Hiding a House in the Apocalypse

Among the recurring nightmares plaguing South Korean men before the war, I once read that reenlisting in the military was considered the most tormenting.

For me, it’s always been nightmares about loans.

As a chronic debtor, I’ve been haunted by relentless debt collection demands, with an endless flood of documents that left a lasting impression:
Demand letters, payment orders, lawsuits, notices of hearings, judgments, asset disclosure orders, foreclosure notifications, and so on—a colorful array of fan letters tailored just for me.

The thought of my future before the war broke out wasn’t something I liked to imagine.

With no job, personal rehabilitation would have been out of the question, and bankruptcy would likely have been my only ending.

To be honest, when I first heard the news of the war breaking out, I was... a little happy.

Not everyone’s life got worse when the world ended.

Some even found new vigor and meaning in life amidst the chaos of destruction.

My one and only internet friend, Defender, was like a fish that could only swim freely in the turbulent waters of disaster.

The day Kim Daram mocked my hideout, Defender sent me yet another message.

Message from Defender:
When are you coming, SKELTON? I’m waiting so long my neck’s going stiff.@@novelbin@@

Though I might slack off on paying debts, I am someone who mostly keeps promises.

SKELTON:
Wait. I’ll bring you a gift.

For the sake of my social reputation within the community, promises had to be kept.

I mulled over the mode of transportation for a bit and eventually settled on my trusty cargo bike.

It was quiet, easy to ditch if needed, and let’s be honest—if I got ambushed, I’d be screwed either way.

Since there were no reports of Mutations, I figured slower but quieter was the safer choice.

I originally bought the bike second-hand on CarrotNet with the intent of using it just briefly, but it ended up being my most reliable workhorse. Funny how life works.

Before heading out, I checked the chain, pumped up the tires, and loaded the ammunition crate.

For weapons, my usual modest travel kit: a rifle, a pistol, and two axes. This time, though, I wore a bulletproof vest underneath my clothes.

While it wouldn’t stop rifle rounds, it was still better than nothing.

According to Defender, there were three major danger zones near the rendezvous point.

The Three Danger Zones

1. Monster Territory
   From Defender’s explanation, these were not roaming types but stationary, sedentary creatures rooted in one area. As long as I didn’t enter their domain, they were mostly harmless.

2. Zombie Zone
   A cluster of zombies had taken over an abandoned apartment complex, going dormant there. However, some still roamed as scouting parties, hunting for unlucky prey.

   Luckily, the zombie zone was southwest of the rendezvous point, far from my intended route, so it wasn’t a direct threat.

3. The Rest of the Region—Human Territory
   The final and most unpredictable danger was humans.

   Unlike monsters or zombies, humans constantly change their positions, devise new strategies, and set up unexpected traps.

   Defender provided a detailed rundown of areas and groups to avoid, as well as their ambush hotspots.

   He particularly emphasized clothing:

   Message from Defender:
   Avoid the ones wearing red pants, if possible.

The journey was uneventful to the point of boredom, which I didn’t mind considering the risks involved.

By the time I reached the midway point, the night’s veil had fallen, covering the ruined land. From a riverside hill, I saw ghostly white lights flickering over the abandoned streets.

Monster territory.

The invasive species capable of surviving Earth’s conditions weren’t designed to exterminate humanity outright. Instead, their mission seemed to be converting the environment into something resembling their homeworld.

Humans were merely obstacles to be removed in that process.

The darkness concealed me, just as it did the monsters, so I couldn’t discern their exact type. But at least I could confirm they were stationary, as reported.

Surprisingly, I didn’t encounter any human raiders along the route. Passing three ambush hotspots, all I found were abandoned vehicles, debris, and charred corpses.

The unexpected threat came from zombies.

Those that were supposed to be far off the route were instead swarming close by.

Though I didn’t see them, the eerie, discordant chorus of the undead under the pale moonlight hinted at their numbers—easily over a hundred.

Had they awakened from dormancy?

I proceeded cautiously, minimizing any noise as I moved through the remaining path.

Defender and I had agreed not to use radios, as this area was full of people and factions, and any transmission would reveal my presence.

While Defender didn’t have a private identification number for safer communication frequencies, I did. But since he didn’t, we stuck to detailed pre-arranged times and locations.

Defender even sent me a photo of the meeting spot—a massive fir tree that looked as though a tilted Ferris wheel was leaning against it.

As I neared the theme park, I searched for a similar tree.

