A Fragile Harvest
Eun-jae stepped forward first, moving with caution. She examined the base of the vending machine the way she might have recalled her old duties managing school facilities, scanning the seams of the maintenance panel on the side and the retrieval slot. A machine in the subway would have been impossible without the proper key, but this was a school model—far more forgiving. The panel beneath the retrieval slot was slightly lifted, and there were clear signs someone had tried to force a hand inside in a hurry.
"We don't need to break it," Eun-jae whispered. "If we pry the bottom open, there's enough space to reach in."
Chae-won handed her the short metal rod she'd taken from the gym equipment room. Eun-jae wedged it into the gap like a lever while Ha-neul braced the opposite side. The metal gave a faint, sharp squeak. All three froze at once, eyes sweeping the corridor. The zombies made no response. Eun-jae applied more pressure, and the lower panel widened just enough to reveal the internal chute where products dropped.
From there, their movements became swift and disciplined. Eun-jae reached inside and pulled out bottled water first. Chae-won selected wet wipes, toilet paper, and sanitary pads, dropping them into a plastic bag—items that would become far more troublesome to live without later. Ha-neul prioritized high-calorie goods: cup noodles, chocolate, packaged snacks, and energy bars. Things that delivered the most energy per weight and lasted. Canned drinks were taken only in minimal amounts; their bulk, weight, and the noise they made when clinking together made them too risky.
Every time something fell from the retrieval slot, a small plastic friction sound followed. The three of them held their breath and checked their surroundings before reaching in again. Only a few minutes had passed, yet the plastic bags were already noticeably heavier. They couldn't empty the entire machine, but they had secured a substantial amount of what they needed most. Once back at the gym, they would have to redistribute everything according to the number of students, but it was clear their situation had improved dramatically since yesterday.
The walk back felt more tense than the way there. The added weight slowed them down, and their hands were no longer free. Ha-neul passed her bag to Chae-won and kept her knife ready. Eun-jae carried one bag in one hand and the metal rod in the other, staying low. They had nearly reached the middle of the corridor when a dragging sound came from an open classroom. All three stopped at the same moment.
A moment later, a blood-stained finger appeared beneath the classroom threshold, slowly crawling outward. It hadn't fully reacted yet. Ha-neul signaled for Chae-won and Eun-jae to fall back, then stepped forward alone. Inside, a female student zombie was tangled between desks, unable to stand properly, though her eyes had already turned toward the sound. Ha-neul didn't hesitate. She struck the neck and withdrew immediately.
When the gym doors came into view, the three of them exhaled in relief. Eun-ah heard their signal from inside and carefully unlocked the door. As it opened, the familiar scent of dust and human warmth rushed out—completely different from the smell of blood outside. It was the scent of people who were still alive.
When the bags spilled onto the mats, the students' eyes changed. A few chocolates and water bottles were enough to stir something close to hope in people. Color returned to their faces as cup noodles, snacks, wet wipes, and toilet paper appeared. At the very least, today and tomorrow would be better than yesterday. Ju-ha immediately separated the wet wipes and sanitary pads, while Eun-ah nearly whistled at the quantity of supplies before catching herself. Chae-won began sorting the items one by one, already calculating distribution based on the number of students.
Eun-jae, silent, looked once at Ha-neul and once at Chae-won. The quiet scouting mission had succeeded. Yet even in that brief success, she thought: this group would not stabilize with a few bags of food. It stood only on tangled emotions, hidden secrets, and a precarious balance of power and trust. For now, however, what mattered most was the water, sugar, and toilet paper piled on the mats.
Still, the atmosphere inside the gym had grown heavier than the day before. Everyone was beginning to dimly realize how long these crises might last. The supplies from the vending machine had felt like a meaningful harvest, and seeing them spread across the mats had given them hope. The moment ordinary convenience items became survival resources hit everyone hard. But that relief didn't last. Having supplies meant they could be counted, and being countable meant they had an end.
Eun-jae took charge of setting the distribution rules. Everyone already knew she was the one who organized situations first and made necessary judgments instead of emotional ones, and she didn't avoid their eyes. She arranged the supplies by type against the gym wall, roughly counted them, then spoke. Her voice wasn't loud, but the gym was quiet, so the students sitting on the floor gradually turned toward her.
"Let's make the rules clear from the start. We'll distribute once a day, and only the minimum. Water especially will be strictly managed. Only the injured or those who've expended significant stamina will get a little extra. It might look like a lot right now, but divided among everyone, it's not much. If we get complacent and run out in two days, our options will be far narrower."
Discontent flickered across the students' faces—not outright rebellion, just the instinctive desire of exhausted bodies for more water and sugar. It was understandable; they hadn't eaten properly since yesterday and had been on edge ever since. Eun-jae saw their expressions but didn't scold them emotionally. Instead, she continued calmly, as if explaining to a child asking for more food.
"With what we have now, we can last three days at most—four if we're extremely careful. After that, we'll have to go outside again. So even if today's share feels small, it's not to make anyone suffer. It's the standard we need to survive tomorrow and the day after."
Her words established one clear premise inside the gym: this was not a permanent shelter. No matter how stable it felt, no matter how well the entrances could be blocked, it was only a temporary base resting on limited resources. Drinking today's water meant less for tomorrow. Opening one cup of noodles meant one less choice later. And that simple truth led to a larger conclusion: they would need to secure more supplies, and then more after that. To survive, they would have to keep going outside. Closing the gym doors and hiding wouldn't last long.
As the discussion dragged on, the conclusion grew clearer. Ha-neul listened quietly beside them, but another picture was forming in her mind. It wasn't just about where more supplies might be. It was about space. The gym was currently the center where survivors gathered, but it was also a place where too many eyes, too much body heat, and too many breaths were tangled together. She needed a private space. Being openly lesbian was one thing; having sex where others could see or hear was another. Even if hiding her relationship with Chae-won no longer felt as urgent as before, that didn't mean they could explore each other in the middle of the gym—surrounded by watching eyes, breathing sounds, and anxious presences.
The reason last night with Eun-ah had been short yet strangely intense was precisely because of the tension and secrecy layered together. But they couldn't keep living like this. They had to avoid zombie attention, student attention, and above all, an environment where someone might interrupt or a single sound could shatter the moment. In such a place, they couldn't rest comfortably or take as much as they wanted.
In short, they needed to claim several corridors, several classrooms—at minimum, an entire floor—as their own territory. People couldn't survive by simply pressing their backs against a single wall. They needed a buffer zone extending outward. Only then could they establish a proper base, and only with a base could order exist. Clinging to just the gym would eventually leave them surrounded by zombies on all sides, trapped the moment the door was blocked with no way to escape. Hiding and avoiding would only push them further into losing ground.
As long as zombies infested the entire school, staying quiet and enduring might work for an hour or half a day, but it was ultimately a passive form of defeat. Zombies were drawn to food, to sound, to movement. No matter how silent they remained, the scent of humans and traces of daily life would accumulate—using water, relieving themselves, opening and closing doors—each action slowly marking their presence in the world. Before that happened, they had to carve out the surrounding area first. Ambushing and crushing the heads of quiet zombies, assassinating those slumped on stairs, sometimes throwing rocks or books down other corridors to lure groups away and pick them off one by one. There wasn't only one method. What mattered was that from now on, they were no longer the ones running away.