Unlike Seoul, which had relatively well-prepared evacuation facilities and plans, rural areas lacked the manpower and resources to implement any proper contingency plans. Among these numerous cities, one particularly unlucky place stood out.

    Around the outbreak of the war, a small monster infiltrated the city and killed an unfortunate victim. Coincidentally, this monster turned out to be a necromancer-type creature that reanimated its victims as zombies. While nuclear strikes, chemical weapons, and all manners of mass destruction rained down on Korea, this city quietly transformed into a city of the dead.

    And on the outskirts of this dead city, now referred to as Jephungho City, lived IAmJesus.

    The distant sound of zombie howls echoed through the air.

    Even on the city’s outskirts, the eerie chorus of the undead filled the atmosphere. Why zombies howl like wolves remains unknown. Scientists theorized that their degenerated brains occasionally triggered vocal cords to produce primitive sounds by sheer coincidence. Personally, I wasn’t sure about that theory.

    From what I’ve encountered, zombies aren’t all that different from wild beasts, though they seem to retain fragmented remnants of their memories from when they were alive.

    The hum of my motorcycle engine came to a stop.

    Regardless of Baek Seung-hyun''s questionable character, his gift—a motorcycle—was proving extremely useful. It ran on almost any fuel, handled rugged terrain well, and had remarkable power. I had to admit, I was a little envious when I saw him riding it around.

    I gently tapped the “White Beauty,” which was now my trusted steed, and rechecked the address.

    The location was on the outskirts of a town—an odd mix of cafes, warehouses, small factories, farmhouses, studio apartments, and tire shops. Somewhere among this mishmash of buildings lay IAmJesus’ bunker.

    A few zombies wandered in the distance.

    Hissss!

    I sprayed myself with so-called “zombie spray.” It had a minty scent, supposedly something zombies instinctively avoided. While its actual effectiveness was questionable, humans tend to cling to even the faintest glimmer of hope in desperate situations.

    What I trusted far more than zombie spray was the heavy two-handed hammer slung over my shoulder.

    Unlike axes, which dull quickly and have limited range, hammers don’t lose their edge, and they can take out zombies almost indefinitely—as long as you get the first hit.

    The method was simple:

    Sneak up behind a zombie,

    WHAM!

    Smash the back of its skull with all your might.

    Zombies, after all, are animated corpses kept alive by mutation-inducing factors. They still rely on brains and nervous systems to function.

    The first zombie I struck—a young woman dressed in a fashionable outfit—shuddered violently before collapsing.

    Was she attacked during a date?

    Dwelling on such thoughts wasn’t productive when dealing with zombies. I quickly erased her appearance from my memory and moved on to the next target.

    WHAM! Second zombie down.

    WHAM! Third one.

    After dealing with several more, I finally reached the area surrounding IAmJesus’ bunker.

    It was a lot surrounded by a makeshift wall. To the right stood a single-story chicken restaurant; to the left, a two-story adult store. Beyond the crumbling wall lay heaps of construction materials—pipes and rebar, either discarded or left behind by some unscrupulous contractor.

    Poking out of the rubble were short, red-painted stakes.

    Ventilation shafts.

    There were also various wires and pipes burrowing underground—clear signs of a bunker.

    Here in zombie territory, this setup worked. Anywhere else, though, IAmJesus would have likely been discovered and killed long ago.

    As I prepared to climb over the makeshift wall,

    “Grrrrr!”

    Two shadows lunged at me from the blind spot.

    Zombies.

    SQUELCH! SQUELCH!

    I swiftly swung my hammer, dropping the pair before they could even touch me.

    One was a man in a suit; the other, a woman in high-end designer clothes. Pulling my embedded hammer out of their crushed skulls, I wiped off the gore on their once-fine attire and listened carefully.

    The distant howls of zombies persisted, but there was no immediate response to my attack.

    Some nearby zombies stirred, their movements sluggish and disinterested. Eventually, they staggered off in different directions.

    Taking a deep breath, I approached the entrance to IAmJesus’ bunker.

    There was a wooden plank covering the hatch. It was thick with layers of dirt and dust—clearly untouched for years.

    Had he really stayed inside without coming out even once?

    I pushed aside my brief moment of doubt and pried up the plank, revealing a steel hatch underneath.

