I want to try riding something called a subway.
They say it was a vehicle where identical cars were strung together, each one clinging to the next as they sped along.
A mode of transportation that carried hundreds of people at a time through underground tunnels.
But by the time I was born, the subway had already stopped operating.
The old man said the day public transportation disappeared was the beginning of the apocalypse.
He would say that with a look full of longing.
A typical old person’s routine.
Living off the past until the day they die.
Anyway,
The stories about subways from back then were full of things that are hard to believe.
The idea that a bunch of strangers, who didn’t know each other, were packed tightly together in a narrow space called a car already makes no sense.
It’s basically asking to be killed.
They even say you could enter the car without a body search.
Forget metal detectors, there wasn’t even any identity check.
They probably embezzled the money that was supposed to go into safety.
And yet, many people boarded the subway unarmed.
At this point, it’s practically fantasy.
Still, maybe some of it was true.
If I could ride it myself, I’d know right away, but now there’s no way.
Whenever I made a face like I didn’t understand, the old man would repeat the same line like a parrot.
That was what peace was, and that the whole world was like that before the apocalypse.
Of course, that’s nonsense.
That time a few decades ago. There was no need to have lived it to know.
There’s no such thing as an age of peace.
The reason I’m still alive is precisely because I didn’t believe that kind of nonsense.
“If you trust someone who talks about peace, you die.”
That’s my rule,
The secret to how I’ve survived this long.
Anyway,
I want to ride the subway.
They say it races through deep, dark underground tunnels.
Wouldn’t it feel like breaking through space?
Of course, that’s impossible now.
The stations on the surface were all destroyed long ago.
Many of the stations built underground have collapsed as well.
The few that are still intact have been taken over by powerful groups as prime shelters.
It’s safe to say trains will never light up those tunnels again.
“Still, there’s no harm in fantasizing.”
If you’re going to do it, might as well make it a good one.
***
Step.
The sound of “something” walking.
Being in ruins works in my favor. There were plenty of places to hide after all.
Then again, most of the land was ruins, so it was harder to be unlucky.
I immediately pressed myself flat against the inner wall of the nearest building.
Even though it was half crumbled, it still hid me completely.
Stopping work in broad daylight to hold your breath in the ruins.
Just another part of everyday life.
Step. Step. Step-step.
The footsteps were irregular, but there was a pattern to them.
They’re watching their surroundings.
That means they’re not monsters or zombies.
From the sound, there are three of them.
Too few.
Stragglers?
It’d be nice if they chatted a bit so I could figure out who they are.
But anyone that soft is probably already dead.
– Once you step indoors, first confirm the number and location of exits.
I didn’t remember who taught me that anymore.
Now it’s something I’ve taught dozens, even hundreds, of times myself.
I quickly scanned the area and checked my escape routes.
Thud.
The footsteps stopped.
Right behind me.
There’s only a single wall between us, and it’s far too thin.
Shift.
It’s so close I can hear it clearly.
The crisp sound of clothing brushing.
Hand signals.
Probably the one in front signaling a halt.
Rustle, clink.
A large movement accompanied by shallow breathing.
One of them lowered their stance. Must be the leader.
They’re looking at the traces on the ground.
My footprints were still fresh, so they’ll stand out.
If they’re smart, they’ll just move on.
There are only three of them.
No need to pick a fight.
Shhk, shhk.
Two faint brushing sounds.
When a glove brushes against a sleeve, it makes this kind of sound.
A hand signal. Two movements of the wrist.
If it’s not a signal they invented themselves, it probably means entry, advance.
Damn.
They’ve decided to confirm my identity.
Can’t be helped.
I’ll step out on my own.
“Yaaawn… what’s all that rustling?”
There’s no need to introduce myself out loud.
The armband on my arm and the markings on my bag speak for me.
“A postman, huh?”
The one in front lowered his gun when he saw the postman’s armband.
As expected, they were three defeated stragglers.
Their uniforms still bore the brutal traces of battle.
And their faces told the rest of the story about their condition.
They had probably gone hungry for days.
Now I understood why a group of just three had tried to push their luck and check who I was.
“Postman, what’s your assignment? Mail delivery?”
Just because they were in uniform didn’t mean they could command a postman.
They couldn’t just order me around.
“I’m on my way to deliver an air raid warning. Finished the mail deliveries yesterday.”
