Scars of Survival
“Everyone, give us a hand with this!”
Minyoung’s voice filled the third-floor hallway of the annex.
The group, who had been climbing the stairs in pairs while hauling entire carts, collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath.
They had no strength left to lift another finger.
Their rain-soaked bodies felt like lead weights, and the relief of reaching safety left them utterly drained.
It was up to the others now.
People rushed over without a word, grabbing carts or food and carrying them up the stairs.
Their eyes widened at the sheer volume of provisions.
Soon, all the carts were up, and Minyoung and the others stood there in a daze, staring at the group.
They looked like survivors who had clawed their way back from hell.
Chaemin’s white shirt was stained pitch-black, as if splashed with ink, but the unidentified liquids and bits of flesh covering their bodies from head to toe were truly shocking.
“What the hell happened?”
“First things first, let’s take care of her.”
Jaejeong approached Minyoung with Anna on his back.
Minyoung quickly checked Anna’s condition with practiced efficiency.
“Is she hurt?”
“Just passed out.”
“How’d that happen?”
Jaejeong was at a loss for words.
Where the fuck do I even start?
As his face grew more complicated, Youngman stepped in.
“It’d take too long to explain. Jaejeong, for now, carry this young lady into the treatment room and lay her down gently. She might have a fracture, so be careful.”
“Her bones are fine.”
Jaejeong paused on his way to the treatment room.
The voice had come from right behind him—Anna’s.
Minyoung’s face lit up.
“You’re okay? He said you passed out…”
“It was pouring outside. Should’ve grabbed an umbrella ahead of time… Argh!”
Anna, who had been speaking so casually from his back, suddenly screamed.
Because Jaejeong had let go of the hand gripping her thigh.
Anna tumbled to the floor and clutched her waist, rolling around, which made Minyoung’s eyes go wide.
“Hey, what are you doing? What if she gets hurt!”
“When the hell did you wake up?”
Jaejeong’s arms trembled with rage.
Shit, should I just give her a real flick on the forehead?
Whether she sensed his fury or not, Anna shot back with a resentful whine.
“Ow, my back! Are you crazy? What if you just drop me like that!”
It was her acting all indignant, as if she were the victim.
At a complete loss, Jaejeong just shook his head and walked away.
Was she awake since they reached the lobby?
Or from the moment her breathing steadied?
He didn’t know exactly.
One thing was clear, though…
He was pissed.
In the end, Minyoung decided to bring the whole group to the treatment room.
There might be hidden wounds, and they needed to wipe off whatever was on their bodies with disinfectant.
“Hold on, before that…”
Jaejeong, who had been staring out the window, stopped everyone.
He pushed the food-laden carts toward the people.
Their eyes said it all already.
They were starving.
“Eat up. There’s plenty.”
At his words, they all grabbed food without hesitation.
Considering how long they’d gone without eating, they could’ve lunged like possessed demons—but they didn’t.
There was just too much.
Enough for a full, satisfying meal and then some.
Since they were leaving the hospital anyway, there was no need to stockpile so much food separately.
They’d starved that long, after all.
Thinking back on how they’d gotten the food, one might feel a bit hard done by.
Handing it over without any real compensation.
But it was a promise kept, so Jaejeong had no desire to make a fuss.
Instead, he planned to ask for help without hesitation when he needed it.
Like moving heavy stuff or scouting an area.
Though that probably wouldn’t happen.
Jaejeong tore into a loaf of bread and shoved the whole thing in his mouth.
Then he chugged bottled water over the bread-stuffed maw.
He polished off two or three in seconds, which made Beom-sik stare at him like he was some wild beast.
“You need to watch your stomach more than those zombie bastards.”
“Sounds about right.”
Youngman chimed in from the side, and Jaejeong headed to the treatment room with a blank expression.
Chaemin’s groans leaked out from inside.
His completely torn-off nails were caked with pus and scabs.
Following Minyoung’s orders, Hyun-soo was pinning Chaemin down to keep him still as disinfectant poured wildly over the wounds.
Minyoung didn’t stop there—she roughly scrubbed the soaked areas with gauze.
It was more like scraping than cleaning.
Fire sparked in Chaemin’s eyes.
Hyun-soo desperately held down the writhing man in agony, his face troubled and drenched in cold sweat.
Nails, huh…
Jaejeong had been through something similar.
It was a pain you couldn’t understand without experiencing it.
And at that level, Chaemin was holding up pretty damn well.
“You have to disinfect it. I’ll give you meds later, so do it yourself.”
“Ugh…”
Chaemin drooled instead of answering.
“Hyung, does it hurt bad?”
No further explanation was needed—just seeing him barely nod.
“Do it every day. And change the bandages and wraps daily—don’t forget. I’ll give you antibiotics, but in this world, sepsis means you’re dead. Watch for fever or flu-like symptoms in the next day or two.”
Minyoung packed a small bag with emergency supplies and gave strict instructions.
Next was Hyun-soo.
