FRAP 06

Chapter 06

 If We Stick Together, We Die

Damn it…

I reflexively hurled my body forward.

—Clang!

The chunk of metal that had been flying straight for my skull smashed uselessly into the ground instead.

“Ah!”

The bastard who attacked me let out a short scream—must’ve twisted his wrist.

When I turned around, five dark silhouettes came into view.

“How—how did you open the door?!”

“Who the hell are you?!”

“You bastard, what the hell are you?!”

Seriously… these people. Of all times to get angry, now? No matter how brutal the world gets, isn’t it a bit much to swing for someone’s head without even checking their face first?

If someone was inside, they could’ve at least shouted when the doorknob came off.

“Let’s talk first. Put the weapons down.”

I slowly stepped back to avoid provoking them, taking in their builds, faces, and equipment.

Two guys who looked well past fifty.

Damn—one of them was clearly balding. Not that it affected combat power, but it still hurt my heart.

Then there was one scruffy-looking man in his forties.

And finally, two guys who just screamed “bad news.” One of those punks was the one who’d swung the rebar at me.

“What the hell are you, asshole?”

The thug standing behind the guy with the rebar glared at me. Judging by his presence and build, he was the boss—the rebar guy was clearly his underling.

The boss held a gleaming golf club in his hand.

Long reach, solid material. Honestly… pretty tempting.

That’d be useful…

Reach matters most when it comes to weapons.

A police baton’s just too short.

“What are you, huh?!”

Maybe he noticed me eyeing the club. The boss raised it with a menacing expression.

“I’m a police officer.”

“A cop?”

“Police?”

At the word police, everyone’s faces instantly brightened.

They call cops pigs and rent-a-cops all the time—but when shit actually hits the fan, the first thing people look for is the police.

“Then why are you dressed like that?”

The boss scanned me suspiciously.

“I was off-duty. Things went south suddenly, so I linked up with a junior and we were moving together.”

As I spoke, I pulled out my handgun and Hwang’s police ID.

I’d brought them along for a reason.

“W-what the hell?!”

The moment the gun came out, the boss jumped back in alarm.

“I’m not planning to shoot. I just thought it’d be easier to believe if I showed you.”

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason.

It also meant: Swing that thing one more time and I’ll put a bullet in your head.

Even if the gun was unloaded.

“But would an off-duty cop really carry a firearm?”

The boss asked carefully, clearly more subdued now.

Figures—he’d probably seen enough cops to know the basics.

Still, this wasn’t something I couldn’t handle.

“It’s my junior’s. I borrowed it to clear a path.”

At the phrase clear a path, the thick-haired guy cautiously spoke up.

“Boss… I saw it earlier. That guy got out of a police car.”

“So he got out to let the car through and fought those monsters? Damn… impressive.”

The scruffy man looked me up and down with admiration.

I knew exactly what he was thinking.

You’re a cop. You’ve got a gun. So do something about those monsters.

“Then you attacked me even after seeing me come in? Instead of opening the rooftop door?”

When I frowned and asked, the boss coughed awkwardly.

“Ahem… we didn’t see that. Thought a monster busted the door down and came up.”

The sheer audacity of that excuse made irritation well up.

You call that an excuse?

Watching someone fight zombies and not helping—I could understand that.

In a situation like this, how many people would jump in to save a stranger?

I’d seen too much to be disappointed by that anymore…

But pretending nothing happened and then trying to crack my skull? That crossed a line.

Calm down. Breathe.

This wasn’t the time to waste energy arguing.

I was busy.

I needed to find a base camp—fast.

“Everyone, please spread out. Keep your distance.”

I dropped the argument and issued instructions instead.

There could be an infected among them.

I’d impersonated a cop because I knew how much weight those words carried in situations like this.

Add a gun to the mix, and communication became a lot more… peaceful.

“Huh? Why?”

The scruffy man asked, but still obediently stepped away from the others.

“Some of you might turn into monsters like those people.”

“What?”

“What are you talking about?”

“People all over are suddenly showing abnormal symptoms and becoming violent. We’re not sure yet, but it may be a chemical weapons attack.”

I spun a convincing lie to make them separate.

Telling the truth like I did with Hwang wouldn’t help here.

Chemical weapons were far more believable than zombies and system windows, anyway.

“Ch-chemical weapons? Like poison gas?”

