Old House

It's been an hour since Eunwoo and Hana left, and the tension in our small safe house is suffocating. I told the girls to stay alert and made them some makeshift weapons from leftover wood and whatever scraps I could find. A broken chair leg with nails hammered into it, sharp splinters reinforced with duct tape—it wasn't much, but it was better than being defenseless.

The infected girl, though... she's becoming a problem. Her behavior is getting more aggressive, her body jerking against the ropes I used to restrain her. I had to gag her with a sock and secure it with duct tape to muffle her guttural growls, but even that hasn't completely silenced her. Every sound she makes feels like a beacon to the zombies outside. 

What's strange, though, is that she's not turning as quickly as the others I've seen. From what I've observed, the infection takes longer to progress if the contamination happens through blood contact, rather than a bite. It's almost as if the wound alone doesn't give the virus—or whatever this is—enough of a foothold to fully take over. She's weaker than the bitten ones, too. They turn strong and violent almost immediately, but she's still in this in-between state.

I can't help but think there's something significant about this. If only I could contact Dad. He'd know what to do—how to study her, how to find answers. He's spent his life in labs, dissecting diseases and finding cures. If he were here, maybe we could figure out a way to stop this. But the lines are down, and he's miles away. I don't even know if he's still alive.

Outside, the zombies shuffle aimlessly, their grotesque forms barely visible through the cracks in the barricade. I've been watching them carefully, taking mental notes. They're slow—clumsy, even—until they sense someone alive. Then they move with alarming speed, driven by some primal instinct. They're sensitive to sound, too. A single misstep, a clang of metal, and they'll converge like moths to a flame. 

And, just like in the movies, their weakness is the head. One solid blow, and they're done. It's almost surreal, how much of this feels like something out of fiction. A part of me, the part that used to laugh at horror films with Dad on movie nights, is oddly amazed. How could something so fantastical become real?

But this isn't a movie. There's no pause button, no director yelling "cut." This is life—or what's left of it—and we're barely hanging on. 

Soo-ah approaches me cautiously, clutching her makeshift weapon. "Do you think they'll come back?" she asks, her voice shaky. She means Eunwoo and Hana, of course. 

"They'll come back," I reply, though I don't know if I believe it. "They're smart. They know what they're doing."

I glance back at the infected girl. Her veins are darkening, spidering out beneath her skin. Her eyes are cloudy now, almost milky. She's deteriorating faster than I'd hoped. 

If Dad were here, he'd probably tell me to focus on the science—to observe, to learn. And I am. But every second that ticks by feels like borrowed time. If Eunwoo and Hana don't come back soon, or if this girl fully turns before we figure something out, we're going to have to make some hard choices. 

For now, all I can do is wait, watch, and hope that someone—anyone—out there has the answers we need.

Hana and I were making our way back to the site when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Someone was following us. It wasn't a zombie, that much I was sure of. Their movements were too calculated, too deliberate.

"I think those guys sent someone to tail us," I whispered to Hana, keeping my voice low so it wouldn't carry.

Her eyes widened slightly as she glanced over her shoulder. "Should we confront him?"

"No," I replied firmly. "It's too risky. We're in a part of the city with way too many zombies. If we stop now, we'll be sitting ducks—cornered from all sides."

"So what now? We can't let them find out where the others are," Hana said, her voice tense. 

I scanned the area, my mind racing. I needed a plan, and fast. That's when I noticed where we were—near the neighborhood I used to live in. The house where my parents and I used to laugh, argue, and dream. Before all of this. The thought brought a pang of sadness, but it was quickly replaced by determination.

"What if we go to my old house?" I suggested, motioning down the side street. "It's not far from here. We can lose him in the neighborhood, maybe even set up a distraction to throw him off. It's better than wandering around aimlessly with a shadow and a horde of zombies closing in."

Hana hesitated, her brows furrowed in thought. "Are you sure it's safe? I mean, do you even know what's still there? What if it's crawling with infected?"

