POV: Ara
The forest edge felt unnervingly still.
Every leaf, every branch seemed to hold its breath as I moved through the shadows of the trees, my footsteps light against the damp ground.
The faint scent of pine and wet earth mingled with something darker—more acrid. The wind, once soft and cooling, now carried whispers of something off-kilter, as if the island itself was breathing in unease.
I paused at the tree line, watching the hollow clearing just beyond the dorm perimeter. They were out there again. The infected.
At first glance, nothing seemed unusual. They shuffled in their sick, disjointed way, hands outstretched, dragging their feet, their eyes glazed.
But the longer I watched, the more I began to notice the oddities. One of them—a man in tattered clothes, his hair matted and wild—suddenly turned sharply, his head snapping to the side with a speed that sent a shiver through me.
The movement was too quick, too...intelligent.
My heart skipped a beat. They weren't supposed to be this fast, were they?
The infected usually wandered aimlessly, drawn by sound or smell, but this one...this one had a focus, a sense of purpose. I leaned in closer, heart pounding in my throat.
As I observed, it locked eyes with me from across the field, its pupils wide and unblinking.
My breath caught. It couldn't have seen me. I was well hidden in the trees. But there was something about its gaze, a knowing malice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I needed to get back to the others.
The tension weighed more heavily as I retraced my steps back toward the dorm.
The closer I got, the more it gnawed at me—the sense of wrongness. Something was off. The infected were learning, adapting. They were no longer just mindless creatures. As I stepped inside the barricaded dorm, I was greeted by the hum of worried voices and the sound of students preparing for another long night.
Minjae was fumbling with a stack of books, trying to add another layer to the barricade. The group had settled into a rhythm, but there was an undeniable undercurrent of unease.
I went straight to Jun-ho, who was overseeing the preparations, his sharp eyes scanning the room with a kind of focused calm I couldn't quite decipher.
He'd taken charge without anyone really realizing it, like a steady anchor in a storm.
"How's it looking outside?" He asked, his voice low, authoritative, and steady.
"There's something strange. One of them...a man, he—" I faltered for a moment, unsure how to explain. "He was moving faster. Almost like he was...aware of me." Jun-ho's gaze sharpened. "Faster?"
"It's not just the typical shuffling. He was tracking. Like he knew what he was doing." I nodded.
Jun-ho stood there for a moment, silent. His brow furrowed, and I could see the gears turning in his mind.
I knew he was already thinking of the next step. Of plans, contingencies, things I hadn't even considered yet. Inside, the tension between students was rising, like the thick, oppressive air before a storm. We had all become acutely aware of our vulnerability.
The barrier was holding, but that didn't mean we were safe.
I watched as Jun-ho moved to Minjae, who had been standing a little too still, as though he were holding his breath.
"Minjae. You alright?" Jun-ho asked gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. Minjae stiffened but didn't pull away. "Just...tired. I'm fine."
I could see the strain on his face. We all felt it, but some of us hid it better than others. Jun-ho just gave him a reassuring smile—one that didn't quite reach his eyes. I knew the truth. None of us was fine.
—
It didn't take long for the first injury to happen.
We'd been moving supplies, trying to shore up the last of the vulnerable windows, when one of the younger students, a girl named Sumin, tripped while trying to haul a bag of flour.
She fell, hitting the edge of a broken chair. A low cry escaped her as she cradled her arm to her chest, tears pooling in her eyes.
"Jun-ho!" I called, my voice sharp. He was already beside her, kneeling in the flickering candlelight. His calm was immediate, practiced.
—
POV: Jun-ho
"Let me see." I said, gently coaxing her arm from her chest.
Ara stood back, watching my movements. My hands were sure, my voice a steady anchor in the storm of panic that threatened to overtake the room. It was strange—how easily I could step into that role.
Her injury wasn't severe—just a sprained wrist, but the fear in her eyes said otherwise. She was terrified, and so were the others.
I glanced at Ara as I bandaged Sumin's arm, her expression unreadable. "Get her some water." I said softly. Ara nodded, moving swiftly.
The debate started not long after that, a low murmur rising into a heated discussion. "Maybe we should leave. The dorm's not safe anymore. We've been sitting ducks here for too long." Minjae said, his voice tinged with desperation.
"No. We stay. The barricades are strong. We've already seen them get drawn toward noise. If we leave now, we risk running into more of them outside." I said firmly.
"Are you saying we wait for them to come to us? We can't just sit here and hope we're lucky!" Minjae's voice rose.
I was calm, but Minjae's fear was raw, evident in every word. The students were starting to fracture. Some of them nodded at Minjae's suggestion, others at mine. Ara stepped forward, hesitant.
"We're not safe outside either. We don't know what's out there. And it's already dark." Ara said, her voice steady but soft. My gaze turned to her, an unreadable expression flickering across her face. I could see the weight of the decisions we were all making in real-time. There was no right choice.
"We hold here. We wait until morning. We don't make any decisions out of fear." I finally said, my voice cutting through the murmurs.
—
POV: Ara
As night fell, the sounds outside grew louder. The infected were out there, moving closer. Groans, distant thuds, and strange, hollow cries filtered through the thin walls. My heart beat in time with the distant growls—rhythmic, unnatural.
I leaned against the doorframe, my eyes scanning the perimeter through the cracks in the barricade.
Jun-ho was at the opposite end of the room, listening, his stance rigid, waiting for the next movement.
We had no idea what was out there. What we were truly up against. Then, from the darkness beyond the barricade, a scream tore through the silence. It was high-pitched, agonizing—one of the students.
Before anyone could react, the shadows beyond the door shifted, a shape moving too fast, too sure, too alive.
A student—one of the quieter ones—had disappeared into the night.