Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 48: Enemies

Before the war, I once heard a story about a serial killer in India who was captured after murdering an astonishing 102 people.

He was an uneducated man from the lower class, someone who could not comprehend the hellish reality unfolding around him but somehow figured out how to survive on his own.

The survival method he discovered closely resembled the laws of the wild nature he so loved.

Killing indiscriminately, looting, and then killing and looting again in an endless cycle of carnage and pillaging.

They say his crimes included rape, torture, and desecration of corpses, though the man shouted in court that these accusations were fabricated.

During his final statement, he reportedly said this to the judges:

"Is it wrong for me to choose to be someone’s enemy, rather than waiting to make someone my enemy?"

*

It has been quite some time since the war began.

Perhaps our complacency grows like spoiled food or aging bodies, a natural consequence of time.

Defender was shot on his way home.

A stray bullet.

Something I’d only imagined happening in the distance suddenly became a reality close to me.

According to Defender’s sister, his life wasn’t in immediate danger, but they were locked in an intense standoff with an unknown enemy, separated by a wall.

“I’ll prepare and set out. Hold them off until I get there.”

Rushing without preparation is as good as not going at all.

I meticulously packed everything I might need: medical supplies, tools, weapons, and protective gear.

I rarely wear bulletproof vests or helmets—they’re heavy, uncomfortable, and not particularly effective. But in situations like this, even a little psychological comfort is worth it.

For transportation, I chose a motorcycle.

Vroooom—

I maneuvered down the steep northern slope, almost like a circus act, crossed a stream, and merged onto the road.

Stopping briefly, I surveyed the scenery.

It looked different than before.

“....”

If I had to describe it, it reminded me of the sights right after the war started.

I couldn’t pinpoint when exactly the fear of stray bullets had faded. At some point, I had grown lax in my vigilance, sinking into complacency, assuming I wouldn’t get hit even if gunfire broke out nearby.

But in truth, anyone can get shot at any moment.

Even I, Park Gyu, could absurdly take a stray bullet while walking down the road, ending up as a skeleton in a ditch or a drainage canal.

It’s unlikely, but who knows? A zombified Park Gyu might have wandered the wilderness, embarking on a journey to find new friends.

“....”

In the distance, I saw pockmarked craters.

They were remnants of artillery shelling from the Chinese military.

I had entered Defender’s territory.

This was where things got serious.

Vroooom—

With a roar, the motorcycle sped across the abandoned fields.

“Skelton!”

Before long, I heard Defender’s sister’s voice.

“Skelton, is that you? Raise your right hand if it is.”

“I raised it.”

“No, that’s your left hand! Raise your right hand. Yes, good boy.”

She must’ve pinpointed my location using a drone.

I couldn’t see the drone, but it must’ve been somewhere overhead. Likely a small reconnaissance drone, weighing less than a kilogram but capable of soaring up to six kilometers.

“Where’s Defender?”

“Hold on, I’ll send a sparrow your way.”

Moments later, a black dot appeared in the western sky, hurtling toward me.

When I saw the drone, I instinctively stopped the motorcycle and aimed my gun at it.

“Cease fire! It’s our drone!”

“This is your drone?”

A bitter smile crept onto my lips.

“Yes, it’s a sparrow.”

A sparrow, my ass.

It was a Chinese-made suicide drone.

That same model had killed fanatics, and fanatics had used it to kill Chinese soldiers. I’d even heard about another group that got caught in a swarm of these drones, leaving no trace of their bodies behind.

“Follow it.”

The suicide drone led me toward Defender.

On the way, Defender’s sister fell silent, so I had to ask her questions directly.

“What’s the enemy’s number, location, and weapons?”

“What’s Defender’s condition?”

“Why isn’t Defender responding on the comms?”

She answered my barrage of questions hesitantly, her psychological state visibly shaky, but there was a deeper reason for her behavior.

“Ah!”

When she suddenly shouted, I asked why.

“I forgot to charge one of the batteries. I dropped it!”

Apparently, she had deployed all her drones.

Every single one, to protect her brother.

It’s a common mistake—overwhelming force projection when a loved one is in danger.

I spoke to her calmly.

“How many did you deploy?”

“All of them. About 12?”

“...Put all but the essential ones away.”

“Why?”

“They’re getting in the way.”

“...Fine.”

Reluctantly, she complied with my request. If she hadn’t seen my combat skills before, she might not have listened.

Although she tends to act scatterbrained and gets overshadowed by her brother, it’s clear from her actions that Da-jeong has a sharp edge to her personality.

