Heavy Burden
Jaejeong hoisted Anna onto his back.
Her limp body felt like a thousand pounds, heavy as lead, but there was no other choice.
No one else could carry her in his place.
The rest of the group took charge of the cart.
They hopped over the infected corpses strewn across the corridor floor like stepping stones, traces of hasty shopping scattered everywhere.
“Old man, what's with you?”
Beom-sik asked, glancing back at Youngman, who kept turning around.
“Keeps nagging at me.”
“What?”
“The people who died inside...”
“Why them?”
“Can't shake the thought that maybe we could've saved them.”
Curiosity colored Beom-sik's face as he looked at Youngman.
“Didn't expect that.”
“What?”
“A guy who's spent his life on battlefields, regretting folks he never even knew.”
“That a problem?”
Youngman tore into a sausage from the cart, hunger sharpening his bite.
Beom-sik grabbed one too and stuck it in his mouth.
“Not a problem, just... feels off. What do you even call it...”
“I know what you mean. You're wondering why a killer of hundreds, thousands, suddenly spouts shit that doesn't fit.”
“Spot on.”
Beom-sik chewed the tough sausage with a crunch.
“Killing that many can make some cheapen life—or the opposite. Humans take the same hits and spit out different takes. Just how people are. Oh, and they weren't the enemy. Allies.”
“Can't argue that.”
“But is this supposed to be eaten cold like this?”
Youngman grumbled, wrestling the rubbery sausage like gum.
Meanwhile, up front, Chaemin spotted a door ripped clean off its hinges in the distance.
The infected must've poured through there toward them.
Glancing at his filthy clothes, Chaemin suddenly recalled heading out from home a few days back.
Neatly ironed shirts lined the closet.
For some reason, it was a white-shirt kind of day.
As he stepped out in one after ages, his mother added her two cents.
White suits you best, my boy.
Her face, etched by the cruel weight of raising two sons alone, bore down on him.
Chaemin pulled out the smartphone tucked preciously in his pocket.
The screen lit up with his beaming mother, little brother, and himself.
Still no signal. No word on if his family lived.
Despair crushed him.
“You okay?”
Hyun-soo, who'd fought tooth and nail beside him, pushed the cart while eyeing him with concern.
His gaze fixed on Chaemin's hand.
Only then did Chaemin notice his fingers trembling beyond his control.
The spots where nails had torn off were crusted solid with blood and tie fabric.
It hurt like hell.
Yet he'd forgotten even that.
Staring at Hyun-soo brought his brother to mind.
Looked younger, but that bright vibe felt eerily similar.
“Yeah, fine. How old are you?”
“Twenty-five. You?”
“Eight.”
Same age as his brother, of all things.
“Speak casual, bro.”
“Got it.”
The grin was a match too—especially how it lit up the eyes.
Something hot twisted in his chest.
Family he'd call anytime, see daily.
Now? Not even a text.
He glanced around.
Everyone probably felt it. Even if not voiced, someone to worry about.
Family or not.
And that Jaejeong guy.
Chaemin could barely manage himself, yet Jaejeong lugged an unconscious woman.
Watching him silently bear the slack Anna stirred admiration Chaemin hadn't expected.
Truth was, Chaemin cut an imposing figure himself.
Tall, broad shoulders.
But Jaejeong was another level.
Every bone, every slab of muscle—beyond mortal.
Yeah...
He must have family too.
The thought steadied his quaking fingers, aspen leaves calming.
Alive was enough. A blessing, if the world outside was this fucked.
Meeting these people? Pure luck.
Had to be.
Chaemin had been clueless, barely grasping what hit them.
YouTube scraps before comms died—varied tales, none believable.
Who swallows humans turning monster, ripping bellies on sight?
Not losing your mind was the win.
But these folks smashed infected like it was routine.
Radioed the army base. Knew about safe zones in Seoul.
He wanted in closer, but they intimidated.
Fierce mugs, scant chat even among themselves unless crisis hit.
Made Jaejeong shine brighter.
Cold-as-ice Beom-sik and that uncanny elder hung on his every word.
Family?
Didn't vibe that way...
Meanwhile, Jaejeong was dying inside.
No chit-chat, just trudging silent—didn't have breath for words.
