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IT HAD BEEN nearly four months since the outbreak first devastated the city of Hyosan, taking away and destroying the lives of many innocent people, including that of the small group of young high school students who experienced the brunt of it.
It had been nearly four months since the surviving students were rescued at a military checkpoint shortly after they fought for their lives in the abandoned neighborhood. They went willingly despite having lost three people: Wu-jin, Yu-ri and Nam-ra.
It had been nearly four months since they were shoved into a quarantine camp where they were finally given the food, water, clothes and sanctuary they had longed for throughout all of the sleepless nights they spent inside of their school and on rooftops.
It had been nearly four months since Moon Yu-ri spoke to her friends after she'd woken up in the middle of the evacuated neighborhood with nothing but an excruciating headache and her Bucket List journal in her tired hands.
The stench of ashy smoke enveloped the air as Yu-ri shot up from the dirty cement where her body was resting. Instantly, she began coughing, clutching at her chest as she choked up whatever of the debris had made its way into her lungs.
It was like waking up from a sick nightmare. As she recaught her breath, she inhaled deeply before glancing down at her Bucket List journal in her lap. At the mere sight of it, the memory of her last hours came flashing back to her.
She remembered losing her balance, falling and hitting her head, and the pain that made her succumb to what she thought was her death. Glancing around at the cold floor where her body sat and the bodies of the dead all around her, she realized that she was completely by herself.
Her friends had left, really thinking that she was gone and, honestly, in her last moments, she thought she was gone too. She couldn't understand how she was awake and breathing. Maybe this was the afterlife. Maybe this was what her heaven looked like and there was truly no way she'd ever be able to escape the horrors of the apocalypse and being alone.
However, the Bucket List in her hands told her otherwise. She clutched it tightly, feeling the chill leather on her sore fingertips. It felt too real, there was no way that she wasn't awake.
But how?
Lifting her hand up, she brought it to the back of her head, feeling for the place where she had hit it. Her fingers brushed over what seemed to be a scab. It barely hurt when she touched it and there was no sign of anymore bleeding. It was almost as if it was beginning to heal.
She glanced down at the scratch on her arm and for some reason, it looked as if it were healing too. Not an open scratch anymore, but rather a scar; a fresh scar.
