Emerging from the shadows, Joon-ho and I confront the woman, our presence taking her by surprise. She spins around, a long stick clutched in her hands as her only means of defence. Startled, she takes a step back, her wide eyes scanning us warily.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" I ask, my tone firm but not threatening. The woman seems out of place in the harsh reality of the apocalypse – she is pretty and looks remarkably healthy, as if untouched by the hardships that have befallen the rest of the world.
"I... I'm just looking for someone," she stammers, her grip on the stick tightening. Then, slowly, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a photograph, offering it to us. "I'm looking for my father. He has dementia and wandered off. I've been searching everywhere for him."
Joon-ho and I exchange a glance, a heavy realisation dawning on us. The man in the photo is unmistakably the old man we had found earlier. The same peaceful face, the same frail frame. A wave of sadness washes over me, but I mask it quickly.
Without revealing what has transpired, I nod understandingly. "It's not safe out here," I say gently. "You can come inside our shelter. We can talk there, and it's dangerous to stay out in the open."
The woman hesitates for a moment, her eyes flickering between the two of us. But the growing sounds of the infected in the distance seem to make up her mind. She nods and follows us as we lead her to the shelter.
Once inside, we secure the door and gesture for the woman to take a seat on one of the makeshift chairs. The shelter is sparse, but it is a haven compared to the dangers of the outside world. She sits down, clutching the photograph in her hands, her posture tense yet relieved to be in a safer place.
Joon-ho and I exchange a brief look before I take the initiative to start the conversation. "How long have you been searching for your father?" I ask, my voice gentle to not alarm her.
"It's been days," she replies, her voice laced with weariness. "He tends to wander off, but he's never been gone this long. I've been searching, calling out for him, checking every place he might go."
Her eyes are filled with a mix of hope and despair, a reflection of the emotional toll her search has taken on her. "Do you have any other family or friends with you?" Joon-ho inquires, his tone empathetic.
She shakes her head. "No, it's just been me and my father for a long time now. I've been taking care of him since the world... changed. It's not been easy, but we've managed. Until now."
I fix my gaze on the young woman, measuring my words. "We need to know where you live. Not to help, but to ensure you're not misleading us. In times like these, we have to be cautious. There could be more of your group, or you might be in a situation that's dangerous to us."
Her eyes flicker with a mixture of fear and understanding. She hesitates, then speaks softly, "I have nothing to hide. I live alone in a cabin, up in the mountains behind this shelter."
Joon-ho and I exchange a look of surprise. The forested mountains behind our shelter are dense and rugged, seemingly inhospitable. It is hard to believe someone could survive there. I even never thought about looking into it.
"How have you managed to survive out there?" I ask, my curiosity piqued. Living in such an isolated and challenging environment requires skills and resources that are rare in these times.
She shifts uncomfortably, then answers, "I know the forest well. I forage and hunt. My father taught me before... before he got sick. It's not easy, but I've managed so far."
Her words paint a picture of resilience and resourcefulness, yet the situation still seems implausible. "We need to check your cabin," I state firmly. "If you're telling the truth, you have nothing to worry about. But we need to be sure for our own safety."
The woman nods, a resigned acceptance in her eyes. She understands the precariousness of trust in a world turned upside down by the apocalypse.
***
Joon-ho and I follow the woman through the dense forest behind our shelter. The terrain is rugged, with thick underbrush and towering trees that block out much of the morning light. It is a challenging hike, but the woman moves with a familiarity that speaks of years spent navigating these woods.
After a trek that takes the better part of the hour, we arrive at a small clearing. Nestled within it, almost completely hidden by the surrounding foliage, is a cabin. It is camouflaged so well that, had we not been guided, we might have walked right past it.
The cabin itself is modest, constructed of logs and with a moss-covered roof that blends into the forest. A small, well-tended garden is visible, along with a coop that houses a few chickens. Behind the cabin, a clear stream burbles, its presence explaining how she has access to fresh water.
As we approach, the woman unlocks the cabin and invites us inside. The interior is as modest as the exterior – small but neat and organised. It is clear that it is only inhabited by two people. There are two beds, a small kitchen area, and personal belongings that give the space a lived-in feel. Photos of the woman and an older man, undoubtedly her father, adorn the walls.
Joon-ho steps back into the cabin, wiping sweat from his brow, a clear sign of the thoroughness of his inspection outside. He nods at me, a silent confirmation that the surrounding area is secure and there are no signs of others nearby.
"The perimeter is clear," he announces, his voice carrying a note of relief. "There's no one around for miles. It's just as she said." He gestures towards the woman, who sits with a mixture of hope and anxiety written across her face.
It appears that everything here supports her claim of living a self-sufficient life with her father in this hidden cabin.
"I'm sorry, and I didn't mean to prey or intrude on your shelter," she begins, her voice firm despite the evident strain of her emotions. "Now that it's clear I'm not lying, please let me go. I have to find my father."