Blocking the door behind them, they looked around and saw that they had taken refuge in a former café-style dining area — rows of round tables, some overturned, with scattered chairs and a few long benches under dim, overhead lighting. Abandoned food counters and a closed-off bar lined one wall. Trays with half-eaten meals, drinks knocked over, napkins, plastic cups, spilled condiments and utensils were scattered , littering the floor , telling the story of how people had fled in a rush.
Andrew found a chair and sank into it, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His gaze drifted to the group gathered near the entrance — exhausted, frightened faces staring back at him. He groaned quietly, thinking about what came next. He didn't like it, didn't ask for it, but for some damn reason, he felt like he had to take responsibility for these people. It wasn't in him to turn his back, no matter how much simpler that would be. Roughly counting, there had to be over three dozen now.
At least he had the three soldiers under his command, and Jun-hyuk, who'd proven himself capable and steady with a gun.
Scanning the crowd again, Andrew noticed something unsettling — the number of students and teachers had dropped. Some had likely scattered in the chaos, others… might not have made it.
Steeling himself, Andrew pushed himself to his feet. There was one thing that needed to be dealt with before anything else.
This feels like a deja Vu , Andrew thought.
He raised his voice, firm but steady.
"Alright, listen up — I need everyone to check yourselves, and the person next to you. If you've been bitten, scratched, anything — now's the time to say it."
People immediately began checking themselves and each other, pulling at sleeves and collars, inspecting for scratches or bite marks. The room filled with murmured questions and sharp, nervous breaths.
"Anything? You okay?"
"I think so — you?"
Then someone let out a sharp, strangled gasp.
"Oh God — no, no, no—"
A man in his late thirties was holding his arm, the torn fabric of his sleeve stained dark with blood. A ragged bite mark was visible on his forearm, already starting to swell and bruise. His wife clung to his other side, and their teenage daughter burst into sobs.
"No—he's fine," the wife said frantically. "It's nothing, it's—he saved us, it's not deep, it's not—"
The man's face was pale, panicked.
"I—I can make it. I'm okay. We can clean it, right? Disinfect it. I'll be fine."
Around them, people recoiled instinctively. The soldiers tightened their grips on their rifles, tense and uncertain.
Andrew stepped forward, his voice cutting through the rising panic.
"No. It's a bite. You know what that means."
Fear rippled through the room, visible in every face.
The man's wife sobbed louder.
"Please — there has to be something you can do. We can stop it, right? Medicine — antibiotics — anything."
Andrew let out a low breath, thinking quickly. He crouched by his duffle bag, rummaging through the medkit. For a moment, a faint hope flickered in the family's eyes — a moment cruelly extinguished when he pulled out a length of elastic medical tubing.
"What's that for?" the man asked, his voice shaking.
"I'm going to use this as a tourniquet," Andrew said, walking toward him. "Tie it above the bite. Slow the blood flow, maybe buy you a little time."
The man's wife clutched his arm tighter.
"Will that save him?"
Andrew didn't flinch.
"No. Only way to stop this is to amputate the arm."
The room went silent but for the quiet sobs of the wife and daughter.
"No—there has to be another way!" the wife cried.
"I wish there was," Andrew said flatly. "But there isn't. If we don't cut it off now, he turns. And when he does, he'll go after you. I've seen it happen."
A long, heavy silence hung in the air. The man looked at his wife, at his daughter's tear-streaked face. His jaw clenched.
Finally, he nodded.
"Do it."
Andrew gave a single nod, grim and steady.
" Everyone search around or see if you have something we could use for this . And something to heat up the blade if you can — we'll need to cauterize it after."
Around them, the group moved hesitantly, dread thick in the air .
After a tense few minutes, one of the people that followed them hurried back, carrying a heavy meat cleaver from the kitchen — sharp enough to the job . The sight of it made a few people turn pale, some looking away, others murmuring prayers under their breath.
Andrew took the cleaver without a word. It felt heavier than it should have . He'd fought, killed, survived — but this… this was different.
"Move in a different room ," Andrew ordered to the rest , his voice steady though his stomach twisted. "No one needs to see this."
Most of the teachers , students and the families with the children hurried to another room.
Turning back to the injured man, Andrew grabbed a thick leather belt from a table and pressed it into his trembling hands.
"Bite down on this," he instructed, voice low and firm. "It's gonna hurt. Bad. But you can't scream — not here."
