The Size of Hope
The size of hope varies from person to person. Someone who's gone hungry for days might pray for a single pack of ramen, while a person with ample supplies dreams of a more stable future. In my case, that hope was incredibly modest. My own survival, the continued operation of my marauder group, and—at the most generous—the sustained existence of Villa Street and its farming slaves. Anything beyond that held no interest for me. Hopes tied to children, the birth of larger groups, or the survival of more people were irrelevant.
'School really doesn't sit well with me.'
After leaving the villa, I pursed my lips and watched a policeman approaching with two elementary school students. The kids, who had skipped their labor duties to attend class, bowed politely to the officer. He waved his pistol in casual acknowledgment.
"Goodbye!"
"Yeah, see you tomorrow. ...Though the street's in rough shape."
The policeman eyed the Corpse Crucifixes and the bodies dangling from them with clear discomfort. Maggots writhed across decaying flesh. The mother who had come out to meet her children quickly grabbed their hands and offered an awkward excuse.
"There are some strange people in our area. It's pretty gruesome, right?"
"Yes, a little."
Typical adult, unable to stay pure. Failing to grasp this aesthetic. The children loved the scarecrows I had created.
The kids shook off their mother's grip and rushed toward the bound zombie. They pulled chocolate from their pockets and tore at the wrappers.
"Idiot. Eat this."
The zombie with cloudy eyes clacked its teeth. It twisted its entire body and shrieked at the children.
"Graaagh!"
Why did it sound like it was begging to be killed? The children giggled and tried to shove the chocolate—and the plastic wrapper—into its mouth. A splendid performance, making zombies experience the harm of plastic waste alongside sea turtles.
But their mother frantically pulled them back.
"I told you not to get close to zombies!"
"But he's an idiot."
"No! Seriously, why tie something like this up on the street?"
That was when I casually approached the policeman. He was staring at the zombie in disbelief, then noticed me and gave a slight nod.
"Hello."
"Yes, hello. The street looks a bit grim, doesn't it?"
"More than a bit.... Isn't this severely damaging the aesthetics?"
"I made them. I'm the one in charge of strange matters on Villa Street."
The policeman fell silent, his eyes trembling as if he had no idea what to say. The mother looked equally troubled, lowering her head slightly while hiding the children behind her.
"I didn't mean it in a bad way."
"It's the weird uncle!"
"Mom lies and says if we don't listen, the uncle will catch us and turn us into crosses!"
The children poked their heads out and pointed at me. I waved back with satisfaction. Skipping labor to attend pointless school was impertinent, but they were precious audience members who understood my sensibility. I could afford a little mercy. The mother was going to be excluded from important schedules anyway.
So I played along.
"Huh? That's actually true. We're short on small crosses. If you don't listen to your mom, you kids will also..."
"Waaaaah!"
Their exposed faces turned as white as the bitter masks they wore. Tears poured down as they sobbed. I scratched my head. I had only spoken moderately. Why were they so terrified? I hadn't performed it realistically or pulled out any scarecrow-making tools.
Watching the mother practically drag the children back into the villa at a run, I turned to the policeman.
"Arson threats and robbers kept showing up, so I installed these. People's reactions aren't great. It's ugly to look at, but effective as a deterrent."
"Ah. Um, but that corpse has 'Snitch' written on it."
"I didn't write that."
The weaker someone is, the more they pretend to be strong. This was an unavoidable self-defense measure, I explained as thoroughly as possible. Then I moved to the main point.
"Does it seem like the school can keep operating?"
"That's... may I ask your name?"
"Dain."
"Ah. That collaborator."
My name had made the collaborator list? That was good news. Becoming friends with the police who had turned into a gang would be useful.
The policeman spoke frankly.
"Honestly, I don't see it lasting long. For now, people with plenty of food make it possible to run somehow... but summer's coming soon, isn't it?"
Even calling it long-term only amounted to one season. We lacked the luxury to plan one or two years ahead. Summer—the season of terrible disasters about to arrive—was the immediate problem. The rainy season and typhoons. Sewers would fail. Rainwater pumps had already stopped. Floods would likely sweep through the streets. The heat would be another issue. Originally, heatwave deaths outnumbered those from typhoons or floods. In a city with destroyed electrical infrastructure, extreme heat became a nightmare. Mosquitoes were a concern, along with oil nearing its expiration date, increasingly frequent blackouts, zombie waves, and a future that looked utterly bleak.
'...Is this really the time to worry about other things?'
I suddenly looked up at the sky. School, the military. It didn't seem like the moment to waste energy on such matters.