    Using the axe handle, I knocked on the hatch in a prearranged rhythm:

    Bang-bang... Bang-bang-bang... Bang-bang-bang-bang.

    Our agreed-upon signal.

    Holding my breath, I waited for a response.

    “Sk-Skelton?”

    His voice was faint and trembling.

    “Yes, it’s me.”

    Click.

    The locks disengaged.

    “Sorry... I’m too weak to open it myself.”

    With a grunt, I lifted the heavy hatch myself, revealing a ladder leading down into the darkness.

    Carefully descending, I kept my pistol ready in case of an ambush.

    But the real threat wasn’t an attacker—it was the stench.

    “Ugh!”

    It was beyond words.

    Not the smell of rotting flesh, but the overwhelming stench of a living person who had long neglected hygiene.

    It was the pinnacle of human-generated foulness.

    Spraying some zombie repellant near my nose, I steeled myself and continued down.

    At the bottom of the ladder, holding a dimly lit phone as a makeshift flashlight, stood a man hunched over.

    I’d decided to take him to my territory.

    I wasn’t entirely sure how I’d handle him, but he deserved the chance.

    The sniper mother-and-daughter duo would just have to tolerate some minor inconvenience.

    “Where?”

    IAmJesus asked, looking bewildered.

    “To my place. It’s bigger and nicer than this. The air is fresh, and there aren’t any zombies.”

    “...”

    He stared at me in silence.

    The faintly glowing pupils in his hollow eyes fixed on me for a long moment.

    “Can you move my computer and satellite equipment?”

    “Yes.”

    “What about my gaming console?”

    “Of course.”

    Moving all of it would have been impossible on a bicycle, but the motorcycle could manage. His console was one of those ancient ROM cartridge-style devices from thirty years ago.

    He owned dozens of those cartridges—classic games.

    “You can’t take all of them,” I said.

    “Oh, okay...”

    “Pick five.”

    “Can I take six?”

    “Fine.”

    That seemed to satisfy him. But then, there was one more thing.

    “...My dad’s church.”

    As he gathered one of the grotesque adult toys and stuffed it into his pocket, he spoke.

    “Can you take me to my dad’s church?”

    Annoyance flared up within me.

    “Where is it?”

    There was a slight edge in my voice.

    At even that faint sharpness, he flinched like a startled animal and avoided my gaze.

    “N-nevermind...”

    This wouldn’t do.

    He was afraid of me.

    After all the effort I’d put into building a connection, if he started fearing and avoiding me, it would ruin everything.

    “Where is it? If it’s possible, I’ll take you.”

    I softened my tone as much as I could, speaking gently.

    He turned his glowing eyes back toward me, his hands fidgeting nervously before he finally spoke.

    “Downtown.”

    “Downtown is swarming with zombies.”

    “Y-yeah, I guess so...”

    Disappointment clouded his frail features.

    For a brief moment, I thought I understood one of the things that had eaten away at his sanity.

    He must have been desperate for news of his family.

    Yet, he couldn’t step outside, couldn’t open the hatch, and couldn’t even attempt to break through the hordes of zombies.

    Trapped between the longing to know and the inability to act, IAmJesus had become the bizarre recluse of the forums.

    “Where is it?”

    It was dangerous—I knew that.

    But if granting him this small wish could help, it might be worth it.

    Even if only to achieve my own larger goals.

    “Where is it? Let me check it out first.”

    Of course, I’d back out if it was too risky.

    “R-really?”

    “If it’s possible.”

    The key was to show sincerity.

    It was far better to physically demonstrate why something was impossible than to just say no.

    “Ah, okay!”

    He showed me a picture.

    The church was excessively large and lavish, resembling a palace adorned with a cross.

    The moment I saw it, memories of a pre-war news story surfaced.

    It was one of those pseudo-religious cults labeled heretical by the mainstream Presbyterian Church.

    I didn’t know the exact details, but I remembered hearing about the cult leader’s unspeakable crimes against female followers. The story was so infamous it had reached even someone like me, who barely paid attention to the news.

    Pointing to the grinning cult leader in the photo, IAmJesus said,

    “That’s my dad.”

    The glow in his eyes carried a mix of emotions—love, hate, and everything in between.