Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 162.1: The Bridge (1)
It had already been fifteen days since the monster offensive began.
So far, the city was holding out well.
We had sufficient ammunition and shells, and public morale remained high.
With some room to breathe, the citizens began treating the bombardment of monsters as a kind of spectacle—climbing tall buildings near the designated kill zone around the Great Bridge to watch monsters being obliterated by artillery fire.
Emgu went a step further—he filmed the whole battle and uploaded it to Viva! Apocalypse! to earn some cheap popularity.
But anyone who knew the truth would never call our current situation “good.”
“Confirmed strong energy pulse from the Paju Rift! It’s likely a large-scale surge!”
Twice a day, the Paju Rift spewed monsters.
A pale gray fog now hung around the rift, rendering surveillance by satellite or high-altitude drones impossible.
When Hong Da-jeong piloted a mid-sized drone through the fog and took the last images of the rift area—knowing it might be lost in the process—we couldn’t even begin to estimate how many monsters there were.
The assumption was: at least a thousand.
The hordes we were barely holding off here numbered seven to ten at most, but around the rift loomed monsters of all # Nоvеlight # sizes and types, just waiting.
To make matters worse, the monsters were undergoing the change I had anticipated when dealing with the Dancer Type.
Roughly ten days ago, a mid-sized group identified near Dongducheon and designated as ZA-3 had been tracked, and the had just come in.
[Situation : ZA-3 Group]
[Not Eliminated]
Anyone who’s ever faced monsters knows this basic truth: their true enemy isn’t humanity—it’s Earth’s environment itself.
Before we discovered that monsters could use short-range leaps—teleports—scholars used to theorize about building elaborate traps like M.S.M. (Monster-Sized Mazes), instead of investing in expensive kill zones, just to keep them lost and wandering.
Once a monster exits a rift and makes contact with Earth’s environment, it begins to decay. The general consensus has always been that their lifespan is no longer than a week.
Especially with mid- to large-sized combat-types, most can’t last more than three days outside an erosion zone.
Only the infiltration types—small variants—can hold out, and even they require that the surrounding area be corrupted by the foul secretions they emit.
If they don’t settle and infect an area, even infiltration types barely survive a week.
But this latest shattered that understanding.
That group of mid-sized types spotted ten days ago was still alive.
That meant these monsters had not only survived more than ten days in Earth’s hostile conditions—they had done so while pressing deep into human territory.
And the presence of a Dancer Type among them confirmed my suspicion.
No doubt about it.
They’re evolving.
Now that humanity—their main resistance—has begun to collapse, they’ve shed some of their raw combat power to gain endurance—to linger longer in our realm.
It would explain why Dancer Types now appeared slower and weaker than before.
“This isn’t a good sign.”
Though the group was eventually wiped out, the idea of a mid-sized monster surviving over a week and walking freely across human land was deeply unsettling.
Monster hordes move about 40–50 kilometers per day.
But one has to remember—their march isn’t like that of humans.
While humans march toward goals in straight lines, monsters drift like flotsam. Their direction is chaotic. Sometimes they stand still for hours. Sometimes they backtrack.
So measuring their speed is meaningless. Only the average time to reach a destination matters.
On average, it takes a monster 48 hours to get from the Paju Rift to this area.
They can only be active here for around 24 hours.
But if that window grows longer, it means they might strike from entirely different directions—not the ones we’ve prepared for.
The worst-case scenario?
They swing far around through Hanam City, bypassing our zones of control and cross a river through Legion-controlled territory to flank us from the weak side.
It’s an unlikely outcome—but the enemy has General-types.
Records from the Battle of Beijing, reviewed in Chinese military documents, show monsters appearing specifically at vulnerable, decaying fronts and causing chaos.
We called a meeting.
And then, we received even worse news.
The Bridge People.
Somehow, the refugee group living on the bridge had managed to reconnect parts of the collapsed span.
That bridge lay farthest from New Seoul—but closest to Paju.
*
K-Bridge.
The sudden mention of that bridge threw command into chaos.
It was one of the 28 Han River bridges destroyed by precision Chinese bombings right after the war began.
Though Korea retaliated by destroying China’s Shansha Dam, no amount of vengeance could rebuild the bridges.
After China effectively lost its combat capabilities, the Korean government tried to restore the destroyed bridges—but prioritized those with the highest traffic and strategic value.
K-Bridge, being the westernmost of the Han’s 33 bridges, had low traffic and wasn’t a priority.
Some refugees settled on its ruins.
They became known as the Bridge People, living both on and under the bridge.
I had seen them in person when I took a military boat to Ganghwa Island.
They were originally from shelters—but relations with other shelters had grown tense.
Let me quote someone from a neighboring shelter:
“They’re selfish, exclusive bastards. Every shelter has its quirks, but none are as vile as those bridge rats.”
“They don’t let anyone close. They shoot first. And everyone knows it.”
“There’s rumors they ate people during the hard times. We know for a fact they burned corpses—human or not—for heat last winter.”
