Bogum peeked out through the gaps of a boarded window, cradling a hunting rifle that he didn’t know how to use, trying and failing to see by the moonlight. The thin opening showed him an angle of pavement and a wedge of grass, shadowed outlines contorting just out of view. The outlines were almost humanoid, but the way they moved was wrong, their shapes changed in grotesque, warped ways. Arms that dripped, feet that left smears on the ground. Though he couldn’t see their eyes, he knew they’d be pitch black.

    Bogum suppressed a shudder. He wanted a cigarette and a whiskey, but knew he couldn’t have either. Being drunk was out of the question, and the smoke from the cigarette might get the zombies’ attention. He wasn’t sure exactly what triggered them into action, but he didn’t want to risk doing anything to alert the bastards. He’d already seen several houses practically torn to the ground without provocation. He glanced over at his dad. His old man held a rifle of his own, stress-lined eyes illuminated by a sharp sliver of light that came through the window he’d stationed himself in front of.

 They’d given up on getting in touch with Seul half a week ago. Like the power, reception was in and out, and the signal was never strong enough for a call. Not that he needed to worry about her; didn’t she have superpowers? A large part of him was furious at her for abandoning them, running off across the country. Her family was in danger. Had she known this would happen? What the was she thinking?

A loud bang caught Bogum’s attention, and he snapped up, grip tightening on his gun. The shadows were moving faster, clustering around something, and his heart dropped when he began to hear screams. They were feminine and high-pitched.

Bogum exchanged a look with his dad and crawled over, clenching his teeth as his pants swished noisily against the tiled floor.

“What’s going on out there?” Bogum asked, trying to get a better angle. The shadows were all rushing in a specific direction now. Gunshots cracked through the night, followed by various shouts and the sounds of a physical struggle. Glass shattering… sprinting footfalls… then a car engine revving up.

“I don’t know, son,” Bogum’s dad said, looking pale. “It… it looks like someone else’s house is being attacked.”

    “,” Bogum hissed, feeling a sweat break on his forehead. “That’s right ing across the street. .”

    “Stay calm,” his dad replied, voice somehow steady despite the insanity unfolding in front of them, “We’ll be alright.”

    Bogum’s heart raced in his ears, and he checked his rifle for what felt like the tenth time that night.

    Tires peeled out, and the rev of the engine peaked to a screech. Dull thuds sounded out, then a horrible, wet thudding, immediately followed by a mighty crash. The irregular shape of a flipped truck blocked the rest of the action.

    “That’s right on the lawn,” Bogum said, grabbing his dad by the shoulder. “Go upstairs and get mom. We’ve gotta get outta here.”

    Bogum’s dad nodded and they both stood. The middle-aged man hurried up the staircase, headed for the bedroom where his wife was hidden away.

    Bogum tried to keep his hands from trembling, but he couldn’t. The knowledge that his aim would be thrown off by the shaking only made it worse. Killing all of them wasn’t even an option. Between him and his dad, they only had about twenty bullets, making the guns about as useful as a safety blanket. Bogum had seen how the zombies killed. They didn’t eat their victims, but instead covered them in that acid-like black slime until they suffocated, melted, or both. He didn’t dare say it out loud - especially in front of his mother - but they might as well just shoot themselves and avoid a painful, horrible death.

    Abruptly, a board near Bogum crashed inward, bending against the nails that held it in place. He cried out, would’ve dropped his gun had it not been slung over his shoulder with a strap. A bloody, clutching hand broke through the wood, d on the inside of the door. Dull thuds echoed from around it as other zombies began pounding on the frame of the house.

    By reflex, Bogum grabbed his gun and slammed the barrel against the reaching hand. It snapped backward at the wrist, bent at an impossible angle, but continued to reach for him. The bastard’s only goal was to get inside, to consume him and his family.

    Just then, Bogum’s dad came running down the stairs, guiding his terrified wife by the hand.

    “Come on, son,” he yelled, all need to stay quiet gone. “Through the back!”

    Bogum spun and ran behind his parents. They’d established that escaping through the field behind their house was their best option; run into the mountains where they could be away from people and hide until dawn. The sunlight seemed to send the monsters into hiding. Waiting the night out was their only hope.

They bolted through the kitchen, threw the back door open, ran onto the porch.

    They were too late.

    The zombies had already entered the backyard, streaming in from a hole in the fence that had been created by the crashing truck. The horde was heading for the stairs, and would be up within seconds. From behind them, the sounds of pursuit grew louder. The front had been breached.

    Bogum stood in front of his mom, gun held at the ready. He reached back and clasped her hand tightly, then returned it to his rifle, tried to hold the barrel steady. Ten bullets. Ten shots before the gun became a glorified club.

    The zombies clamored over one another to get to the top of the steps, snarling and oozing, throwing each other out of the way, driven by insane bloodlust.

    Bogum found himself pleading internally, regrets - major and minor - playing out in his head in wild bursts. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Monsters weren’t supposed to exist. They were things of books and movies, where someone would show up at the last second to save the day. Like in the old westerns that him and Seul would watch with their parents. Riders on horseback - the cavalry, his dad had called them - would charge over the hill, guns blazing, just in time to save the heroes from peril.

    But this was real life. Things like that didn’t happen.

    The first of the zombies stumbled to the top of the deck, a young girl in a pink dress stained by blood and slime. She howled, then leapt at the family.

    Bogum’s fear and adrenaline peaked, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. His dad began to fire at the zombies that streamed from the house. Bogum screamed, firing madly, the kick of the rifle a far-off pain against his shoulder.