In the distance, beyond fields pocked with shell craters, a red-roofed building came into view.

It used to be a café.

The café was named Lucky Day.

The fact that it remained standing after so many shells had fallen seemed to justify its name, though now it harbored bad luck inside—Defender and perhaps one or two attackers in a tense standoff.

Defender wasn’t using his comms because the enemy was so close that even a whisper could give away his position.

But I saw hope.

The fact that the standoff had dragged on in such a small building meant the attackers didn’t have a decisive way to overpower Defender.

A sudden ambush was probably their best tactic.

“This is Skelton. I’m entering the building.”

A combat drone circled above me.

“There’s nothing in sight,” Defender’s sister reported.

It’s likely Defender was still alive because of her presence.

Thinking this, I raised my weapon and advanced slowly, at times jogging, toward the café.

The key points to watch were two: the windows and the building’s corners.

I constantly asked for reconnaissance updates.

“West wall.”

“No one there.”

“Any signs of reinforcements?”

“You’re the only thing alive and moving out here.”

“Check further. Any snipers?”

“Wait... No, clear.”

These short exchanges brought me a sense of ease.

When I built the decoy bunker before, I realized just how valuable Defender’s sister was. If I ever formed a group as large as the one led by DS Iraya, she might surpass her brother in importance.

She’s a drone expert.

In China, drones had become the dominant weapon.

Distrustful of the Awakened, the Chinese saw drones as humanity’s hope against monsters.

Many types of drones were created—some so bizarre they defied the very concept of “drone.”

Naturally, the quality of drones was high, but so was the skill of their operators.

I once saw a seasoned Chinese drone operator use just two drones to herd dozens of fanatics into a building, hunting them like a game.

The fact that Defender’s sister possessed and skillfully operated so many drones likely stemmed not only from her interest but also from Defender’s firsthand experience witnessing China’s drone potential.

From what I’ve heard, it was Defender, not his sister, who first started stockpiling drones.

Regardless, it’s clear we hold the upper hand.

We have air superiority, information, and firepower.

My job now was to enter the building and rescue the injured Defender.

But death often comes from complacency.

Even now.

The moment I smiled at the thought of Defender’s sister’s usefulness, something flickered in the window.

A person. And a gun.

I dove to the ground just as a gunshot rang out.

Bang!

The bullet narrowly missed the spot where I’d been standing.

If I had been careless, I might have been shot.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Lying flat, I returned fire.

I wasn’t aiming to hit but to suppress the enemy and prevent them from taking a follow-up shot.

One of my bullets struck the window.

“Argh!”

Though the bullet didn’t hit its target, I heard a short scream.

They were either startled or injured by the shards.

The voice sounded young.

As I crawled quickly through the grass to get a better vantage point, a drone flew overhead, heading for the window.

“No one there.”

“Can you station the drone outside the window?”

“Got it.”

Defender’s sister had three drones active: a reconnaissance drone observing from high altitude, a small suicide drone hovering behind, and a 15-kilogram Chinese combat drone prowling the battlefield.

The combat drone, armed with a menacing gun barrel, hovered outside the second-floor window, keeping watch.

With the window now neutralized as a threat, I sprinted full speed toward the café.

The distance was 30 meters.

Just one leap away.

But—

“!?”

As soon as I started, a shadow emerged from around the corner.

I rolled to the side.

Rat-a-tat-tat!

Gunfire erupted.

This time, it was genuinely dangerous.

To think they had timed their attack for the exact moment I moved.

One question crossed my mind.

Was there more than one attacker?

Or did they have some means of observing my movements?

At the very least, it was clear they were aware of my actions.

If something unlikely happens twice, it becomes inevitable.

Especially on a battlefield where every moment connects to death.

Click.

Switching my rifle for a pistol, I cautiously approached the building.

Now I understood why Defender had turned off his comms.

Not out of fear of being discovered, but to hear and track the enemy’s movements through sound.

“Hanaya!”

Defender’s voice echoed from inside the building.

The sourc𝗲 of this content is freēwēbηovel.c૦m.

The sound came from the opposite side, near the entrance.

“It’s just one! Be careful! That bastard is Awakened.”

“Awakened?”

“Not high-level, just low-level. They’ve got at least detection abilities.”

So, that’s how it was.

It all made sense now.

Those two perfectly timed movements had been unnaturally precise.

“....”

I let out a shallow sigh.

It felt like something inevitable had arrived.