But in this messed-up world, this kind of treatment was routine.
I decided to play along for now.
This was reconnaissance.
“An air raid warning, huh. You’ve got it rough too, man.”
“Look at this guy’s face…still smooth as ever. Doesn’t look like he’s suffered at all.”
“Mr. Postman, sorry, but…”
They might have lowered their guns, but they were no different from bandits.
I figured I’d see what these bandits had in their pockets.
“Hungry? I’ve got some extra food.”
“Really…! Ha, we’re saved now…”
“Got anything worth trading?”
“Of course we do!”
With a snicker, the straggler hurriedly opened his bag to show me.
Inside were hygiene supplies, small batteries, a small knife, a lighter, and antibiotics.
A standard Republic of Korea Army Type A survival kit.
There were probably cigarettes too, but it looked like they’d either smoked them all or stashed them in their pockets.
Judging by their survival gear and armament, they’d likely been assigned to a monster subjugation mission.
But as always, things probably hadn’t gone as planned.
By the time they barely made it out alive, that alone would’ve been enough to thank whatever god they believed in.
After about two days like that, they’d start poking around, wondering if there might be something else to be grateful for.
“I’ll give you a good price, Mr. Postman. We’re all working for the same country, right? How much drinking water do you have?”
He talked too much, but he probably meant it about offering a fair price.
It looked like they had some resources to spare.
But they weren’t showing me what I actually wanted to see.
“What about ammunition?”
“…Huh?”
“How much ammo do you have?”
Their eyes dropped as they looked me over.
I didn’t even have a rifle.
At best, they probably figured I might be hiding a pistol or a submachine gun under my clothes.
One of them lifted the standard rifle slung on his body.
Since he was left-handed and holding it the other way around, I could clearly see the selector set to “safe”.
“You don’t see this? Our ammo’s 5.56. You can’t even use—”
“I’m not looking to use it myself.”
Small, light, and valuable.
“You’re using it as currency? We’ve got plenty of antibiotics and batteries—”
“I only take ammo.”
The rat-faced leader let out a snide chuckle.
“What a funny guy, huh.”
The one in the back suddenly stepped forward, pushing his shoulder out.
At least this one looked somewhat human.
“I get what you’re saying, but we’ve got to conserve our ammo too.”
He spoke softly, smiling with his eyes.
Then it was time to move on to the next step.
I held up a 500-milliliter bottle of water and a pack of compressed ration powder.
“One bullet is enough.”
A brief silence followed.
“…One bullet? You’re saying you’ll hand all that over for a single bullet?”
The rat-faced one raised an eyebrow as he spoke.
“Yeah, one bullet. No more, no less.”
No matter how expensive ammo was, this was easily double the market rate.
I opened the ration pack and gently kneaded it, letting the smell of grain drift into the air.
Starting with the one closest, their noses began to twitch.
Then the one who looked somewhat human leaned forward again.
“…No. If antibiotics aren’t enough, I’ll throw in a lighter too, yeah? It’s fully fueled and hasn’t been used even once. Look at this, see? The lighter itself is practically brand new. If you check the production date here….”
Figures. Just as I expected.
“I don’t care about lighters or anything else; I told you I only need ammo. Fine, I’ll add one more bottle of water. How about it? Just one round is all I need.”
All three of their expressions hardened.
Now they finally caught on to what I was getting at.
“You guys don’t have any live rounds, do you?”
They must’ve barely made it out of the battlefield alive.
They probably fired off everything they had while running.
When you’re about to die, you don’t have the luxury of saving a few bullets.
Click.
“Want me to show you whether this magazine’s empty or not?”
The rat-faced one showed his true colors.
The sight of all three raising their guns at once was almost pitiful.
And in the middle of it, the rat-faced one hadn’t even taken the safety off.
Couldn’t even put on a proper act.
“What’s wrong? We’re all working for the same country.”
“Bullshit. We’re screwed anyway, no chance of getting back! You hear me? We’ve got nothing to be afraid of! And you’re just a useless postman!”
His voice echoed through the ruins.
Bouncing off collapsed walls and shattered glass, it must have carried for hundreds of meters.
At least now I knew for sure. They really had nothing to be afraid of.
No chance of getting back, huh. So they deserted and broke military law.
Not defeated soldiers, but criminals.
