Chapter Text
The sounds of the sirens were something Hyuntak had never gotten used to.
The groaning wails echo through the streets, sometimes for hours on end, signaling danger that had long infected the city. It had been months since they had become inconsistent, now rattling off only when someone managed to locate a battery to power them. But his body still reacted the same way, tensing like he was bracing for impact.
Hyuntak had grown up relatively sheltered. Not affluent or indulged, but always taken care of. His mom, God bless her, had carted him off to every taekwondo practice- before his accident at least- and always made sure the fridge was well stocked. Even when he got into trouble, he had never faced more consequences than a few days of detention.
His mom had called him after school sometime in early March. She had sounded tired over the phone, and Hyuntak had known before the words even left her mouth. Another long day, she had said. The hospital needed her to pick up an overnight shift to help manage the strange influx of patients being admitted with an unnamed infection. Hyuntak had been used to it. His mom would do just about anything to make sure they had what they needed, even if it meant being away from home for days at a time.
Most of that evening was a blur now, a distant memory Hyuntak clung to when the days grew long. The last day things had felt normal. He had finished his homework and opted to play some mindless game on his phone, answering texts from his friends as they came in.
The first siren cut through everything, like a newly sharpened knife.
The sound was so loud it hadn’t seemed real at first. It blared and echoed through the streets in a constant cycle, the start and end blending into one shrill noise. At first, Hyuntak couldn’t place the source of the noise. He checked his phone, hoping it was an alarm he had forgotten to turn off, or something from the television. But the sound was far too loud to be coming from inside the apartment. He could feel it in his bones, rattling his brain until a headache clawed its way up his skull.
He heard doors opening and hushed voices. People had begun to gather on their balconies overlooking the main street. Hyuntak stood from the couch and moved toward his own balcony, opening the door just a crack as the noise grew louder. He winced, ears ringing, before stepping outside. The street below was completely empty. Cars lined the road, but there were no signs of life beyond that. The only evidence of life were the people who gathered on their balconies to investigate the commotion. They murmured to one another; some women gently rocked children in their arms, others stood completely still. No one seemed to know what had triggered the alarm.
Hyuntak heard the vehicle before he saw it. A long, groaning engine turned onto the street, followed by the familiar flash of red and blue lights. The city was nearly devoid of light so the colors bounced off the buildings like warped Christmas lights. Strapped to the top of the car was a bright red apparatus, the source of the blaring noise.
“Attention all residents! A national emergency has been declared! We advise all residents to stay indoors until you are informed overwise. Please pay close attention to your local broadcasting station for any additional instructions!”
The police car sped down the empty street as the loud message repeated on a continuous cycle. The voices around him grew louder, anxiety bleeding into their conversations. Hyuntak’s neighbor stepped out onto the adjacent balcony. Their apartments were close enough that Hyuntak could have reached out to the man if he really wanted to- to be some source of comfort in the midst of the chaos. But he remembered the look on the older man’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He was maybe a few years older than Hyuntak’s mom- a widower with no children, all alone in the small apartment. The man closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and returned inside.
That was the last time Hyuntak ever saw him.
That day was the last time Hyuntak saw most people he once knew.
The rest of that day, hell, even the next few weeks, blurred together as one. The news had slowly made its rounds. It was some new infection that was spreading out of control. No one knew its source, and worse, no one knew how to stop it. All they knew was that those who were infected displayed extreme aggression and a taste for something more human.
Hyuntak had been able to stay in contact with his mom and friends for a few weeks after the siren first sounded. His mom assured him she was okay and warned him not to leave the house under any circumstances. She never spoke of what she had seen in the hospital, but Hyuntak could hear the way her breath hitched whenever he asked about it. Baku, Juntae, and Sieun kept their group chat alive with updates on their own survival. It helped to keep Hyuntak occupied, and he always appreciated their attempts to find humor in the increasingly desolate state of things. Sometimes Baku would compare the infected to Hyoman, saying how both probably had the same IQ. It was probably tasteless, but Hyuntak desperately held on to any sense of normalcy he could possibly muster.
After a week or so, the updates became few and far between. Sieun was forced by his mother to leave for the countryside where the air was clearer and the infected were few and far between. Juntae and his family would eventually follow in search of their own safety. Baku and his father hunkered down in the vacant apartment above their restaurant. Hyuntak’s mom sent him a text every few days, only telling him she loved him and that she would be home as soon as possible. She still never spoke of the things she had witnessed.
Sooner than later, the texts stopped altogether and Hyuntak’s mom never returned home.
The radios had mentioned something about data being shut off to conserve resources for the government and any important alerts, although there weren’t many. No one seemed to be able to uncover the cause behind the infection. The last news Hyuntak had heard was that whatever these things were, they weren’t alive. The most Hyuntak could do was reread his messages from days that were more normal, days that Hyuntak yearned for more than ever. Now, Hyuntak was cut off from the world he once knew.
The sirens wailed nightly at first, keeping Hyuntak from sleeping properly. They weren’t as frequent, but still echoed off the buildings as a reminder of their reality. The power flickered often and the water pressure dropped until one day the faucet produced only a few measly drops. He heard wails from other apartments sometimes, too. Some people screamed in fear, others maybe in pain. When the noise grew too loud, Hyuntak would drag a pillow into the closet and lock himself in the darkness. Sometimes, when it all felt too much, Hyuntak would grab an old photograph of his mother and hold it close to his chest, pretending she was there to hold him in her arms.
