Chapter Text
If Nut had known that was the last time he would wear his school uniform, he would have put on better sneakers, or at least socks without holes.
But there he was, squeezed into the back row of the bus, trying to balance his head against the rattling window as the vehicle snaked along a road lined with tall trees—the kind of path that made you want to look back and check if some strange car was following. The wind seeped through the cracks, muffled, smelling of diesel and wet earth.
"This looks like the set of a horror movie," Tui commented, pressing his forehead against the foggy pane.
"You say that about every place that has trees," Nut replied, his eyes still fixed on the road.
"But this one has an electric fence. I saw it!" the other insisted, flashing a nervous grin. "This is secret lab stuff. It's always the same: they call it 'isolated research,' and then corn with eyes starts showing up."
He made a dramatic gesture with his hands, and a few muffled laughs sounded around them. Nut just rolled his eyes, but deep down, he agreed.
The mandatory end-of-semester trip, disguised as a "vacation" by the school coordination, had been planned for months. In countless friend groups, the countdown had been a promise, an epic escape from the school routine.
Nut, the most curious of the group, had researched the place during one of his bored afternoons. The location had a strange energy—too isolated, almost too silent. He had almost given up on going, inventing the most devastating case of the flu a high school student could have. But all it took was one sharp, silent look from Hong in the cafeteria and the indignant figure of Lego, threatening to burn his comic books if he backed out, for Nut to give in. He went, but he carried the strange feeling of the place in his backpack.
He tightened his seatbelt and tried to take a deep breath. His mind was elsewhere.
More specifically, on the seats beside him, where Hong was sitting, earbuds hanging around his neck, head resting on Nut's pink travel pillow, and a Nintendo Switch balanced on his lap. The screen's glow reflected on his face, which made slight expressions as he played, his fingers quick on the controller. Sometimes he would complain about the game to Lego.
Nut quickly looked away when Hong turned his head, as if he had sensed he was being watched.
They had known each other since eighth grade. A project on marine creatures. Then, another on the bad coffee in the school cafeteria. And suddenly, they were exchanging memes at two in the morning and arguing about who sent the dumbest sticker. It all happened fast. Easy, perhaps too easy.
The bus made a sharp turn. The brakes screeched loudly, and everyone leaned to the same side. The base appeared on the horizon—and it was even more bizarre up close.
The main gate had three electronic locks and two guardhouses with armed soldiers. At the top, a sign read "Shade Green Ecological Reserve." Behind it, a windowless white building with straight, cold lines, resembling a modern prison more than an experimental farm.
"Holy crap, what are they planting here? Carnivorous plants?" Tui whispered, snapping a picture through the window.
Nut frowned, observing the high walls.
"Or zombies."
The joke hung suspended in the air—and for a second, no one found it funny.
🌏🌏
The visit started like any other.
The blonde technician, whose badge read ‘Dr. Eunji – Sector D’, spoke in a rehearsed tone about biofuels and sustainability. The sound of her voice echoed against the white, smooth walls, mixing with the low hum of the active machinery. Every step reverberated as if the floor were hollow.
And then, the first strange thing Nut noticed was when Lego discreetly pointed to a warning taped to the wall.
“DO NOT OPEN WITHOUT COMPLETE PPE!” was written by hand, the paper crumpled and torn at the edges.
“Why isn't this up to standard, huh?” Lego muttered.
Nut walked in the middle of the group, arms crossed, trying to look interested. Hong, beside him, observed the test tubes, as if he were analyzing a movie set.
“This looks like a dystopian film set,” Hong murmured.
“Horror or sci-fi?” Nut replied, raising an eyebrow.
“Depends on who dies first.”
Nut scoffed, but the corner of his mouth betrayed a smile. Behind them, Tui nudged Est with his elbow.
“I bet ten bucks William touches something forbidden before the tour ends.”
“Hey!” William turned, offended, holding his phone like a documentary camera. “I’m just documenting the educational experience!”
“Yeah, and then you’ll post ‘found the secret government lab.’”