“Useless huh. That’s a bit harsh.”
“Shut the hell up and toss the bag over here, errand boy.”
“That’s postman discrimination.”
“Post… what? What the hell is this guy talking about?”
I heard the third one, who hadn’t said a word until now, whisper into the rat-faced one’s ear,
“Postman discrimination, postman discrimination.”
“Fuck, using fancy words and shit. What, you educated or something?”
“Educated enough. And I can tell you’re not.”
“You little—!”
Just as the rat-faced one was about to explode, the one in the back suddenly hurled his rifle straight at my face.
Trying to block my view.
A rifle without ammo is worthless and just dead weight.
As I stepped aside to dodge it, the rat-faced one drew a dagger and rushed right up to me.
His swing aimed at my neck was way too wide.
A guy who’d never properly used a knife.
Thud!
A folding shield deploys from my raised right arm, blocking the dagger.
Screech.
“Shit…!”
The rat-faced one pulled the dagger back, scraping it along the shield.
A faint scratch was left on the surface.
Whish, whish!
Two throwing knives came flying in next.
The other two each threw one.
Their aim was poor.
The first one was headed for my left upper arm.
Even if it hit, it wasn’t a fatal spot.
Ten out of a hundred.
The one following it barely grazed past my right ear.
Zero points.
I twisted my body slightly to dodge the first knife and at the same time snatched the one flying toward my ear.
“Wh-What the hell was that guy…?!”
The rat-faced one stumbled back.
I flung the knife toward the selector on his rifle.
Tick!
The selector flipped to semi-auto.
“Corporal, if it’s on safety, do you think it’ll fire?”
While his pupils trembled, I checked the condition of my shield.
“I just got this, and it’s already damaged. How are you going to compensate me?”
Only then did he notice the engraving on the shield.
– Republic of Korea Armed Forces –
“Wh-What the hell are you?”
“Got scratched in a bad spot too.”
His dagger had cut right across the four characters of “Republic of Korea”.
“You’re working for the country, so where’d all your patriotism go?”
“You… what were you?”
Did he have dementia or something?
I turned slightly, letting him get a clear look at the armband on my left arm.
“I told you, I was a postman.”
“Are you insane…? You’re really just a postman?”
“No. An educated postman.”
I showed him the armband again, right in his face as he struggled to believe it.
“H-How dare a postman loot and use an officer’s shield? Are you crazy? That’s a death sentence!”
Funny hearing that from someone who had run away.
Well, I guess the law only needed to be on your side when it was convenient.
“Then you’re saying you don’t have any ammo. What about cigarettes?”
“…What?”
“I asked if you’ve got cigarettes. Man, why am I so itchy?”
Since they didn’t seem to understand, I pulled out my “special back scratcher”.
Nothing beats this for scratching sideburns.
“What the hell is that…?”
“A hunter’s pistol….”
“What are you talking about? There’s no way a postman would carry something like that. That’d be a death sentence. This, you see, is a back scratcher.”
Even if something was born a pistol, its name could change depending on how it was used.
Scratch, scratch.
“Ah, that hits the spot.”
“Crazy bastard….”
They each took a step back.
As expected, a good “filial” tool was remarkably effective at settling things down.
The only problem was that when I scratched my head, my finger sometimes slipped onto the trigger without thinking.
“Military gear wasn’t enough; now even hunter equipment… however you got it, you’re saying you didn’t turn it in and just use it yourself? A postman…?”
“He’s definitely a lunatic….”
“Are you really a postman?”
Tch, they just couldn’t recognize sincerity.
I really was a postman.
And a very diligent one at that.
“So, do you have them or not?”
“…….?”
“I’m asking if you’ve got cigarettes.”
They hesitated for a moment, exchanging glances.
Then their hands slowly moved to their pockets.
Each of them pulled out a single cigarette.
An ordinary routine was completed once again.
Ruins, hunger, looting, and the occasional back scratcher.
An old man used to lament that destruction had become everyday life.
What was I supposed to do about that?
For someone like me, who was born after the apocalypse, this had always been normal.
To me, the world hadn’t changed at all.
In that sense, from my perspective, the apocalypse had never really come.
But for some people, today—
Today was when it would arrive.
Four hours until the air raid.
I’d been delayed, but if I hurried, I could still deliver the warning in time.
Time to get to work.
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