Fresh Greens and Lingering Shadows
A storm of education had swept through. An awkward sort of peace settled over Villa Street. Whenever a zombie appeared, we drove it off with boiling water, and the wilted lettuce slowly began to regain its vitality. Best of all, the bright-eyed children had returned.
Escorted by police, the kids came running in a noisy rush, only to stop short when they sensed the empty space. “Huh? Where’d the dummy go?” “Did it go inside because of the rain?”
The spot where our Virus Generator—the children’s favorite toy—had once stood. The kids circled the area with disappointed expressions, then suddenly lifted their heads. Their mother came sprinting out in a panic, collapsing to her knees as she pulled the children into her arms.
“Kids!” “It’s Mom!”
A family clinging tightly to one another. The police officer adjusted his mask with a satisfied look, then lowered his head and walked away.
I watched the scene from the window. Is the school safer than I thought?
During those stormy days when zombies roamed the streets, an open school should have been dangerous. Yet it seemed to have held up surprisingly well. The children chattered away while clutching their mother’s hands—how they saw soldiers shooting guns, how everything planted in the playground died from the rain, how fun it was to sleep under blankets in the big auditorium, how they wanted to eat something… Their voices gradually faded. Their mother had hurried them back toward the villa.
I also noticed the kids glancing around, checking for zombies. I tapped the windowsill quietly. Will the school keep running? Getting to school had become difficult, and the streets were dangerous. I figured many parents would give up on it entirely.
But things unfolded differently from my expectations. The school never stopped operating. The teachers, who would become nothing more than ordinary survivors if the school collapsed, came up with a new solution: dormitory life. No need to commute—students would eat, sleep, and wake up right there on campus.
Barbed-wire fences around the walls, soldiers guarding the narrow entrance, police stationed inside the school. Their security, firepower, and safety surpassed most survivor groups. Parents seemed to jump at the chance to buy not just education, but safety as well. Even though it meant providing more food, word spread that parents were sending their children anyway, pushing themselves to the limit.
The mother right here on Villa Street was no exception. “Brush your teeth before bed, and call me right away if anything happens.”
In the street in front of the villa, with police watching, the mother held her children’s hands and gave them careful instructions. The kids hung their heads glumly. They knew they would have to leave their parents’ side for a while and live in an unfamiliar school.
They wore faintly dark expressions, then quickly bowed and said goodbye to the people on the street. “Goodbye.” “Yeah, come back whenever things calm down.” “Contact us immediately if there’s trouble.”
The survivors of Villa Street pressed candies into the children’s hands. With so many people already dead, it seemed they viewed the kids as symbols of hope. Or maybe as backup USB drives—hoping the children would remember them even if they themselves died.
I hid in the corner, struggling to conceal my sour mood. What a waste of resources. Loss of labor, loss of supplies. What was the point of this pointless endeavor…?
As I stood there, the children approached me hesitantly. Perhaps remembering how I had teased them before, they showed subtle tension and fear.
“Goodbye, mister.” “Later, if you catch another zombie, tell us!”
I didn’t have a taser gun to capture zombies with, and I hadn’t seen any lone zombies wandering around lately. After a brief pause, I rummaged through my pocket and pulled out a water gun. I wasn’t sure if the virus was still alive in it, but it was definitely loaded with zombie saliva.
“If anyone bothers you, shoot them with this.” “A water gun? They said you’re not supposed to shoot it at people.” “I made it to shoot at people. Do it secretly. You can smear it on a cup or mix it in water instead. Spraying it on their mask or mouth while they’re sleeping works too.”
It was a weapon I had prepared specifically for use against people. At that moment, the police officer who had been talking with the children’s mother approached and patted the kids. It was time to go.
The people of Villa Street, along with the mother and children, waved for a long time in farewell.
Time passed, and the lettuce grew large. We harvested it before it was too late. We first stripped off the outer leaves of the overgrown lettuce and divided it equally, bit by bit. I happily carried my share back home.
The sound of rushing water as I washed the lettuce, the splash of droplets as I shook it dry—everything felt refreshing. “Wow, it’s been so long.”
Fresh vegetables were something I hadn’t eaten in ages. After surviving on nothing but rice, kimchi, canned food, three-minute meals, cereal, and ramen, the chance to eat real, living produce had finally arrived.
Suddenly enthusiastic about farming, I stared at the green lettuce leaves. This was the result of my hard work and sweat. How should I eat it? Grill some spam to go with it? Wrap it in rice? Toss it with soy sauce and vinegar? Or just eat it raw?
Without thinking, I popped a leaf into my mouth and closed my eyes. The crisp texture of fresh vegetables. A vitality you could never get from canned food or instant meals. And then—the bitterness.
“Ugh.” It was bitter. It tasted awful. Maybe because I hadn’t watered it properly. It was even tough. I frowned deeply and forced myself to chew and swallow. I couldn’t spit it out. This was a resource that could only be obtained through farming. No matter how much you wandered the city, you couldn’t find it. Fresh produce had either already been eaten by someone or had rotted away.
