Sowing Seeds
The Police Chief finished his speech by sowing seeds in the hearts of the apartment residents. “Yes, and moving forward, anyone who files a helpful report will receive a modest reward, so please keep that in mind.” The clear intention was to turn them into informants. This wasn’t something I had suggested, but the police seemed to have their own ways of running a faction. Practical expertise—reports, rewards, encouraging voluntary tips, inducing internal whistleblowing. All the real-world know-how.
“…”
“…”
The apartment residents’ eyes darted busily. Some coveted the food that would go to the informant, while the informant himself gripped his weapon tight and froze at the mention of a reward. Others were already searching for a different path to survival. A woman cradling a baby approached Elder Jeondo, tears pouring down her face. The police officers glanced at the infant and subtly turned their heads, opening a path.
“This is the Hope Church, isn’t it? Couldn’t you take us in? If you can just feed the baby—”
“…I’m sorry.”
Elder Jeondo averted his eyes and refused, his voice weak yet resolute.
“Villa Street, please.”
The baby’s mother now stretched her hand toward me. The situation had become critical. It felt like a siren was screaming in my ears. We didn’t need the extra manpower. But it was a baby. I stared at the infant as fearfully as if it were a bomb. More terrifying than any zombie or raider. No matter how you looked at it, coldly driving away a sobbing mother and her crying child would make me seem worse than an animal.
Fortunately, a model answer stood right beside me. I quickly copied Elder Jeondo’s reaction—eyes lowered, voice drained of strength.
“I’m sorry. We also…”
“Ah…”
The outstretched hand fell limply. The young mother, clutching her peacefully sleeping baby, trudged away. Had it worked? It must have looked strange. If I crossed the bare minimum line that people still shared, even my fellow marauders would reject me. From that point on, I wouldn’t even qualify as a marauder. I’d just be a lunatic.
Fortunately, the crowd only sank into heavy silence, their faces dark. It was simply the suffocating feeling of the situation itself—of the world itself. When I let out a sigh of relief, Elder Jeondo gave a bitter smile, as if he had read something else into it.
“It’s heartbreaking. If the Pastor were still with us, he would have embraced them all. He had the capacity for it.”
The Pastor, who in death had become less a man and more a symbol. I thought of him too. Well. If it had been him… He probably would have become real hope. Even in this apocalyptic city, he could have gathered people, absorbed other groups, and used religion’s traits to enforce quarantine. He had the power to swallow the entire city. Which was exactly why I had killed him.
Elder Jeondo shook his head. “We’re not the Pastor. Just maintaining a single community is already exhausting.”
“Yes… It makes me miss him for no reason.”
I stared blankly at the top of the towering apartment building before changing the subject. It was about time to head back. Transporting that much resources would take considerable time anyway.
“Let’s meet again on good terms. If you need help, contact the police station.”
“Deacon Kwon, get home safely.”
“Let’s all survive long enough to see each other again.”
The neighbors who had finished their harvest parted with smiles. None of them looked back at the apartment residents left behind. The world was far too barren to spare concern for others.
The harvest we obtained from the apartment was divided fairly. Sa Gihyeok, who had wielded eloquence more dangerous than any blade, and Park Yanggun, who had diligently worked the locks, received larger shares. The rest of us split the remainder according to our contributions.
After that, peaceful days followed. Monotonous, tedious routine. A countryside existence centered entirely on farming.
Scratch, scratch. I cut plastic bottles with mechanical focus. Once I handed them off, someone else filled them with soil stolen from street planters, and another person planted the seeds. Endless labor. Farming that stretched from dawn to dusk. Because the minimum rule was work or die, everyone on the street—including me—labored. Grandfathers, grandmothers, aunties, uncles, young men and women, even children who looked elementary-school age. All of them huddled inside the villa units, hands moving diligently. Someone had turned trot music up loud, and the atmosphere was strangely warm and harmonious.
“You klutz. Messed up again. I told you not to do that.”
“Haha. It just won’t become familiar.”
“At least you talk well.”
“Talking is my specialty, after all.”
Sa Gihyeok, who had blended in completely, laughed as he worked with clumsy hands.
“So how’s the romance going? How far have you gotten?”
“Aish, seriously. Why are you asking that?”
Jeon Dohyeong was being hounded by the nosy aunties.
“…”
I kept my face blank and worked like a machine. No one spoke to me. I wasn’t the type to start conversations either. Still, I couldn’t quite understand these human dynamics. I didn’t know why. Hadn’t I blended in fairly well myself? I even stepped up eagerly for the annoying confirmation kills. Yet Sa Gihyeok, who joined later, fit in better.