The man's wife clung to him, sobbing. His daughter knelt beside him, eyes wide, refusing to let go of his hand.
Andrew had to insist, his voice leaving no room for argument, before the others finally moved to lead the wife and daughter out of the room.
Andrew inhaled through his nose, keeping himself calm. He couldn't afford to hesitate. Not now.
"Hold him down," Andrew ordered, motioning to the three soldiers and Jun-hyuk. They moved without question, gripping the man's shoulders, arms, and legs. Andrew could see the apprehension in their eyes, but like him, they pushed it aside.
He knelt beside the man, looping a length of elastic medical tubing tightly around his upper arm, just above the bite. His hands moved with practiced precision, but inside, his pulse pounded in his ears. He'd patched bullet wounds, set broken bones — but never this.
Never cutting off a part of a man while he was still breathing.
"This'll slow the blood," Andrew muttered, mostly to himself, checking the tourniquet's tension.
For a moment, the weight of it settled on him. The stink of sweat and fear. The blood already seeping from the ruined flesh. The pleading eyes of the man's family.
Andrew shoved it down. No time for it. He was the one they were looking to. No one else was going to do this.
He hefted the cleaver, testing its balance, and positioned it just below the tourniquet. His knuckles whitened around the handle.
"One," Andrew said, voice rough.
"Two…"
He didn't say three.
The cleaver came down hard, a wet, dull thud filling the room.
The man arched, muffled scream biting into the leather strap. Blood sprayed, hot and immediate. One of the soldiers gagged but kept his hold.
Andrew grit his teeth, forcing down the bile rising in his throat. He grabbed the cleanest rag he could find, pressed it hard against the stump.
The room was deathly silent afterward, save for the ragged breathing, the man's sobs, and the faint moans of the dead outside.
Andrew tossed the cleaver aside, his hands slick with blood, and tied off the wound as best he could. His stomach twisted, but his face stayed hard, eyes sharp.
"Someone get the medkit," he snapped, voice sharp enough to cut.
A moment later, one of the soldiers moved. Andrew kept pressure on the wound, not letting his hands shake.
...
The soldier returned in a hurry with the medkit . Taking it, Andrew knelt beside the injured man, his hands steady despite the knot tightening in his gut. He opened the kit, pulling out a disinfectant bottle, gauze, and a roll of bandages.
First, he poured the disinfectant liberally over the raw, exposed stump, the harsh smell filling the air as the man tensed and groaned through the makeshift gag in his mouth. Andrew didn't hesitate — infection control was everything now. He packed the wound with sterile gauze to stem the bleeding, then wrapped it tightly with several layers of bandages, cinching it down to apply pressure.
It wasn't perfect. In a real field hospital, with proper tools and a medic, this would've been cleaner — safer. But out here, in the current situation, it was the best he could manage.
When it was finished, he walked to the room where everyone else was in , he gave the man's wife a look — tired, heavy — and spoke quietly.
"It's done. Keep him still. Watch for fever… but you'll need to be prepared if it doesn't stop the infection."
He didn't have to say more. Everyone in the room understood what he meant.
Afterwards, they carefully carried the injured man to a bench against the wall, his face pale and slick with sweat. The severed arm was placed on a chair beside him, propped upward with a rolled jacket beneath the stump to help slow any remaining bleeding. His wife and daughter stayed close, clinging to his good hand, their faces streaked with tears.
Andrew took a moment, wiping the blood from his hands with a rag before wrapping the severed hand and disposing of it in a trash bin in the corner of the room. The coppery smell of blood still clung to him, to get rid of it he went in a nearby bathroom to clean himself. Now there was no time to dwell.
Needing to assess their surroundings and plan a route out of the city, Andrew turned to the three soldiers.
"I'm heading to the rooftop," he said, his voice low but firm. "Keep this place locked down. Stay sharp — anything comes through that door, you put it down. No hesitation."
The three soldiers exchanged tense glances but nodded in unison.
"Yes, Sergeant."
Without another word, Andrew gave a last glance toward the injured man and his family, then made his way toward the stairwell.
Being a two-story building, it didn't take long for Andrew to reach the rooftop. The afternoon air was thick, carrying the distant sounds of chaos. Hearing footsteps behind him, Andrew turned to see Jun-hyuk, Young-mi , and a few others following close behind. Together, they stepped out onto the rooftop and were greeted by a grim, macabre sight — what had once been a designated safe zone, where so many desperate people had sought refuge, was now overrun with the living dead.
