The Alpha
The Hunter Training Institute.
That place, commonly referred to as "The School," requires a two-year curriculum. Based on a total score of 1,000 points, the structure is such that it is virtually impossible to get a perfect score in even a single subject, but those who graduate with over 700 points are designated as Senior Hunters.
I am a Hunter who completed that course with a score of 924. I was in the 4th generation, and naturally, there was no one with a higher score than me.
I stared blankly at the revolver provided by the school. The RV320 revolver was a model modified specifically for anti-zombie combat. It drastically reduced recoil and noise, and the volume of the speedloader was also minimized. While its lethality was significantly reduced in the process, it had no trouble piercing the skulls of the corpses.
That doesn't mean the revolver is a panacea. In fact, it was a weapon with many drawbacks. First of all, it’s a non-mainstream weapon, making it difficult to find ammunition. Even at school, I was the only one who used a revolver. The K51 pistol, which is used as the standard, holds 15 rounds in a single magazine. Compared to an 8-round revolver, that’s double the capacity. Moreover, changing a magazine is structurally simpler and much faster than reloading a cylinder.
Even so, the reason I insist on the revolver is that it has fewer malfunctions and is easier to handle. Combat begins with minimizing variables. A loose shoelace, a cracked piece of asphalt, a discarded tin can—in a situation where you are facing zombies, you can lose your life because of one such trivial variable. In this respect, the frequent malfunctions of firearms were a major disqualifying factor.
Removing the magazine, clearing a jammed round from the chamber, and re-inserting the magazine—unfortunately, zombies do not wait for this process. Furthermore, functional malfunctions are purely a matter of luck; no matter how careful I am, I cannot control them. With a revolver, if such an issue occurs, you simply pull the trigger again to fire.
People usually consider the revolver a romantic weapon, but from my perspective, it was the only weapon I could fully trust and use.
"Hmm."
I gripped a revolver in each hand. With the familiar feel of the grips, adrenaline exploded, and my heart pounded like crazy. Soon, as the figures of the enemies appeared in the distance, all my senses sharpened to a razor's edge. I was used to silencing my footsteps, but today, I put weight into my military boots.
As if they were noticing my presence one by one, their heads, which had been motionless, began to tilt. I shouted, intentionally making my presence known. The creatures began to move in succession. Half were running, half were walking.
"Guaaaaaaaagh!"
The corpses began to rush forward, not even knowing that it was the Grim Reaper calling their names. Only the primal instinct of hunger remained, driving them to charge ruthlessly toward living flesh.
Bang—!
The price of ignorance is death. The bullet flew without hesitation, easily shattering the skull of the one in the lead. I fired three more shots at the ones rushing up behind it. For me, a specialist in marksmanship, not a single wasted shot was permitted. Even though their companions fell, I couldn't feel a shred of fear from them. Instead, as if their appetite had been stimulated by the gunfire, they let out harsh cries. I retreated, maintaining distance from the ones trying to sink their teeth into me.
Their movements are linear. Therefore, their positions change according to mine. By using this to my advantage, I could take out two, or even three, with one shot.
My marksmanship was the essence of my own style, perfected by the effort I put in at school and the innate talent of being a gold medalist.
"Grrrk—!"
Their cold blood splattered. Of course, it would be a lie to say I wasn't afraid. I am afraid of them. I am even more afraid because I must be afraid to survive. But as long as I am holding my revolvers, my fear is concentrated entirely at the tips of the barrels, delivering perfect death to my enemies.
Thwack!
One zombie reached out toward me. I ducked slightly to avoid it and buried a bullet under its chin. The next one that approached had teeth that were rotting away. I pulled the trigger without hesitation, aiming right into that maw.
Every shot was fired within 10 meters. It is the optimal distance where I don't waste bullets even when firing with both hands. It was my first time fighting running zombies, but as I approached it with the mindset of timing them faster than the walking ones, I quickly began to get used to it.
"Grack!"
Once I got the hang of it, I willingly became a one-man army and began a full-scale slaughter. To a third party, it might look like a precarious tightrope walk, but my movements were made through thorough calculation. Even within enemy lines, there is always space, and where there is no gap, you just have to drive a nail in.
I decisively cut the anchors that those who were neither dead nor alive had kept tethered to this world. I don't just focus on dealing with the enemy in front of me. After killing a target, I immediately visualize my next action in my head. The top priority of every action is to secure space. As long as I don't give them space, zombies, who are nothing but fingernails and teeth, can't touch me even if they die and come back to life.
Click!
Eight rounds on each side, 16 rounds in total. One of the keys to marksmanship is that the timing for reloading must be included in the process of securing space. I opened both cylinders, hooked my pinky fingers into the triggers, and ejected the casings. I pulled out the speedloaders, inserted them simultaneously, and flicked them out with my thumbs. I pushed the cylinders back in and spun the revolvers to return them to their original positions. The time it took to reload both revolvers was exactly 2.1 seconds.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
While taking down the ones that had gotten closer, I searched for the yellow t-shirt with my eyes.
