Day 1 of the zombie outbreak.

I killed people before I killed zombies.

***

It was about 3 weeks since I had locked myself in my room. It was the day I was immersed in writing a screenplay for a screenwriting competition, dreaming of becoming a screenwriter.

As the competition deadline was approaching, I had been typing furiously on the keyboard, skimping on sleep. I approached the window irritably when I heard the noise from outside.

A glimpse of my haggard face flashed across the old, murky window of the villa, and beyond the creaking open window, a dim shadow had settled on the alley below.

A horde of students in school uniforms rushing by.

"Hey! What's wrong with you! Get a grip!"

"What are you doing? Imitating a zombie?"

I silently glared at the students. They were just shouting, laughing, and making a ruckus.

'This noise is really driving me crazy.'

I was already stressed from writing the screenplay, and the lack of sleep made even this minor noise unbearably annoying.

But I couldn't bring myself to open my mouth and say anything. I was afraid I would lose in a fight. These kids are scary these days.

Instead of protesting, I picked up a coffee cup and slowly sipped my coffee, watching the students below. Maybe it could give me some ideas for the screenplay.

I was in the middle of writing a screenplay in the zombie apocalypse genre, and the sight of those students gave me an idea.

"Grrrr."

A student was drooling and flailing his arms. He was clenching his teeth and trying to bite another student. The saliva was overflowing from his mouth, dripping down.

'Is he just joking around? Or does he have rabies?'

It looked exactly like a zombie, but I couldn't believe it was a real zombie. Zombies in this day and age?

The other students seemed to think the same as me. They giggled and lightly slapped the sick student.

"Hey, he's turning into a zombie!"

"...No, hey, he really seems sick, though."

One student joking, the other perceiving it seriously.

I stirred my coffee and thought to myself.

'Maybe I should just tweak the opening scene a bit. Like these students.'

And so the peaceful moment seemed to pass. The students were happily playing, and I was getting ideas.

But the peace was shattered in an instant.

"Aaargh!"

The next moment, the sick student suddenly lunged at the student who had been hitting him. He wrapped his arms around the student's neck and tore at his face with his gaping. The sound of flesh being ripped apart could be heard up to my fourth-floor room, and a spray of red blood burst out.

"Aaaagh!"

A piercing scream echoed. The students scattered like a swarm of locusts. Many were running away. Of course, a few tried to quickly grab and tear apart the sick student.

"Are you crazy? Hey! Hey! Someone try to catch him!"

"Ah, uh!"

"Blood, blood!"

I tapped my fingers on the window frame, then slammed the window shut. I had seen enough.

"Looks like rabies."

Anyway, I got a good idea. I need to modify the scene before the idea disappears. I quickly sat down at the computer and furiously typed on the keyboard.

Suddenly, my phone started ringing loudly.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Emergency disaster text messages.

Not just one. The local government, the city hall, and the national government sent text messages one after another.

I stared blankly at the phone.

[Civil unrest has occurred. Citizens are requested to...]

[An unidentified virus infection has been confirmed. Please refrain from going out, wear masks, wash your hands, and follow disease prevention guidelines.]

[Nationwide virus spread. TV and radio...]

My head is spinning. This was not spam. I've never heard of sending spam text messages as disaster alerts.

"TV, TV."

With a trembling hand, I turned on the TV, and an emergency broadcast was in progress. The announcer was speaking urgently, but I couldn't hear what he was saying, and the only thing that stood out in the video was people attacking others.

Screaming and biting the infected. That vivid footage.

"...Are those really zombies?"

They were real zombies. The image of the student I just saw flashed in my mind. The student who was bitten by him too.

This place I'm in is the origin of the zombies.

Countless thoughts flashed through my mind in an instant. Zombie apocalypse, screenplay, competition, the information I had researched, survival guidelines.

I jumped up. This is no time to just sit around. I need to take appropriate action.

"Pot, water, shampoo."

Squeezing my tired head, I mixed water and shampoo in a large pot and went out the door.

