Chapter 47

Yohan raised his military knife, using his left hand to brace the handle and block the edge of the wooden plank as though stabbing its surface.

It was an attack that could have missed by mere centimeters. The blade of the knife sharply pierced through the grain of the wood. The impact sent the knife flying out of Yohan’s grasp. Rather than resisting the force, Yohan let it flow past him, allowing both the knife and the plank to fall to the ground.

Grabbing the man’s head, Yohan slammed it against the wall with a resounding thud. A scream erupted, followed by howling behind him. Even as the man thrashed and tried to fight back, Yohan seized his shoulder with a firm grip.

“Arghhh!”

With all his strength, Yohan twisted the man around, veins bulging on his neck and forehead. He hurled him toward the approaching horde of zombies. The man collided with the swarm, and the leading zombie tore into his ear.

Rrrip!

The ear was torn clean off. Flesh, clothing, and exposed muscle followed as the zombies attacked ferociously.

Yohan kicked the mass of zombies entangled with the man. In the dark alley, it was a grotesque showcase of dismemberment. The zombie horde began their gruesome feast.

“Huff, huff…”

Yohan, catching his breath, pulled his knife from the plank where it had embedded itself.

In front of him, at the opposite end of the T-shaped alley, a massive horde of zombies—hundreds, perhaps—glared with glowing blue eyes.

The path was blocked, trapping him like a fish caught in a net.

The air filled with ghastly cries as the ravenous dead clamored for their prey. Yohan’s heart sank.

He had chased Baek Jong-soo, only to be dragged into this deathtrap. It was as if the man had refused to die alone, determined to bring Yohan down with him.

This was both the man’s grave and Yohan’s own dire situation. All the effort Yohan had painstakingly put into building his sanctuary was on the verge of collapse, his actions about to scatter like dust. But there were no regrets. Letting Baek Jong-soo escape would have been a fate worse than death.

While the zombies tore Baek Jong-soo’s corpse apart, Yohan frantically scanned for an escape route. On both sides were towering old concrete buildings. Behind him was a metal structure—perhaps a shutter or a container—blocking the way.

The windows were far too high to reach. A boarded-up basement window showed no promise; it had been nailed shut and left unused for years. There were no handholds on the concrete walls, no way to climb without wings.

The only option in sight was a small city gas meter box mounted at shoulder height, with a slender gas pipe running upward beside it. It was barely wide enough for both his feet, and he wasn’t even sure it could hold his weight.

Yohan’s eyes darted back to the zombie horde.

Could he break through them?

The answer was a firm no. Charging through that seemingly endless swarm was a near impossibility.

Yohan stabbed one zombie in the head with his knife, shoving it aside toward the meter box.

One zombie. Then another. A third piled on top of the others in front of the meter box.

Baek Jong-soo’s body was no longer recognizable, torn apart completely.

The zombies gnawed on his limbs like a pack of wild animals at a feast. His abdomen had been split open, spilling dark red entrails and blood like a gutted fish.

Yohan shuddered but used the piled bodies as a platform. He leaped onto them, jumping from the corpses to the wall, then onto the meter box.

As he landed on the meter box, the gas pipe groaned and bent under his weight. Yohan wobbled, gripping the adjacent pipe to regain his balance.

Below, the zombies that had finished feasting on Baek Jong-soo swarmed toward him, their outstretched arms brushing against his boots.

If even a single hand grabbed his ankle, he would be dragged into the horde and torn apart.

To make matters worse, his walkie-talkie was gone—likely lost during the fight with Baek Jong-soo.

It was a perfect deadlock.

The mangled remains of Baek Jong-soo seemed to mock him.

Yohan swung his knife cautiously, severing the hands of zombies that reached for him. He had to be careful not to damage the already fragile pipe he was holding.

He chopped off arms, stabbed faces, and repeated the motion, fearing a hand might grab him if he paused.

Sweat poured down his face like rain. It wasn’t just from exertion—it was cold sweat, born of the relentless danger surrounding him.

Yohan kept swinging his knife, again and again. His arms throbbed with pain, his muscles on the verge of giving out.

Time blurred. It felt like hours had passed, though it could have been only minutes. Despite felling zombie after zombie, their numbers seemed endless.

A tall zombie climbed the pile of corpses, lunging for Yohan’s ankle. He flinched and knocked the creature’s hand away.

The more zombies he defeated, the more climbed over the bodies of their fallen comrades, their hands growing more threatening. Yohan shifted his focus to severing arms, desperate to keep them from grabbing him.

But could he really escape this situation by cutting off arms?

How long could he hold out?

Three days? One day? Half a day?

His arm muscles screamed with pain as if they might tear. Weak thoughts of giving up and letting go crept into his mind.

Yohan shook his sweat-soaked head furiously and kept swinging. When one arm grew too numb to move, he switched hands, clutching the pipe with one hand and the knife with the other, swinging relentlessly.

“Huff, huff…”

His vision blurred, and his chest heaved painfully. It felt like heatstroke, his body on the verge of collapse. Summoning the last of his strength, he let out a primal scream as he swung.

“Arrghhh!”

Gravity, rather than strength, guided his final swing. The knife came down and severed yet another zombie’s arm.

Zombies with intact arms were no longer in sight around Yohan.

He let his arms fall limp at his sides and leaned his back against the concrete wall. His arms could no longer move. Heat radiated off his body like a shimmering haze.