There it was.

From this angle, the Ferris wheel didn’t look like it was leaning but rather sticking out awkwardly. Nonetheless, it was the same tree bathed in moonlight, standing tall and straight.

I saw no one around.

I approached slowly, weapon ready, senses on high alert for any possibilities.

First Contact

Soon, I felt it—a presence.

It was a person.

My pulse quickened. Was this finally it? Would I meet the infamous prankster of the forums, Defender?

What would he look like? Perhaps he had a surprisingly kind face. After all, appearances don’t always reveal a person’s nature.

But then, this breathing... It was too delicate to belong to a man.

A shadow emerged from behind the tree, and I was briefly stunned.

It was a woman.

Her pale skin shimmered under the moonlight, her long hair cascading down her back. She was strikingly beautiful, her eyes a mixture of curiosity and fear as she cautiously studied me.

She awkwardly waved and greeted me.

Instead of responding, I raised my pistol and aimed behind her.

“Come out.”

There was another.

Click.

“I said, come out.”

The woman flinched as I pointed my axe at her with my free hand.

The bushes rustled lightly.

“Wow,” a young man’s voice said, breaking the tension.

A tall, handsome man stepped out of the shadows, hands raised as he slowly approached.

“This is a first. Someone who didn’t fall for our trap.”

Backing away slightly, I shifted my focus to keep both of them in view.

“Are you John Nae-non?”

The man chuckled dryly.

“No, seriously? Of all names, why’d you have to mention that loser? Offended here. I’m Defender.”

My eyes flicked between the man and the woman.

The man was smiling, while the woman turned her head, avoiding eye contact.

“We’re both Defender. I write posts occasionally, but my sister’s the one who posts most often.”

“What?”

I stared at the woman.

Was it her?

The same one who posted those cynical comments devoid of even a speck of humanity, complete with kill confirmations?

She didn’t look the part at all.

Her face was far too kind-looking for that.

But then again, you can’t judge people by appearances.

The man glanced at the woman and gave her a stern look.

“My sister’s a hamster in real life, but online? She’s like a warlord. Though, yeah, I do write posts on the account when I’ve got time. Comments, too.”

“...So that’s how it is.”

The identity of Defender was revealed.

They weren’t one person but two—siblings.

Both appeared to be in their mid-twenties, healthy, and surprisingly composed for the current world.

“We’ve introduced ourselves. Now it’s your turn.”

I’d expected them to reek of corpses, but instead, they smelled faintly of burning herbs.

Keeping my expression neutral, I answered briefly.

“SKELTON.”

I shouldn’t have come here.

Regret, vague but palpable, bubbled up as I pointed toward my bike.

“That’s the ammo. Take it.”

Why was I feeling this way?

Was it because there were two of them? Because they weren’t what I’d expected? Or was it their overly friendly attitude that rubbed me the wrong way?

No, I think I knew the real reason.

Their methods reminded me of unpleasant memories.

In war-torn China, it was a common tactic: send a pretty young woman forward to lower someone’s guard, then have a man ambush and kill the victim.

I hadn’t fallen for it personally, but a fellow hunter in my circle had. His decapitated head had been hung under a traffic light as a gruesome warning.

It wasn’t the underhandedness of the tactic that bothered me.

I just hated seeing the same scene from the battlefield playing out again in front of me.

“Why are you so wary?”

The man paused while moving the ammo to the cart and turned to look at me.

The woman, arms crossed, had been quietly watching me the whole time.

After a moment, she pulled something out, rolled it, placed it in her mouth, and lit it.

The scent wasn’t tobacco but burning herbs. That explained the smell coming from them.

“Why don’t you come in for a bit? Have some tea.”

The man casually invited me while he loaded the ammo onto their cart.

“No, I’ll get going now. You two head inside.”

“Why are you so guarded? Aren’t we friends?”

“...”

“Why aren’t you saying anything?! SKELTON. Are you... disappointed in us?”

I nodded.

“...Why?”

This time, they asked in unison, their faces genuinely shocked.

To be honest, I just didn’t want to look at them anymore. But saying that out loud didn’t feel right.

As I struggled to come up with a more diplomatic response, an eerie sound carried on the wind.

“Mom... Mom... Eeeeeeeeh.”

It wasn’t the sound of a ghost.

It was a child crying.

The voices—at least two of them—belonged to young children, no older than ten, crying desperately for their parents.