Something feels… off. Is it because there are too many people? I want to trim the numbers.
The narrow villa felt stifling with so many crammed inside. And if someone suddenly turned into a zombie, it would be a hassle.
That was when it happened.
Bang bang. Someone pounded on the door. All conversation died at once. The music cut off. Every head turned to stare at the front door. A grotesque shriek leaked through from the other side.
“Kwaak!”
“It’s a zombie. Leave it. It’ll get tired and wander off eventually.”
People turned the music back on and resumed their work with practiced indifference. The front door was invincible, after all. Occasionally a stray zombie would hear the noise and shuffle over, but as long as no one opened the door, it would eventually give up and leave. Compared to humans who could rip the door off its hinges, it was no threat at all.
But I stood up immediately. I was already feeling suffocated; I might as well do something else. I grabbed a hammer and an awl.
“I’ll go chase it off.”
“Is it necessary?”
“We need to start moving the pots soon anyway. Since we’re going out regardless, it’s cleaner to handle it now.”
No one argued. I walked straight to the entrance, left the safety chain latched, and cracked the door open. Through the narrow gap, the zombie immediately shoved its hand and face inside.
“Kraa—”
“Die.”
I smashed the hammer down on its hand and drove the awl into its eye. Not enough, apparently. The zombie screamed “Kueeeek!” and kept shaking the door violently. The chain rattled dangerously. I swung the hammer again, thump thump. The zombie’s fingers twisted at unnatural angles.
“Kwaaaak!”
Only then did it seem to learn. The creature turned and fled without looking back. It must have decided this wasn’t worth it. I felt a twinge of disappointment. Like I hadn’t finished the job properly.
If I had my way, I’d chase it down and beat it to death. But no. A human chasing after a zombie would be weird.
After disinfecting the tools, I pointed at the mountain of stacked pots.
“I’ll move these now.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks for running off the zombie.”
There’s a reason farming never ends. Carrying a box full of pots, I headed to another house—the one that held Villa Street’s hope. The hope that, surprisingly, people could survive long-term even in the city.
“Pots, delivery.”
The door opened with a clack. A proud-looking middle-aged man and several others greeted me.
“Perfect timing. It’s just about finished.”
He gestured grandly toward the spacious room. All the household furniture had been cleared out. In its place stood rows of shelves like those in a library. Our indoor greenhouse. The middle-aged man gazed at the recycled plastic-bottle planters as if they were treasures, then tapped the LED lights installed throughout the room.
“With these, it looks like we can actually farm properly. Good job bringing them.”
“They looked useful, so I grabbed them.”
They were resources from the apartment. We hadn’t taken only food—anything that seemed valuable had been stripped. That included the purple grow lights. Plant lamps? Growth lights? I’d brought every light that emitted wavelengths suitable for photosynthesis. Actually, since any light could probably be used, I had taken every single lamp I could find. Smart farm? Industrial agriculture? At any rate, it seemed like something we could imitate. The plan was to turn every empty house on Villa Street into a farm.
Of course, the government might eventually lose control of the infrastructure, or an accident could cut the electricity. But that problem could be solved by seizing one house with solar panels and relocating it. We worked diligently, placing the pots on the shelves.
“They’ll grow well, right?”
“They’d better. Honestly, if this succeeds, we won’t have to worry about food as much.”
I stared at the pots with worry. The first one I had made had rotted and died. It was still decaying on my windowsill. Just then, Park Yanggun, who was working in the room, smacked his lips. It wasn’t the soil that had given him an appetite—he seemed to be thinking of something else.
“It’d be nice if we could raise chickens too. Steady eggs would be great. Guess that’s impossible?”
Eggs. It had been a genuinely long time. Golden visions suddenly flooded my mind—steamed egg, rolled omelette, egg fried rice, sunny-side-up. I wasn’t the only one; the sound of people swallowing hard echoed around the room.
“Ah… Should we put in a request with the Delivery Vigilantes?”
“Won’t work. To get real chickens, we’d have to leave the city. …Is it worth the risk for chickens? Maybe we should just—”
It wasn’t only eggs. If raised properly, we could get meat, broth… Even I felt myself being tempted. Then a realization hit me.
If we achieved true self-sufficiency, there would be no need to raid anymore, would there? Couldn’t we simply move on to the final form of plunder, just like the Pastor? Turn the entire city into one massive farm and reduce every person into a farm slave…
The scene before me held so much hope that such thoughts arose naturally. An agricultural era recreated within the city. A post-apocalyptic life that recycled the remnants of civilization.