Airi attempted to step back, but the sight of intestines spilling from the mutilated corpse caused her to falter. Even for someone as nimble as Airi, the floor, now a treacherous expanse of blood and fat, proved too slippery to maintain her balance.
As they joked around, William couldn’t take his eyes off Airi, feeling a twinge of regret for not joining the conversation sooner. He scolded himself silently. Seojun, who noticed this, let out a quiet sigh amid the group’s casual chatter.
“Hannah O’Lantern?”
Seojun’s mind immediately jumped to the image of a carved pumpkin. Isn’t it usually Jack O’Lantern? he thought, amused by the odd name.
Seojun eyed Bobby’s delicate shoulders and twig-like arms, clicking his tongue in disapproval.
Bobby and I are practically the same size. If we run into Gas Mask, neither of us will stand a chance...
Stepping out from the dense forest path, Seojun was immediately assaulted by a pungent, acrid odor.
What is that?
Gripping his axe tightly, Seojun momentarily halted his frantic pace. He narrowed his eyes, scanning his surroundings.
Nestled at the heart of Hamon Campground, a spacious clearing revealed itself. At the center was a towering stack of firewood, with several triangular tents scattered around it.
Seojun felt as though he was trapped in a bizarre dream, where the familiar suddenly morphed into the peculiar. Was his mind playing tricks due to blood loss? He moved quietly, massaging his tense neck, with the notorious Hamon campsite looming ahead.
Everything felt surreal. Seojun and Bobby locked eyes, the latter’s gaze a mix between horror and disbelief, as though Seojun had just stepped out of a horror flick.
Isn’t this the time when that man-eating monster is supposed to be active?
“Why did you bring the girls if we’re just going to sleep separately?”
A voice filled with frustration echoed throughout the cabin. Catching Bobby’s grumbling, William, with his neatly shaved head, shot him a sharp look. The flickering candlelight cast shadows that accentuated the firm muscles of William’s arms.
Seojun had already mentally packed his bags. Though he couldn’t brag about being the best clerk at Fred’s store, finding someone as competent as him wouldn’t be easy. For years, he had loyally served at the secluded Hamon convenience store without a single grumble. Naturally, he was bound to feel a sense of loss.
Seojun’s mind wandered through daydreams of traveling through America in a truck. His striking features were etched in a distant gaze, fingers absentmindedly tracing the surface of a lemon. Suddenly, the convenience store door swung open once more.
There was a time when Independence Day meant August 15th to Seojun, not July 4th. Back then, his family name was different, but his first name—Seojun—stayed the same.