***

As I was a screenplay in the zombie apocalypse genre, I had a thought.

There's no way a zombie apocalypse could actually happen.

- These days, what zombies? The military would just wipe them all out. With drones, tanks, fighter jets, and even just guns, they'd all be dead in no time.

"In this modern age of advanced science and technology, simple zombies cannot bring down our civilization. With the military's vast arsenal of weapons and our society's systems strengthened by the COVID-19 pandemic, there's no way a zombie outbreak could succeed."

This belief remained unchanged even as the zombie crisis unfolded.

"Just hold out for 2 weeks, and the government will handle it."

I thought I just needed to stay put in my home, as the government would have more than enough time to respond.

Luckily, I had enough food and water to last 2 weeks in my home.

I hurriedly rushed down the old staircase.

"The elevator's not working anyway. Blocking the stairs will be enough."

My 4-story villa was an old building, so I had to use the stairs instead of an elevator. As long as I blocked the stairs, the zombies wouldn't be able to reach me.

I poured soapy water from the 1st floor stairs, refilled it, and then poured it on the 2nd floor stairs.

"Zombies are still people. If they keep slipping and falling on the stairs, their bones will break, and they'll die."

The dead zombies would then become a natural barricade, making it difficult for them to reach my 4th floor.

The old villa's staircase was filled with the strong scent of shampoo.

Sweating profusely, I poured the soapy water on every stair up to the 3rd floor. The repeated trips up and down the stairs had left me breathless.

"Just hold out for 2 weeks," I muttered to myself. Who knows, maybe this zombie outbreak could lead to my screenplay winning a competition.

Filled with hopeful dreams, I filled the pot with soapy water and was about to pour it on the stairs to my 4th floor when-

Thud! Screams came from the lower floor.

"Yeon-seo!"

A man's anguished cry. Peeking through the railing, I wondered if it was a zombie, but instead, I saw a person lying dead on the landing.

A person, not a zombie.

***

I stared wide-eyed at the scene below. My body had become rigid.

"Yeon-seo! Yeon-seo!"

The young couple living on the 3rd floor had fallen. The woman, with whom I occasionally exchanged greetings, had somehow broken her neck. The man was slapping her cheeks frantically, his eyes bloodshot as he looked around.

Our eyes met through the narrow railing.

The man's gaze shifted to the pot, and I followed his line of sight.

The pot was filled with soapy water, bubbles rising, a clear evidence of my involvement.

"You... You're the one who did this! You killed Yeon-seo!"

"Me...?"

"My thoughts came to a halt. The lifeless body of my neighbor, her neck broken, was etched in my eyes. My hands were trembling. Murder? Me...? The soapy water overflowed, soaking my hands with a cold chill. It felt like my body temperature was draining away.

'I'm a murderer? What about the screenplay competition? My screenplay... What's going to happen to me? Prison?'

A dizzying vertigo came over me. I hadn't felt this way even when I saw the zombies, but it felt like the world was crumbling.

But I didn't even have time to feel despair. The world didn't give me that luxury.

The man gripped the railing, grinding his teeth. He clumsily climbed up, clinging to the railing like a wild beast. The veins on his clenched fist stood out.

A scream burst from his wide-open mouth.

"You, you're the reason Yeon-seo is-!"

The resounding voice. It felt as if time had slowed down. The man's distorted face, the spittle flying, his dynamic movements, and his fist pulled back all seemed to move in slow motion.

I couldn't think of anything. My hand just moved.

Swoosh-!

I threw the pot filled with soapy water. The pot flew through the air, splattering the soapy water, and hit the man's head.

Clang!

"Argh!"

The man, drenched in soapy water, squeezed his eyes shut. He lost his balance. Falling backwards, he tumbled down the stairs, thudding and crashing. He hit the railing and the corner of the stairs, his neck bent under his own weight.

And so the man died too. No, he will die. He let out a strange, gurgling breath, his hands reaching out towards the air like playing the piano. It was a fatal injury.

"..."