Are people really not against farming? This tastes terrible.
When I checked my phone, the group chat was filled with pure joy. An aunt had posted a recipe for quick kimchi, someone uploaded a photo of grilled spam wrapped in rice, others suggested expanding the farm, and someone asked when the other crops would be ready. It didn’t seem to come from any long-term perspective or resource management. It was simply because it was fresh.
I tilted my head. “Wait, but this is way too bitter. Have people’s tongues gone weird? …Or is it just mine?”
Maybe someone had pranked me. When I subtly asked if it wasn’t too bitter, the replies said there was nothing better available. Some even told me to think of it as eating medicinal herbs. If everyone was suffering together, it was bearable.
I roughly mixed some gochujang with rice and shoved the lettuce in. It does feel like it’s making me healthier…
As I continued the meal with reluctance, the children’s mother suddenly sent a frantic message. Something had gone wrong at the school. The kids seemed to be in danger. Her hands must have been shaking—there were many typos. The chat room froze for a moment, then flooded with worried messages. What’s the problem, aren’t there soldiers there, calm down first…
I stared quietly at the screen. It’d be good if the school collapsed. Suddenly the lettuce tasted sweet. I excitedly scooped up the rest of my rice with my spoon.
The moment I finished eating, I received a call from the old man and headed to one of the villas. When I entered, the old man and the children’s mother were sitting at a distance, talking seriously.
“The school…” “How can we not rescue them? Even now—”
Had it really collapsed? I deliberately made loud footsteps to announce my presence, and their conversation stopped.
“I’m here. What’s going on?” “Ah, good timing. Seems like there’s trouble at the school.”
The old man waved his hand, gesturing for me to sit anywhere. I sat far away and blinked in confusion. “What kind of trouble could there be? Even decent zombies would come and then leave.”
Had the kids gone around shooting people with the water gun I gave them? Had the school collapsed? Was the water or electricity cut off? What else could possibly be dangerous?
The old man sighed. “Looks like zombies broke through the main gate. Only a few people are holding out behind a narrow barricade.”
“Zombies?” “See for yourself.”
The children’s mother urgently handed me her phone. There were photos. I slowly scrolled through them, piecing together the situation. I didn’t know exactly what had happened, but the main gate was littered with a mix of zombie and soldier corpses. Zombies were swarming across the playground. Photos taken while fleeing, badly shaken. A picture of a police officer at the rear of the line firing at zombies. Images of zombies taken from behind a barricade reinforced with welding.
I tilted my head. “Yes. I’ve seen them all.” It was impressive they’d taken photos while running away. Still, I didn’t understand why they’d called me.
After thinking for a moment, I quickly offered feedback. “We experienced something similar. If you’re going out into the streets, it’d be best to have someone on the rooftop keeping watch.”
Surprise attacks were the problem. During the recent zombie wave, people working in the street had suddenly been swarmed and killed. Defense wasn’t just about standing there holding a shield. Observation was essential.
Whether he understood my meaning or not, the old man nodded slowly. “That’s true… Rescue seems difficult after all.”
“What are you saying! The kids are still— Never mind. I’ll go alone even if no one comes with me.”
The children’s mother suddenly shot to her feet. I realized the situation a little late. She had been asking for help rescuing the children. My words had been interpreted as a roundabout refusal.
The old man reached out toward the air for a moment, then dragged his hand down his face. “Wait. There are police over there, and other groups too. They’ll move. There’s no need for our already understaffed group to step in.”
“That’s right. If it’s really urgent, you can request help from the Delivery Vigilantes or the companies the fire department set up.”
I chimed in appropriately. This was ultimately a personal matter, so I offered a solution suited to an individual. But the children’s mother’s legs gave out and she collapsed. She hung her head and muttered.
“What if they die in the meantime… I don’t even have food to pay for a request…”
That made sense. Even though the Villa Street residents had pitched in, she must have spent a lot on tuition and dormitory fees. Asking the street people for more help would be difficult—they had already shown goodwill, and they were short on food themselves. Nor was there anyone volunteering to join a rescue operation.
At that moment, the phone in my hand suddenly rang. It was a text and photo from the children. A message saying they would stay quiet until the zombies left, so don’t call. And that the zombie we had tied up had come to the barricade.
I looked at the zombie photo and made a dumbfounded face. What the hell did this thing learn?
The Virus Generator was torturing people from beyond the barricade. It had roughly tied up an injured teacher who was slowly dying, stuffing trash into her mouth.
Then a chill suddenly crawled up my spine. Zombies learn by watching people. And this Virus Generator I had captured had observed human life without any restrictions. The way people moved through the streets, the children innocently tormenting it, me making a cross, the work being done on the street, Park Yanggun practicing climbing gas pipes… A zombie that had learned more about human daily life than any other was right there.