Opening the Door
Life is a continuous series of things I’d rather not do.
The more I struggled to make a living, the more my days became filled with acts I despised more than death itself.
Being packed like a sardine in the subway, or nodding mindlessly while being chewed out by a jerk of a boss.
Those acts, which I once hated more than death, were now memories of a time that would never return—moments I yearned for.
“Hoo….”
I gripped the doorknob and steadied my heart.
Ever since the world collapsed, the act of turning a doorknob had become the most terrifying thing in my life.
Forget hating it more than death; one wrong move and I could actually end up dead.
Even though I had repeated this thousands of times in this ruined world, the tension and fear remained the same.
Still, I slowly turned the knob. Through the widening gap of the door, an unknown world began to reveal itself.
“…….”
The way to gauge whether this place was a slaughterhouse of zombies or a goldmine filled with loot was to smell the air first.
The scent of accumulated dust and the unusually chilly air weren't necessarily negative signals.
In my experience, the longer a place had been abandoned, the more supplies there were to scavenge.
Next, I had to check the floor.
Usually, you look for footprints, but if there were bloodstains in the living room, it was a very dangerous sign—at least, that’s what the school taught us to watch out for.
Fortunately, no danger elements were visible in my line of sight.
But it was too early to be relieved. Even in a small villa, there were at least three or four doors left for me to open: the master bedroom, the bathroom, and the laundry room.
In this world, opening a door was synonymous with self-sufficiency.
The supplies left behind by the departed were the only provisions, and those provisions were only found beyond the doors.
Food and water were a given, and if luck was on my side, I might even find a vaccine.
‘…?’
A small kitchen came into view on the way to the bathroom.
Through the half-open cabinet above the sink, a familiar-colored can caught my eye.
Navy background with yellow lettering.
It was definitely the Spam that Cheonsa loved most. For me, needing to prepare a birthday gift, it was the most precious loot of all.
‘There must be other things, too.’
I wanted to check the cabinet right away, but there was something I had to do first.
I had to open all the remaining doors to ensure the place was safe.
It was the fundamental rule of searching that the school had emphasized repeatedly.
The reason for sticking to this basic rule was the nature of the zombies.
Until they caught sight of prey, zombies would stop moving and stand perfectly still like statues.
The school called this the dormant state.
Like a laptop in sleep mode, they stayed as if dead, only to transform the moment they sensed a presence.
I approached the bathroom, muffling my footsteps.
The order of opening doors was also important; usually, you start with the place easiest to escape from.
Given the layout of this house, the bathroom was next.
The bathroom was the place people ran to first when injured, so statistically, it was where bloodstains were found most often. For this reason, a loose-lipped classmate of mine called the bathroom the Room of Agony.
And at this very moment, I felt a faint admiration for his naming sense.
“Ha….”
At a glance, it looked fine, but if you looked closely, there were clear signals.
A body wash bottle discarded haphazardly on the floor, a toothpaste tube violently crumpled in the middle, and empty blister packs that looked like painkillers.
These were the traces of agony, of someone trying desperately to disinfect a wound.
It was too dark to see, but if I turned on the light, I knew there would be blood everywhere.
‘I thought things were going too easily.’
Traces become clues, and clues become facts. Doubt turned into certainty, and the excitement I felt over the canned food melted away like snow in spring.
There was a zombie somewhere in this house.
‘The remaining doors are the master bedroom and the laundry room.’
In terms of probability, both were top contenders.
Psychologically, a deeply anxious human would either head to the most familiar place or try to hide in a corner.
I carefully backed out of the bathroom and checked my weapon.
The bayonet-fixed rifle had the advantage of a long reach, like a spear.
The fact that it was loaded with live ammunition provided a great deal of psychological comfort, just in case.
‘Is it in here?’
I set down my backpack and moved to the front of the master bedroom.
Ominously, the doorknob here was broken.
It was a given that a zombie was inside; the important thing was how many.
In a large space, dozens weren't scary, but in a cramped space, even three or four were threatening.
Screeeech!
I pushed slowly, but the door must have been rusted, as it let out a sound akin to a scream.
While my hair stood on end, I spotted a dark human figure.
I didn't hesitate; I thrust the rifle into the rounded upper part of the silhouette.
Gurgle! Thud!
As I twisted the bayonet and pulled it out, one corpse collapsed to the floor.
My gaze didn't linger on the pile of meat; I stared only straight ahead.
I had pierced its brow, so it was an instant kill anyway. It was more important to check if there were others coming after it.
‘Only one?’
Maintaining my tension, I entered the master bedroom.
A foul stench rushed into my nose. It wasn't that I was disgusted—it was a smell I always encountered where zombies were—but I felt something suspicious within that stench.
