ALL OF US ARE DEAD

Ethan, On-jo, and Cheong-san sprinted down the blood-slicked hallways of Hyosan High, their breath coming in ragged gasps, their limbs burning with exhaustion. The corridors, once filled with the dull chatter of students and the occasional scolding of teachers, had become a hunting ground. Blood stained the walls in long, erratic streaks, smeared handprints marking desperate final moments. The guttural snarls of the infected reverberated off the concrete, mingling with the shrieks of students who had been too slow, too unlucky.

A sickening crunch echoed behind them as a boy was dragged down by a swarm of rabid bodies, his screams cutting off with a gurgle. Ethan forced himself not to look. He had no time for hesitation, no room for grief. Survival was all that mattered.

Cheong-san grabbed On-jo's wrist, pulling her forward as she stumbled, her legs weak from fear and exhaustion. "Almost there!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

Ethan threw his shoulder into an infected student lunging toward them, sending it crashing into a row of lockers. The impact rattled through his bones, but he didn't stop. He shoved another back, the force of the motion sending him off balance for a second. Cheong-san caught his arm, pulling him forward. Ethan barely had time to mutter a quick thanks before they reached the door to Class 2-5.

From inside, terrified voices could be heard, whispers overlapping in frantic confusion. Cheong-san pounded on the door. "Let us in! Hurry!"

A girl's voice, high-pitched and quivering with fear, called back. "No! Don't open it! Keep it locked!"

Ethan recognized the voice. Nayeon.

Cheong-san swore under his breath, his fist slamming against the door again. "It's us! Open up, damn it!"

Through the narrow glass panel in the door, Gyeong-su's face appeared, his expression drawn tight with indecision. His hand gripped the door's edge as if anchoring himself to some semblance of control.

Ethan and Cheong-san exchanged a desperate glance. On-jo, still panting, leaned against the doorframe, eyes wide with exhaustion and fear.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the lock clicked, and Gyeong-su cracked the door open just enough for them to squeeze inside before slamming it shut again. The scrape of furniture being shoved back into place followed immediately after.

Inside, the classroom was thick with the stench of sweat, fear, and something metallic—blood, though not fresh. Students were huddled in clusters, some holding makeshift weapons, others simply clutching their knees, their faces buried in their arms. Their eyes darted to the newcomers, suspicion flickering alongside relief.

On-jo collapsed into I-sak's arms, her best friend wrapping her in a tight hug, whispering reassurances neither of them truly believed.

Gyeong-su wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "What the hell is happening out there?" His voice was unsteady, though he tried to mask it with forced bravado. "Are we all… screwed?"

Cheong-san didn't answer immediately. He walked toward the window, pressing his hands against the ledge as he peered out into the chaos below.

Ethan remained near the door, his breathing shallow. His mind struggled to process everything that had happened in the past hour, but the reality of it pressed down on him like a weight. His shirt was damp with sweat, his hands still trembling from the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

A sudden, violent bang at the door made everyone jolt.

Wu-jin, who had been gripping a broken chair leg like a club, jumped into action, his knuckles whitening around his makeshift weapon. "Who the hell is that?!"

A muffled voice came from outside. "It's me—your brother-in-law!"

The tension eased slightly as the door was cracked open again. A large, heavyset man stumbled inside, his face streaked with white powder. He was wheezing, hands bracing against his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

Wu-jin pulled him further into the room, shoving the door shut once more.

Dae-su, still panting from their escape, frowned. "What the hell happened to your face?"

The man waved a hand, still gulping down air. "Some idiot sprayed me with a fire extinguisher. I barely got away."

Cheong-san let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his damp hair. "This is insane. It's like something out of Train to Busan."

A girl near the back of the room, her arms folded tightly over her chest, scoffed. "That's a movie. This… this isn't real."

Dae-su let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "Go look outside. Tell me this isn't real."

Ethan joined Cheong-san at the window, his hands tightening into fists as he took in the scene beyond the school walls.

The world outside was collapsing.

Bodies littered the pavement, twisted at unnatural angles, blood pooling beneath them. The infected staggered between overturned cars, their movements erratic, their heads snapping in the direction of any noise. Smoke curled from a distant fire, a plume of black against the overcast sky.

Then—slam.

A bloodied hand crashed against the glass, fingers dragging down in long, red streaks.

The room fell into absolute silence.

Ethan swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears.

A moment later, the door burst open again, and Heo-seok stumbled inside, barely able to stand. His face was pale, his breathing shallow.

"It's… zombies," he wheezed.

Another shriek echoed from the hallway, followed by a heavy thud against the door.

The atmosphere shifted from fear to outright terror.

Students pressed themselves against the walls, away from the entrance, their eyes darting between the rattling door and the barricade hastily shoved against it.

On-jo clutched I-sak's hand, squeezing so tightly her knuckles went white.

Ethan turned away from the window, his mind racing.

No one was coming to save them.

He had watched enough disasters unfold on the news to know that emergency services wouldn't hold up in a crisis like this. If what was happening in Hyosan High was happening everywhere, then the police, the military—hell, even the government—would already be overwhelmed.

No one was coming.

It was just them now.

Ethan looked at On-jo, who was rifling through abandoned backpacks, searching for a working phone. Her face was drawn with exhaustion, but there was still something strong in her eyes—a flicker of hope, or maybe just stubbornness.

She looked up as he approached.

"Are you okay?" Ethan asked softly.

On-jo swallowed, her throat bobbing. "I… I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan hesitated, then reached for her hand. His grip was firm, steady.

"Stay close to me," he murmured. "I'll protect you."

She blinked, studying his face as if searching for something—certainty, maybe, or reassurance.

Slowly, she nodded, squeezing his hand in return.

Neither of them spoke after that, but in that brief moment, as the infected clawed at the doors and the world outside crumbled, a silent understanding passed between them.

No one was coming.