Hunger was what finally forced him out of the apartment. Hyuntak survived on crackers and tinned fish once the fridge had been picked clean and the power finally shut off. He had even managed to stomach a container of spoiled galbi his mother had left behind. But the crackers were almost gone now, and the lack of clean water left his throat dry and his head splitting. Before leaving he managed to create a makeshift weapon, an old broomstick sharpened to a point. Though he wasn’t sure how much good it would actually do to fight off the infected. He had never actually seen one of the creatures roaming the streets. He actually hadn’t been out of the balcony since that night. He could hear them though, their groaning cries echoing through the street. He had never worked up to courage to look when they passed through, though. Part of Hyuntak wanted to stay safe in his innocence and naivety.
What he couldn’t see couldn’t hurt him.
He grabbed his backpack and broomstick and carefully pushed his head outside the cracked door. Luckily, his front door opened onto an open-air walkway. He couldn’t imagine navigating through an enclosed apartment building, not knowing what might be waiting in the stairwells. He peeked around. The coast seemed clear. Some apartment doors stood open- ransacked by looters or raided by the (un)dead. The first thing Hyuntak noticed was the smell, rotten and smoky. Trash bags piled along the walkway, and though the stench made his stomach knot, Hyuntak would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered rummaging through them for food.
He moved quickly toward the first open stairwell. It was mostly clear, but as he descended, he made out a human-shaped lump on the first landing. His grip tightened as he tapped the broomstick against the wall to announce his presence. Maybe it was stupid, but he’d much rather get any fighting over with as soon as possible. If these things were as aggressive as promised, Hyuntak didn’t want to risk wasting any time on edge.
The noise from the broomstick didn’t rouse the lump.
As Hyuntak drew closer to the shape, a sick feeling overtook the hunger-induced nausea in his stomach. It was a child, small and frail, bent into an inhuman position in the corner of the landing. Someone had wrapped it in a blanket, a last-ditch offering of humanity. He could barely make out its face beneath the blood.
When Hyuntak turned to hurl over the side of the steps, only bile came up.
He barely made it down the rest of the steps before reaching the street. He hadn’t seen the street in almost a month. It was desolate, not a human in sight. Storefront windows had been smashed, cars abandoned in the road, maybe from those who tried to escape but couldn’t. It was as if the entire human race had suddenly vanished. Still, deep down, Hyuntak held onto the hope that if he had made it this long, someone else had too. He reached the nearest corner store without much trouble. Inside, he grabbed as much shelf stable food as he could, along with as much water as his backpack would hold. It wasn’t enough for the long term, but Hyuntak would consider himself blessed that the store wasn’t bare.
He continued on like that for a month, making small trips around town to gather supplies. Each trip pushed him further beyond his comfort zone. The streets he once knew were now foreign, desolate and stripped bare of everything that made them alive. He felt like a ghost passing through the streets, haunting them like they were an old home. Sometimes he would retrace his old route to school. He had often pictured himself walking the alleyways with his friends.
The third trip was when he finally saw one of them. Well, he heard it first. He was rounding an alley corner when a gurgling moan stopped him in his tracks. He had upgraded his weapon by that point, replacing the sharpened end with a knife duct taped to the end. He tightened his grip and headed towards the sound. When he rounded the corner, he saw it across the street. It was a man, at least Hyuntak had thought so. The thing was so decayed that its gender was hard to fully make out. It limped slowly, hunched over, its face too far away to see clearly. As Hyuntak approached, his footsteps alerted it. It turned its head and let out a moan. Its face was bloody and torn, flesh stretched apart exposing the bone beneath.
Hyuntak froze.
Not because he didn’t know what to do. He had been practicing it in his head a million times. But seeing one was nothing like imagining it.
The thing dragged a limp foot behind it as it turned fully towards Hyuntak, its body moving in unnatural jerks. As it stumbled forward, it let out a shrill, wet noise, as if whatever life remained inside was trying to claw its way out. Hyuntak could almost picture the human who had once lived inside the shell of it, the humanity beneath the rot.
He took a hesitant step forward.
Then another.
The thing reacted instantly, jerking toward him with uncoordinated steps. Hyuntak almost froze, almost stood down, but his instinct for survival broke through, and he charged forward. The blade sank deep between the thing’s eyebrows, the skin giving easily. It struggled for a moment, surging forward with its arms outstretched towards Hyuntak, the movement only driving the knife deeper. With one final push, the blade sunk in to the hilt, dark blood and gray matter oozed from the wound. The thing sputtered, then went limp, its dead weight dragging Hyuntak down to his knees.
Hyuntak stayed there for a few moments, breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, confirmation, maybe, that the thing was truly dead. How does one measure when the dead is truly dead? When he was certain enough, he yanked the blade free in one forceful motion.
Then the realization hit Hyuntak all at once.
He stood himself up before bolting for the nearest alley on unsteady legs. Once he reached its safety, he dropped back down to his knees, hand shooting up to his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though no one was there to hear it. “I’m so sorry.”
Tears dripped down his face and he sobbed silently. He cried for his mother, for his friends, for himself. He cried for the thing that once had a beating heart and maybe a warm smile and a family that carried it on for one more day. Maybe it had dreams, just like Hyuntak. Maybe it was scared of dying, too.
That was the first time Hyuntak killed one of them. It was far from the last.