What needs to be done

As Joon-ho and I cautiously make our way back to the shelter, the dim light of dawn begins to seep through the city's skeletal skyline. The streets are eerily quiet, the recent commotion having subsided. It is during this quiet trek that we stumble upon a sight that momentarily halts our progress.

There, lying in an alley just off our path, is the body of an old man. He is dressed in tattered clothes, too thin to offer much protection against the cold night. His face, partially illuminated by the emerging sunlight, bears the wrinkles of many years, suggesting he is well into his nineties.

We approach carefully, our senses alert for any signs of danger. But it is clear that the man has not fallen victim to the infected. There are no bite marks or wounds – it seems as though he has simply laid down and never got back up, likely succumbing to the cold or perhaps to the frailties of age.

I kneel beside him, a pang of sadness striking me. In his peaceful expression, there is no sign of the turmoil that has claimed the world around him. "Looks like he passed away in his sleep," I say softly, more to myself than to Joon-ho.

Joon-ho joins me, his face sombre. "In a way, he was lucky. To go peacefully in this world... it's more than most can hope for now."

The reality of Joon-ho's words hangs heavily between us. In a world ravaged by chaos and despair, a quiet, dignified end is a rare occurrence.

"We can't leave him like this," I say, my voice heavy with reluctance. "If the infected find him, he'll turn. We have to make sure that doesn't happen."

Memories of the previous spring flood back into my mind, unbidden and sharp. I remember the end of that long, harsh winter, how I had naively believed that the cold might have slowed the spread, might have given us a reprieve.

But with the thaw came a dreadful awakening. As the snow melted, revealing the hidden carcasses of those who had not survived the winter, I witnessed a horrifying resurgence. The bodies, preserved by the cold, began to turn. What we had thought were mere remains, relics of the bygone chaos, became active threats, reanimating as the temperatures rose, swelling the ranks of the infected dramatically.

Together, we gently lift the old man, carrying him to a nearby abandoned building. We find a spot that is sheltered and out of sight, laying him down as if he were merely sleeping. It isn't much, but it is the best we can do under the circumstances.

As Joon-ho and I gently place the old man in a sheltered spot within the abandoned building, a harsh reality settles upon us. In this world, where the dead often become a greater threat, we face a grim but necessary task.

Joon-ho nods, understanding the gravity of what needs to be done. It is a brutal aspect of our new reality – to prevent those who pass from becoming part of the undead horde.

With sombre resolve, I take out my knife, the blade glinting faintly in the dim light. I hesitate for a moment, a silent apology to the man who has died in peace. Then, with a swift, precise movement, I make a small hole in his head, ensuring that he will not be reanimated.

It is a deed done not out of malice, but out of a deep-seated respect for life and the dignity of the dead. In a world where death is a constant companion, such acts, however grim, are sometimes necessary to maintain the fragile balance between survival and our own humanity.

Once the deed is done, Joon-ho and I stand in silence, paying our silent respects to the old man. This moment, though brief, is a poignant reminder of the harsh choices we are forced to make every day in order to survive and protect what little we have.

We then continue our journey back to the shelter, the first rays of dawn casting long shadows on our path. The encounter with the old man lingers in my mind, a stark contrast to the relentless struggle for survival that defines our existence. It is a reminder that, even in the midst of chaos, there are still moments of quiet dignity and respect, small acts that keep us tethered to our humanity.

***

As Joon-ho and I near our shelter, a silhouette against the pale light of dawn catches our attention. A young woman stands in front of our hideout, her movements cautious and curious as she tries to peer inside through one of the windows.

We halt at a safe distance, observing her from the cover of a dilapidated building. The woman seems unarmed, her posture more curious than threatening, but in this world, appearances can be deceiving.

"What do you think?" Joon-ho asks, his voice low. "She doesn't look dangerous, but..."

"But anyone could be a potential threat," I finish his thought, keeping my eyes fixed on the woman. "She might be harmless, or she could be scouting for a group. We can't take any chances."

Joon-ho nods, understanding the precarious nature of the situation. "So, what's the plan?"

"We approach her, but we do it silently and cautiously," I reply, already assessing the best route to take. "We need to find out why she's here and if she's alone. If she's in trouble, we can decide how to handle it from there."

We ready our weapons, not with the intent to use them, but as a necessary precaution. Moving with practised stealth, we flank the woman's position, using the remains of broken walls and scattered debris as cover.

As we close the distance, every step is measured and silent. The woman remains unaware of our approach, her attention still focused on trying to peer into our shelter.

Reaching a position just behind her, I step out of the shadows, Joon-ho following suit. We are close enough to intervene quickly if needed, but far enough to react if the situation turns sour.