Zombie Apocalypse Whiteout

Zombie Apocalypse Whiteout - 3

EP. 3 White Christmas (3)

Thud—!

The zombified lieutenant’s head exploded inside his helmet, and his body collapsed onto the snow-covered ground.

“Ugh—!”

The sergeant groaned in disbelief at the impossible sight. Whatever had just happened, he somehow got one more chance before death.

But it wasn’t over yet. There were still over a dozen zombies charging at him, and the burning parka that the driver had been swinging around was long since reduced to a shriveled mess. He had to run.

“Ugh!”

Just as he pressed a hand to the ground to stand, four gunshots rang out in quick succession.

Bang! Bang! Bang, Bang—!

Four zombies rushing toward him dropped lifelessly into the snow, each with a large hole in their heads.

Thud—!

The body of a zombie thrown from a car crashed headfirst beside the sergeant. The gruesome, terrifying sight of a zombie’s skull blasted wide open against the white snow made the sergeant flinch reflexively.

“Ugh!”

Trying to crawl toward his gun, the sergeant clutched his leg and collapsed again. Only then did he realize his ankle was badly twisted. The sharp pain shooting through his bones when he put weight on it made standing impossible. He’d probably been injured when the lieutenant zombie threw him.

“Don’t move.”

A man burst out from the alley, aiming his rifle at the zombies as he brushed past the sergeant and issued the brief command. Wearing a priest’s hunting parka layered with a tactical vest, he carried a K-2 rifle fitted with a large scope. Though he was out of breath from running full tilt, his aim did not waver.

Tat-tat—! Bang—!

As the man twisted his upper body from side to side, three zombies sprinting across the car hoods were sequentially blasted to bits, brains splattering everywhere. He shot exactly one bullet into each zombie’s head—fair and square.

“Haa… haa…”

The sergeant, still gasping in disbelief from what he had just witnessed, could only gape. In the blizzard-dark night, this man was taking down a horde of zombies with precise headshots faster than the eye could follow… Such marksmanship was beyond anything he’d ever imagined. Watching it felt like witnessing a miracle.

But the man in the hunting parka already seemed to expect such success. Swiftly sprinting across the snow-covered road, he shifted his aim toward the next targets—two zombies charging low with their helmets first.

Bang! Bang!

The man’s shots tore through the zombies’ advancing knees, shattering joints and buckling legs. The zombies pitched forward, necks snapping back in the split second before he fired again.

Tat-tat—!

Two bullets pierced through their jaws, smashing skulls and drenching the insides of their helmets in greenish brains—before their broken knees even touched the ground.

Thump—! Thud—!

While the two helmeted zombies fell, the man pushed forward to the storefront where the driver stood. His movements were fast, composed, and bold—without a hint of hesitation or error.

It was like watching a gamer who had memorized every enemy attack pattern after thousands of attempts, predicting and evading with perfect timing. But how could that be possible? This was a matter of life and death…

Tat-tat—! Bang—! Bang—! Bang! Bang! Tat-tat—!

With every sharp gunshot cutting through the raging snowstorm, the number of zombies quickly dwindled.

“Eeeek—!”

Startled by the sudden gunfire in his direction, the driver dropped low. But the man’s shooting was flawless—there was no risk of stray bullets. Each round homed in like a guided missile, striking only the zombies’ heads.

It took less than twenty seconds for the man in the hunting parka to take down a dozen zombies. The sheer speed alone was astonishing, but what was even more shocking was that his magazine still had bullets left.

Wheeeeee—!

When the thunderous gunfire finally ceased, the road was once again filled with the sound of the wind.

What… what is this? A dream?

Blinking in disbelief, the sergeant looked around. The many zombie corpses scattered like a fan around him felt unreal, like some grand nightmare where a hero appears to save the day.

Arf—!

A loud bark from behind snapped him back to reality.

A dog!

Turning his head, the sergeant flinched and instinctively shrank back. A large, black, ferocious dog had silently crept up right in front of him. Its glowing eyes radiated menace, and sharp teeth dripped with saliva from its open mouth.

“Ugh!”

Terrified, the sergeant tried to stand using the car for support but collapsed back to his knees. The man glanced back at the dog and barked a sharp command.

"Sam-sik!"

At the sound of his voice, the dog immediately changed direction and ran toward the man. As if it had no interest in the sergeant from the start, it trotted lightly toward the man. The man reached down, patted the panting dog’s head, and said,

“If you get that close, you’ll scare him. You mean well, though.”

Calming the dog, the man pulled off the raccoon-fur hood of his parka, revealing his face as he asked,

“Can you stand?”

He was fairly young, but his identity was unclear. His gear wasn’t standard military issue, yet it was too professional to be civilian equipment. The K-2 rifle with a large day-and-night scope, the tactical vest heavy with extra magazines—all were of even higher quality than regular army gear.

Despite the storm, the man’s confident posture radiated a certain awe-inspiring aura.

“Y-yes…! Yes, yes!”

The sergeant nodded and slowly got to his feet, holding onto the car door. Though intense pain still radiated from his injured leg, there was no room to complain in this situation.

“T-thank you! Thank you so much for saving me!”

The sergeant bowed his head in gratitude. The man raised his left hand, pointing to the back of the sergeant’s neck.

“You’re hurt.”

The sergeant touched the spot and was shocked to find his palm stained bright red with blood.

“No, no, that’s from the lieutenant… no, the zombie… I was scratched, but not bitten! I swear!”

“I know you weren’t bitten. I saw everything from the moment you jumped off the building.”

The man spoke calmly and gestured toward the driver on the shopping center roof.

“Come down and help support this man! He’s injured his leg!”

“Yes! Right away!”