It was empty in less than a minute. Bogum flipped the gun around and held it like a bat. His mom continued to shriek, helpless, waving a kitchen knife about with no intention of using it. Selfishly, childishly, Bogum hoped to die first, just so he wouldn’t see his parents being slaughtered by these monsters. He wound his rifle back, prepared to unleash a blow, to fight until he couldn’t fight anymore.

    And then, the cavalry came.

    A single crossbow bolt sailed past him and struck the head of the zombie in front of him. The monster was hit right between the eyes, releasing a shower of yellow sparks that extended, wove through the air, and fanned out in a circle around Bogum and his family. It was like an endlessly weaving thread, sizzling with light.

The zombies that touched it were vaporized, bursting into sparks of the same type that the original bolt had sprouted. The zombies that weren’t immediately destroyed seemed to recognize the danger, and they scattered, screaming in what Bogum thought might have been terror. When the zombies were all out sight, the sparks vanished, all traces of their wild paths gone.

Bogum felt his mother clinging to his arm from behind, heard his father release a groan of relief. In complete synchrony, the family turned to face their saviors. As they did, a startlingly familiar voice spoke:

“Good shot, Not-Yeri!”

“S-Sooyoung?” Bogum said, mouth dry as he looked upon the full-lipped, baby-faced Korean woman.

Beside her were two other girls whom he didn’t recognize; both shorter, one with chubby cheeks and brown hair, the other with shoulder-length black hair and a crossbow resting on the crook of her shoulder. Sooyoung and the brown-haired girl wore skin-tight, futuristic-looking battle suits. Crossbow Girl was dressed like a normal teenager, a red crop top and denim jeans. At the center of her exposed six-pack abs was the knotted line of a scar, slanting down and around her navel. All three of the girls floated in the air beside the porch, defying gravity and reason.

    “I swear, that’s the twentieth time someone’s called me that,” Sooyoung said, taking hold of the wooden bannister and pulling herself onto the porch. As she did, Bogum noticed a cylindrical, steel-plated device at her left hip. To him, it vaguely resembled the handle of a Star Wars lightsaber, but that was absurd… Well, about as absurd as zombies invading his neighborhood.

    “It’s only the second time,” the brown-haired girl said, following her friend. She then gave Bogum and his family a friendly, nervous grin. “Her actual name is Joy. I’m Wendy. And that’s Yerim.”

    Crossbow girl - the one named Yerim - stepped onto the deck last. She stayed quiet, peering out at the San Gabriel Mountains with a thoughtful, sad expression on her face.

    Bogum looked at all three girls as his gut twisted in knots. Then he ran to the edge of the deck and vomited into the grass ten feet below. His parents were by his side immediately, rubbing his back and comforting him. They weren’t a very affectionate family at base, but given what had just gone down, that was rightfully out the window.

    In the background, he heard the girls conversing amongst themselves in the lofty, casual tones of old friends.

    “You got Evanie’s message, too?” Wendy was asking.

    “Yeah,” a new voice replied - probably Yerim - as Bogum vomited again. “Didn’t expect to show up at the same spot as you guys.”

    “It’s a party then,” Joy said with a sarcastic snort. “What’s the deal with this world? Zombie apocalypse?”

    Bogum stood straight and wiped his mouth off.

    “Hey, are you guys alright?” Yerim asked, as if just noticing that people she’d saved.

    “Yeah…” Bogum said, in an embarrassingly squeaky voice, quickly checking his parents for any signs of harm.

    “Thank you girls so much,” his mom said, hands still on Bogum’s shoulders, “You saved us.”

    Yerim gave a small smile and a nod. “Don’t mention it.”

    “Is there any way you could possibly tell us what’s going on here, ma’am?” Wendy asked, “We were, uh, called here by a friend of ours, and we’re wondering where she is.”

    Bogum’s mother blinked and looked at her husband.

    “We don’t know what’s happening,” Bogum said, deciding it was best for him to take over, “This all started a week ago, and before that, my sister…”

    Bogum trailed off, puffing out a long exhale through his lips, trying to organize the jumbled mess of ideas that bounced around in his head. He felt like he was going to be sick again.

    “Maybe you should sit down for a bit,” Yerim said cautiously.

    “Yes, yes, come inside and have something to eat!” Bogum’s mother said eagerly, moving toward the inside of the house. She paused in front of the broken door frame, looking nervous. 

    “Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll check it out for you,” Joy said, taking the lead with one hand on the device at her waist, holding a palm-sized flashlight in the other. She stepped inside and began to inspect the dark interior of Bogum’s house. From what he could see, the damage mostly resulted from overturned furniture; it was more messy than destroyed.

Yerim slung her crossbow over her shoulder and turned to stare at the mountains again.

“She’s done this a bunch of times. If I were you, I’d be more nervous for anything hiding in there than I would be for Joy,” Wendy said optimistically to Bogum’s parents as they peered after the tall woman. “That sounds crazy, I know, but we’ve fought zombies more times than we can count. In fact, there was this one time…”

Bogum tuned her out, took a seat on the wooden floor of the deck and finally lit a cigarette.

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered to himself as he took that initial, blissful drag.

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While this chapter does serve to update you guys on Bogum's condition (as well as Seulgi's parents) it also was an excuse for me to write a scene with Joyri from "Demon Days" and Not-Yeri from "Peek-a-boo" (: I figured the fact that the entire United States was under attack during the story gave me a good excuse for them to show up and get involved, at least in a peripheral way.

Thanks for reading, and remember to upvote and comment if you enjoy the content!