William rolled his eyes.
“At least it’ll get views.”
They laughed quietly.
Next, the students were guided off the gravel road and into what appeared to be the reserve's administrative area. These weren't rustic cabins; it was a complex of modular buildings, all light gray with few windows, surrounded by discreet fencing.
The group advanced down the main corridor, the sound of backpacks brushing against each other and the strong smell of disinfectant in the air, which strangely competed with the pine aroma coming from the forest.
And then came the detail: a sound.
It wasn't loud, but it was unsettling. A muffled noise, difficult to pinpoint the exact origin. It sounded deep, resonating from beneath the concrete floor. To Nut, it sounded like a strained, metallic moan. To others, perhaps glass slowly breaking or a heavy object dropping into a shaft.
Distant, yet present, it made Est stop automatically, his sneaker squeaking on the smooth floor.
“What was that?” he asked, his usually loud voice now a tight whisper. His eyes sought the face of the guide, a thin, serious-faced woman who introduced herself as Dr. Eunji.
She didn't even break stride, but the strained smile on her face vanished for a millisecond. Her response came too fast, and her tone was perfectly uninterested.
“Ventilation system! One of the compressors. Don't worry about the noise, this is a research area.”
No one believed her.
Every minute, someone in a lab coat would rush past in the background, holding clipboards and whispering to another technician. None of them looked at the students.
The air smelled of alcohol, ozone, and something sweet, sickeningly so, as if a machine was overheating. Nut felt it in his bones: something was wrong here.
They turned left and entered a hall full of metal tanks. The floor was too clean. No dust, no footprints, as if it had been scrubbed minutes before. The tanks had small blemishes at the base—dried splashes that weren't rust.
Hong stared at one of them for too long.
The technician continued speaking, but her voice seemed distant, as if echoing from another room.
“...and here we produce plant extracts for biofuels. Using state-of-the-art technology, Sector D…”
A new noise echoed.
Dr. Eunji stopped mid-sentence, her silence the only warning.
Something heavy hit the floor, with a dry crack that broke the lecture’s quiet. Everyone turned around.
One of the technicians, the tall man who had been at the back of the group, his surgical mask pulled down, had fallen face-down on the polished floor.
“Sir?” the accompanying teacher stepped forward, hesitant, her voice choked.
He didn’t answer.
His body jolted—a spasm so violent that the sound echoed off the metal and concrete walls. The entire group recoiled, as if an invisible current pulled them back.
Dr. Eunji tried to take a step but stopped, her eyes wide, as the man began to convulse. It looked like something was excavating him from the inside.
Two seconds.
His fingers drummed on the floor as if small bones were breaking.
Four seconds.
The skin on his neck pulled taut, rigid, as if it had suddenly dried, stretching the white fabric of his lab coat.
Six seconds.
A low groan escaped his throat, but it didn't sound human. It was wet, trembling, like the horrific sound of someone breathing water instead of air.
Eight seconds.
He arched his back at an impossible angle, defying anatomy, before collapsing back onto the floor.
Ten seconds.
His head turned slowly, with a dry crack that froze Hong’s blood. His eyes were completely white—not milky with illness, but smooth and opaque like frosted glass.
Twelve seconds.
The man froze, then leaped to his feet in a single bound, without using his hands, as if he had been pulled up by invisible wires.
Nut held his breath. A violent shiver ran down his spine, transforming into pure adrenaline. Hong took a step back, his hand instinctively pulling his friend’s arm with him.
The teacher, still in shock, took a tentative step forward.
“Sir? Are you–”
She never finished the sentence.
The technician smiled. Not a human smile. It was a wide, torn fissure that exposed every tooth. He lunged.
Crack.
He plunged his teeth into the teacher’s shoulder.
The sound was awful and unmistakable. A wet crunch, flesh being ripped. A piece of lab coat—and skin—was caught between his teeth when he lifted his face. The technician raised his head, blood dripping from his chin, and the white eyes locked onto the students. The teacher fell backward, groaning, her hand clamped to her shoulder, blood spurting out.
