I'm still alive

'It's my first time seeing him dead.’

The old man spoke in an unseemly voice. I also take out the Great Sword from his eyes with trembling hands. His head, which came with the sword, falls on the bonnet. The old man approaches the body slowly with a dark complexion and mutters in a small voice.

'Was it a person? The clothes are very old.’

It was quick and accurate observation. The old man seemed to have quickly noticed the question I felt that day. The old man picked up his body, scrutinized it from place to place, and looked back at me and said,

Did you know that?’

I nodded. But I didn't have time to explain everything. I fixed my bag and wiped the black blooded bayonet on his clothes. And answered the old man.

'I'll explain later. Let's get out of here.’

The old man slowly got up and held the shotgun forward, as if he agreed with me. Then he wiped the blood from the dog's headboard off his clothes, and slowly came to me. I looked at the old man for a moment and soon turned to the street full of cars.

No one approached here, but the roads were very narrow. So it was naturally impossible to walk by. I was expecting it, but I felt hopeless and sighed long.

And said, looking at the old man.

'It'll take a long time, but I'll have to get under the car.’

The old man then nods his head without saying anything as if he had already known it.

I put my gun behind me and fell back on my stomach again. And crawled under the car. The old man fell flat and followed me under the car. From now on, all we have to do is move forward. I moved my arms and legs with determination.

The act of crawling quickly consumes strength. The heavy bag I'm pulling sideways overuse my arm muscles, and the gun I'm holding is holding back, preventing me from advancing. Cold weather and damp floors keep your body temperature down even if you crawl a little. My thigh muscles are already sore, and my skin is sore from sweeping the floor.

They wait for a long time, then stop, and then wait and then stop. Remove sharp pieces of glass with feet and move forward again. Sometimes looks seriously trampled to battered cars are such a car when old hand signals to each side as if he had an appointment, and we move on to the car.I went through.

I wish there were no more of them on the way.

But like before, sometimes there were people stuck between cars and stayed still. Whether he gave up in the middle or chose to give up quietly, his capricious behavior sometimes made me wonder, but soon he dismissed it as a futile thought and erased it from his head.

Those guys who stand still get away with it.

About three hours? I could see a gray barefoot in front of me. He also signaled the old man to think he had found the same guy, and swallowed a rough breath. And naturally tried to fall aside, but there was no empty space on our side.

A situation has come that I don't want to face. The old man slowly crawls and whispers in my ears, perhaps feeling strange.

'The car on the side is out of wheels.’

The old man spoke in a low, dark voice. The car had lost its wheels and its roof and body were completely submerged. There was one in front of me trying to move on to the next car, and it's impossible to move to the side. Every moment, every moment is the worst.

The only way forward is this way where he is now. I bit my nails. There are very high noise abatement walls on both sides of this lane. There is literally no way out unless it is above and below the car.

The heart beats fast, and extreme stress slowly narrows the view. After all, there's no way but to kill this guy. When the sun goes down, both die here. You must get off this road quickly. I looked at the old man and whispered quietly in my ear.

'You must kill him.’

The old man nodded his head without answering, wondering if he might hear.

I took such an old man and crawled back to the car behind me. And I explained in a very small voice so that he wouldn't be heard. You can't beat him in a head-to-head match. But as we've seen so far, they showed a simpler pattern of attack than we thought, and their vision was narrow.

If one catches the eye as before, the other has to deal with it quickly with a fatal blow.

Shooting was like committing suicide, and he had to use a noise-free dog headboard or a bayonet. I told the old man I'd catch his eye under the car. Then the old man can go up to the back trunk and take care of the guy whose eyes are on me.

The old man readily agreed. It was simple, but nothing else came to mind except this method. Looking at each other, we nodded firmly, and I went back to the car. And the old man rolled carefully out of the car. There was no set signal, and if his eyes were drawn to me, attack him."

I closed my mouth and looked at the gray feet in front of my eyes. The bloodless skin was like a corpse, and the grotesque still unknown what I was talking about troubled my mind.

Looking back, the old man leaned down in the narrow car and put one foot on the trunk. And he held the shotgun like a bat and was ready to run any minute.

