Hands Stained with Blood
Late at night.
The barracks shared by Jaejeong and Youngman were so quiet they bordered on deathly still.
Jaejeong couldn't bring himself to speak, unnerved by Youngman's unnatural silence.
Youngman had sealed his lips tight ever since returning from the boundary zone early that evening.
Something had clearly happened.
But more than that...
Jaejeong had been losing his mind from the itch at the stitched wound ever since earlier.
His thick arms made it impossible to reach the back of his upper arm properly.
Normally, he'd crack a joke about it itching, and Youngman would laugh and mime scratching it for him.
But Jaejeong sat there rubbing his back against the canvas tent wall—no dice.
'Ah! I can't take it anymore!'
He shot up from his seat and paced at the tent entrance.
Yet Youngman just lay there, still dazed, propped against the wall.
'...This is driving me insane.'
With a short sigh, Jaejeong scanned the surroundings with a grave expression.
Paper boxes stacked thick against one wall.
Gifts from the doctor.
Piled as high as Jaejeong himself, their corners had never looked so damn perfect.
He stole a glance at Youngman, then pressed his back against a box corner.
Now for that sweet scratch.
'Side to side?'
The hulking man splayed his legs like a crab and rocked his body left and right.
But it fell short of relief.
He couldn't hit the stitches directly, so he had to work the area around them—and side-to-side wasn't cutting it.
No way he was giving up, though.
Hands on hips, careful not to reopen the wound.
'Up and down!'
Jaejeong dropped into awkward squats and stands like some aerobics newbie.
'Damn. Not enough.'
He just needed someone to nail it exactly three times.
One more long sigh.
He stretched his arms wide, drew a deep breath, and tried reaching back—up, down, whatever.
But the wound stayed out of reach.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Youngman finally spoke, his voice laced with a sigh.
"Oh, you were watching?"
"Of course I was. Can't ignore a bear thrashing around nonstop."
"Well... you see..."
"Pardon the intrusion."
Youngman looked baffled, waiting for an answer as Jaejeong fumbled for words.
Someone had arrived at the tent.
'Who the hell?'
Stepping in were none other than Kim Chan-yeol and Sergeant Choi.
And trailing them was a man with an awkward expression.
Lee Beom-sik.
"Huh? What brings you here this late?"
Jaejeong blinked in confusion, twisting his back and shoulders as the itch worsened.
Beom-sik glanced at Youngman, then pulled out a cigarette and beckoned.
Jaejeong's face lit up.
'Perfect—I'll get this guy to do it.'
The two headed behind the tent.
"Hey, before you light up..."
"I've got something important to say."
Beom-sik lit his smoke, his eyes dead serious—more than ever.
Jaejeong swallowed the words on his tongue.
His hand, meant for his back, drifted to his forehead instead as he scratched his head sheepishly.
'What's with everyone today?'
"Spit it out."
Jaejeong lit his own cigarette, scowling.
"You heading to the tower tomorrow?"
"Yeah, probably."
"One favor."
Beom-sik's gaze was unusually meek.
'Never saw that coming.'
Jaejeong's eyes widened in curiosity.
"What favor?"
"How many can we relocate from our zone?"
"Dunno. Why? You said you weren't going anyway."
"I am. But..."
"But?"
Jaejeong pressed as Beom-sik trailed off.
"Not alone. Got a girl... gotta bring her."
"A girl?"
After hearing Beom-sik out, Jaejeong waved a hand, curiosity piqued.
"Hold up. So that guy died, and you're taking responsibility for the kid?"
"Yeah."
Beom-sik eyed Jaejeong warily as he answered.
He'd never begged anyone in his life, but needs must.
"You sure?"
"Thought it through."
"Fine, if you're set on it. I'll bring it up. No guarantees, though—you know that."
"That's enough."
"But Beom-sik..."
Jaejeong stubbed out his cigarette and continued.
"What happened with the old man earlier?"
Beom-sik's darkening face said it all.
Truth was, Jaejeong had clocked it the moment Beom-sik entered— that look he shot Youngman.
Something had gone down between them.
"Tell me. What's got you like this?"
"Ask the old timer. You're with him anyway."
Beom-sik dodged, clearly uninterested.
"He'd just say the same as you."
"..."
Beom-sik took a final deep drag before relenting.
"Shit went down 'cause I said I'd take responsibility for the kid."
"How's that a problem?"
"Guess he doesn't trust me. Said I couldn't handle it."
Jaejeong snorted at the answer.
No surprise—they'd never meshed.
Their styles, personalities—pure clash of thorns.
No common ground.