For an instant, no one moved. The world slowed to a crawl, only the sound of a muffled cell phone ringing filling the void.
Then, someone screamed.
“Run!”
The hallway turned into a pandemonium. Tables and light equipment tumbled over, high-pitched screams of terror, the sound of desperate footsteps echoing on the concrete.
Dr. Eunji dropped her clipboard with a dry clack and vanished through the emergency door. Behind them, the zombie advanced, stumbling, hitting the metal, but fast enough to destroy any hope of calm.
Nut grabbed his backpack, his heart hammering against his chest like a drum. Beside him, Hong seemed frozen for a second, his eyes locked on the creature. Then he started running.
William, in a panic, grabbed the first doorknob he saw.
"Here! Quick, get in!"
"William, don't—!"
But he had already pulled Est, Tui, and Lego inside, the iron door swinging open into the darkness of a room.
Nut stretched out his hand to follow them, but the sound of something dropping behind him made him turn.
Hong’s earbud.
It had fallen on the polished floor, the wire dragging near the body of the teacher who was now staggering toward them, blood dripping from her mouth, her shoulder gushing.
"Hong, forget it!" Nut yelled, his voice barely a whisper.
But the other boy had already instinctively bent down to pick up the earbud.
The door William was holding shut behind them when another student pushed in and slammed it closed. Outside, Nut and Hong only had time to see them disappear.
"Damn it!" Hong hit the door with his hand. "He locked them in!"
The creature—or whatever it was—tripped over a stool and lunged forward in a grotesque movement, its rigid fingers reaching for the air where they stood.
Nut felt his mouth go dry. In one second, he was behind Hong, yanking his arm so hard it made him spin and fall back against his chest.
The zombie passed inches away, its nails scraping the air.
Nut shoved the smaller boy forward, without looking back.
“Go, go!”
The sound of ragged breathing and frantic footsteps echoed down another corridor. Blood on the floor made their sneakers slick, and the siren was now truly blaring.
The hallway flashed red.
A piercing alarm cut through the air, as if the entire structure had caught its breath. Automatic, thick metal doors began to descend from both sides of the hallway, locking down sectors, sealing rooms, separating people without mercy.
Nut grabbed the wrist of a stumbling Hong.
“The doors are closing!”
“That way!” Hong abruptly turned a corner, without hesitation.
They ran a few more steps until Nut spotted a side door with a crooked sign: “Storage – Restricted Use.” Without thinking, he rammed it with his shoulder. The hinge creaked loudly, but the door gave way. Nut slammed the door shut and quickly turned the manual lock with Hong's help. The metallic click seemed to echo too loudly.
The storeroom was small, damp, smelling of cleaning supplies and rusty metal. The only sound now was their breathing—loud, shaky, and uneven. They were safe, for now, and separated from the rest of their friends.
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
Hong leaned against the door, still gasping. His light blue uniform shirt was plastered to his body with sweat, and his hair was slicked to his forehead. He held the earbuds in his hand, as if they were the most important thing in the world.
Nut ran a hand through his own hair, trying to process. His heart was still beating like a drum.
With the cold adrenaline still rushing through their veins, they barely noticed how little space there was. They were practically pressed together, squeezed between the rusted door and a metal shelf stacked with jugs of chemicals.
Nut’s body was larger. Not that the height difference was huge — maybe an inch or so —, but he was noticeably wider in muscle and build than Hong. He knew he was bigger, but now it was impossible to ignore: his shoulders were almost pinning Hong against the door.
Hong tilted his head to look over Nut's shoulder, a quick survey of the small room from behind his friend’s sturdy body, his wide, dilated pupils still glazed with fear.
Hong’s warm breath hit Nut's neck directly, making him shiver. Hong’s hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his mouth slightly open in gasping searches for air. His naturally large eyes were slightly teary, shining like wet marbles.
And for some utterly stupid, absolutely inappropriate reason, Nut thought he looked cute scared. That vulnerable desperation, the brightness in his eyes, the way he sought refuge in the minuscule space. It was the height of madness, coming at the worst possible moment.