Gunfire cracked sporadically from different parts of the city. It wasn't coordinated or defensive anymore — it was frantic, desperate. Andrew knew it was only a matter of time before every checkpoint, barricade, and outpost would fall. The thin order that had held the city together was crumbling by the hour.
A deep, thunderous BOOM echoed through the air. Andrew didn't even need to look to recognize the sound — a tank had fired. That meant pockets of resistance were still trying to hold out somewhere, but it wouldn't last.
Shaking the thought away, Andrew turned his attention to the surrounding streets and alleys. His gaze swept across the compound. On the far side, opposite the main entrance, he spotted a break in the chaos — two large open gates leading into a rear lot. There, amid scattered debris and abandoned equipment, sat two military trucks and a Humvee. The area wasn't clear, but from what they could see, only about ten walkers were milling around nearby.
It wasn't much, but it was a chance.
"If we're careful and fast," Andrew muttered, half to himself, "we can get down there, take those vehicles, and get the hell out of this city."
Jun-hyuk followed his gaze and gave a short nod. "It's worth a shot" he said, his accent soft but clear .
Remembering, Andrew turned to Jun-hyuk and Young-min. "What about the missing students?" he asked.
Both exchanged a grim look. Jun-hyuk spoke first, his voice low. "We… lost them. When everything started. We were passing some tents — then we got attacked. Ther were too many."
Young-mi gave a solemn nod. "We tried… couldn't get to them in time."
Andrew ran a hand down his face. "I'm sorry. For them." He exhaled, steadying himself. "But we don't have the luxury to dwell on it. We have to survive this , now . Then you can mourn later."
He turned to head back downstairs when a voice from behind called out, "Why leave? We're safe in here. Can't we just stay and wait for rescue?"
Andrew paused, glancing back. "I'll explain to everyone , gathered together," he said curtly, and continued down.
Back in the dining area, Andrew called everyone to gather. The room fell quiet, the air thick with unease as they circled around him.
"Listen up," Andrew began, "we're moving out. There's vehicles still running, down by a parking lot . Two trucks, one humvee. If we're fast and careful, we can take them."
As expected, someone in the crowd spoke up. "Why leave? We've got food, water — isn't it safer to stay and wait for help?"
Andrew sighed heavily, knowing what had to be said. " No , it isn't . There are contingencies in case of failure to contain the situation."
A murmur swept through the group. "What do you mean, contingencies ?" another voice asked.
Andrew hesitated, then settled on a believable half-truth. "I overheard it during a briefing with high-ranking officers. If containment fails… the bombing of heavily infested area's will be authorized ."
Panic flared instantly, voices overlapping. Andrew raised his hands. "I get it — it's a lot. But we don't have time to argue. Either we move, or we die here."
Silence followed, thick and heavy.
"Alright," Andrew called out. "I need drivers. Who knows how to handle a military truck?"
A soldier raised his hand, fear visible on his face . A civilian hesitated, then stepped forward. "I can ."
Andrew nodded sharply. "Good. You two are with me."
Jun-hyuk stepped forward as well, face set. "I go too."
Yumiko took a breath, then stepped up beside him. "Me too."
Andrew gave a tight nod and handed the combat knife to Yumiko. "Aim for the head. Quick, clean."
She took it without hesitation, gripping the handle firmly.
Turning back to the others, Andrew spoke. "The rest of you — gather whatever supplies you can. Food, water . Anything useful. Move fast. When we're back, we leave immediately."
No one argued this time.
.....
Andrew led the group of four, his MP5 held ready. Before stepping out, he gave clear instructions to both the soldier coming with him and those remaining behind.
"Listen up — only shoot if you have no other choice. Gunfire draws them in. Keep it quiet."
The others nodded grimly.
They moved out, slipping between abandoned cars, using them as cover to avoid catching the attention of the larger horde now drifting deeper into the city, lured by distant, erratic gunfire. Andrew briefly considered raiding the compound for more supplies, but quickly dismissed the thought. Even with most of the undead leaving, there were still too many. Not worth the risk.
As they drew closer to the vehicle lot, the ground was littered with corpses . Andrew and Jun-hyuk moved with disciplined efficiency, dispatching any nearby undead with silenced headshots. Andrew took point, Jun-hyuk covered the right, Yumiko stayed to the left, the soldier watched their rear, while the civilian stuck to the middle, head low and eyes wide.
