The Survivor (1)
There is a survivor.
It’s possible they’ve already moved on, but based on the Jindo dog’s reaction, they are still inside.
I quickly ducked behind the corner of the building and checked the floor count.
'Fourth floor. Second from the right.'
A strange tension spread through my veins, racing across my entire body. When was the last time I’d encountered a survivor? It had been at least a year and a half. While many survivors were likely still holding on, my range of activity was narrow, making such encounters rare.
"Tsk."
In a ruined world, a survivor carries many meanings. To someone weary of loneliness, they might be a welcome sight; to someone meddlesome, an object of curiosity. But to me, a survivor is a competitor who reduces the absolute value of resources, and another Alpha threatening my safety.
I have killed many competitors.
Of course, I didn't start out as a murderer. I had once helped a man surrounded by zombies, and I had even performed the pathetic kindness of giving a bottle of water to a woman dying of thirst. I didn't expect my good deeds to be repaid with greater ones. But I did believe they wouldn't act like savages and hold a knife to my throat. Even if they couldn't repay kindness with kindness, a simple "thank you" didn't cost anything. Back when I still had a shred of humanity left, that was exactly what I expected.
I still remember their faces.
The man who caught his breath after escaping the zombies bared his yellow teeth in a grin, as if shedding a mask. The woman who regained her senses after drinking water approached me with a kitchen knife hidden behind her back, claiming she had something to tell me. An old man who looked like he could barely walk leaped up like a spring, brandishing a hand-welded iron pipe high above his head.
They were willing to sell their souls and become devils for the sake of the perfectly good backpack and the set of clothes I was wearing. Once, I loathed such people, viewing them as nothing more than nauseating piles of filth. But in the face of the grand premise of survival, I re-evaluate those devils.
They were clever and brave.
"Wait."
I said quietly to the Jindo dog. Only then did the dog sit down, its rear hitting the floor. Suddenly, remembering that the Jindo is an icon of loyalty, I added a pointless remark.
"If you’re in danger, run. Don't just wait around like an idiot."
The dog tilted its head. What was that reaction? Did it not understand?
"I’m not responsible for you. If things get dangerous, I’ll abandon you at any time, and the same goes for you. You can leave whenever you want."
The Jindo stared at me, then approached and began licking my combat boots.
"You’re a smart one, so I trust you understood the gist of it. And no matter what sounds you hear, don't come up."
I entered the building using the blind spots to avoid being seen. Generally, a search starts from the first floor and moves upward. Even for those who hadn't received Hunter training, that was common sense for anyone still alive. The fact that the fourth-floor window was closed meant there was no need to check the floors below it.
I quickly passed the second and third floors, silencing my footsteps starting from the stairs to the fourth.
'Second from the right.'
I pressed my ear against the front door and moved to the next unit. The reason a survivor would be here was, obviously, for supplies. They would have ingrained habits of minimizing noise, but the sounds generated during a search were unavoidable.
'Not this one.'
In a fight against a survivor, the one whose position is discovered first is at an absolute disadvantage. If I had been discovered first, the bastard would be waiting with a trap set inside the house or hiding in something like a closet.
'If they aren't on the top floor either, then I’m the one who’s been discovered.'
In that case, it would be quite a headache, as I’d have to enter every unit and re-search them. Setting aside the time it would take, a survivor waiting with a gun aimed, just for me to arrive, is more dangerous than anything else in this world.
'No need to push it.'
If this were near my hideout, I would have to kill them regardless of the risk, but fortunately, this place was quite far away. If the survivor's location wasn't revealed in the end, I intended to leave without regret.
However, when I reached the seventh floor, I heard human voices.
"This is seriously bad. How is there not a single grain of rice left?"
"I had a feeling, but I guess it’s all been picked clean."
"I told you we should have just left halfway through. I had a feeling, didn't I?"
There’s more than one. It’s best not to use a gun if possible, but depending on their armament, it might be inevitable. I pulled the bolt to chamber a round and set the selector to semi-auto.
"But isn't it a bit weird? There aren't even any shelters around here, so who could have looted it?"
"True. Seeing a few dead zombies, someone definitely came through."
"Is there an organization we don't know about?"
"Then we should avoid this area. The boss specifically told us not to run into members of other shelters."
"Damn it. Wasted time for nothing."
"Let’s head back before it gets late."
They started approaching the central staircase where I was. I couldn't confirm their armament, but I heard the distinct clattering sound of a rifle. I held my breath in the corner, waiting for them to get closer.
"How about a drink at my place today? I have the beer I— wait, what?!"
I lunged like lightning and slammed the butt of my rifle into the face of the man who came into view first. The middle-aged man collapsed powerlessly with a single shriek. At the same time, the sturdy man next to him, seemingly startled, stared at me with wide eyes.
"What the hell is this guy!"
