You Motherless Bastards!
I'd ended up inside a zombie apocalypse novel. My body was no better than a torn-up rag. My left arm wasn't completely fucked yet, but since I had to keep using it as a shield, it was already booked for total destruction. My right arm had been bitten down to the bone, and the wounds on both legs still hadn't healed properly. Oh, right. My right ankle had been bitten too. On top of that, my sides and back were covered in bruises from getting pummeled. The wound on my side was especially nasty—nails had scratched and stabbed it until it bled. Oh yeah, and I'd taken a hit to the solar plexus as well. To finish it all off, my stomach had ten clean holes punched straight through it. So yeah, I was thoroughly fucked. In this condition, I should have been holing up in the PC Bang, eating and sleeping on repeat. But I didn't want to.
If the man they called Dad died, Yeji and Mom would die too. If Yeji—who could still move—went out to scavenge for food like before and got killed, Mom would definitely die. So I only wanted to confirm whether this "Dad" was alive or dead. If he was alive, I'd tell him to go home and stuff his face. If he was dead... well, I'd have to explain the truth. What else could I do?
"Fucking idiot." I laughed at myself. Here I was, unable to even take care of my own body, yet feeling pity for someone else. But even while laughing, I kept running through the apartment complex. I passed the entrance where I'd come in with Yeji earlier and sprinted straight ahead. It didn't take long before I spotted the horde of zombies. At least thirty, maybe as many as fifty. They looked like they were chasing someone on the playground.
"Whoa, fuck."
The man was doing parkour. His movements were a little awkward and slow, but he was circling the apartment complex with surprising speed, pulling the zombies' attention. When I looked closer, though, I could tell. The guy was limping—must have slammed into something.
..........................
I knew exactly what I had to do. One deep breath. One good stretch. Then charge straight forward while roaring a battle cry that surged up from the deepest part of my heart.
"You motherless bastards!!!!!!!!!!"
I rushed the rear of the column still chasing the man and smashed the nearest head in. One zombie went down with its skull cracked open. Five or six others turned to look at me at the same time, bodies pivoting.
If it had been the old me, I would've trembled in fear. But I was different now. A wounded beast. A cheetah that had started to run. And the awakened protagonist. Though come to think of it, I probably wasn't the protagonist, but whatever. Didn't matter.
"Come at me!"
I swung the self-defense baton again, trying to draw as many eyes as possible. Another zombie's head split open and dropped. A bratty kid zombie jumped over the corpse. I twisted my body just enough to dodge, then kicked another zombie in the gut and knocked it down. I swung the baton once more, caving in a third skull, and let out another roar.
The kid zombie I'd dodged earlier leaped at me again, so I fed it a clean soccer kick. It sailed through the air, hit the ground head-first, and made a nasty crunching sound. Right on cue, two more zombies tried to tackle me. The rest were already turning their heads, so they were clearly trying to pin my legs. But I wasn't about to let that happen.
"I don't get tackled, assholes!"
Motherfucker. I'd been bitten way too many times because of those tackles. No matter how much of a brain-dead frontal-assault idiot I was, I wasn't stupid enough to fall for the same trick three times. If I got caught one more time I'd just crawl on the ground and start barking like a bitch. With that thought burning in my chest, I kicked one zombie away and smashed the other's head in with the baton.
Once the situation turned like this, the parkour man started throwing things too, cracking zombie skulls. I didn't know what he was throwing, but things were clearly going our way. I swung my baton again in response—only for the zombie right in front of me to dodge.
"Huh?"
"Groan."
"Ah. Fuck..."
A fist slammed into my stomach like it had been waiting for the opening. It happened to land right on the holes, so it hurt ten times worse. The wrap was turning red again, which meant I was bleeding. At least it looked like only stomach acid came up—no organs or bones seemed damaged. The Boxer kept throwing punches. I wanted to block them all, but stopping the other zombies came first.
After I smashed a female zombie's head, I took a punch to my right arm. I endured the pain and crushed an older male zombie's skull, only to get another gut punch for my trouble. Two high-schooler zombies tried to tackle me while I was blocking, and I took a hit to the side. The way that bastard fought was so fucking cheap—using normal zombies as shields and sniping from the side. He knew I was getting tired.
"Ugh!"
It had just slapped my left arm and run away again. Letting the other zombies swarm me while it watched from a distance was genuinely disgusting. Its punches were slow enough to dodge if I focused. Telegraphed as hell. But there were still too many zombies left, so I couldn't give the Boxer my full attention.
"Motherfucker."
Getting punched was still better than getting bitten. I could see the man wasn't in any shape to help me either. He was breathing hard, constantly pulling things from his pockets and throwing them. He looked just as wrecked as I was. Gritting my teeth, I swung the baton again.
I'd taken down about a third of them, but there were still way too many left.
"Groan."
"Ugh."
I dodged the Boxer's fist, then brought the baton down on the head of the zombie grabbing my left arm. I struck it again to finish it off, then kicked its corpse into the others to knock them down. Thank god there was only one variant. If I could just tank the Boxer—ah, fuck.
"...Blegh."
The punch to my gut was so solid I dropped to one knee. While I was throwing up stomach acid, the Boxer came at me again like it had been waiting. I charged straight at it.
"The fact that I—went down on one knee!"
"Groan?!"
"Was to build momentum, you son of a bitch!"
