Stairwell of No Return
"Are we good?"
The people, drenched and shivering, followed the Anomaly Response and Management Agency staff down the stairs in a line.
They kept stealing glances at the girl bringing up the rear.
The lead Agency staff didn't seem entirely sane themselves—hardly trustworthy—but they weren't as suspicious as the girl who'd clearly had her throat slit, gushing blood as she collapsed, only to stand back up moments later, good as new.
Arin, yawning widely and casually scanning her surroundings, didn't seem to notice their stares.
A cracking sound echoed from the direction they'd come.
She clicked her tongue and signaled the leader.
'Why, something happen behind us?'
'Looks like the ballroom door's been breached.'
'Check it.'
The Support Team approached after seeing the signal, whispered with Arin to assess the situation, then hurried forward to quicken the group's pace.
They'd blocked it with folding chairs from the start—expected to give way fast—but this was too soon.
The Support Team sighed and notified the others.
Word spread of unidentified liquid reviving the dead into zombies closing in from behind.
Some gulped nervously or let out short screams, but the Agency staff quelled it before it spread.
"Junwoo, honey, don't stay back there—come up front."
"Huh?"
"Yeah, son, don't get too close to those things."
"But they look like officials, at least."
"Tch!"
Junwoo had been hovering near her—curious, or maybe something else.
His parents dragged him away.
Everyone reached the emergency stairs and started descending.
Arin entered last, slamming the door shut.
Just before it sealed, she glimpsed a zombie staggering into view through the narrowing gap.
And then they descended the stairs and finally boarded the emergency elevator.
...Yeah, if only.
Arin surveyed the scene before them—and the stunned faces of the others staring at the same sight.
The elevator, inspected just yesterday, had stopped somewhere with its doors wide open.
It yawned before them like an endless abyss.
"Uh, can't we just take the stairs further down...?"
"There's another one twenty floors below."
They'd seen zombies milling about on other floors while descending.
No guarantee the next stairs would be safe.
The Support Team gripped a radio with no signal, deep in thought—but didn't voice it.
The sprinklers had worked recently, but if the fire wasn't out... no time for long deliberation.
Even if it was, dashing down a high-rise's stairs would take at least two hours.
And that was sprinting flat-out—dodging zombies safely? Impossible.
No other options came to mind.
"What about waiting here?"
"Fine for a normal fire, but this is terrorism. Could be bombs in safe zones, or worse..."
"Let's take the stairs, even if it takes time! You guys have guns, right? Shoot our way down!"
"Daily visitors average tens of thousands, capacity over twenty thousand. Even if just five percent are walking corpses... our ammo won't cut it."
The Support Team ignored the chest-beating man ranting about knowing their names, demanding solutions, accusing them of wanting everyone dead.
They debated their contingency plans.
Arin spoke up casually.
"Ever think about helicopter evac?"
"No landing pad on a high-rise like this..."
"I hear some safe floors have helipad spaces."
"Oh... yeah, I've heard that too."
They pulled out a floor map.
Traced it from the top with fingers, hunting for those spots.
The finger halted.
80th floor.
Current position: 130th.
No perfect answer, but better than nothing.
Their faces eased briefly—then soured again.
Helicopter escape still needed outside contact.
"Wait... a building this big goes wrong, someone outside must've noticed by now, right?"
Arin's logic: too tall for jammers to block everything; fire means outsiders know something's up—no need for us to signal.
She paused, then continued.
"We get to 80, signal out somehow."
Not foolproof, but the best shot now.
Support Team agreed.
As they turned to relay to the group, a faint vibration hummed underfoot.
So subtle, they dismissed it—then it hit again.
A boom roared up the stairs.
"What the hell? Something explode?"
More blasts followed.
No intel, just exchanged glances.
Then—something pounded the sealed steel door.
It dented with each hit.
No hopeful thoughts of late survivors.
Chaos brewed.
Arin bolted to the opposite door, flung it open, secured it.
Stared down the stairs.
"Nothing here yet! Everyone, this way!"
The Support Team snapped to, sent one ahead to lead.
The other two flanked Arin, pistols aimed at the buckling door.
"Fuck, what is that thing?!"
A flesh blob like kneaded human dough squeezed through the crumpling door.
Eyes bulged all over it, staring.
Support Team recoiled in horror.
Last civilian hit the stairs.
Arin tapped the nearest shoulder and fell back.
Remaining team retreated, slammed the door.
They wrapped it with thick cable ties from their belts—hoping it'd buy time.
20 floors to next safe zone.
These weren't the zombies they'd grown numb to.
This new horror chased them down the stairs.
Faint gunpowder scent in the air.
They couldn't hide their dread.
15 floors to go.
10 floors.
Knees shaking, gasping on empty stairs.
Leader halted abruptly, arm out—blocking the rest.
Grumbles mixed with fear nearly erupted.
Then they saw: figures in the stairwell gap below.
No luck—not survivors.
Blood-soaked, skin sloughing off, shambling zombies.
Leader eased to the landing door, pushed.
No zombies inside.
Signaled okay.
Office space: long hallway, desks and computers lining both sides.
All crossed from stairs.
Then—metal crunching from above.
"Whatever it is, sounds like it's coming this way."
"We're fucked, right, sunbae? What's the rule for zombie outbreaks?"
"Not fucked yet. Rule: don't get bit, smash heads."
"That's a rule?"
"That's the rule."
The exhausted group, slumped after ten floors, glared at the Support Team's flippant banter.
Too drained to argue.
Arin leaned against the wall, watching the stair door.
Junwoo sidled up, glancing her way.
"Um, Arin-ssi... so Agency folks don't die?"
"Huh? No, that's not... Ah, shouldn't show this, but forgot."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind. Sigh~ Whatever."
Arin scratched her head, sighing.
Realized even in normal times, flashing her status was bad.
Worse now, with terrorists maybe watching.
"Dumb of me... terrorists could be anywhere."
"Uh... I won't tell if we get out."
"Not the issue. But thanks anyway."
She punched his shoulder lightly.
Tore eyes from door, glanced out window—then back.
"Support Team... let's talk."
She gathered them, nodded at the door.
"Break through the zombies below."
Pistols were max firepower here.
Better than waiting for the monster above.
Zombies below? Manageable for four.
Better than encirclement.
They nodded agreement.
Whispered the plan to civilians.
Cracked the door—checked.
No sounds from above; monster lost interest or went elsewhere.
Zombies below had climbed higher, drawn by noise.
They screwed suppressors on.
Opened door, split into pairs: up and down watch.
Led the group.
Arin took point, pointed at unalert zombies.
Signaled partner: I'll take right.
He nodded, held rifle steady—extended three fingers, folded one by one.
Last finger down—muzzles flashed.
Lead slugs flew.
Each shot punched a hole in a zombie skull.
Fuck, these bastards don't drop in one shot?!
Movie zombies would've fallen.
These shrugged off .45 slugs, screeched, charged.
They pulled triggers frantically—finally, brains and green goo sprayed as they crumpled.
Five shots per head?!
Suppressors had limits.
Bangs echoed down stairs.
Dead heard—roars rose from below.
Above: door denting again.
Senior Support Team member muttered.
"We're fucked."