The temperature had dropped. Heavy snowfall reduced visibility.
Photos taken in the snow showed makeshift reinforcements on the bridge using steel plates. A rudimentary settlement had formed on top.
The faint glow of lights in the image proved the Bridge People were still there at the time of the photo.
“We need to blow the bridge. Immediately.”
As soon as the K-Bridge news came in, Kim Byeong-cheol reacted like a true soldier, ordering the bridge severed again by any means necessary.
I agreed.
But first, we needed to examine the situation.
We brought in engineers and showed them the blurry images of the repaired bridge.
Their response was unanimous.
“You’d need heavy equipment for this. Getting steel plates that thick is already tough—but to span 30 meters? You’d need a crane.”
Someone helped them rebuild the bridge.
Only one faction comes to mind: the Jeju group, now based in Incheon and Ganghwa.
We contacted the Jeju faction via comms.
Their government liaison shook his head.
“They say they know nothing.”
So Jeju officially denied involvement with K-Bridge’s reconstruction.
If that was the case, we had only one other option—ask the Bridge People themselves.
Survivors who had contacts with them attempted to use the unique radio frequency they shared.
“What do you want?”
As others had said—they were hostile and withdrawn.
They answered the call, but begrudgingly.
When we asked a few questions, they snapped:
“We don’t know anything. You think you can bark orders at us now? You’ve never helped us—so don’t expect anything from us.”
They cut the line abruptly.
Kim Byeong-cheol said:
“We should destroy it.”
Again—I agreed.
But the problem was timing.
No matter how angry we were, blowing up a place with hundreds of civilians wasn’t something a group calling itself the Korean government could do lightly.
Woo Min-hee agreed.
“Blasting it right away isn’t the right move.”
Later, she joined us and explained the unseen tension with the Jeju faction.
“As soon as this battle ends, those bastards will come here and demand positions. And to take over—they’ll first get rid of everyone currently in charge.”
She looked around—at me, Kim Byeong-cheol, and the other senior officials.
“They’re going to find fault in anything they can.”
Kim Byeong-cheol frowned.
“What? This whole place could collapse! What are you saying, Director Woo?”
He clearly didn’t understand.
Neither did I, fully.
But unlike Kim Byeong-cheol, I was starting to accept it.
“...This will never end.”
Human conflict.
Even with monsters threatening all of humanity, people couldn’t let go of their own fights.
Many countries had chosen ruin over setting aside old grudges, even as monsters overran them.
Maybe for the lucky ones in Jeju, the survival of New Seoul was irrelevant.
They simply couldn’t tolerate even the possibility of personal loss.
“Min-hee.”
After the meeting, I called her.
“Yeah. Sunbae.”
She seemed to understand what I was about to say—judging by the bitter smile and the regret in her eyes.
“...When this battle ends.”
“I know.”
Woo Min-hee nodded.
“I should leave. I was going to suggest it anyway. I just didn’t bring it up because there’s a good chance we’ll lose.”
She sighed.
The artificial hand that always snapped with tension now hung low and limp—like it had given up.
Woo Min-hee gave a faint smile.
“You really are Jang Ki-young’s student.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know politics.”
“When did I ever play politics?”
“You used to. All the time.”
“?”
“Also...”
She looked away from my reproachful stare, toward the window—streaked with condensation, poorly sealed with silicone, the glass replaced by acrylic.
“You always know when it’s time to leave.”
I looked at her melancholic profile and asked quietly,
“...Are you staying?”
“Where else would I go?”
That reminded me of the plan she once had back when she lived near Paju.
“The rift?”
Woo Min-hee suddenly burst out laughing.
A laugh so clear it swept away the fog of gloom.
“I actually thought about it seriously again.”
Then, meeting my gaze, she said:
“But honestly? That’s just batshit crazy.”
“...Yeah.”
I agreed.
No matter how desperate, trying to live in a rift—an entirely alien environment—was insanity.
“Sunbae.”
She spoke again.
The look on her face made me uneasy—as if I had just made a serious mistake.
“If I really have nowhere to go... could I come stay at your place?”
Two words came to mind: “What?!” and “Seriously?”
Personally, I preferred the first.
It had more bite and made my rejection clearer.
But behind her joking tone, I saw something—real fear and uncertainty.
“...Yeah.”
I said to her,
“Anytime.”
And in that moment, I thought:
I’m definitely going to regret saying that someday.
But that regret, too, was a luxury—only for those who survive.
“Are you insane?!”
Apparently, Kim Daram had been eavesdropping.
“Have you lost your mind, Sunbae? What the hell are you thinking with her—”
“Listen. You might be older, but she’s technically the same age. I heard she’s an early birthday. That makes you equals! You’re a great guy despite your quirks, but her? Let’s not even go there. And as a homemaker, let me just say—her hand—”
“Stop gossiping and go home. Run your household.”
“!!”
Right now, survival comes first.
K-Bridge must fall.
.
!
Chapter 162.1: The Bridge (1)
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