That sorrowful wailing seemed to fit the theme park down below but not in the way it should.

“SKELTON.”

The man, Defender, spoke with a serious tone for the first time.

The woman had already gripped the handle of their cart, ready to move.

“Come with us to our house for a bit.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s them.”

For the first time, the man’s face showed clear murderous intent.

“That’s why I needed the bullets.”

*

Defender’s base wasn’t a bunker but an old house perched on a mountainside overlooking the theme park.

Well, calling it a "house" doesn’t quite do it justice—it was more of a mansion.

Though worn and dilapidated overall, it boasted luxurious features, including a detached main house, a storage shed, and even a garage.

No wonder they chose to kill anyone who stumbled upon it instead of hiding.

Under the moonlight, I noticed a small greenhouse made of plastic. It housed an assortment of plants, but the foggy condensation on the plastic made it impossible to see what exactly was growing inside.

The woman Defender eyed the elegant box in my hands with timid curiosity.

She still seemed wary of me, but her persistent gaze betrayed a certain interest.

“...SKELTON, what’s that?”

Her voice was hesitant as she finally worked up the courage to ask.

“This?”

It was Kim Daram’s fancy snack box.

I’d brought it along, half-eaten, intending to give it to Defender as a gift. I thought it might help boost their goodwill toward me and improve my reputation in the community.

But after meeting Defender, who turned out to be far worse than I’d imagined—both in personality and, unexpectedly, in numbers—I’d planned to just take it back and finish it myself.

Unfortunately, their invitation dragged me into their base, snack box and all.

“It’s... a gift,” I said reluctantly, handing the snack box to the woman Defender.

She opened it, her face lighting up with a bright smile as she looked at me.

“SKELTON!”

She seemed genuinely delighted.

“...”

I avoided her gaze and instead surveyed the house.

Unlike my bunker, this place had an expansive open hall that made a striking visual impression.

It was definitely a rich person’s home, with clear traces of money spent on every corner.

Still, the house hadn’t entirely escaped the magical decay and wear typical of the apocalypse. I spotted cracks and collapsed sections here and there.

The man Defender soon returned, carrying steaming cups of tea.

“Oh.”

He grinned widely when he saw the snacks.

“SKELTON! You’re a real man, the kind I respect!”

“...”

I stayed silent as the woman Defender leaned toward him, whispering something in his ear.

“My sister says, ‘Why’s a guy like you so scared all the time? That’s not very manly.’”

“?”

Who was she to talk about anyone else?

I glanced at the woman, but she quickly averted her gaze, feigning indifference.

I sighed and asked, “What’s with the crying children?”

This was the main reason I was here—the sound of those children’s cries had drawn me in.

“Let’s drink some tea first.”

The siblings both lifted their cups.

I sniffed the tea. It had a pleasant aroma, far more refined than the cheap iced tea packets I had back in my bunker.

Still, I didn’t drink it.

Accepting food or drink without caution was a violation of survival etiquette in the apocalypse.

The Defenders, however, had no such reservations. They devoured the snacks greedily, and not wanting to lose out, I hesitantly took one piece and popped it into my mouth. Inevitably, I had to follow it with a sip of the tea.

It was delicious. The flavors complemented each other perfectly.

Maybe I should have trusted my online friends a little more.

As I stared wistfully at the now-empty snack box, the man Defender finally spoke.

“They’re Pioneers.”

“Pioneers?”

“You know those bastards camping out in front of Keystone’s place? Same type as them.”

“Really?”

“But these guys are way worse.”

The man Defender snapped his fingers at his sister, who opened a laptop and showed me the screen.

On it was a photo taken with a phone. It showed an armored vehicle and several middle-aged men armed with guns, standing awkwardly.

At first glance, nothing seemed particularly remarkable about them—until I noticed that they were all wearing red pants. Beneath the vehicle, two children huddled, crouched down.

“What’s this?”

The man Defender snorted coldly.

“Beggars.”

“Beggars?”

“They use kids. Get them to cry their hearts out, luring out the moles hiding in their bunkers.”

He made a slicing motion across his neck.

“Then they steal everything and kill everyone. They murder the men, rape the women, and turn the kids into their next batch of bait.”

“Scum.”

“Exactly. That’s why we’re going to kill them.”

The man Defender’s grin widened, baring his teeth in a way that made it clear how much he enjoyed talking about murder.

For some reason, the joy on his face as he spoke of killing was disturbingly genuine.