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the uncertainty that was bubbling up. "I don't know what's there, but I do know the layout of the house and the area around it. If it comes down to it, we'll have the advantage."

Hana gave me a tight nod. "Alright, lead the way. But if this guy tries something, I'm not holding back."

I smiled faintly. "I'd expect nothing less."

We veered off the main road, sticking to the shadows and moving as quietly as possible. The streets here were eerily silent, the kind of silence that pressed down on you and made every step feel like a thunderclap. I glanced back a few times, and sure enough, our tail was still there—keeping their distance but not letting us out of sight.

The closer we got to my old house, the heavier my chest felt. Memories flashed through my mind—my mom cooking dinner, my dad watching TV, and the sound of their laughter echoing through the halls. It felt like a lifetime ago. Now, it was just a shell of what it used to be, a relic of a world that didn't exist anymore.

As we approached, I turned to Hana. "Stay close, and be ready for anything. If things go south, we don't fight. We run."

We had to fight through a few zombies on our way to my old house. Their groans and the wet, guttural sounds of decaying bodies hitting the pavement filled the air, but we managed to hold our ground. Hana was quick and precise, her crowbar striking down the infected with efficient, deliberate movements. Meanwhile, I swung my bat hard enough to crack skulls, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

When we scavenged earlier, we encountered a crowbar lying among the debris. I handed it to Hana, knowing it would serve her better than relying on her bow. "Take this," I had said. "Close combat's risky, but it's better to have something sturdy in case they get too close."

She hadn't argued, immediately testing the weight of the crowbar in her hands. Now, watching her swing it with practiced force, I was glad we had grabbed it. Every strike was clean and effective, and it gave her an edge when the zombies came at us in tighter spaces.

We moved quickly, working in sync as we cleared a path toward my old house. The strain was starting to wear on me, though—the weight of the bat felt heavier with each swing, and my arms ached from the repeated blows. But there was no time to slow down, not with the undead shambling toward us and the guy tailing us still lurking in the background.

"He's still there," Hana muttered between swings, her voice tight with exertion. "Just watching."

"Let him," I said, my jaw clenched. "As long as he keeps his distance, he's not our problem."

Hana didn't look convinced, but she didn't press the issue. Instead, she adjusted her grip on the crowbar and kept moving forward, her steps steady despite the chaos around us. Together, we pushed through the last wave of zombies, finally reaching the broken gate of my old home.

The sight of it stopped me in my tracks for a moment. The house was just as I remembered, but also entirely different. The windows were cracked, the paint peeled, and the yard was overgrown with weeds. It felt both familiar and alien, like a ghost of my past life.

"Come on," Hana urged, snapping me out of it. "We're not safe yet."

"Let's not go to the front door. You see the big tree there? It's a way towards my room window. It's better to start upstairs," I suggested, pointing towards the tree.

Hana nodded, glancing over at the large oak that had always been part of the landscape in my childhood. The branches stretched out enough to reach the window of my old room, offering us a quieter, less risky way in.

"Good idea," Hana said, her voice steady, though I could tell she was still alert, eyes scanning the area as we moved quickly toward the tree. "We'll avoid the front. No need to make noise if we don't have to."

We made our way to the base of the tree, and I used it as leverage to help Hana climb up first. The branches creaked under our weight, but we managed to scale the tree with relative ease, despite the tense situation. Once we were at the window, I motioned for Hana to stay back while I pried it open, my fingers fumbling a bit as I tried to remember how the window worked.

With a final push, it gave way, creaking as it opened. I looked back at Hana. "All clear. You're next."

Hana climbed up smoothly, her crowbar slung over her shoulder as she made her way through the window. We both paused for a second once inside, our breathing a little heavier than usual.

The room was exactly as I remembered it—dusty and abandoned, but familiar in its quiet chaos. The posters, some peeling, still hung on the walls; the bed, long since stripped, left only a bare frame.

"We're in. Let's check around and secure the place," I said, my voice low. I wasn't sure if the house was truly safe yet, but it was a better option than staying out in the open.