Breaking the Chains
“...It's so quiet it's downright terrifying.”
Kang Youngman muttered.
Han Jaejeong and Lee Beom-sik didn't reply. Instead, they sharpened all their senses, scanning the surroundings.
Not a single one of those bastards who had swarmed the city like they owned it was in sight.
Where the hell had they gone?
Even as the three men passed between the long rows of parked cars stretching left and right, not a single footstep echoed.
All they could do was infer the infected had been here from the occasional bloodstains splattered across the ground.
On the asphalt, the blood had seeped in, leaving behind the vague outline of a human shape.
Someone had been brutally slaughtered right here.
Jaejeong grimaced at the chunks of flesh mingled among the bloodstains.
No matter how many times he saw it, he couldn't get used to it.
His stomach churned, and he had to look away.
That's when Beom-sik froze, spotting something on a car door.
Jaejeong and Youngman hurried over, lining up shoulder to shoulder.
Scratch marks from nails.
The paint had been torn off deep enough that the nails must have ripped clean out.
How much agony had that person writhed in?
A stench stabbed at their noses from below.
The smell of some nameless corpse rotting away.
The three said nothing and trudged on in silence.
Everywhere they looked, the area was littered with signs of death. There was nothing left to say.
Passing a long flower bed meant as a rest area for patients and visitors, the main building finally loomed into view, revealing its full grandeur.
A massive rotary lay in front of the glass doors leading to the lobby.
Just a day ago, countless cars would have pulled up, dropped people off, and circled out.
A few attendants might have stood near the entrance, handling luggage or directing traffic.
People had a habit of parking illegally in the no-stopping zone, after all.
But of course, no one was there now.
No one parking wherever they pleased. No one stopping them.
In their place, a heavy silence hung—one so thick you couldn't even cough without restraint.
Every window in the main building was shattered.
Gazing up at the grim sight, Jaejeong suddenly flashed back to the emergency room.
His first encounter with those horrific infected.
He could never forget them raining down from the sky like a storm.
Arms and legs twisting, muscles bursting from impacts—yet they rose again.
If only he'd seen monsters or zombies in a movie at least once.
More terrifying than any fiction, the infected had seared themselves into Jaejeong's brain.
His mind was a whirlwind of confusion.
According to Beom-sik, the infected were medically dead. Actual corpses.
He'd never even imagined it.
Dead people walking? Absurd.
A virus, they'd said.
Definitely a virus.
Viruses need a living host.
Meaning the person has to be alive.
From what he vaguely recalled, viruses couldn't survive in dead bodies.
Then how?
It made no sense.
Even if the virus hijacked a dead brain, without a beating heart, how could the body move?
It defied every mechanism of the human body.
“A chain?”
His head throbbed from the tangled thoughts when Beom-sik muttered at the annex entrance, staring at the firmly shut iron door.
Sure enough, a heavy chain was looped around the annex's front door handle.
A padlock bigger than a fist secured it, as if whoever did it was terrified of it coming undone.
Or maybe they had to trap something inside.
“But why lock it from the outside?”
Clank! Clank!
Jaejeong shook the chain curiously, then froze.
The iron door rattled far louder than he'd expected.
The whole area was dead silent, not a breath of wind.
As the clanging echoed off the walls and buildings, the three swallowed hard, eyes darting warily.
“Damn, that echoed like a bitch.”
Jaejeong raised his voice to shake off the tension.
Youngman, peering at the padlock, tilted his head.
“Still, it's odd. Locking it from outside means they wanted to keep someone in... but didn't they know the outside was worse?”
“I get the gist.”
Beom-sik shaded his eyes from the high sun with one hand.
“When the infected first showed up in the hospital, they probably tried sealing the building any way they could. To keep them from getting out. They had no clue how fucked the outside was.”
“But there'd be survivors mixed in. And they locked the door anyway?”
Jaejeong's face twisted in disbelief.
“Think about it. Limbs ripping off right in front of you—got time for rational thought? Even we were too busy running.”
“Fair point.”
The memory of sprinting from the ER to the high-rise made Jaejeong nod.
It might have been the natural response.
A once-in-a-lifetime pandemic.
Terror of death closing in by the second.
In a situation no one could prepare for, humanity eroded fast.
Helping others only works when you can at least resist a little.
The raw instinct to survive—to do anything to live—that was every creature's core.
That padlock, locked from outside, might even be the most instinctual proof of it.
