Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 80.1: Breeds (1)

Rebecca and her daughter left my territory abruptly, barely a week after the Defender siblings departed in their truck to the Legion faction’s domain.

In the relentless -20°C cold, a U.S. military helicopter arrived unannounced and whisked Rebecca and Sue away.

The sudden appearance of the helicopter took even Rebecca and Sue by surprise. As a result, I couldn’t hand over the juicy gift I had prepared for them as a parting token, nor could I properly see them off.

“Skelton, I’ll contact you online. Thank you so, so much for everything,” Rebecca said, her voice trembling with emotion over the short farewell through the radio.

“Skelton, this isn’t the end. Just wait a little,” Sue added. Though more composed than her mother, it was clear she was fighting back her emotions.

I didn’t have much to say.

“Take care. Stay safe, and live a long, long life,” I replied, offering the kind of platitude that felt hollow but was all I could muster.

Still, as Sue said, this isn’t the end.

Thanks to the internet, no matter how far apart we are, we can keep in touch as long as Viva! Apocalypse! remains operational.

“...”

I stood on the hill above my bunker, listening to the distant sound of the helicopter’s rotors fading into the horizon.

A farewell I had long anticipated had come to pass.

Oddly, I felt relieved.

It was as if I had completed a significant task.

Upon reflection, leaving now might have been the wiser decision.

Given Incheon’s descent into a de facto civil war, this year promises to be just as dangerous, if not more so, than the last.

More refugees will flood out—armed to the teeth with the weapons scattered by the Legion faction.

South Korea, as I know it, is one of the most dangerous countries when weapons are in play.

With mandatory military service for most adult men, many can handle not only firearms but also heavy weapons like mortars and howitzers.

Anyone who’s survived thus far is bound to have exceptional combat skills.

Should those people pour out, Rebecca, Sue, and even the Defender siblings could find themselves in peril.

As I returned the gifts I had prepared for Rebecca and Sue to their original spots in the freezer, I felt a brief pang of sadness, but it was fleeting.

A day later, I found myself adapting surprisingly quickly to my new routine.

I patrolled daily, inspected my equipment and supplies, checked for issues within the bunker, and repaired or improved whatever needed attention. In my free time, I browsed the internet, gathering external information and connecting with my online “friends” for a semblance of emotional comfort.

It felt like I had returned to the early days of the war.

Of course, a few things have changed.

My equipment is better now than it was back then.

I’ve acquired an all-terrain motorcycle, a light-armored Humvee, and advanced weaponry, including a Javelin missile launcher and some hunter-grade gear.

With luck, I can handle not only Dancer-types and medium-sized mutants but even large-scale ones.

Fuel, once a concern, is now supplemented by synthetic alternatives. These are surprisingly efficient, and as long as I can procure them, I’ll likely stick with them.

However, my food supplies have significantly decreased.

The once-packed freezer is now down to a third of its capacity—a deliberate choice.

I learned from experience how precarious frozen food becomes when power outages are a risk.

Though frozen supplies have dwindled, my stockpile of preserved foods remains robust.

Canned goods, freeze-dried meals, and brick-like survival rations—enough to last another three years or more.

Plus, I’m farming.

Now in my fourth year as a survivor, I’ve developed a knack for agriculture and have plenty of seedlings.

Last year, I kept my crops sparse and scattered to avoid detection by drones. This year, I plan to create a “coincidentally discovered” mid-sized field in the abandoned farmland below.

If I’m lucky, I might grow enough fresh produce to sustain me for a year.

After the brief second cold snap, temperatures have risen rapidly.

It’s been a week since Rebecca and Sue left, and the external temperature now hovers around -8°C.

Spring is coming.

The warmer weather has made my surroundings noticeably noisier.

“Please! Somebody help! My children are freezing to death!”

It seems Sergeant Jang’s survival training was top-notch—his “children” are still alive and kicking, boisterous as ever.

But the real commotion wasn’t from the radio.

A droning sound had been circling overhead for some time.

Judging by the sound, it was a propeller-driven military transport plane, orbiting the area for reasons unknown. Could it be the U.S. military again?

Donning a white poncho for basic snow camouflage, I slipped out of the bunker and scanned the sky. Sure enough, a single transport plane was crossing the distant horizon.