'It feels like everything will die even if I do nothing.'
No, I might be in danger too. I could end up trapped at home throughout the summer, simply waiting for the season to pass.
Around then, the policeman gave a small wave.
"I'll be going, then."
"Yes, thank you for your work."
I adjusted my mask and sank into thought. Had an opportunity to pull ahead arrived? While my competitors wasted focus on schools or vague future nonsense instead of immediate reality, I could prepare for summer like someone who might die tomorrow. Or keep planting seeds in their minds so they would fight each other once disaster struck.
The farming was progressing reasonably well. The early-planted lettuce had already sprouted and was shooting up with vibrant green leaves. People who hadn't eaten fresh vegetables in ages swallowed hard, reaching toward the growing lettuce before reluctantly pulling their hands back.
"I want to wrap rice with ssamjang-smeared pork belly..."
"Meat. Aaaah. Kimchi stir-fried in pork fat."
Saliva pooled in my mouth as well, but I kept my lips sealed and stood in the corner, observing the atmosphere. I sensed baseless optimism and hope—the belief that they could survive even with the world in this state. A kind of leisure. It wasn't pointless that people were running a school. It was still livable for now. They seemed to be ignoring the poverty creeping closer step by step.
'I need to make a full sprint before summer arrives.'
It was time to floor the accelerator, risks be damned. We needed to systematically stockpile survival goods and prepare to endure the summer—two months at the shortest, three at the longest.
I spoke up in the indoor farm where the workforce had gathered.
"Everyone. This isn't the time for this. We need to prepare for summer. Anyone willing to check out marts or shopping centers where the zombies have cleared out?"
"The mart? Didn't the military loot everything already? And shopping centers are... kind of dangerous."
The response lacked enthusiasm, as expected. Everyone's belly was full. I rubbed my forehead and immediately changed tactics. Fine. I'd prepare separately with my marauder group. These people could be assigned other tasks.
"Then how about collecting oil and selling it? The military's opening a market, right?"
Our professional thief, Park Yanggun, had a pump for draining oil from vehicles. The cars would flood anyway, so we'd extract all the fuel and trade it for supplies.
"We do need to get ready."
The paranoid old man was already wary of summer, so he nodded readily. He had apparently begun suspecting the environment itself, not just people, and even offered a decent idea.
"Power and water could get cut off anytime. We should stockpile as many plastic bottles and containers as possible."
He flipped through his notebook and rattled off a list of items to hoard: butane gas, bleach, candles, tape, and more.
Once Villa Street's general direction was roughly set, I pulled Jeon Dohyeong and Sa Gihyeok along.
"You two work with me."
"Are we seriously going to a shopping center? There are tons of zombies, you know?"
"I really don't like these adventurous ideas."
True to the electricity thief and conman, they weren't fond of direct action. But I shook my head.
"If the shopping center's too dangerous, I won't go. But we have to hit the mart. Mosquito repellent is essential."
"Mosquitoes..."
Honestly, I didn't know whether the I-Virus spread through mosquitoes. But it worried me. What if a mosquito that had bitten a zombie bit me? It was unsettling. The moment I got bitten, I'd have to live every day suspecting infection. Besides, now was the only chance to gather resources from lower levels. Once the flood hit, everything would be swept away. Electronics would be ruined, along with most other goods.
In the end, Jeon Dohyeong and the conman showed reluctant faces but slowly nodded.
"Yeah, okay. It's not exactly a bad thing."
"I'm not confident in physical work, but if you order it, I'll do it."
With that, we headed to the mart first.
The mart had become an empty shell. Even the escaped zombies hadn't returned. I understood why the moment we reached the entrance.
Corpses. Countless corpses. No soldiers' bodies, but the place was packed with slaughtered zombies. The interior was the same. The dead lights and shattered fixtures made the atmosphere even gloomier. It was a place even zombies would hate to inhabit.
Jeon Dohyeong shuddered violently.
"I've never seen this many dead people before."
It was a first for me too. I carefully stepped around the zombies covering the floor and examined the bodies. When I shone the flashlight I'd brought just in case, they looked like ordinary corpses. After all, zombies were simply virus-infected humans. There was no real difference.
"Ugh. I can't stay here long. Shouldn't we grab what we need and get out quickly?"
Sa Gihyeok tapped my shoulder while I was momentarily lost in thought. I nodded quickly. We walked slowly through the silent mart. Traces of grenades being thrown, grotesque corpses, snacks exploded by bullets, signs that zombies had lived here. The military had stripped the food, but plenty of other items remained.
And then we heard it.
A rustling presence.
We raised our weapons at the same time.