‘Is this how I’m going to die?’

The once-dark alley gradually began to brighten as the night gave way to dawn.

Morning was breaking.

But the new day brought no relief. Yohan was still teetering on the edge of despair.

‘If I knew I’d die like this, I should have eaten my fill while I had the chance.’

The thought of the supplies he had meticulously hidden brought a faint chuckle to his lips. ‘What kind of grand future was I saving those for?’ he mused bitterly, knowing how futile it all seemed now.

He thought about other paths he could have taken after his return—living in solitude somewhere far away, or perhaps taking a few trusted individuals with him to escape. Either choice would have ensured at least a year or two of relative peace.

But Yohan didn’t regret his decisions, whether they were stubbornness or sheer obstinacy.

Closing his eyes, he accepted the thought that if he fell asleep now, everything would be over when he woke up.

“Hyung!”

Yohan’s eyes snapped open, his gaze darting toward the source of the voice.

At the other end of the alley, nine people were fighting their way through zombies as they approached.

“Hyung! Are you alive?!”

Among them, only one face was familiar—Kang Hyuk, Gun Hyuk’s younger brother, who had left camp for Gun’s funeral.

Kang Hyuk skillfully cut down zombies as he carved a path toward Yohan. Relief and warmth spread across Yohan’s exhausted face.

“That damn kid. His timing couldn’t be better—won’t even let me die in peace.”

Yohan muttered to himself as he steadied his stance.

* * *

Clang. The rooftop door of the mart swung open. Seri glanced anxiously toward the entrance, her nerves on edge.

The person who emerged was Hajin, accompanied by the surviving mart residents.

“Uncle…”

“What about Dongseok?”

“I don’t know. He’s unconscious and hasn’t woken up. What about those guys down there?”

“There were three left, but we took care of them. Don’t worry.”

Seri nodded. The gunshots they had heard earlier must have been Hajin finishing off the enemy.

Seri and Dongseok were moved to the infirmary. As Hajin arrived, Seo-jun deduced that the enemy attack had been repelled and turned the lights back on in the mart.

In the infirmary, Dr. Park Jae-beom and Old Man Park were treating Jung-hwan, who had been shot with an arrow. They appeared to have just finished applying a splint and dressing the wound, taking a moment to catch their breath.

Jung-hwan was drenched in sweat, his bandages soaked through with blood. His hand was tied to the bed frame with a cable tie.

“Jung-hwan!”

Seri gasped in shock at the sight of his injury, her voice trembling. Jung-hwan let out a small sigh of relief when he saw her, offering a weak smile.

“Seri.”

“Y-yeah?”

“You’re supposed to call me oppa…”

“What? You’re fine after all…”

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Jung-hwan said, grabbing the hem of Seri’s clothes and refusing to let go.

Hajin stepped in between them, cutting the reunion short.

“Save the reunion for later. Let’s focus on treatment first. Dr. Park?”

Dr. Park meticulously checked Dongseok’s condition. After disinfecting his forehead and administering an anti-inflammatory injection, he examined him for other injuries. Fortunately, Dongseok had no major wounds.

Seri, on the other hand, was covered in small bruises and cuts—evidence of the rooftop battle. As Dr. Park disinfected her wounds, Seri spoke firmly.

“You should tie me up before treating me.”

“What? But…”

“It’s fine. Tie me up.”

Yohan had repeatedly emphasized survival rules: isolate or restrain anyone with injuries. Seri’s unwavering tone prompted Hajin to tie her securely to the infirmary bed.

“Uncle, don’t tie it so tight. You’re not holding a grudge, are you?” Seri teased, but Hajin smirked and replied curtly.

“Yohan’s oppa, and the Sweeper’s oppa. Why am I just an uncle?”

“Huh? Well…” Seri scratched her head awkwardly with her free hand, laughing nervously. She couldn’t bring herself to mention it was because of his age.

“By the way, where’s Yohan oppa?”

The atmosphere in the infirmary suddenly turned icy.

There had been no word from Yohan.

He had left a message saying they should return to camp without him, promising to come back on his own. But it had been a long time since then. The group had been debating whether to go after him or stay put, knowing venturing out into the darkness was practically suicidal.

But no one dared to tell Seri that. If they did, she would undoubtedly rush off to find Yohan on her own, no matter the risk.

“Just rest for now. You need to recover,” Hajin said, trying to pacify her.

Seri frowned at his evasive response.

“What’s going on? Why won’t anyone answer? You still haven’t heard from him, have you?”

When no one replied, Seri pulled a walkie-talkie from her waistband with trembling hands. Her dark brown eyes wavered as she called out.

“Yohan oppa, can you hear me?”

But there was no response.

Seri pressed the transmit button again.

“Oppa, oppa, answer me! Where are you?!”

She called out repeatedly, but the walkie-talkie remained silent. Frustrated, Seri tried to stand, only to be restrained by the cable tie securing her wrist. She struggled to break free, grunting in frustration until Hajin grabbed her hand.

“Let go. I’m going to find him.”

“You don’t even know if you’re infected yet. I’ll take the uninfected people and look for him. You need to rest.”

“Forget it! Why are you still hesitating? I’ll go myself!”

Dr. Park interrupted the tense exchange with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry to interrupt, but can I give her a shot? We need to disinfect her wounds.”