What’s their purpose?

As I watched silently, my K-Walkie crackled to life.

Personal ID: REDMASK

It was Woo Min-hee.

She had mentioned before that she’d need a favor when the weather warmed. Was now the time?

I returned to the bunker and answered the call.

“Senior.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

In my current, mildly melancholic mood, I felt inclined to help as long as it wasn’t overly dangerous.

But her request caught me off guard.

“Senior, is there a plane circling near your place right now?”

“Yeah, why?”

“There’s a runway nearby, right?”

“Yeah, there is.”

“That plane’s ours. Its engine system seems to be failing, and it needs to make an emergency landing. But we can’t use our airport right now.”

“Why not?”

“It’s chaos here,” she said, likely holding the radio near a window.

Though faint, I could make out gunfire and explosions in the background.

Incheon was as chaotic as ever. Capturing Eom Nak-soo wouldn’t have solved everything. He was merely one of many manifestations of long-standing hatred.

“Can you guide the plane to land? The pilots are having trouble spotting the runway from above.”

“I don’t have a flare, but I can make smoke.”

“Perfect. Please do.”

“Got it.”

“Oh, and one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“There are kids on that plane.”

“Kids?”

“They’re being sent to Jeju Island.”

I had heard the stories—talented children from Seoul and Incheon being relocated to Jeju. It was said to be the true purpose of Incheon’s government.

But seeing it firsthand was something else.

So this is how they were sent—not by ship, but by plane.

“Can you look after them until our trucks arrive? There’ll be soldiers on board, but you’re the survival expert out there.”

“My bunker isn’t in great shape for hosting people right now.”

“Internet issues?”

“No, I just don’t have the capacity.”

“Find a way. At this temperature, they won’t freeze to death if you’re careful.”

“...Fine. I’ll guide them now.”

“Thanks.”

The transmission ended.

Suddenly, I found myself tasked with guiding a plane to land and running a daycare.

It left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I figured it was better than sitting around doing nothing. At least Woo Min-hee always made sure to pay in fuel.

Loading a few canisters of fuel onto my motorcycle, I headed for the old U.S. military base.

With a sharp whoosh, a fire sprang to life.

My inventory held all sorts of odd items, but tactical gear like flares or smoke grenades wasn’t among them. My post-war survival plans had always revolved around living alone, so I hadn’t considered them necessary.

Still, a lack of equipment didn’t mean I couldn’t do the job.

Using a few oil drums scattered around the base, I arranged them in a straight line along the airstrip and set branches alight to create smoke. When the smoke started spreading too widely, I used a fire extinguisher to contain it, making the runway’s entrance more visible from the air.

For good measure, I rigged up a makeshift plow by chaining a tree trunk to my motorcycle, carving a clear, snow-free path toward the airstrip.

It wasn’t long before the radio crackled.

“This is Bravo One. Bravo One here. Are there any obstructions on the runway? The smoke and altitude difference make it hard to see clearly from up here.”

“There might be some gravel or small debris, but no vehicles or major obstacles.”

“Thank you for your assistance. We’ll attempt an emergency landing now. Please move away from the runway for safety.”

The transmission ended just as the transport plane banked sharply, aligning itself with the runway.

Its angle of approach was spot on.

From atop my motorcycle, I watched the lumbering aircraft descend.

The massive transport plane touched down with a deafening roar, its propellers grinding through the snow on the runway like a giant shaved ice machine.

Whirrrrr...

As the propellers slowed, the cargo bay doors creaked open, descending like a beast yawning wide. Armed soldiers emerged cautiously, scanning their surroundings as they stepped onto the tarmac.

Raising a hand in greeting, I spoke into the radio.

“I’m the one who set up the guide markers.”

Even if it was obvious I wasn’t a threat, it was better to make things crystal clear. The last thing I needed was for someone onboard to misinterpret the situation and escalate things unnecessarily.

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After spotting me, the soldiers waved back.

It looked safe to approach.

I revved my motorcycle and rode over to meet them.

Two men stood out—a captain and a sergeant major.

The sergeant major squinted as he surveyed the remains of the old military base.