Beom-sik offered another take.
“Or maybe someone locked it to protect people inside. You said this is the annex, right? Low floors, probably not wards. If a small group was holed up, locking from outside makes sense. If someone sacrificed themselves.”
“Hold up—so there might be no infected inside?”
Jaejeong pressed close to the door, face eager to knock.
“That's just my guess. Never said it was fact.”
“We can at least check. Your daughter's in there, and if she's alive—and if someone locked it to save the few left inside...”
Jaejeong's eyes flicked to Youngman.
Seeking agreement.
They were here for his daughter, after all.
Youngman glanced between them, then nodded slowly.
No other choice.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Exactly three times.
Jaejeong's massive, callused palm slammed the thick iron door mercilessly.
At that instant, all three whipped around.
A clear infected roar—from somewhere.
Distant, echoing bellow like a howl.
But the direction...
Where?
They all scanned frantically, thinking the same.
“I'm not the only one who heard that, right?”
Beom-sik murmured.
“Heard it clear as day.”
“Me too. But it doesn't sound like it's from inside the hospital. If it was in here, they'd have swarmed when I shook the chain.”
Made sense.
Given how acutely sensitive their hearing had become around the infected, this qualified as major noise.
Probably from outside the hospital grounds, they cautiously guessed.
One thing for sure: it was far off.
“Let's do this.”
Jaejeong hefted his sledgehammer, practicing a few swings like he was about to bring it down.
The other two swept the area.
The roar had them on edge, no denying it.
And the silence was so profound they could hear each other's breathing.
Breathing audible.
Had civilization's noise been that constant?
After a few test taps on the padlock, Jaejeong paused to wipe sweat.
Beom-sik, impatience cracking, prodded.
“What?”
“This thing feels tough as hell.”
“Then hurry up.”
“No, seriously—why's it still so quiet? Doesn't this feel off? Look around. One good swing, and every damn window's gonna shatter with them jumping out. You saw it in the ER.”
“If they were that close, they'd be here already. You just said that. Why second-guess now?”
Beom-sik chided.
But Jaejeong hesitated, gut twisting.
Call it a survivor's instinct.
Or a detective's hunch.
No choice, though.
Point of no return.
Huge hospital buildings hemmed them in; they might be seconds from survivors—or worse.
Fuck it. Just do it.
Pondering like an idiot solved nothing.
Jaejeong gripped the sledgehammer tight. His arms shot straight up.
Then slammed down full force.
Clang!
Deafening.
Loudest sound since leaving the building.
Even with their sharpened hearing from the infected, it was massive.
Too late now.
If they were coming, they'd be here already.
Clang! Clang!
Three strikes in, Jaejeong paused.
The two behind him glanced around anxiously.
Roars.
Not one or two.
A chorus like hundreds strong.
“Keep hitting! It's not from inside. Break that thing now!”
Beom-sik's voice whipped Jaejeong back into motion.
Meanwhile, Youngman sprinted toward the main building to check something.
He stopped short, peering intently.
Out of Jaejeong and Beom-sik's line of sight.
Whatever he saw, he was backing away hesitantly.
The roars grew closer.
Then Youngman's thunderous shout pierced the din.
“Open it fast! They're coming!”
Jaejeong's swings turned frantic.
Clang! Clang!
But the padlock held like it had titanium in it. Not even dented.
Change tactics.
Jaejeong went for the chain itself.
As he reared back again, Beom-sik—watching behind—went wide-eyed.
Shadows blotting the distance, chasing Youngman.
Infected.
“Can't you go faster?”
“Quit nagging! I'm trying!”
Crack!
Unlike the padlock, the chain snapped after just two hits.
“Got it! Inside!”
Beom-sik bolted through as the door swung open.
But the real problem followed.
Infected hot on Youngman's heels, nearly upon him.
Youngman, glancing back mid-sprint. Jaejeong at the door. Both knew.
Let him in, and they couldn't close the door.
Abandon him now. Shut it.
Or the storm of them would swallow the group whole.
But...
Jaejeong couldn't.
His grip on the door whitened his knuckles, veins bulging.
Then he grabbed something and planted himself dead center in the open doorway.
Bellowing at the top of his lungs at Youngman charging in.
Beom-sik, already inside, couldn't make it out.
The infected roars drowned it into a muffled garble.
“Get down!”
With Jaejeong's shout, Youngman slid under the door like baseball into home.
Infected