"So what'd you say back? That explains the old man's face. Looks like back at the shop when Minyoung was gone—no talking."
"That important? What I said?"
Beom-sik's eyes chilled.
"Always with the 'again, again, again.' See, that's your problem. You think I'm picking a fight? Or gonna chew you out? I'm trying to smooth it over here. Just asking straight—what'd you say?"
"...Ask the old man. I've got nothing."
"Fine. Get lost."
Kim Chan-yeol and Sergeant Choi saluted and vanished.
Jaejeong watched Beom-sik's retreating back for a moment, then returned to the tent.
Youngman still slumped, shoulders drooped.
"Getting pretty chilly now that night's here. Brr."
Jaejeong plopped down, forcing levity.
Still, Youngman stayed silent.
After watching him a bit, Jaejeong sat on his cot and leaned back.
Suddenly, they mirrored each other.
"Old man."
"Speak."
Youngman answered without looking.
"Beom-sik's always been like that. You know."
"..."
Youngman remained mute.
"He feels bad, but when I asked what he said, he clammed up. What else could it be? Just lashed out in anger."
"Defending your friend?"
"Huh? Friend? Nah, come on... Anyway, not that. Just trying to fix it. No need for this between us."
Youngman shut down again at Jaejeong's words.
Staring at his sealed lips, Jaejeong thought how alike they were in this.
Youngman probing if he was covering, Beom-sik sharpening his glare at the question.
As Jaejeong stared frustratedly into the tent, half-reclined Youngman muttered.
"Barely holding back."
"If you're pissed, let it out."
"Not that."
"Then what?"
"What that fellow said was all true, and that's why it burns. Doesn't matter who said it—the truth of it does. And knowing it's right makes it worse. I..."
Youngman trailed off; Jaejeong grew impatient.
"Say it plain."
"I've... killed too many. So much blood on these hands, death itself scares me."
Jaejeong's face turned serious.
Youngman's stress ran deeper than he'd thought.
What the hell had Beom-sik said?
"Looking back, maybe I came off as dismissive. No intent, but still. Taking a life under your wing—easy in good times? World's hard enough to survive alone."
"True enough."
"He snapped at the end. Said save the sermons for the daughter I raised on blood money from chopping throats of strangers."
"What?"
Jaejeong's eyes bulged.
Even in anger, some lines you don't cross.
To a man who tattooed his guilt over unintended civilian deaths in war.
"He's right, though. No one's said it, but it's near gospel. Yeah, I raised Minyoung on blood-stained cash. When she chose doctor, my heart lightened a bit—true."
"What choice did you have? Kill or be killed. War's like that."
"No words change the murders on my soul."
Jaejeong knew war.
How brutal, savage.
But Beom-sik didn't.
So it must've cut Youngman deeper.
Pointing fingers now was pointless.
Beom-sik's eyes earlier said it: sorry, but Youngman was wrong too.
"Remember when we first came down from that building? First zombies?"
"How could I forget? You puked your guts out—quite the sight."
Youngman snorted, reminiscing.
"Yeah. Beom-sik was pinned under a girl zombie, couldn't move."
"Mm. Had a tube in."
"Beom-sik had a little sister. Or has—don't know if she's alive."
Youngman's gaze shifted to Jaejeong at the surprise.
Jaejeong stared off, continuing.
"Dunno if I should tell, but he won't say it himself. Dad was heavy with the abuse. Mom died escaping it. Sister much younger, disabled—dad spared her beatings, apparently. One day Beom-sik comes home from school, finds her getting hit. Lost it, grabbed whatever, swung... That day, both orphans."
"No dependents, so no juvie at least."
"Nah, parricide—heavy sentence. Too old for juvenile."
"Wait, what about the sister?"
"No clue. By the time he got out of juvie, even her survival was unknown. Wild, right? In today's world, disaster."
"Unbelievable. So he should've just watched his disabled sister get beaten? Killing dad was wrong, but not without cause."
Youngman heated up.
"Exactly. But think—he was a delinquent, in and out of stations. With that temper, you think he explained to the judge? Sister couldn't testify clearly on abuse anyway. Different era—people hushed it up."
"...Damn. Hearing this, feels like I fucked up big. I get why he snapped. My meddling as an old-timer—my fault."
"Nah, don't beat yourself up. From your side, weird some stranger takes on a kid outta nowhere."
Youngman sighed deeply.
Imagining Beom-sik's gaze on a child—it didn't sit right.
Maybe it was all inevitable.
Life threw these curves sometimes.
Choices that felt predestined.
Youngman closed his eyes; his late wife's face flashed by.
Infected People