Near the parking area, a lone walker lurched out from behind one of the trucks. Yumiko reacted quickly, driving her knife into its skull. The sound of the body hitting the ground drew a few more from nearby. Andrew and Jun-hyuk swiftly took down the rest, two wearing bloodied military uniforms, the others were civilians.
Once the area was clear, they moved to check the vehicles. Both trucks thankfully had their keys still in the ignition . The Humvee, however, was locked . Scanning the ground, Andrew knelt by the fallen soldiers. The first had nothing. The second, a younger private, still had the Humvee's keys clipped to his belt. Andrew yanked them free.
"Everyone, get in. Be ready to move," he ordered.
Taking a moment, Andrew pulled out his phone — the cracked screen showing it was late afternoon. Not much daylight left.
Sliding into the driver's seat of the Humvee, he turned the key. The engine growled to life. Joining him in the humvee was Jun-hyuk and Yumiko . The two drivers in the trucks did the same. Without wasting time, Andrew led the small convoy out of the lot and pulled up in front of the building where the others waited.
The moment the convoy came to a halt in front of the diner, the door burst open. People spilled out in a rush, clutching bags, backpacks, and hastily stuffed bundles of supplies. Most of them scrambled into the back of the two military trucks, while one figure peeled off and made straight for the Humvee — Erik.
As soon as Erik climbed in, Andrew looked over from the driver's seat.
"You find anything?" he asked, wasting no time.
Erik nodded, catching his breath.
"Yeah — Water, a couple of cases of soda, chips, candy bars… some sandwiches left on the counter, couple of trays of cooked food in the kitchen — still good enough to eat, I guess. Found some cooking oil, bags of rice, a sack of potatoes, and a small stash of canned stuff too — like, barely a dozen cans."
Andrew exhaled through his nose and nodded. "Figured. Perishables , will help for a while . But we're gonna need proper supplies — long-lasting stuff — canned, dried, vacuum-packed. Otherwise, we'll be chewing on spoiled meat in a day or two."
Everyone in the vehicle nodded grimly at the reminder of their situation.
Once everyone was loaded, Andrew put the Humvee back in gear and led the convoy forward, taking a route that had fewer of the dead wandering through it. The streets here weren't as choked with abandoned cars as others they'd seen — some sections had been cleared, likely by earlier military patrols or evacuating civilians.
As they drove, Erik spoke up from the passenger seat, breaking the tense silence.
"So… I heard you are calling them 'undead.' I can understand why. But… it's not exactly good for morale."
He glanced back at Yumiko and Jun-hyuk.
"Maybe we should call 'em something else?"
Andrew considered it for a moment, then shrugged.
"Fine by me. What about 'walkers'? Walking dead, you know?"
Erik smirked, turning to the others.
"What do you think?"
Yumiko gave a small nod.
"Walkers sounds better."
Jun-hyuk chimed in too, his Korean-accented English smooth but firm.
"It fits . We can go with that."
Andrew gave a curt nod.
"Walkers it is."
They continued on, keeping an eye on every alley and side street. As they approached a major intersection, a group of soldiers suddenly burst from a street to the left, running full sprint, rifles blazing. Muzzle flashes lit up the growing dusk as they fired behind them.
Two of the soldiers spotted the convoy and frantically waved their arms, signaling for them to stop.
"Shit," Andrew muttered. He glanced at the others in the Humvee, then grabbed the radio.
"Convoy, hold up — picking up stragglers."
The trucks behind him came to a stop, engines idling. Andrew saw what the soldiers were firing at now — a swelling mass of walkers, at least a few dozen, shuffling after them from down the block.
The soldiers wasted no time. Three of them vaulted into the back of one truck, the rest piling into the other. Their faces were grimy, uniforms tattered, eyes wide with disbelief at the sight of civilians. One soldier locked eyes with Andrew through the windshield, offering a grateful nod.
With everyone aboard, Andrew gunned the Humvee forward and the convoy moved out.
The convoy avoided the worst of the gridlock by taking side streets and service roads cleared earlier during military evacuations. Some of the larger bottlenecks had been hastily broken apart by tanks or Humvees trying to escape, leaving paths through smashed or pushed-aside vehicles. Additionally, several back roads through industrial areas and delivery lanes remained mostly untouched — areas not typically used by civilians in a panic. Following these less obvious routes, the convoy managed to slip through the outskirts of the city and into the open highways beyond before night fully fell.