The driver dropped from the roof, rolling several times through the snow as he ran over. Meanwhile, the man approached the fifth vehicle and inspected inside. Confirming the engine was still running, he dragged the bloodied corpse of the fifth vehicle’s driver, who had been killed by a grenade, out of the car.

“Damn it... Even with ‘No Entry’ warnings posted, they force their way in and get themselves killed... And they never bother to say when or where they’ll show up...”

After laying the driver’s body down by the snowy roadside and closing his eyes, the man sighed deeply with a weary expression.

So this was the one... the owner of the warning note’s handwriting...

At that moment, the sergeant’s mind flashed back to the hanging corpses he saw at City Hall Intersection. If it was this man... if it was his shooting skill, maybe he was the one who executed all those soldiers. Though judging by the atmosphere now, he seemed far from a cold-blooded killer... Still, the sergeant’s hands began to tremble again.

“Sergeant Oh! Thank God! Thank you, thank you!”

The driver ran over to the sergeant, his voice trembling with emotion as he repeatedly bowed toward the man in the hunting parka. Just as the driver reached for the box of rounds to reload, the man spoke firmly,

“Keep your hands off the live rounds.”

The coldness in his tone was unlike before—chilling.

“...What?”

Surprised by the unexpected command, the driver turned to look at him. The command was so icy, it made the tears of relief in his eyes instantly dry up.

“I’ll give permission to reload later.”

The man made it crystal clear that he did not trust them enough to allow reloading yet. There was no room for negotiation.

Though the driver hated carrying an empty gun in a place where zombies might return at any moment, he quietly stepped back and helped support the sergeant. He had no desire to disobey the man who saved their lives—not that he had the courage or power to.

“You’re from Gyeongju?”

The man asked, already knowing but confirming by the tone.

“Yes…”

A shadow of fear crossed the sergeant’s face.

Could it be that the soldiers from Gyeongju are all being killed? Like those hung at the traffic lights?

Perhaps sensing the sergeant’s glance toward the intersection, the man shook his head slightly.

“I’m not the one who did that to your soldiers. No need to be afraid.”

The man, reassuring the two soldiers, nodded toward the fifth vehicle and asked,

“Can you drive it?”

“Yes! I can drive!”

The nervous driver answered loudly. The man checked his watch and nodded.

“Good. There’s still about twenty minutes before the big wave passes this way... Get back in this car before the zombies arrive. Just reverse to the intersection—that’s where you’ll find enough space to turn the vehicle around. You can reload then.”

Pointing toward Sinmangjeong Intersection, the man carefully explained the plan to the two soldiers.

“Y-yes... yes...”

The driver nodded earnestly, and they helped the sergeant—who could barely stand—into the car. Frowning, the driver then took a parka off a fallen comrade’s body and put it on himself. Driving through the snowstorm in a car with broken windows without a parka would be unbearable.

“Ugh—!”

The driver, with tears streaming down, clung to the sleeve of the zombie soldier’s parka. It was a mix of relief at surviving and grief for losing a comrade they had lived with for months.

“You said a big zombie wave is coming?”

The sergeant, dazed and sitting in the back seat, suddenly came to his senses and asked. Just a few moments ago, an attack of about fifty zombies had already brought a terrible tragedy. Now he was hearing that an even bigger horde was roaming somewhere nearby... Goosebumps covered his body.

“That’s right. About mid-level four in scale. Two waves alternate movement, so you should hurry.”

The man answered calmly, but the sergeant’s face turned even paler.

“Ugh...”

A sigh escaped the sergeant’s lips. Scale four meant thousands—mid-level meant around four to seven thousand. Two such waves... nearly ten thousand zombies in the Yeongcheon area meant the northern defense line had completely collapsed. That meant Gyeongju was no longer a safe zone.

Boom—boom—wheeooong!

The driver carefully maneuvered the tightly parked fifth vehicle back onto the road. His hands were busy turning the wheel and shifting gears. How could he not be? In twenty minutes, thousands of terrible zombies would be here.

“Go back and report this. Tell them it’s over here—time to give up.”

Once the fifth vehicle was ready to go, the man spoke to the sergeant. The sergeant, overwhelmed by the man’s presence, nodded but suddenly asked,

“What about you? Aren’t you coming?”

“I’m not going.”

“Huh? But… you just said a wave of zombies is coming…”

The sergeant tried to persuade him but stopped mid-sentence, noticing the man’s unwavering determination as he faced the blizzard.

This man still had something to do here. Whatever it was, it was clearly something only he could do.

“Um… at least your name… I want to know the name of the person who saved my life.”

Just before the car started, the sergeant asked, sincere and with no hidden meaning.

If he survived this grueling war against zombies and lived to tell the story to someone precious, he wanted to know the name of the Santa Claus who gave him new life on this snowy Christmas Eve. He believed it was the most basic human courtesy.

“…Park Jin-woo.”

The man hesitated for a moment, then looked the sergeant in the eye and answered. Then he tapped the car hood twice, signaling the driver to reverse.

“Park… Jin-woo… sir. I’ll remember you for life! Thank you so much!”

The sergeant bowed several times in gratitude to Jin-woo. As the car slowly reversed and lined up beside Jin-woo, the driver scratched his head with an apologetic look and asked,

“Sorry for the question, but I have to report this. What exactly happened here? If the superiors ask why Yeongcheon fell, or what happened to ‘the factory,’ I don’t know what to say.”

Hoo...!

Jin-woo let out a small sigh and unemotionally ordered,

“Move out.”

He had no intention of telling these strangers the secrets so many risked their lives to protect. Besides, the story was too long—explaining everything that had happened in Yeongcheon over the past week meant going back a whole month, back before the snow covered everything.