"Holy shit..." Nut mumbled, more to himself than to his friend, his voice husky. He was trying to process the image of the spasming body and the blood. "What the hell just happened?!"
Hong looked up, finally focusing on Nut. The dim ceiling light, which filtered in through a small, high vent, made his pupils look larger, almost swallowing his irises.
"I don't know..." Hong ran a hand over the back of his neck, a nervous, automatic gesture. "It wasn't human... that thing bit her, man! Bit her and..." He swallowed hard, reliving the horrific sound of flesh being torn. "Damn it."
Outside, a metallic noise echoed—something heavy hitting the corridor wall. Or someone. Nut instinctively flinched, staring at the door as if expecting it to burst open at any second.
"What about the others!?" Hong asked in an urgent whisper, the words practically lost in Nut's chest. "The guys..."
"They managed to get inside one of the doors," Nut answered quickly, his voice tight. "They'll definitely find a way out."
The sound of screams seemed to be getting further away, muffled by the siren and the incessant echo of the flashing lights outside, turning the hallway into an alarm strobe.
Nut took a deep breath, trying to stabilize the tremor running through his body.
"This isn't happening..." he muttered, leaning his forehead against his left arm. "It was just supposed to be a visit! A bored one!"
Hong watched him for a moment. The way he tried to control his breathing, his trembling hands clutching the hem of his shirt. Instinctively, Hong reached out and placed his hand firmly on Nut's shoulder, squeezing lightly.
"Hey, hey. Look at me."
Nut looked up, too quickly, as if the firm, unexpected touch had pulled him back to the present, anchoring him.
"Are you hurt?" Hong asked, his voice steady but with that familiar tenderness Nut knew from moments of sickness or sadness.
"No... I don't think so. You?"
"Me neither."
Outside, the muffled growls and uneven footsteps grew closer to the metal door, slow but persistent.
Nut kept his sturdy body between Hong and the door, his shoulders tense, as if he could prevent the apocalypse with the strength of his arms. He knew he couldn't, but the thought of Hong being reached before him was simply unbearable.
"Nut, breathe. You're shaking," Hong said quietly, moving his hand from the shoulder to the back of the taller boy in an instinctive, soothing touch.
"I'm not," Nut retorted softly, his voice catching, even though yes, he was shaking. His muscles were no longer obeying him, and the air seemed thicker to breathe. "It's adrenaline, lack of sugar. Or, I don't know, zombies."
Hong let out a short, nervous laugh that came out as a puff of air against Nut's collarbone. And then, the heavy silence returned.
"How are we going to get out if theoretically everyone might be infected?"
His voice was gentle, yet laced with genuine fear. Nut looked away, staring at his friend's face. There was something in Hong’s expression—a mix of vulnerability and raw fear—that squeezed Nut’s chest in a strange, almost painful way.
"I don't know either. But I think if we yell and throw something really hard at them, maybe it'll work."
"That's your strategy?" Hong raised an eyebrow, a disbelieving smile breaking through.
"Got a better one?" Nut furrowed his brows and made a small pout, retorting with forced, ironic humor.
Hong rolled his eyes. Three seconds later, sighing, he reached out and grabbed an old, dented dustpan leaning in the corner. He slapped the object twice, testing its sturdiness.
"Yell and hit them with this?"
"Now you're getting into the spirit of things."
For a second, only their breathing filled the room's silence. Nut pulled his phone from his pocket, frantically fiddling with something.
"If the guys got out, their chance of getting help is better. If we call..."
"If the outbreak started here, it hasn't reached the outside world yet," Hong finished, leaning in to see the screen, the proximity bringing up the familiar scent of mint and fabric softener. "Ah, perfect! Now we have no si—"
The sentence was cut off by a violent crash against the door. The metal rattled.
They froze, their breath caught in their throats.
And another one. Harder.
Then came the scratching—metallic, coarse, like nails scraping in a hurry, with hunger, trying to find the keyhole.