I took a slow, deep breath. A single moment of error leads to death. The brain has released dark adrenaline to see if it responds automatically to such thoughts, and I focus on the narrowing vision, feeling a frantic beating heart.

Then he grabbed the gun, held the sword forward, and gave it a strong shout at his calves.

The sword that was aimed correctly dug into his calves. I got goose bumps as soon as I felt the sensation of splitting the tofu. But he soon came to his senses and rolled the stabbed gun half a turn, causing the Supreme Prosecutors' Office to stir the inside of his calf.

It happened in an instant, and he also shook his feet around like a herbivore trapped in a trap to see if he could make a quick judgment on a sudden situation.

The old man heard a thumping sound of footsteps on the car as if he had left. And he soon threw out a long groan of anger, and suddenly threw himself down close to his neck. The eyes are on me.

He and I met eyes. His eyes turned red at the moment. And with his mouth wide open like a scream, he shouted like a scream at me. Anger of carnivorous animals bitten by herbivores. He crawled under the car in an instant.

It was too fast. Surprised at an unexpected speed, I threw the sword forward again. He blocked the bayonet with his hands as if he were defending it, and it was stuck in his hand and penetrated. And he grabbed the bayonet like an instinct, and pulled it hard on his side.

With strong force, I was dragged, and eventually put down the gun. He crawled back to me with his big mouth wide open, spitting out a groan of pain or anger. In front of that car, a bewildered old man was looking under the car.

It was not the old man's fault. This was a variable that was much faster than expected. It was a disaster that he looked down on a few people just because he tried to kill them. The old man rushed under the car, but could not swing the dog's headboard in a limited space.

He crawled to me scratching his nails with asphalt. I lay fast with goose bumps and fears and crawled backward. And Valo kicked him in the face. He opened his mouth to me, drooling and groaning as if he wasn't sick. And he approached me, scratching the floor repeatedly, as if he didn't even know his fingernail was broken.

It was a terrible evil. The way he wanted to bite me so much that the way he snapped his teeth made me run away more desperately. I could see the old man pointing a shotgun at him. I shouted reflexively.

Don't shoot!

You'd better think you died here the moment you shot. I kicked him in the face as hard as I could in a situation like an alternative. When he held both tires tightly by hand and kicked them with force, it became a pretty strong blow and slowed him down for a while.

The old man, who was pointing a gun at me, looks upset. Soon, my eyes met. And I shouted urgently.

'Karl!'

It didn't matter whether the old man had a knife or not. I just instinctively knew that swords were the only means of attack in this narrow space. The old man slipped out of the car in a flash. Then I heard a thumping sound as if I had climbed up the car again.

I stepped on his face repeatedly and kept him away from this side as much as I could. Still, he was approaching me little by little with that terrible obsession. It was when my feet were in his hands. I chewed my shoes with my mouth wide open as if I was going to chew my whole foot.

I screamed in pain. The old man held my hand in a hurry and pulled hard whether he was trying to pull it out from under the car. But because of my feet he was holding, I couldn't get out, and I kept screaming painfully.

I extended my hand out of the car. And cried out loud again.

"Karl!!!!!!!"

Then the old man took something out of his bag again with an urgent face. And hold it in my hand. As soon as I had something in my hand, he climbed up onto me, crawling hard on the floor, knowing I was off guard.

When I saw the guy with his mouth open exactly to my neck, I swung my hands big reflexively. And then he stabbed it into his temple. It broke bones so easily and went into the brain.

He stopped moving as he was about to bite me on the back of the neck, and fell weakly onto my body. I was holding the handle of the knife with my trembling hand even though he was dead. My body is stiff and I can't move.

I'm shaking like crazy, but the view is reversed whether the old man pulled me out. I was dragged out of the car, and the old man was looking at my face with a tired face. I took hold of an unrelenting heart and exhaled a rough breath.

And hurriedly took off his shoes. Fortunately, because of the tough shoes and socks, the teeth couldn't go in, and no wounds were seen. But it wasn't without pain. There was a skewer given by the old man in his hand and dirty dirt on him. I looked at the dead body for a long time.

I felt queer. It was already the second time, but I never felt like getting used to it. I rubbed my face with both hands, breathing out a breath of excitement and intense relief.