Chapter 95

If the zombie apocalypse had never happened, if it had all been a dream—then Yohan would have ended up as nothing more than a bankrupt man, hounded by loan sharks.

And yet, the reason he had prepared for the end of the world was solely because of his past life.

Even if he had suffered a miserable life due to an apocalypse that never came, no suffering could compare to the wretchedness that the end of the world had already shown him.

The obsession with survival and the relentless stockpiling of supplies—those were the only legacies left to him by his former, already-dead self after three years of struggle.

“When I woke up from that dream, I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t accept it as just a dream. No, even if it had been a dream, it didn’t matter. For three years, survival had been the only thing on my mind. So I quit my job and started preparing for the apocalypse like it was a war. The shelter in Ggachiwool that you all saw. And now, the one in Yeongjong Island, where we’re headed.”

He wanted to survive.

No—he wanted to live.

For three years, until he met Noah and his group, Yohan had survived alone.

If necessary, he abandoned allies. If a camp was in danger, he was the first to flee.

But in that last year—when he had comrades he could trust behind him—he had finally felt something more than survival. He had felt alive.

They were the ones who taught him that surviving wasn’t the same as living.

“That’s all. I don’t know what you think of me, but once we enter the shelter, everything I’ve prepared ends. All the cards I had in my hand are used up, all the enemies I preemptively knew about have been dealt with. From here on out, it’s an unknown world. I don’t know if revealing the shelter now is the right choice. I don’t know if it will stay safe. I don’t know if even stronger enemies will appear. I have no way of predicting anything.

So when you all look at me like I have the answers…”

Yohan’s voice carried a hint of self-mockery.

“…It’s a bit overwhelming.”

He trailed off, his words suddenly cut short.

Seri, sitting in front of him, was crying—her face a mess of tears and snot.

Beside her, Jung-eun had stopped crying and was now patting Seri’s back.

Feeling awkward, Yohan tossed his empty beer can aside and grabbed another.

“Was that really something to cry about?”

“It’s just… hic… it’s so sad… hic… and unfair… hic.”

“I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Cry first, talk later.”

The cool fizz of beer and the rich scent of barley slid down his throat.

Seri sobbed for a while longer before finally catching her breath and speaking.

“Going through something like this… twice… is just so unfair. And the fact that you went through it all alone, without telling anyone…”

“Well, thanks to that, I survived. I guess I killed the mood, huh?”

There were so many questions they wanted to ask. But no one spoke.

Because they all understood how Seri felt.

“Uh… sorry to interrupt this serious conversation.”

The one who broke the silence was Sweeper.

Everyone’s attention immediately turned to him.

“Hey, guys, I know I’m good-looking, but don’t stare at me like that. It’s embarrassing. I just wanted to ask—if no one’s eating that jerky over there, can you toss it this way?”

“…”

For a moment, everyone just blinked, dumbfounded.

Then Hajin, without a word, grabbed the jerky in front of him and threw it over.

“Oh, thanks, One-Arm Hyung.”

“Peaches.”

“Huh?”

“Give me the peaches. That canned one.”

“Ohhh.”

Sweeper grinned and tossed a can of peaches toward Hajin.

Hajin caught it midair, but the slight impact made some of the syrup splash onto his face.

“Damn, what a waste.”

He wiped his face with his palm before licking the syrup off.

Seri, momentarily forgetting her tears, scrunched up her face in disgust.

Despite the stares from the others, the two of them continued stuffing themselves with beer and food, surrounded by a growing pile of empty cans.

Watching them, Yohan let out a small, helpless chuckle.

These two were new bonds he had formed after his return.

To Yohan, they were invaluable comrades—strong, reliable, and sociable.

Just now, when his attempt to lighten the mood had backfired and made things heavier, these two had effortlessly lifted the atmosphere back up again.

“Hey, pass the jangjorim.”

Sweeper pointed at the braised beef in front of Hajin.

Without a word, Hajin used the blade of his prosthetic arm to slice the lid open before tilting it into his mouth.

“Wow, really? You want me to call you a muscle pig now?”

“Try losing an arm and see how fun it is.”

“You wanna go?”

“Anytime.”

Before things could escalate, Yohan intervened.

“Whatever you two are about to do, take it downstairs. There’s a bed there.”

That shut them up. They both sat back down.

Little by little, the drinking session returned to its usual lively state.

Yohan remained perched on the ledge, watching the perimeter while sipping his drink.

The others were chatting in small groups, their laughter mixing into the night.

For a world that had ended, it was a strangely peaceful sight.

And of all topics, the most amusing one was the discussion about Jung-hwan and Ah-young.

Jae-ho, a former journalist who loved juicy stories, was egging Jung-hwan on.

“So what’s the deal with you and Ah-young? Weren’t you into Seri?”

“Huh?! No, what are you even talking about?!”

Jung-hwan’s face turned bright red as he stole a glance at Seri.

Seri, upon hearing her name, grinned as she casually sat down across from him with her beer and jacket.

“What’s the fun story? Spill it.”

“Everyone except you already knows, idiot. Seri probably does too, right? She’s sharp like that.”

“Oppa.”