He surprisingly had a bunch of minor cuts.
The worst was a fractured finger.
The bone was broken.
Made sense—he’d swung that frying pan like it was tissue paper; no way his finger joints survived intact.
Jaejeong felt unnecessarily guilty and cleared his throat, averting his eyes.
After the urgent treatments, everyone started wiping down with disinfectant-soaked towels and cotton.
More big and small wounds emerged.
After showering in the bathroom, the group applied ointment to each other’s bodies.
Jaejeong’s forearms were especially thick—his hands couldn’t reach the backs.
His comical struggle to apply it alone even drew a chuckle from Beom-sik, who rarely laughed.
Then Beom-sik stripped, and all eyes locked on him.
The sprawling tattoos snaking from his back and chest, down his abs, hips, and thighs were like an Eastern scroll painting.
And peeking through the gaps: countless scars.
Knife slashes, bone-deep dents.
Traces of fierce survival in his world.
Youngman followed, stripping down.
His body made everything before look trivial.
Bullet holes gouged into flesh, surgical scars of all kinds, botched emergency stitches.
“What’s this?”
Beom-sik pointed to Youngman’s right arm.
Dozens of skull tattoos, each nail-sized.
Not done at once—spacings varied wildly, sizes slightly off.
Compared to Beom-sik’s masterful ink, it was amateurish.
Like ink forced into the skin.
Youngman’s face darkened.
“You don’t have to say. I asked without thinking.”
Beom-sik quickly backpedaled, sensing the discomfort.
But Youngman soon gave a wry smile.
“The number of civilians I killed.”
For a moment, no one reacted.
It was the ‘horrors of war’ none of them had faced.
Or maybe because Youngman’s expression was so profoundly grim.
“Warfields breed things words can’t explain. No excuses here. I got these to never forget the guilt of killing them…”
“Can’t speak to other shit, but yeah—war does unexplainable crap. We just saw that pig bastard.”
“And one more thing.”
Hyun-soo chimed in, recalling something.
“Forgetting the rain and packing panties and socks anyway. Couldn’t explain that stupidity if I tried.”
The frozen mood thawed into warmth again.
Beom-sik ruffled Hyun-soo’s hair roughly, finding him cute.
A smile crept onto Youngman’s face too.
Jaejeong figured it was camaraderie, like battlefield brotherhood.
Surviving brushes with death together forged bonds words couldn’t capture.
He’d seen and felt it countless times in service and as a detective.
Just like Youngman said—sharing the unspeakable.
Jaejeong slipped into freshly washed but damp clothes and entered the storage room.
Last night sleeping on these scratchy sacks.
The exhausted group collapsed like dominoes.
Jaejeong couldn’t sleep easily.
The fallen city had lights flickering here and there.
The hospital’s elevated position let him see them.
Tomorrow, they had to leave.
Head to the Yeouido safe zone—but how?
Driving, probably.
The group had swelled to five in days.
Needed a big vehicle.
The surface lot had plenty of cars, but nothing large.
Bus was too much; a van would do.
Jaejeong sat up.
He walked to the window and scanned outside.
The main building blocked full view, but part of the lot was visible.
“Not sleeping?”
Beom-sik’s voice.
The storage room now hummed with snores.
Jaejeong kept watching outside without turning.
“Gotta. Just… can’t.”
“What’s up?”
“Thinking we’ll need a car tomorrow. But didn’t see a single van on the way here.”
“You know how to hotwire one?”
“What, you offering?”
Jaejeong turned, meeting his eyes.
Beom-sik looked sour.
“I’m no petty car thief.”
“Wish you were right now.”
“Gotta find another way. How’ll you open the door? Smash a window, and the alarm’ll blare like the car’s in pain.”
Beom-sik was right.
Even if he could hotwire it, no way to get in quietly.
Forced entry meant sirens wailing.
Then the basement infected would swarm like dogs.
After that? Didn’t want to think.
Jaejeong crossed his arms habitually, leaning on the window frame.
“Fuck, nothing’s easy.”
“But you thought about this?”
Jaejeong looked up at Beom-sik’s question.
“What?”
“Just in case… what if there’s no safe zone in Yeouido?”
“Why wouldn’t there be?”
“Zombies could’ve overrun it. So, what then?”
“Well…”
Jaejeong trailed off.
Let’s think.
No Yeouido safe zone.
No official shelter.
Government gone, survivors scattered or dead.
“Then what the hell do we do?”
Beom-sik’s eyes turned serious at Jaejeong’s murmur.
This guy’s got no plan. Not that we need one carved in stone, but at least consider it.
“Good thing you’re thinking about it now.”
“Before we leave, radio the soldiers again. They’re linked real-time to the safe zone, so we can confirm and go.”
Beom-sik pondered, then nodded.
Best option for now.
Just figure out transport.
They shared the thought.
The restaurant run wasted too much time and energy.
Planned to strategize tonight, execute tomorrow.
Everything delayed.
Infected