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vi. SUH-YEOK the really great men must, i think, have great sadness on earth.
MISU USED to run through the very same halls, hand in hand withSuh-yeok—such a long time ago that it became an ancient memory for her.
All she remembers is that he has always been a caring person; he called her a sister; he would often walk her from and to school despite living in opposite ends; he was the type to give her homework answers, even when she did not need them.
Things changed when she met Jinsu, when she realised the world is and has always been fucking unfair and people like Suh-yeok are not real.
She hates him, she really does, though why he stayed behind to protect her even when she is a ghost, she doesn't understand. Many of the thing he does, she doesn't understand, and she hates not understanding.
"I hate you," they hare into the art room, "I hate you."
"I know."
The door hangs on its hinges, barely able to close, its creaks reaching the ears of infected. He hands her the knife and pushes her under a desk while hiding himself behind a canvas. It's painted with the blood of the artist, a work of art itself. Pairs of zombies surge in.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Be quiet."
Anger flares in her. She ignores him and crawls from under the table. Her knees purple and sting, but she pushes herself up. "The weak always die first. You know who is weak?"
He doesn't reply, hand on his mouth to muffle his breathing. An infected walks past her, sensing his presence, but she holds it back with an arm around its shoulder. Briefly, she glances at its neck and a shiver runs on her skin. They are so easy to kill... she is, too.
"People like me, who weren't strong enough to ward them off. And people like you, who dive headfirst into danger to save dead people. Don't do that, Suh-yeok."
Her dark eyes travel to the open window and she nods towards it. He looks between her and the window and shakes his head. "I'm not leaving you," he whispers, voice loud in the heads of the infected.
"Just go!" Her arm draws to her side and Suh-yeok leaps, narrowly avoiding getting bitten. She kicks over a chair, the blood painting, a table, anything to attract the attention to him and ultimately forcing him to obey her and slip out the window.
Squeezing herself between the mass of the blood-thirsty bodies, she sights Suh-yeok, arms wrapped around Cheong-san's waist—the latter who is drooping from a fire hose. A floor beneath them, she sees her classmates looking out the window to the broadcasting room.
Misu slips back before they see her. The predators, having lost sense of human presence, fall back in limbo, twitching and slouching even at a fly's buzz. She herself lounges around some more, studying the state of the schoolyard. Bodies upon bodies, rows of dead students and teachers and whoever dared to step into school the fated day.
Jinsu's creator father is chaos embodied, but she doubts the man feels any remorse for his creation. Such person can hardly be perceived a human, for all he put his family through. All she wishes now is that he is one of them—a monster having lost all his consciousness; a killer like her. And perhaps then all would be well, because he like everyone in Hyosan knows how it feels to live—or die, through terror.
Misu feels for the cigarette pack in her pocket. She draws it in like a zombie draws in the smell of sour flesh and sweet fear. One, two, three sticks in, until all she can feel is her throat burning and the blankness of her mind. The ashes flare the skin of her sticky fingers.
Her thoughts trail, grazing over and not lingering too deep. Mr Cho, her brain suddenly murmurs. The epidemic must have spread outside the school—it has to, Hyeonju was bound to bite someone on her way to the hospital. Hope is futile, either Mr Cho survived, or he did not.
Misu exhales, curl of smoke escaping, her hand feeling for the cold device in her pocket. It's useless, she knows so—but she picks it up and dials the most recent number.
The hospital does not pick up, and neither do the police. Martial Law, she can only guess. The country has abandoned Hyosan, the way Hyosan had abandoned Jinsu.
Her eyes remains on the second recent number. Cho Jinhee... had she gone to school that morning? Is her sister like them, bitten and rotten, craving human flesh for dinner? Misu can not tell if there are any more survivors in school, it seems unlikely, her step-sister must be long gone. A bitter reminder that she is an only child again.
The thought of her mother crosses her mind, and Misu can only hope she's infected too.
The movement to her right breaks her free from thought. A rogue jumps atop the hose that dangled from the window a floor above. Its foot hooks on one of the nooses and it falls upside down, hissing as it slams against the studio window.
She sighs and pockets her phone. A part of her tempts her, watch the disaster unfold, it says. But after Suh-yeok risked his life to try and save hers, can she just stay back and do nothing? Misu is audacious and rude, but she is not heartless. She hates owing people.
Dousing the remaining cigarette on her forearm, the girl tosses it out the window and even with a sizzling body brimming with bruises, she grips the edges of the window and steps out, tiptoeing on the outer section of the building. She doesn't dare to look down—Misu doesn't feel like plummeting down to another death before she does someone a favour. She sticks the knife between her teeth and adjusts herself above the broadcasting room.
