A Day of Bad Luck
The Alpha’s movements were suspicious.
It kept lingering near other zombies before moving on, repeating the process as if it had some unspoken intention. It wasn't as if it were exchanging pleasantries, so why was it displaying such a consistent pattern?
'It doesn't matter. I just need to kill it, that's all.'
I opened the window, set up my rifle, and pulled out the high-magnification scope. Of course, just sniping at it blindly was a fool's errand. If I let off a gunshot without a silencer, the surrounding freaks would swarm the place, and the 15th floor wasn't exactly a position I could easily escape from. According to my training, the priority should have been installing an escape rope to secure a route. My mind knew that, but my hands were busy setting up the rifle. I was driven by the thought that a better opportunity would never come again.
The fact that the target appeared right in my field of vision, and that the distance was a mere 800 meters—that was a stroke of luck that would require the Goddess of Fortune to nod in my favor at least a dozen times.
'I just have to kill the Alpha, no matter what.'
As long as that thing was alive, I would never be able to sleep soundly. I didn't want to live in constant anxiety, and I hated the idea of moving my hideout even more. Considering the time it took to perfectly clear the area around my current shelter, killing it right here was the most rational choice.
"Ah, shit..."
A curse slipped out. I tried to adjust the scope, but once I went past a certain magnification, the focus wouldn't lock, leaving the image blurred. It had acted up occasionally in the past, making me consider tossing it, but it seemed to have completely given up the ghost now.
"Ah, please."
For a shooting specialist like me, 800 meters was a distance where a 99 percent hit rate was possible. If only the scope were functioning, I could kill that thing with my own hands. But the very equipment I needed was failing me. The frustration of being so close yet so far began to make my face flush with heat.
Don't even dementia patients have moments of clarity? I tapped the scope and caressed it with desperate hope, but no miracle occurred.
"Haa."
I set the magnification to the maximum limit where the focus didn't break and confirmed the target. Its head looked as small as a fingernail split in half. The K23 rifle wasn't meant for sniping, and even if I were using a proper sniper rifle, hitting a target that size was beyond the realm of human capability.
"This is driving me crazy."
Attempting a shot in this state would just be poking a hornet's nest for no reason. Even if I accounted for the northwest wind, the elevation on the Y-axis, and perfectly controlled the sway of the reticle, the probability of hitting the thing's head was near zero.
"This really sucks."
Is this where my luck ends? I should just accept it and let go of the lingering attachment. But my finger on the trigger wouldn't budge, as if it had been glued there. I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a long breath. My chest burned, and eventually, a headache began to set in.
It was a sense of helplessness I hadn't felt in a long time. Even though the perfect opportunity had arrived, I couldn't grasp it. What was more desperate was that there was no way forward. Sniping equipment wasn't something you could just easily find. There were plenty of zombies in military uniforms wandering the streets, but their level of armament was limited to a single K23 rifle and 150 rounds of ammunition.
'Should I move the hideout, even now?'
Killing the Alpha among those swarms of zombies was impossible. Even if I killed one with every bullet, my resources would run dry first. Above all, the Alpha knew that guns were dangerous. Even if I played the madman and went for a head-on confrontation, it would obviously use its underlings as human shields and run away.
'If only those guys were here, I could at least try.'
I suddenly missed my peers. The 4th Generation Hunters, known as the greatest class in history, wouldn't have just overlooked the existence of an Alpha. 'If only there were three of them...'
The faces of my comrades flashed by like a revolving lantern. I hadn't particularly felt lonely, but today, one corner of my heart felt unusually hollow. Perhaps "aching" would be a more fitting description. Whether it was because my heated body had cooled down or because the sun was beginning to set, the air felt chilly.
"Whew. Let's go back."
The watch pointed to 4:00 PM. To return with time to spare, it was right to withdraw now. I used the scissors of reason to cut away the pathetic, clinging remnants of my lingering attachment.
"It was force majeure. I can't face it alone, and my equipment is broken."
I muttered to myself, feeling embarrassed for no reason. Then, I shut my mouth, struck by the reality that no one would ever answer back. Even so, the creature walking a few steps ahead with its tail held high provided me with no small amount of comfort.
'Let's come up with a plan.'
Escorted by my scout, I let down my guard and sank into thought. If there's a tiger on a mountain, there are only two ways for a human to handle it: go and kill it, or leave the mountain. Living in hiding within the thing's territory was recklessness, and hoping for coexistence was a delusion.
The only places that would have sniping equipment were the Special Forces units, but unfortunately, there weren't any in the region where I lived. Killing it with my current level of armament was impossible. In the end, the only remaining option was to move the hideout.
'If I'm going to move, I have to go as far south as possible.'
That seemed like the best option for now, but it still meant putting my life on the line. I couldn't call a moving company, and I couldn't use a vehicle because the roads were blocked. Just thinking about the water bottles, the four generators, and the batteries I had stockpiled made me feel dizzy.
And that wasn't all. Finding a suitable spot was a problem, and clearing a path to get there was an even bigger one. Even if I started tomorrow, it would easily take months. Above all, when the thought crossed my mind that I would have to expose Cheonsa to external dangers, a distant terror gripped my heart as if a large thorn were stuck in my throat.