Nut grasped Hong’s arm tightly, almost crushing it, pressing the other boy’s body against his own and slowly pulling him away from the door. The touch was urgent, protective, and warm.
Hong’s skin was cold, but the heat of the contact set off an alarm inside Nut. The kind of alarm you don't want to hear when there’s a zombie on the other side. Hong’s muscles tensed under the touch, but he didn't resist. On the contrary—he threw one arm over Nut's shoulders and the other around his back, pulling him into a full, almost savage hug.
The way he squeezed made it clear: this wasn't just fear. It was need. It was the body seeking survival instinct in a safe point—and that point was Nut.
Nut immediately embraced him back, as if his own body understood before his mind. His arms slid around Hong's thin waist and pulled him close, pressing him tightly against himself. Nut closed his eyes for a second, feeling the urge to cry catch at the back of his throat. He felt Hong’s body pressed against his, hot and tense all at once. He felt the fingernails of tension digging into the sweaty fabric of his back, the adrenaline rising like a fever.
The door shuddered one more time, with a louder thud. The door rattled.
Hong’s body tensed for a second, but Nut moved his hand up his friend's back in an automatic, protective gesture, guiding him deeper into the embrace.
Hong responded by grabbing Nut’s shirt so hard the fabric crumpled in his fingers. Hong’s warm, uneven, and trembling breath hit Nut’s neck.
The door took another blow
Hong’s back shuddered with the impact, but he didn't loosen his grip by a millimeter.
If possible, he pressed even closer, burying his face completely in Nut’s collarbone; it seemed there was no longer a difference between where one body began and the other ended.
Hong felt the taller boy's chest tremble against his, felt the shaky arms tightening around his waist, felt his own heart pounding at a rhythm that had nothing to do with just fear anymore. It was adrenaline. It was too much closeness. It was being too alive.
And then…
Silence.
The scratching ceased.
The door stopped rattling.
The air hung still, heavy, too thick to breathe. The world seemed to have held its breath along with them.
Still embracing, pressed together, they felt their hearts pound against each other. The fear, for a second, turned into something else—something that made their skin hyper-aware.
Nut was the one who pulled away first. Just a few inches, trembling, his breathing still caught in his chest. He looked away, not daring to meet Hong’s eyes. Hong, however, was still holding the hem of his shirt with his fingers laced in the fabric—as if his body hadn't received the memo that the hug was over.
"Holy shit... hm, okay... it's fine. It was just... a fake zombie?" He attempted a crooked smile, but his voice cracked halfway through.
Hong didn't laugh at the joke. He just closed his eyes, leaning his head against the door, his breathing still too rapid.
"That felt like a real zombie to me," he murmured.
Nut shoved his hands into his pockets—more to keep from pulling Hong back than for any other reason.
"I know," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "But I'm testing a new coping mechanism: total denial and stupid jokes."
Hong chuckled, releasing his shirt.
"We need to get out of here," he whispered. "We can handle ourselves, but... not against this. Not against the undead."
"Yeah," Nut agreed, slowly returning to an upright position. "I can take on some idiot at school, but this is another level. The... The Walking Dead level."
Hong took a deep breath.
"You haven't even watched The Walking Dead."
"And you have?"
"Every episode. Even the bad season."
Nut blinked.
"Now that's a real soldier. Stayed in the trenches even when the fans couldn't."
He said this while slowly approaching the door. Each step was slow, careful. He pressed his ear against the cold metal—so cold it sent a shiver down his spine.
Nothing.
No scratching. No heavy breathing. No impact.
“I think it’s gone,” he muttered, turning to Hong. “Or it’s waiting for us to open up.”
Hong grimaced.
“Great. Plan B, then?” He looked around, as if the damp little room could magically provide weapons, secret exits, or a survival manual.
Nut scratched the back of his neck, scanning the room, his eyes moving from the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall to the half-open power box.
“Plan B…” he repeated, clicking his tongue. “Okay. We don't have a weapon, we don't have a map, and we don't have courage. But we have two things the zombie doesn’t.”