Still holding the pistol, I pressed myself against the concrete wall, using my ears to track the enemy’s position.

They weren’t on the first floor. Probably.

I wasn’t Awakened, so I couldn’t be certain.

But the Awakened we were dealing with likely wasn’t very powerful.

If they were strong enough to cause tremors—a Level 5 or higher—Defender would already be dead.

Their ability was likely detection.

They could sense my location and shoot accordingly.

But there might be more to their skills.

Low-level Awakened typically have one of the "Four Senses": Detection, Transmission, Perception, or Premonition.

Detection helps locate enemies; transmission allows telepathic communication; perception enhances awareness; and premonition provides brief glimpses into the future.

None of these abilities are particularly impressive, except perhaps in highly specific situations.

For example, premonition might allow someone to predict an attack a few seconds in advance, but even then, dodging bullets remains nearly impossible.

Ultimately, even low-level Awakened are just people.

At least those who can’t cause tremors are closer to humans than monsters.

Which means they can be hunted the same way humans hunt each other.

“Defender! Did you get a good look at them?”

Shouting from behind the concrete wall, I broke my usual calm demeanor.

There was no response.

I shouted again.

“What do they look like? And what should we do if we catch them?”

I hoped Defender would pick up on my intent.

After a moment:

“We kill them! Tear them apart while they’re still alive!”

Defender met my expectations.

This was psychological warfare.

“I’m at the entrance!”

“Securing the second-floor hallway.”

“Entering the first-floor lobby. Clear.”

“Securing the staircase to the second floor. Wait, did you hear that? Footsteps—someone’s running upstairs.”

“I heard it too.”

We kept speaking loudly, applying pressure through our voices.

It was the same tactic Cho Sung-yong used.

This wouldn’t work on a veteran with extensive combat experience, but for a rookie relying on their powers, it would likely be nerve-wracking.

Defender and I weren’t just any fighters—we were seasoned, old-school hunters.

The effect became evident quickly.

“Defender.”

“Skelton.”

We regrouped without interference.

I examined his thigh.

“You okay?”

I asked in a low voice.

Defender nodded, replying just as quietly.

“I stopped the bleeding.”

He pointed toward the stairs leading to the roof.

“They’re up there.”

It seemed the Defender siblings truly were siblings.

“They’re not on the roof~ probably crouched below the stairs~.”

I had no idea why she’d equipped a speaker to the drone, but now she was using it for psychological warfare.

“You bastard!”

A sharp voice finally echoed from the stairs.

Cornered.

“You’re going to hell, you murderer!”

The voice was clearly youthful.

The speaker never got the chance to say more.

Bang!

The moment the words ended, a gunshot rang out.

With a sliding sound, a rifle tumbled down the stairs, hitting the floor with a metallic clatter.

A trail of blood followed, and then we saw the attacker.

It was a boy.

No older than sixteen.

“Ah.”

Defender recognized him instantly.

“The kid from a year ago.”

He limped closer.

“Back then, a group of scavengers attacked us. One of the groups had a father and son duo. I only killed the father.”

“You?”

I asked with a doubtful expression. Defender grimaced, rubbing his wound.

“No, the bastard ran toward the tree where his father hung himself.”

“Ah.”

“It was a mistake.”

The word “mistake” failed to convey the gravity of the situation.

Even so, I accepted his explanation.

“A fatal mistake.”

The easiest way to avoid making enemies is to kill anyone who might become one.

In this wretched world, that’s likely the only surefire method.

“This kid isn’t Justice Min, is he?”

“No, definitely not. Justice Min leads a group. This one’s hands and age don’t match.”

“That makes sense.”

Not that I had any sympathy for the boy.

His phone contained photos of him and other men grinning and flashing peace signs in front of a bound, naked woman whose face was beaten beyond recognition.

As that Indian death row inmate once said, it’s better to become someone’s enemy than to wait for someone to make you theirs.

In this vicious cycle, Defender had simply become this boy’s enemy.

Now then.

“This.”

I gestured toward Defender’s wound.

It was on his thigh.

Though I had surgical tools, this wasn’t an area I could treat.

“Do you know any doctors?”

I asked while pulling out antibiotics.

“There’s one in Incheon.”

Defender hesitated.

“But he’s a lunatic.”

“Is he alive?”

Defender glanced at the boy’s body.

“...He’s Awakened.”

“Awakened?”

Defender sighed and nodded.

“He was my classmate.”

Defender’s usually steady eyes flickered with turmoil.

Whoever this classmate was, they didn’t seem like an easy opponent.