“Possibly a new weapon that affects the brain and causes people to attack others. It’s not just this area—disturbances are breaking out nationwide—”

“So you’re saying this is all because those commie bastards spread poison gas?!”

At that, the bald man who’d been listening quietly jumped in, scowling deeply.

Huh. I never said who did it…

Was the pain of division really this persuasive?

“We don’t know who’s responsible yet.”

“Who else would it be?! Those damn commies! This is why they all need to be beaten to death! Unification my ass!”

Man, this old guy’s blood pressure must be through the roof.

And why the hell are we talking about this now?

Way too many problematic statements. Cut.

“Anyway, someone here might suddenly attack the person next to them. So keep your distance.”

The group began slowly backing away from one another, casting wary glances.

Yep. When a “cop” says it, people listen.

Then Thug #2 spoke up.

“Is that really true? The news didn’t say anything about that.”

Huh. Guess the guy who looked dumb as rocks checked the news as soon as he took shelter.

At least communication’s still up. That’s good.

Though it wouldn’t last long.

Power and networks would go down soon enough.

The reason I was telling them all this was so they’d spread the story themselves once that happened.

Humans instinctively band together in disasters.

But right now, that instinct was a death sentence.

“Are you saying I fought through monsters to get here just to lie to you?”

At my sharp retort, Thug #2 clammed up instantly.

“Then… what should we do?”

The scruffy man asked, his face tense.

“Please wait. I need to assess the situation first.”

I said that as I casually walked toward the railing.

A strange tension filled the rooftop.

The thought that one of them might suddenly snap had clearly sunk in.

“Boss… maybe put the golf club down for now.”

The bald man said, swallowing hard.

Until moments ago, that golf club had been their strongest weapon.

Now it probably looked like something that could cave his skull in.

“Bullshit. You want me to put this down when some nutjob could snap at any moment?”

The boss showed zero intention of lowering his weapon.

Didn’t matter to me.

I slowly scanned the area below, memorizing the terrain and situation.

I needed a base camp—and somewhere to grab food now.

Someplace empty, with good insulation and wind protection. High ceilings would be nice too…

High ceilings were great, but finding a place like that with few zombies wasn’t easy.

Ideally, there’d be food or daily supplies nearby as well.

The problem was, places that met all those conditions were rare.

…Oh?

Then I spotted it.

There.

I wouldn’t know for sure until I checked, but right now, nothing looked better.

With the biggest problem solved, I moved on to the next task.

“Could I borrow a pair of shoes?”

These cheap slippers made running difficult, and stepping on glass or debris could wreck my feet.

With this many people around, someone had to have decent shoes.

“Shoes? What for?”

The bald man asked.

“I need to go call in support. Hard to run properly in slippers.”

He didn’t answer—just looked down at his own feet.

Turns out he was wearing slippers too.

“What size are you?”

The scruffy man asked, looking at his boots.

They were work boots—easily the best footwear here.

Way better than the dress shoes the thugs wore.

Safety boots or work boots were ideal. Combat boots came next.

Comfort didn’t matter—durability did.

In the apocalypse, a small wound could mean death.

Step on a rusty nail, get tetanus.

Cut your foot on glass, lose mobility, get surrounded by zombies.

“Looks about my size. Try these.”

He immediately took off his boots and handed them over.

“Thank you.”

I accepted them and slipped them on.

“Oh—perfect fit.”

Nice. Like they were made for me.

No unnecessary stamina loss now.

“But will just a baton and a gun be enough? You probably don’t have many bullets… You really should have another weapon—”

The bald man carefully started.

“What the hell? You trying to force me to give it up?”

The boss snapped, gripping his golf club even tighter.

“Sir, please calm down. I’m not taking it.”

Honestly, I wanted that club more than the baton—but it wasn’t worth the hassle with someone this jumpy.

“How the hell am I supposed to believe that?”

Instead of calming down, Boss Park exploded, raising the club like he was about to swing.

“What are you staring at, huh?!”

As his voice rose, an uneasy silence fell over the rooftop.

Everyone was thinking the same thing.

One by one, they began stepping back.

“Boss Park, why’re you so angry?”

“You… you’re not hearing things right now, are you?”

“What if I am? What then? You gonna kill me?”

Without a word, I drew my handgun and aimed it at his head.

“Mr. Park. Calm down and put the weapon down.”