touch mushrooms. The bathroom situation was another problem. Though the city would face the same issues once the apocalypse fully hit…
I rubbed my aching stomach and returned to the shelter.
Day 5 of the zombie outbreak. I’d run out of water. Every bottle I’d carried was empty. I stared blankly at the hollow plastic.
Maybe it was the sunset light filtering into the shelter, but my face reflected on the bottle’s surface. Gaunt. Filthy. My nose had gone numb so I couldn’t smell it, but I probably reeked. I’d never gone this long without washing. My scalp itched, my body felt sticky, and I was losing my mind.
An impulsive thought rose.
Should I go down the mountain once?
There was a public restroom at the trailhead. That much should be fine… Rational logic built itself in my head. Reasons I had to go down. No water. Humans can’t live without water. It was an immediate survival issue. If I faced zombies while weak from dehydration, that would be a real problem.
“Let’s go.”
I put on a mask, pulled a cap low over my eyes, and slowly stood. It was a weekday anyway, and this mountain rarely saw hikers. The chocolate bar wrappers I’d scattered everywhere crinkled underfoot. I’d thrown them in at night for a bit of extra warmth. Leaving shiny plastic near the shelter had felt wrong.
I grabbed several empty bottles to fill with tap water, hid the hammer in my spacious hoodie pocket, and started down the mountain.
…
By the time the sky had turned deep blue, I reached the bottom. I approached the public restroom with a wary expression, moving carefully. A heavily tinted camping van was parked in front, and a yellow extension cord stretched all the way to the restroom entrance. The cord was swaying. A human shadow moved at the doorway too.
My hand instinctively slipped into my hoodie pocket. I gripped the hammer.
Zombie?
I silenced my footsteps. Heel first, then slow and deliberate. And then I saw the person.
“You scared me!”
It was a man wearing what were clearly expensive workout clothes. Short in stature, he had been stretching up to plug a charger into an outlet high on the restroom wall. He glared at me. The situation became clear. An electric car. An electricity thief. A shameless, immoral bastard trying to charge his EV using a public restroom outlet.
The strength left my hand on the hammer. Whatever this guy was doing, I just needed to wash my hair, rinse my face, and fill the bottles. But the electricity thief looked at me with contempt and muttered like he was cursing.
“The hell is a homeless guy doing here?”
The words didn’t anger me. I did look homeless. My clothes were covered in leaves and dirt. Whoosh. I filled the bottles with water first. Beyond the sound of running water, I heard the thief’s mocking laugh and the sound of him walking into the restroom. The stall door slammed shut.
I was washing my hands with the cheap soap when I heard it. I turned my head. The electricity thief was watching a video on his phone. I closed the faucet with a creak and listened carefully. Valuable news from the outside world. Even if the audio was muffled, I couldn’t miss it.
“The incubation period is between three and four weeks… Transmission begins from the first week of incubation…”
“Drone-infected individuals are expected to exceed ten thousand… Latent carriers are at least one hundred thousand… Likely to be much higher…”
“Strong social distancing measures…”
The unclear sound made my body unconsciously lean toward it. I frowned, concentrating. The electricity thief spat a curse.
“Ugh, turn that shit off. Who doesn’t know the situation’s bad?”
The sound of him roughly tapping his phone. He must have changed the video; a different, excited voice came through.
“Everyone, remember the coronavirus? Now’s the time to buy stocks! It’s a chance to get them cheap!”
I clicked my tongue softly. The world hadn’t collapsed completely yet. Hearing someone talk about stocks proved it. It needed to fall further. “I don’t recommend masks or hand sanitizer. They’ve already gone up enough. You’re not a pharmaceutical company. You have to change your thinking to make money. Look at companies that make and sell camping gear. Things like axes!”
That was the moment my movements stopped. I slowly turned around. A dark light flickered in my eyes as they reflected in the mirror.
Camping gear… If I play this right…
There was a camping van right outside. That treasure goblin—no, the electricity thief—was dressed exactly like someone going camping.
“There’s a company I’ve been looking at. Really, it’s a secret, but I’m only telling you guys.”
I silenced my footsteps at that voice. I stepped outside and approached the camping van. If the door was unlocked, I could do this without making too much noise. I grabbed the handle and pulled. The sliding door opened smoothly. My eyes widened.
The door to a treasure vault had opened.
…
I swallowed my exclamation. The camping van’s interior, brilliantly lit by the streetlamp. There was a dining table, sofa-like seats, chairs, a microwave, even a small kitchen. No—none of that mattered. I crouched and slipped inside.
Speed is everything right now.
Grab only what I absolutely needed and run. A petty thief was exactly the right role. I looked around hurriedly, choosing what to steal.
Bag with food in it. Take that. What camping tools should I grab? Folding chair? No. Sleeping bag? I’ll take that too. Pot?
That was when something caught my eye. A wood-burning stove? Or a heater? Either way, a tool for burning firewood. Next to it was a bundle of logs. And a hand axe.
I snatched the axe first. It didn’t feel particularly stable. Still, it wasn’t a real weapon like a hammer either. Long-range weapons like crossbows or slingshots were the truly human choice.
No. Stop thinking and hurry up!
I was reaching for the sleeping bag when a roar came from behind me.
“You thieving bastard!”
I turned around slowly. The electricity thief, face flushed red, was storming toward me from the restroom. I stepped out of the van as well, axe in hand. The thief stopped. His aggressive momentum vanished, his eyes fixed on the axe.
I adjusted my grip. The blade facing me, the head outward. The axe had a leather sheath; I’d have to remove it to expose the edge. That moment of unsheathing would create an opening. Better to swing it with the head. A person would still get hurt from that.
“Uh, that…”
The electricity thief trembled as he clutched his phone tightly. I raised the axe and spoke.
“The phone. Throw it on the ground.”