“…Sorry. I’m currently in a state of diminished mental capacity due to alcohol.”

At Seri’s sharp gaze, Jae-ho immediately raised his hands in surrender.

Meanwhile, Jung-hwan groaned in agony.

“No way… this can’t be happening…”

“Alright, we get it about Seri. But what about Ah-young? Spill the story.”

Jae-ho urged Jung-hwan, while Sweeper, chewing on a piece of jerky, spat out a tendon and chimed in.

“What do you mean, what happened? This is textbook ‘fast lover’ syndrome. Poor Jung-hwan’s desperate effort to trade in his brand-new pepper for a used one!”

The men burst into laughter while the women scowled. For some reason, the black-hearted men of the group loved teasing Jung-hwan the most. As expected, Hajin joined in.

“Not ‘fast lover’—more like ‘beast lover.’ Hey, man, no matter how desperate things are, a high school girl? That’s crossing a line as a human being.”

“Guys, it’s not like that…!”

Jung-hwan looked like he was about to cry.

“Look at him—he’s not even denying it. Well, whatever, as long as he’s careful with protection. It’s not like the world still has child protection laws anymore.”

“To be fair, in Joseon times, it wouldn’t be weird for someone his age to have kids already.”

“Guys, please…”

As the teasing escalated, Jung-eun and Seri finally stepped in.

“You guys are disgusting.”

“Leave them be. Men only ever talk about three things when they get together.”

“Oh… military stories, soccer, and dirty jokes?”

“No—women, dirty jokes, and dirty things they’ve done with women.”

At Seri’s blunt remark, Sweeper raised an eyebrow.

“Miss, that’s a sexist remark.”

“You guys started it first!”

The laughter and banter continued in the warm atmosphere.

After a long night of eating and drinking, Jae-ho suddenly pulled out a Polaroid camera from who knows where.

“Alright, everyone, gather around!”

Despite all their earlier bickering, the group quickly huddled around the camera.

Jae-ho made sure to frame the shot so even Yohan—who had been brooding at the edge of the railing—was included at the corner. Then he pressed the shutter.

The lighting was dim, making the photo slightly blurry, but everyone’s smiles shone through.

At the bottom of the photo, in neat handwriting, it read:

2017. September.
The last night at the Bucheon Union Camp.

The night breeze was warm.

—

[The Journey Begins]

By morning, the camp was bustling with activity.

Survivors had gathered with their bags packed, while Yohan methodically checked both personal and communal supplies.

For most of them, this was their first time embarking on a long-distance journey. It was up to Yohan to ensure they weren’t bringing unnecessary items or forgetting essential ones.

Once the supply check was complete, he moved on to explain the travel strategy and group distribution.

“We’re splitting into three groups. The vanguard, main force, and rearguard—each spaced at least 15 minutes apart. Sweeper will lead the vanguard, Hajin will take the rear. The vanguard will have the heavy construction equipment, the main force will carry the firearms and ammunition, and the rear will transport supplies.”

Zombie waves were their biggest concern during transit.

Additionally, any cargo that could obstruct movement needed to be separate from the construction vehicles. Weapons and ammunition needed to be positioned where they could be quickly deployed in either direction.

Most of their combat strength was placed in the vanguard. The loudest vehicles would attract the most zombies.

The second strongest position was the main force. While safer than the rear, it had to be ready to reinforce either side in an instant.

This was the largest-scale relocation they had ever attempted. Every route, every formation had to be planned meticulously.

This wasn’t just a scouting mission where they could escape at a moment’s notice. If anything went wrong, the entire group could be wiped out.

After working tirelessly since dawn, the preparations were finally complete by midday.

Yohan double-checked everything before giving the signal.

—Vanguard here. Ready to move?

“Go ahead.”

With a deep rumble, the makeshift barricade of scrapped cars was pushed aside.

The survivors left behind would have to repair it later. But there were plenty of construction machines left at camp, so it wouldn’t be too difficult.

Heading west to get onto the highway, Yohan’s group briefly stopped near Bupyeong District Office Station.

The stop was at the insistence of the old mercenary leader.

Since it was already on their route, Yohan had no reason to refuse.

The street had been cleared in advance, and the old man was waiting to send them off—his usual bold and carefree expression unchanged.

He held out a hand, and Yohan shook it without hesitation.

“It’s been fun.”

“I thought you’d at least try to convince me to come along.”

The old man grumbled, but Yohan only smiled faintly.

He hadn’t trusted the people he had lived with for over a month enough to bring them. He wasn’t about to take along a group he had only fought alongside for a few days.

It was a shame.

With their dwindling numbers, the mercenaries’ combat skills would have been a great asset.

They were fierce, honorable, and reliable.

But beyond them, their camp held too many unknown factors.

For example—the cult survivors, now trying to start a new life.

“If you were alone, I’d consider it.”

“Yeah, right.”

The old man snorted and handed Yohan a crumpled piece of paper.

“I know you won’t tell me where you’re going. But if you ever change your FM radio channel, switch to these frequencies in order. If you need to trade, reach out.”

“Understood.”

“And here—”

The old man handed Yohan a box.

“A farewell gift, kid.”