The smell was too thick for there to be only one.
Grrr! Gurgle!
“?!”
The source of the sound was the laundry room inside the room.
In an instant, three or four of them burst out. Unfortunately, the laundry room door hadn't been closed; it was half-open.
An uncontrolled door beyond a door was what we called the worst-case scenario.
“Damn it…!”
When only two came out, I had intended to fight. But seeing the third one burst out, followed by another, I quickly abandoned that thought.
Most of all, what threw me into a panic was their movement.
‘Did it just run…?!’
My thoughts stopped. My mind went blank.
I definitely saw it run.
No, was I mistaken? A zombie running?
That wasn't something taught in school, and I hadn't experienced it in the last five years.
My body reacted reflexively to the sense of crisis permeating my entire being.
I hurriedly tried to close the bedroom door, but one of their hands got caught in the gap.
And in the blink of an eye, their fingers clung to the small gap like leeches.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Gaaaaaaah!
I pressed my back against the door and braced my feet. The door I had dreaded opening was now my only shield, blocking their blind hostility.
Their wailing, fueled by hunger, traveled from my spine straight to my brain, and cold sweat broke out on my skin.
Impacts like hammer blows rained down on me.
The wooden door was far too weak to withstand their violent frenzy.
Soon, cracks would appear, and I felt as if their filthy fingernails would dig into my throat.
‘Stay calm. Think, think.’
They never tire when they have prey right in front of them. I had to make a decision, one way or another.
My gaze fixed on the front door, starting from my discarded backpack.
A running zombie was a first, and I didn't yet know their speed.
I could always come back for the backpack later; it was better to focus solely on escaping this place now.
I mapped the structure outside the front door in my head.
This was the fourth floor, so jumping out the window was out of the question.
‘There’s only the stairs.’
I imagined opening the front door and throwing myself out. Since it was a small villa, the hallway was narrow.
The rifle felt like it would get in the way, so I decided to abandon it, and I double-checked my combat boot laces.
Even in that split second, their rage was intensifying. Now was the time to discard my old shield.
I quickly moved away from the bedroom door and sprinted toward the next door with all my might.
Kuaaaargh!
Behind me, the ones that had poured out of the master bedroom like a tsunami tangled with each other, letting out angry cries.
I burst out the door and raced down the stairs.
The sound of their footsteps following me struck my heart like the drums of war.
Ignoring the murderous intent felt from behind, I ran blindly toward the small light source visible at the bottom of the stairs.
Once I got outside, the cold air seemed to cool my body, which had been heated by sweat.
It was raining from a sky that had been hazy all day. The dripping raindrops, hitting my already hyper-sensitive senses, were incredibly irritating.
Without even a moment to look around, I vaulted over the fence in front of me, trying to break out of their pursuit net.
‘Crazy…!’
I tried to gauge their position from behind the fence. But their clumsy footsteps were getting closer, as if they knew exactly where I was.
Just as I was about to run again, I saw a car with its side mirrors unfolded.
‘It’s not locked!’
The best way to deal with an unexpected situation is to hide first. Then, observe and gather information.
The training ingrained in my head like brainwashing led me into the car.
As I opened the passenger door and crumpled my body inside, I felt their presence a beat too late.
Gaaaaaah!
Having lost their prey right in front of them, they let out shrieks and looked around frantically.
The things that had been rushing toward a single point began to lose their way and wander aimlessly.
I even forgot to breathe and very carefully pushed the seat back. It felt as if all my senses were focused on my hearing.
‘…Damn.’
One problem was that the passenger door hadn't closed. It was because I hadn't been able to apply force, trying not to make any noise.
Through the faintly open gap, their gloomy sounds leaked in, disturbing the perfect silence.
I stifled a silent scream, my heart pounding, wondering if they would feel my body heat through the gap or if they would smell my sweat and shove their heads in.
While I held my breath for a long time, condensation began to form on the windows.
Should I be grateful for the weather at the end of winter?
The slightly blurred vision gave me the illusion that I was behind bulletproof glass.
But they were still prowling around the car, and the silhouettes of death appeared and disappeared before my eyes.
I wiped away a palm-sized patch of the window and observed the situation outside through it.
Hair growing sparsely like leek roots, a hunched back, and rotting skin.
Since it was difficult to distinguish zombies by appearance alone, I had to check their clothing.
‘Do they only run when hunting?’
A yellow T-shirt and baggy jeans. It was definitely the same zombie I had seen in the villa.
But it was moving slowly, just like any other zombie.
It seemed impossible to distinguish a Running Zombie by appearance.
‘…This is the worst.’
Time was passing without promise. The day, with its shortened sunlight, was already finished preparing to welcome the darkness.