'No. Moving is out of the question.'
I shook my head repeatedly and shuddered. She was a child who had never been outside, except for the rooftop. Some might point fingers and call it overprotection, but Cheonsa was worth tens of thousands of times more than my own life. She was the reason I was alive, and the reason I had to keep living. Even if they tore my limbs off, I wouldn't allow a single scratch on Cheonsa's face.
'I have to kill that thing, no matter what.'
The flow of my thoughts circled back and stopped at the destination: hunting. Moving would put even Cheonsa in danger, but hunting was a burden I could bear alone. Thinking of it this way, it wasn't even a problem worth agonizing over in the first place.
I clenched my fist and gritted my teeth. The questions of how I would kill it and where I would find the equipment were now meaningless. My hideout was stocked with canned goods, fresh potatoes, electricity to keep the freezer running, and water for a daily shower. All of these were proof that I had braved many dangers in the past.
As the essential supplies were secured, my hideout had become sufficient. The sweetness of stability had, at some point, made me complacent. In a life where I could eat and live decently without taking major risks, the sharp blade I once carried had dulled. Since there was no need to be honed, the scales of choice had tipped toward safety rather than challenge.
I composed my mind and thought about it coldly. I am a top-tier Hunter who graduated with a score of 924. I was the only case in the school's system where a perfect score was impossible, yet I had surpassed 800 points. So, the one who was unlucky wasn't me—it was the Alpha. It just happened to run into the human most specialized in zombie hunting in all of South Korea.
Objectively speaking, I was the tiger, and the Alpha was nothing more than a wolf. It was just annoying because there were so many of them. If the thing had emotions, wouldn't it be fearing me even at this very moment?
'Let's not worry about this problem anymore.'
I'll stop playing the "survivor" and just live as the cruel hunter I used to be. As the tangled threads in my head unraveled, a well-founded confidence began to emerge.
'Already?'
I looked around with a faint smile. I had only been following the scout, but I had already entered my own territory. Come to think of it, unlike me, this guy seemed to have a great sense of direction.
"How did you know we were heading home?"
Because the sun was setting? Or because you were hungry? Regardless of the reason, it was true that we were a good match. It had excellent detection abilities, didn't bark, and was incredibly quick-witted.
"From now on, let's go to work together. Just do exactly what you did today."
Suddenly, the Jindo dog stopped in its tracks. I thought it was reacting to my words, but the dog had its ears pricked up and was staring intently ahead.
"A zombie? There shouldn't be any here."
A dilapidated 7-story apartment complex. I had a faint memory of this place because the atmosphere was particularly peculiar. It was a place where the exterior walls had turned black as if painted with charcoal, and messy vines climbing up only added to the gloom. The hallways were damp from leaking rain, and there was a stench from the stagnant water.
"Hmm."
The Jindo dog didn't budge, as if to say it was right. Even in areas I had finished searching, zombies were occasionally discovered. That was because they kept moving in the direction of any sound they heard. The chirping of birds that had lost their natural predators replaced the city's noise, and stray dogs fighting for territory, cats in heat, and the crying of cicadas in summer were the main reasons that kept the zombies moving.
In the early days of the zombie outbreak, helicopters used to fly around, and just thinking about that time made me shudder. Because the zombies, drawn by the wide-area aggro, would migrate in droves, it was frequent for areas I had already searched to be "reset."
'Is it on the first floor?'
Zombies that crawl into buildings are usually on the first or second floor. Well, even if there were any, it would only be one or two. Honestly, they weren't much of a threat, and since it was a building I had already looted, I could just ignore them, but I decided to find the rat, if only because the Jindo dog was so impressive.
"Alright. It's not like it'll take long anyway."
As I was about to move toward the apartment, a surprising situation unfolded. The Jindo dog, which had been well-behaved the whole time, lightly bit my combat boot.
"...What is it?"
I was flustered. Even though it had only been one day, the dog had detected zombies nine times, and this was the first time it had shown such behavior. I tried to just walk past, but the dog blocked my path entirely. It was as if it had the intention of obstructing my route.
"Why? You don't want me to go?"
Since there was no miracle where a dog could speak human language, I was just confused. Did it mean there were many zombies? Occasionally, five or six might crawl in, but that was a statistically rare case.
"You don't know me, but if I know they're there beforehand, ten of them don't matter. It's only scary when they pop out suddenly."
I thought the dog might give up its stubbornness, but it was still holding its ground tenaciously.
"Then I'll lure them outside, so just move aside."
Are Jindo dogs naturally this stubborn? No matter how much I coaxed or scolded it, it wouldn't budge. As I let out a sigh of disbelief, my expression suddenly stiffened.
"..."
I have a habit of leaving all the windows open in buildings I've finished searching. It was partly to cover for my poor sense of direction, but also because I had a strong intention to identify any potential survivors. The banner celebrating the reconstruction was tattered and hung in an unsightly way. And beneath it, I saw one window that was half-closed.