Closed Doors
Everyone exchanged surprised glances.
Actually, the most shocked was Anna.
She'd pegged him as just an oddly striking old man—no expectations he'd pull off something like this.
Catching Anna's bewildered look, Kang Youngman flashed a warm, good-natured smile.
“A soldier, all my life.”
“Ah……”
Anna finally nodded, piecing it together.
Youngman fiddled with the frequency a few more times after that.
Then, hitting another channel, the group watched him transmit personally.
He rattled off a bizarre code name, paused for a response, then hunkered down like a stone statue—perfectly still.
Ignoring the heat haze rippling like flames, he zeroed in on the static.
A few more exchanges followed.
A garbled voice crackled through, asking their position. No map, so Youngman named the hospital—couldn't pinpoint coordinates.
The reply came curt.
We can't assist with evacuation right now. We have capacity in facilities, but manpower and gear are critically short. Can you sustain comms? If yes, hold tight. We'll figure something out.
That wrapped it up.
The group's eyes on Youngman had shifted—respect now mingled in.
“Good enough. Let's wait it out. No way we're busting out solo anyway.”
Leaving Anna to hold the rooftop, they descended.
No tents meant everywhere scorched—had to scrounge shade.
Plus, none of the three had caught proper shut-eye.
Han Jaejeong hated bumping into folks.
But exhaustion clawed at him—rest was non-negotiable.
Down they went; people dodged eyes on sight, playing strangers.
The trio hit the bathroom for a quick rinse and laundry.
All-day sweat demanded it.
Minutes later, damp-clad, they slipped into the warehouse.
Sacks of scavenged clothes towered inside.
Dusty giants looked damn near like beds—wishful thinking?
Sunset bled through the window already.
Jaejeong eased back against a sack.
Fatigue hit like a blackout looming.
But sleep? Elusive.
Not the infected's howls outside.
Trauma from the day's hell.
Apocalypse sinking in, real as the ground.
Thoughts tangled, relentless.
Jaejeong scanned the dim space.
Youngman and Lee Beom-sik faced walls, sunlight their enemy.
Not asleep, though.
Bet same demons gnawed them.
Staring at Youngman's back triggered it: family.
Jaejeong had none to shield.
Lost 'em too young—no memories, even.
Kin by name only—not blood.
Always nagged him.
No normal home ever—could he build one? Live straight?
Greed?
That void inside scarring new kin?
So he bailed.
From normalcy, the rails.
Dove into cop work—“good police” mantra.
Fizzled fast.
Aimless grind? Dust in the wind.
“Asleep already?”
Jaejeong jolted at the voice.
Eyes open: Beom-sik and Youngman stirring too.
Kang Minyoung at the door, jug of water in hand.
“Drink up. Stay parched, dehydration hits. Heard you two hauled Dad here.”
“Yeah, chaos delayed intros. My daughter here. Name's……”
“Kang Minyoung. Thanks. Strangers ain't easy lifts.”
Minyoung dipped her head, eyeing them.
Silence.
Sudden chit-chat felt alien, especially now.
Greetings in apocalypse? Surreal.
Beom-sik broke it.
“Lee Beom-sik.”
“Nice. Wow, seriously handsome. First glance, figured actor or model.”
Her awe flat as board.
“Hear that plenty.”
Jaejeong shook his head.
Often, sure.
No-read on vibes—how'd he hack gangster life?
Just manners.
“Gangnam Violent Crimes……”
Jaejeong froze.
Hollow chuckle.
Habits die hard—terrifying.
Hand diving pocket yanked back, swept low.
Sleep amplified the reflex.
Minyoung missed it, brows arched, head cocked—waiting.
“Han Jaejeong.”
“Got it. Jaejeong-ssi looks solid. Rare sighting someone your size.”
“Uh, yeah.”
Blank stare, handshake proffered.
One hand gripped hers; other snagged the jug.
More yak? Throat'd shred.
Cool rush down, clarity flickered—then fatigue crashed back.
Jaejeong massaged shoulder, perched on sack against wall.
Oddly, that perch invited sleep instant.
Quick-reaction stance? Calmer than flat-out.
“Dad, all good?”
Minyoung surveyed, chatting with Youngman.
“Hotel standard. Your spot?”
“Empty rooms galore.”
“Crowd here's rough shape. Watch it. Door locked tight.”
“Got it.”
“But……”
Youngman hesitated.
“What?”
“Student mention earlier? Weird vibes all around. Spill?”
“Oh, that……”
Minyoung paused, gaze drifting window-ward.
“Fled to annex first—nobody knew zombies skipped stairs. Not me either. Mob jammed emergency exit, slowed us. Some inside peeled back for kin—mayhem.”
Eyes narrowed, dredging bad memory.
Jaejeong, slits open, clocked her gravity—first time.
Outside roar hammered skull.
Dirty-clothes hood? Useless.
Minyoung peeked out, resumed.
“Then child's wail, far off. 'Mom!' Up high, I heard—so exit crowd did. Three, four years old? Runner, clueless. Mom clocks it late, shrieks down—people wall her.”
“No……”
Youngman winced, pained.
All hooked now.
“Uniform kid just entering exit shoves free, bolts. Hurls bag, sprints full tilt. Kid breathing; seconds pre-zombie rush. Kid knew: scoop and tote? Both goners.”
Minyoung sighed deep.
“So kid first—then chairs topple, pots roll, zombie jam maxed. Zombies piled tower-style, trampling. Student dashes back. But folks spy tailing horde… slam door.”
“Livable shot?”
“My view: yes. Gap solid. Proof? Door shut, fists thump door—ten-plus bangs. Then nails rake……”
Tears streamed now.
“Stop, Minyoung. Enough. Brutal go—Dad……”
“No, fine. You three gotta know. Door-closer. No-think shutdown—who.”p>
Tear-wipe, eyes flash venom.
“Kid's mom.”
Youngman's jaw dropped slow.
“How……”
“Silence pact. Kid dead, done deal. Sequential life-calls—blame futile, vibe screamed. Me? Complicit. Mute.”
Jaejeong caught every word.
Beom-sik too, likely.
Warehouse air leaden.
Quiet stretched; Minyoung dabbed tears, rose.
“Thanks for hearing. Lighter now. Sleep deep.”
Youngman mute as she hurried out.
His hush weighed heavy—felt by all.
Jaejeong's mind reeled scenes cinematic.
Student's death-dance for tiny life.
Gazers' eyes to slam; death's breath hot.
Dying thoughts?
Me, deep-diving strangers' plights?
Nah.
Violent crimes dulled everything.
Crooks extreme; pre-news horrors firsthand.
Mom's door-slam why?
Student-zombie gap iffy?
Not solo witness.
Crowd saw too.
Group call?
No hero-stopper?
Pounds for life—what brewed in heads?
Jaejeong deemed it pointless rumination.
Dodging death-numbness maybe.
Grimmer ends than student's? Legions.
Next-building faller flashed.
That gut-punch? No replay.
Minyoung's void via proxy? Pass.
Head throbbed.
Dead piled sky-high; world flipped.
Who-why-how? Irrelevant now.
Day's reel spooled; Jaejeong sank deep sleep.
Infected People