'Where is it?'
Did it leave the area? I felt increasingly impatient at the sight of the invisible target. Even though I was low on ammunition, the reason I brought the revolvers was to finish it off for sure.
"Tch!"
By the time the barrels were burning hot, not a single running zombie remained. Where had the yellow t-shirt disappeared to? Even as a sense of futility washed over me, the corpses walking slowly toward me grated on my nerves. Just as I was about to look for a suitable weapon, thinking it was a waste to use revolver rounds anymore...
"...!"
It was the yellow t-shirt. The moment our eyes met, I felt as if my heart had stopped. A strange sense of alienation and a feeling of crisis washed over me at the same time. It was watching me from behind a building pillar. Zombies don't just stand there when they have prey in front of them. They just watch. No, it was as if it were observing me.
'What is this...!'
They should be blind and linear. They should be primal beings that only feel hunger. But why? Why is it hiding there?
My head is in chaos. My common sense and experience up to this point crumbled like a sandcastle before a wave. Paradoxically, I was feeling a terror I had never experienced before from a zombie that wasn't rushing at me. Even as my hands trembled, I raised my revolver. It was an action like the growling of an animal that sensed danger.
Surprisingly, the moment I aimed the barrel, it dodged. As if it knew that the gun was dangerous.
'I have to kill it!'
At that moment, only one thought surfaced in my tangled mind. I can't let it live. I must chase it down and kill it. I felt an anxiety that if I didn't catch it today, I never would.
'You bastard!'
As if it had grasped my intentions, it began to run away. I, too, reflexively chased after it. My eyes were wide open, trying not to lose sight of it, but my whole body was trembling. The root of this fear was the reversed situation. I had always been the one running away from their hostility. In this ruined world, I had never once been the pursuer. The roles of pursuer and fugitive had changed, but that didn't mean the relationship between predator and prey had changed. If I lose it here, I'm the one who dies. That fact made me even more anxious.
'Damn it...!'
Running away is easier because tricks like using buildings to escape the pursuit net work. But what is needed for pursuit is only speed. It was faster than I expected, and the distance that had been open from the start showed no signs of closing.
"Guaaaaaaaagh!"
Moreover, the zombies following one by one were an unexpected obstacle. Running zombies that had remained in various places appeared like cockroaches. Is even this its intention? If so, I am walking into the jaws of the enemy on my own.
Feeling the miserable sensation of slowly sinking into a swamp, the fact that I couldn't stop came to me as a despair.
-Dad! If you go any further, it's the shopping mall! The Enfield Shopping Mall!
I snapped to my senses at the urgent sound of Cheonsa's voice. A complex shopping mall inevitably has many zombies. In this vicinity, there was no place with more zombies than the Enfield Shopping Mall. From its perspective, it would be the perfect place to make a base.
Sure enough, the yellow t-shirt had come out onto the main road and was running toward the shopping mall. I could see the central fountain, Enfield's trademark, and as expected, groups of zombies stood around it like dead trees. If those things could run too, getting any closer would be tantamount to suicide.
I have to settle this here somehow. I leaped onto an SUV standing in the middle of the road in one go. Running zombies were chasing right behind me. There is no time. I knelt on one knee, used my left hand as a rest, and placed my right hand on top of it. I stopped my ragged breathing, which had risen to my chin, and aimed the barrel.
The distance is roughly 80 meters. The RV320 revolver's accuracy drops significantly beyond 30 meters, but there is no other way.
The sound of the running zombies' footsteps signaled that they were close. The vehicle body began to shake slightly, but I poured all my nerves into this fleeting moment. Because a shooter holding a gun must only look at the target.
I raised my concentration. Time slows down. As if only it and I were left in this world, the surroundings began to blur. I closed my left eye and placed its skull at the end of the straight line between my gaze and the sight. Holding my breath, I slowly pulled the trigger with the tip of my index finger to minimize the shaking of the barrel.
The gunshot of that one shot, into which I had poured all my heart and soul, rang out.
Bang—!
Thud!
The yellow t-shirt collapsed to the floor. Did I hit it in the head? Unfortunately, there was no time to check. As I rolled toward the vehicle's engine room, dirty fingernails scraped the roof of the car, making an unpleasant noise.
"Kreeeeek! Guaaaaaagh! Aaaagh!"
The ones that had lost their prey in front of their eyes let out cries filled with resentment. Confirming that they were rushing toward the engine room, I climbed back onto the roof of the car and jumped toward the trunk.
I had to get away from here as quickly as possible. I sprinted back the way I came and glanced back.
As expected, the zombies that had been in the shopping mall were shaking off their light sleep and approaching me.
"Ah...!"
In the midst of the swarm of zombies rushing in like a tsunami, I clearly saw it. The one glaring at me with its head tilted at an angle.
The yellow t-shirt was still alive.