One gasp, one sigh, and he'd drop her.
Fuck, seriously!
Heavy as shit.
He rounded the corner with effort. True to a big hospital, a gentle ramp stretched ahead for wheelchairs and carts.
Drool streamed from his mouth around the flashlight.
“Hoo...”
Fucking hell.
Curse burned on his tongue.
Couldn't ask someone to take over now—wrong timing anyway.
The group's grunts pushing the cart echoed from behind.
Truth, Jaejeong wasn't the volunteer type.
Circumstances snowballed, and convincing that damn Beom-sik had him spout follow-me bullshit.
Youngman picked up the vibe, eyes locked on Jaejeong in crises—burden doubled.
Thinking it over, all the grunt work fell on him.
Climbing with Anna roped on too.
Beyond that, he'd smashed infected skulls nonstop while others rotated.
Later, arms quit.
Even rested and fed, it'd be iffy; now, chained hell? Body buckling natural.
Yet they poked: got ideas? Figure it out. Driven nuts.
Survival a blur, near collapse carrying extra weight.
Of course curses flew.
And the carry sucked awkward.
Man? Butt perch easy. Woman? Thighs only.
Wrong twitch, total misunderstanding.
Wait—she awake?
Breaths steadying clear now.
“Hey.”
He muttered to himself.
No reply, as expected.
“You good now?”
His nose and mouth heaved ragged breaths mid-sentence.
Anna showed zero reaction.
Not awake yet.
Dashed hope.
They hit the first-floor lobby. Jaejeong slumped into a chair, propping Anna against the back for a breather.
Arms easing even a bit? Pure heaven.
He shook off cold sweat, peering outside.
The faint patter swelled to roaring downpour.
Not sprinkle—torrents.
Cool gust kissed his sweat-soaked face.
“Hoo...”
Cart weighed a ton; no one up yet.
Skip rest? No reaching annex.
Eyes shut.
Zombie shits noisy; spot 'em quick.
Needed quiet recharge.
Not fully dropped her—half-carrying seated.
Head lolled side to side at any shift. Out cold.
Sudden laugh bubbled up.
Absurd: hauling fainted girl, begging her wake.
After monster yeeted her meters into wall.
Thinking straight? Rest working wonders.
Shattered plate glass poured rain; hard to grasp location.
Blood spatters, stench everywhere—felt like some backwoods shack.
How long passed?
Grunts heralded Beom-sik first, hauling the cart.
Cans and sundries inside screamed weight.
Tough bastard.
Trailing Youngman, no less.
He parked it, heaving breaths.
Blood streaks and sweat blended—like bleeding profusely.
“Ha, fuck. Fucking brutal.”
Curse finally spilled.
“What? Why you sitting?”
“Waited. Why?”
Jaejeong snapped curt.
“Hoo, right. No breath for talk. Move. Run into that pig fucker again, won't collect our bones.”
Then Youngman, Chaemin, Hyun-soo filed in.
“How we going? Rain's insane.”
Hyun-soo fretted, eyeing cart contents.
Jaejeong waved it off casual.
“Perfect. Rain drowns cart racket. Needed a wash anyway. Let's roll.”
“Kahaha!”
Then it hit.
Youngman burst laughing.
Beom-sik scowled at the alien sight.
“What the? Old man lost it?”
“No, no—hold on.”
Youngman crouched, howling awhile.
Then sobered, face flushed fading.
“Hilarious. Rain pouring since we entered, yet we crammed clothes, towels—even undies and socks, damn it. Where we drying? Bail tomorrow.”
True on reflection.
No one clocked outdoor rain.
Not even with indoor park drizzling.
Hyun-soo and Chaemin chuckled too—hollow, deflating.
Recalling hyped packing? Unbearable not to.
Even icy Beom-sik's lip twitched up.
Pity dumping it though.
Not urgent wear.
Time ticked; Jaejeong stepped out first.
Thick sheets soaked him head to heel in seconds, Anna too.
Hollow laughs?
Survival high?
Group faces lit crossing hospital grounds, cart rumbling.
They'd pulled it off.
Wet clothes? Whatever—feast, scrub, crash at annex.
Tomorrow's shit tomorrow.
Infected People