It felt like I was dreaming somewhere. Like this all wasn't real. I collapsed to the floor, my strength leaving me. The fragrant shampoo scent and the raw corpse. The soap bubbles burst one by one.

Suddenly, the reality of the situation hit me.

"I'm done for..."

Murder, not even zombies, but killing a person. A crime. My life, which had been rushing towards the dream of being a screenplay writer, had just closed.

My hands were trembling uncontrollably. My body convulsed, my chattering teeth echoing in my eardrums.

'What do I do? Turn myself in? No, no. This is a zombie apocalypse.'

The anxiety abruptly stopped. A screenplay unfolded rapidly in my mind.

'1. Pretend not to know. I'll be busy with the zombies.'

The zombies have appeared. The police and administrative powers will be paralyzed. No, wait. The zombie situation will be resolved. If I'm investigated, I'll be caught.

'2. Turn myself in.'

Try for a reduced sentence by turning myself in? No, that's not it either. Not this or anything else, I've killed two people. The man's death was practically premeditated murder.

I tapped my fingers on my knees, continuing to write the screenplay. The subject matter: zombie apocalypse, murder, the perfect crime. Suddenly, my fingers froze. A strange thought crossed my mind.

I rolled my eyes to look at the bodies. A low murmur escaped my lips."

"3. Zombies."

If I infect that man and the dead woman downstairs with the zombies, at least I won't be suspected of murder.

After all, this old villa doesn't even have CCTV.

But as always, reality was not so simple.

Ding-dong!

I heard the sound of a door opening behind me. I quickly turned my head. I couldn't get caught at the crime scene.

My neighbor, a college girl as it seemed, carefully poked her head out, holding a phone in one hand. There were only two apartments on this floor, so when you come out of the entrance, you can see the central staircase landing at a glance. Our eyes met.

"M-m-murder!"

The college girl saw the man's body and let out a scream. She quickly raised her phone, seeming to call 112 (emergency number).

I quickly got up, grabbed the railing, and ran up the stairs. I tried to use the friendliest tone possible.

"Wait! It's absolutely not what you're thinking!"

"Kyaaaaa!"

The girl looked at me with terrified eyes. Then she slammed the door and went inside. I arrived at the door a half-beat late.

Banging on the door and shouting with all my might.

"That was a zombie! In this situation, we neighbors should work together! How much food do you have? Hey! Open the door! Open it! The police are busy right now, so they won't be able to answer the call anyway!"

The words spilled out without thinking. Belatedly, I heard the sound of the lock clicking shut.

I banged the front door hard and then leaned my head against it. I felt the cold temperature of the entrance on my cheek, and I heard the college girl's trembling voice.

"Hello, police? There's a murderer at my door! Please come quickly!"

Looks like she got through to the police. A single word popped into my head.

I'm done for.

I'm really done for.

***

Click, handcuffs were on my wrists. My face was reflected in the shiny handcuffs. My unwashed, matted hair. The unshaven beard hidden by the mask. My haggard face.

The burly detective sighed and said, "I will inform you of your Miranda rights. I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You have the right to an attorney, and-"

I didn't hear the rest of his voice. I slumped down powerlessly, like a person falling into a bottomless pit, and the two detectives carefully escorted me down the stairs, holding my sides.

The detective who almost slipped while walking in front muttered, "Seriously, why would you spill this on the stairs where people walk?"

"Zombies, zombies," I muttered weakly, and the detective holding me clicked his tongue and roughly pulled me along.

"What zombies? They're all just infected patients. Even if you kill those patients, it's still murder, man."

That's right. The world was fine.

As I left the villa, I saw the ambulance that had just arrived and the student zombie being strapped onto a stretcher. The student zombie, tightly bound with ropes, was thrashing their body roughly, and the paramedics were providing emergency treatment to the student with a torn face. And two bodies were being collected.

I bowed my head deeply.

Day 1 of the zombie outbreak.

I, Kim Da-in, an aspiring scenario writer, killed a person before the zombies, the world was still functioning normally, and I, who killed a person, was locked up in a detention center.