“Completely wrecked... Just obliterated. Well, what do you expect? It took a direct hit from a nuke. Still, to see such a large base wiped out like this... Nuclear weapons are no joke.”

“Is this place usable?” the captain asked him.

“It should be,” the sergeant major replied. “Sir, the above-ground structures are ruined, but there’s a bunker beneath us. From what I’ve heard, it was built to withstand nuclear attacks. It should still be intact.”

“Then we can shelter the kids there for now,” the captain said.

“Understood,” the sergeant major nodded.

The captain turned to me.

“Ah, are you the hunter responsible for this area?”

“Not exactly responsible—just someone living nearby.”

“Thanks for your help.”

“May I ask what happened?”

“Well, the engine had a sudden malfunction,” the captain explained.

No matter how meticulous their maintenance, it had been three years since the war began. Spare parts had run dry, and they’d been recycling barely functional components to keep things running. Add to that the subpar quality of aviation fuel these days, and it was no surprise they ran into problems.

“Eventually, we had to make an emergency landing. Your area just happened to be nearby,” he continued.

“A maintenance truck from Incheon should arrive soon. Until then, we’ll have to stay here. I hope that’s not too much trouble,” he said, offering a polite nod.

“If you need anything, let me know.”

“We’re not short on supplies, thankfully.”

But the captain’s smile held a hint of unease.

“And yet, we’ll need to head back to Incheon for a bit,” he added.

“What?”

“We’re short on people. Or rather... the right people. There’s no one in Incheon with the expertise we need. The skilled technicians all left for Jeju Island, and we’re supposed to head there ourselves eventually.”

I glanced at his name tag.

Captain Kwon Seong-yul.

Despite his rank, he looked no older than 23 or 24.

Beside him, Sergeant Major Ki Byung-ho seemed no older than his mid-30s.

It was typical of a collapsing military structure to inflate ranks like this.

From their conversation, it sounded like even the air force was pulling out of Incheon.

Was the city being abandoned?

Unicorn 18—or whoever they really were—had hinted that spring would bring change.

But change didn’t come easily.

For now, I’d do what I could with the task at hand.

I wasn’t exactly thrilled about running a daycare, but I was curious to see the children chosen for Jeju—a stark contrast to people like me, who had been discarded by society.

“All right, kids. Come on out,” Captain Kwon called.

One by one, children emerged from the cargo bay, bundled in thick clothing and wearing wary, nervous expressions.

There were eight of them in total.

Most looked to be in their mid-teens, around 14 or 15 years old—the age of middle school seniors.

The youngest caught my eye.

A boy, no older than ten, clung to the tallest girl like a baby penguin seeking shelter.

The girl cradling him was strikingly tall, with an air of maturity beyond her peers. She looked about 20.

But there was something familiar about her face.

“...?”

It was a face I remembered.

Where had I seen her before?

She glanced at me, and the moment our eyes met, a distant memory resurfaced like fate had pulled it from the depths of my mind.

Before Seoul fell, I used to frequent a boarding house.

A family lived there—poor, but good-looking.

I’d grown close to their son, who’d gifted me the laptop I still used. But one day, he and his family vanished without a trace.

The boy had a sister.

A quiet, slender girl who always kept her distance.

She was older now and more gaunt, but there was no mistaking it.

It was her.

The sister of the boy who had given me the laptop that still brought me moments of joy and despair.

The tattoos that crawled up her neck and the heavy piercings covering her ears were new additions, but after two years, it was clear she’d been through her share of struggles.

I said the name of the place where we’d met, testing the waters.

“International Residence?”

Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of recognition flashing through them.

A moment later, she pointed at me, her voice trembling.

“You’re... that guy from back then?!”

Fate works in strange ways.

For me, it was a meaningless word—most often associated with sudden or senseless death.

But for her and her family, fate was a twisted, tangled thing.

The brother destined for Jeju had died, while the sister, overlooked and forgotten, was now the one heading there two years later.

“Hey! Hey!”

The tense moment shattered as a loud voice blared from the radio.

“What now?” grumbled Sergeant Major Ki, scowling as he looked at the device.

“These are just local kids,” I explained.

“Local kids?”

His expression softened briefly before I clarified the truth.

“Raiders.”