I grabbed the Boxer's throat with my left hand and held on tight. It was time for a pure slugfest. Either its head would crack first, or I'd break. One or the other. The Boxer seemed to understand perfectly. It immediately drove a fist into my side.
".....................!"
It hurt like hell, but I managed to clench my teeth and endure. I went berserk, smashing the baton into its head over and over, took another gut punch, and delivered the final blow. The normal zombies had dwindled quite a bit by now. But I couldn't expect any more help from the man. He looked completely exhausted—standing on top of the playground equipment, throwing up. He'd used up everything in his pockets trying to draw their attention for me and had finally reached his limit.
Still, only normal zombies were left now. It would be fine. I comforted myself with that thought and punched myself hard in the stomach. The fading consciousness sharpened again along with a string of curses. It hurt like a bitch, but I could still fight. If I swung twice per zombie, thirty more swings would end it.
"Come on! If you're not coming... huff... then I'll come to you!"
The lead zombie hurriedly raised its arms, but my baton was faster. I kicked the collapsing, skull-cracked zombie toward the others, then grabbed the one that had bitten into my left shoulder from behind. I bent forward sharply to rip it off, then stomped its head to pieces.
"Ah, fuck!"
The shoulder I'd just healed was a torn-up mess again. There was only one way to vent this rage and resentment. Promising myself I'd leave three skulls in this apartment complex today, I swung the baton again and again. I killed six more zombies that way, but when I tried to kill the seventh, the baton bent. I managed to finish it off by smashing it with the handle, but it looked like I had to say goodbye to my weapon. The middle part was bent so badly it was useless now.
Just like that, I was without a weapon. And five zombies still remained.
"Groooan..."
"Groooan..."
"Groan..."
The zombies moaned as they slowly closed in. But it seemed I wasn't destined to die here after all—there were plenty of things nearby I could use. I was from Gyeongsang Province. Sure, I lived in Seoul now, but I hadn't forgotten the old traditions. One of my ancestors' traditions was seokjeon—stone fighting. And right nearby, the flowerbed had nice pebbles laid out. But bigger was better than smaller, and there were some large bricks too. I ran over in a hurry and grabbed one.
"Uwaaaaaaaaah!"
"Groaaaaan!"
"Groaaaaan!"
What followed was a fierce battle. I smashed one zombie's head with the brick, then hurled it at the head of the fallen one. When another tried to tackle me I dodged lightly, grabbed a new brick, and threw it. The one whose skull cracked twitched for a moment before going still. Another charged. Three coming at once made it hard to deal with them cleanly. If I'd still had the baton I could've killed two for sure, but without a weapon it was even worse. Just as I expected, I felt sharp pain in three places. One zombie on each leg, and the last one biting my right arm.
Even so, I could still win. These bastards were still trying to disable me instead of going for the kill. I first smashed the head of the one biting my right arm while glancing at the man. He was gesturing for me to run. For a second I wondered how the hell I was supposed to run in this situation.
"Motherfucker."
Right on cue, a zombie that walked on all fours with its stomach facing the sky appeared. I knew this one too. It was a variant. A Poisoner. A variant that shouldn't have appeared at this stage was now standing right in front of me. That motherless son of a bitch could fire a crossbow made of bones and organs from its stomach, and the arrows were poisoned. Not a strong poison—just a paralytic. It slowed people down so zombies could eat them more easily. It ate bones, processed them, and turned them into arrows. And that crossbow was now aimed at me.
Then I suddenly heard a fwip.
"Gaaaaaaaah! Fuck! Fuuuuck!"
In the blink of an eye, an arrow had pierced straight through my right palm. Sniffling, I lifted the zombie whose head I'd just smashed. Both arms were useless now. So I'd have to kill the ones biting my legs with my feet, then use their corpses as shields to kill that Poisoner. My vision was going dark, but it was still better than dying. Gritting my teeth, I hugged the zombie's corpse tight. Then I used my left hand to pull out the arrow that had pierced my right palm.
"Motherfuuuuuuucker......"
An indescribable agony shot through my palm. I no longer had the strength to scream or curse, so I set the corpse up like a shield with my left hand again and stabbed the arrow into the zombie biting my left leg first. I drove it into its head like a nail, then clenched my fist and hammered it in. Once I heard that crunch, it was over. I dealt with the other one the same way, then, crying, picked up a corpse in each hand.
The Poisoner was loading a new arrow.
"Huuuuaaaaaang...... fuck...... huuuk, huuaaaaaang........."
Every movement felt like my whole body was breaking apart, so I couldn't help but sob. But then the man landed perfectly, threw himself forward, and flipped the Poisoner over. The moment I saw that, I threw the corpses aside and sprinted. I leaped and drove my elbow into its spine, then immediately climbed on top and locked my hands together. I rained down punches on its head like a madman until the Poisoner finally stopped moving.
Only then could we finally look at each other's condition. First of all, we were both soaked in bodily fluids. Sweat, blood, tears—it was all mixed together and the smell was insane. Arrows from the Poisoner were sticking out all over the man's body. It was a miracle he'd been able to move like that after taking so much paralytic poison. He stared at my condition with the same wonder, then laughed. I looked at him and laughed too. Then I cried. Because it hurt so fucking much.
That damn author bastard. If I ever meet him, I'm punching him in the face.