POV: Jun-ho
Roll call was never silent.
Even on sleepy mornings, there were always whispers, shoes scraping concrete, someone yawning too loudly. The island mornings had trained us into a loose rhythm—late starts, casual order, staff pretending everything was relaxed while still counting heads as it mattered.
That morning, the silence stood out immediately.
We were lined up in front of the dorms, the air still heavy with last night's clouds. The sun hadn't fully broken through yet, casting everything in a dull, gray-blue light that made faces look flatter, shadows longer.
A staff member held a clipboard.
She cleared her throat once.
"Kim Hyeon-woo?"
No answer.
A few students glanced around. She tried again. Louder this time.
"Kim Hyeon-woo."
Still nothing.
I felt it before I understood it—that subtle tightening in my chest, the same instinct that had woken me up early all week. I scanned the line automatically, counting faces. One short. "He was here last night. He plays cards with us." Someone muttered behind me.
"Is he unwell?" The staff member frowned, pen tapping the clipboard once.
No one answered. She nodded too quickly, like she didn't want to linger. "Alright. Remain here while we verify."
Remain here.
Those words landed wrong. Ara shifted beside me, her gaze already sweeping the surrounding buildings. "They're nervous." She said under her breath.
"So am I." I replied.
A radio crackled at the staff member's waist. She turned slightly away from us, lowering her voice. Static answered. Her jaw tightened. "Jun-ho. What if—" Jisoo whispered from behind me. "I know. Don't jump ahead." I said quietly.
But my feet were already restless. When the staff member finally turned back, she smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Please return to your dorms for now. Breakfast will be delayed." She said.
Delayed.
Not canceled. Not explained.
Just delayed.
As the group began to break apart, I caught Ara's wrist gently. "Walk with me" I said. She didn't ask where.
—
We headed toward the back path near the maintenance sheds, the same direction I'd seen the staff member disappear days ago. The campus felt wrong without the usual noise—too still, like the island was holding its breath.
"Jun-ho. If we see something—" Ara said softly. "I know. We don't rush. We don't become heroes." I said.
That was a lie.
I'd already decided I wouldn't turn away.
We rounded the corner near the storage building. That's when we smelled it. Not rot. Not blood. Something metallic. Sharp. Like iron left out in the rain. Ara stopped walking. I followed her gaze.
Hyeon-woo lay on the ground near the treeline, one leg twisted unnaturally beneath him. His backpack was torn open, books scattered, pages fluttering weakly in the breeze. Relief surged through me first.
He's alive.
Then he moved. His head jerked up too fast, neck bending at a wrong angle. His eyes were open, unfocused, whites streaked red. His mouth opened in a sound that wasn't quite a scream, wasn't quite a breath.
A wet, broken groan. Ara inhaled sharply. "Hyeon-woo?" I called, taking a step forward before I could stop myself.
He lunged.
Not ran—lunged. Like his body didn't remember how legs were supposed to work, only that something ahead of him needed to be reached. Ara grabbed my arm hard. "Jun-ho!" I stumbled back just as his teeth snapped shut inches from where my hand had been.
Up close, I saw it.
The bite mark on his shoulder. Skin was torn, swollen, and blackened around the edges like it had been burned from the inside. His fingers clawed at the dirt, nails cracked and bloody. He wasn't Hyeon-woo anymore. He was something else wearing his face.
"Run." Ara said.
We ran.
—
Panic doesn't arrive all at once.
It spreads.
By the time we reached the main path, shouting had already started. Someone screamed from the opposite side of campus. Another voice joined it. Then another. Students poured out of dorms, confusion flashing to fear as they saw staff sprinting past instead of walking.
Minjae collided with me near the cafeteria entrance. "What the hell is going on? Someone just tried to bite—" He shouted, eyes wild.
A shrill cry cut him off.
We turned in time to see a girl fall near the steps, another student on top of her, mouth red, hands shaking violently as he snapped at her neck.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then everything broke. People screamed. Scattered. Someone vomited. Someone tripped and didn't get back up fast enough. "Get back!" I yelled, my voice tearing out of my chest.
The attacker was pulled off by two staff members—but not gently. They struck him with a metal baton, again and again, until his body stopped moving.
Even then, he twitched. "That's not—this isn't—" Minjae stared, frozen. "Minjae! Look at me. Stay with me." I grabbed his shoulders. His breath came fast and shallow. "This is a prank, right? Like—like a drill?"
"No. It's not." Ara said quietly behind me. The staff began shouting orders, contradictory and frantic.
"Inside!"
"No, stay out!"
"Get to the dorms!"
There was no plan. Just a reaction. Someone grabbed my sleeve. A younger student, shaking. "Jun-ho, what do we do?" I swallowed hard. I didn't know. "Stay together. No running alone. Watch each other." I said.
It felt pathetic. Inadequate. But it was all I had.
—
The moment that broke me came fast.
Too fast.
We were trying to herd a small group toward the gym when one of them—another infected—stumbled out from behind a vending machine. He was taller. Older. His jaw hung loose, blood dripping down his chin. One arm dangled uselessly at his side.
He locked onto us instantly. There was no time to think.
He charged.
Someone screamed my name. I stepped forward. I don't remember deciding to pick up the metal pole lying near the fence. I don't remember lifting it. I remember the sound. A dull, sickening crack as it connected with his skull.
He collapsed at my feet.
Didn't move.
Silence rushed in, thick and suffocating. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the pole. I stared down at him, chest heaving, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
He was a student.
He had a name.
Ara touched my arm gently. "Jun-ho…you saved them." I nodded numbly. But all I could see was his face, frozen mid-snarl, eyes already clouding over. Something inside me shifted. Not hardened. Cracked.
The screams from the dorms started minutes later. Too many. Too close. They echoed across the campus, overlapping, rising in pitch and volume until it was impossible to tell how many there were—or how far the infection had spread.
I turned toward the sound, dread pooling heavy in my gut. This wasn't an incident anymore. It was the beginning. And whatever I'd just done—I knew, deep down, that it wouldn't be the last time.