Instead of the rifle slung over his back, he drew the combat knife from his waist. The knife, held in a reverse grip, drew a semicircle toward my neck. For a reflexive action, it was a level worthy of praise.
"Who, who are you?"
As I leaned back and easily dodged it, the man’s voice trembled, clearly flustered. Even while he showed fierce hostility, I felt good about the fact that I didn't have to use my gun. My lips curled up slightly, and the man, perhaps thinking I was mocking him, furrowed his brows and pressed me again.
"Which group are you with! I’m asking you, you son of a bitch!"
I didn't answer. It wasn't appropriate to converse with someone who was going to die anyway, and since he asked for my affiliation, I had nothing to say.
As I remained silent, the man gritted his teeth and took a stance.
"Fuck! This is self-defense!"
He launched a thrusting attack with a stable posture. Judging by the direction, he was definitely aiming for my heart. I planted my boot to kick his wrist and used my other foot in a spinning kick to target his chin.
"……."
Surprisingly, he raised his hand to block the attack. It wasn't a clean hit, but he staggered, seemingly affected by the impact. Sensing danger, the man tried to reach for his rifle, and I quickly drew my combat knife and threw it at him.
"Argh!"
The knife embedded itself in his right shoulder. It was a good thing he reacted; I had been aiming precisely for his neck.
"Fuck...! You, you’re the one sent from Gusan, aren't you? You sons of bitches! Do you think you’ll be safe after messing with us?"
The man with short hair and copper-toned skin glared at me and screamed, even while in pain. To some, that might look like bravado, but to me, it looked like the howling of a frightened dog.
"I have no hard feelings. Still, you were decent."
It was an honest assessment. The man was the strongest survivor I had met so far. Well, that didn't mean much. Strength is relative, after all. I only spoke up because of the man’s equipment. The rifle he dropped was even equipped with a silencer and an optical sight.
"Where did you get this?"
"Go to hell!"
"I have no talent for torture. I haven't really had the chance to try it."
I stepped closer and pressed my foot firmly onto the handle of the combat knife. The man let out a painful scream and glared at me as if to kill me, but even that seemed to drain his strength, and he gasped for air.
"It’s your loss if you try to hold out. I have no tolerance for pain."
"Just kill me! That’s what you were planning to do anyway!"
"Keep talking."
I calmly absorbed his blatant murderous intent. All sorts of sharp emotions—resentment, hatred, curses—stabbed at my calloused heart. It is certainly not right for a person to kill another. Sometimes, when I feel a drop of guilt, I imagine this: if the man and I had swapped places, would the result have been different?
I smiled bitterly and shook my head.
"I’ll ask one last time. Where did you get this equipment?"
Silencers and sights weren't items that were easy to find. Perhaps I could even find a high-magnification scope and a sniper rifle. I didn't have high expectations, but it was true that I had caught a glimpse of hope.
"You know everything, so why do you keep asking? Stop the bullshit and just kill me!"
"You know everything?"
He kept saying strange things. Based on the context, it seemed there was a survivor organization I didn't know about, but honestly, that wasn't good news. Just looking at the man’s skill and equipment, there was a high possibility they would be a threat to me. Now that I knew of their existence, I needed to find out their base and their scale.
"I don't need to hear the answer from you. There’s one more person, right?"
As I shifted my gaze to the middle-aged man, the man’s expression distorted violently. Naturally, he would feel frustrated. They had been deceiving me since earlier.
"Stop acting and get up."
The balding man flinched at my words. He was using his thick belly as a shield, slowly reaching for the metal spear that was his weapon. His effort was commendable, but such a clumsy trick wouldn't work on me.
"Do you want this? Try grabbing it once."
I kicked the metal spear toward him. Realizing there was no chance of winning, the man stood up hesitantly with an embarrassed expression. Soon, he raised both hands and gave an awkward smile.
"Uh... we are members of the Osori Shelter. You’re from Gusan, right?"
"What?"
"As you know well, Gusan and we are maintaining a smooth relationship. If you do this, sir, it will put both sides in a difficult position."
Osori? Gusan?
Naturally, it was my first time hearing those names. As I furrowed my brows, the man quickly added.
"It’s such a harsh world, so I think misunderstandings can pile up... We won't make an issue of today’s events, so why don't we resolve this through conversation first?"
"You won't make an issue of it?"
"Yes, yes! Of course we should. Please tell us what you want. We will cooperate as much as possible within our means. Instead, please let my colleague get treated. He’s still a young friend..."
The middle-aged man had been looking at his colleague with pity the whole time. He was restless every time the man groaned, as if the man’s pain were his own. He certainly looked desperate, but I didn't believe him. Instead, I only let out a hollow laugh at the thought that it was all hypocritical.
"Stop the bullshit and just answer."
Comradeship? Goodwill? Don't make me laugh. Every human alive is the same.
"This equipment. Where did you get it?"