Hong raised an eyebrow.
“Fear?”
“Reasoning. And this beautiful extinguisher that, if you look closely, is half my weight.” Nut pulled the cylinder from the wall, his arm muscles straining as he dropped it with a muffled ‘clang’ on the floor. “If we go for silence, they’ll hear us. If we go for force, we’ll die. So, we’ll take control.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Of course it does. If it were safe, it would be Plan A.” Nut pointed to the door, where a smaller shadow slowly dragged its foot, like a dead cat trying to walk.
Hong swallowed hard, but his eyes had that glint of determination that appears when the brain accepts that the body needs to survive.
“Okay. How?”
Nut pointed to a corner of the little room, where there was a shelf with cleaning spray, glass, metal cans, and loose screws.
“A mini-explosion. The plan is to open the door just a crack, throw something far away, cause a massive noise in the corridor… and run the opposite way.”
Hong blinked.
“You know how to make an explosion?”
“...no.”
“Nut!”
“Not totally! I know enough to cause trouble and run afterward! And you know where the exit is. Put that together, and it’s almost a functional brain.”
Hong took a deep breath, measuring the wall, the door, and the ceiling.
“If we time it wrong, we die,” he said quietly.
“If we don’t try, we die anyway,” Nut replied, without drama, just stating the facts.
Hong felt a shiver on his neck.
“Alright, you convinced me. Unfortunately.”
Nut pointed to a large metal can—it looked like an empty paint can, but sturdy. Perfect.
“We wrap some screws with fire inside this and throw it to the end of the corridor. It will hit, bounce, and make noise until the cows come home. And since they follow sound… they’ll go after it.”
Hong moved closer, evaluating.
“But we don’t know what’s at the end of the corridor.”
“We also don’t know what happens if we stay here.” Nut shrugged. “But you know the way. It’s our only shot.”
The logic was simple, cheap, and desperate: create a noise louder than them. Divert attention. Open the door in the single second when no one would be there.
Hong stared at him for five seconds. Then he let out his breath, rotated his shoulders, and cracked his knuckles as if he were about to enter the final round of a fight he never wanted to join.
“On three?”
Nut held the fire extinguisher like someone raising an improvised medieval hammer and nodded.
“One.”
Hong held the metal can with the screws and fire-wrapped rags inside, positioned himself at the door's crack, and unlocked it.
“Two…”
He opened the door just enough for his hand to fit. Three pairs of dead feet were dragging across the floor on the other side. Hong’s breathing hitched.
“Three.”
Hong threw the can with all his strength. It rolled, bounced, and raced down the corridor making a hellish ‘clang clang clang’ that echoed like a metal bull trapped in a tunnel.
The three zombies immediately turned toward the noise—the dragging of feet sped up, the dead breathing grew heavier.
Nut’s eyes widened.
“Now!”
Hong threw the door wide and Nut darted out first, extinguisher raised, pulling Hong by the wrist.
The three undead followed the can, heading in the opposite direction.
The chance was as thin as a sewing thread.
But it was theirs.
🌏🌏
The corridor seemed even longer—not a simple hallway, but a nightmare tunnel that appeared to stretch with every step, as if alive and mocking them. The fluorescent light flickered at an irritating rhythm, an electrical crackle here, another there, casting long shadows that made everything look distorted.
Nut pulled Hong along by the hand, the extinguisher swinging in his other hand, weighing more heavily with every second, but he didn't loosen his grip. The smell of dust, rust, and fresh blood clung to their throats.
The noise of the can echoed in the distance, ricocheting down the corridor like a hellish ringtone. The three zombies followed the sound, stumbling too fast, with the blind obstinacy of something that knows only one direction: hunt. The can was the only coin of luck they had tossed into the universe.
They rounded the first corner, their sneakers slipping on a dark trail. The floor was stained with dried and fresh blood—small droplets that had splattered too far, scratch marks on the wall, trails as if someone had been dragged. Hong dodged an almost invisible puddle purely by reflex, feeling his heart climb to the base of his tongue.
The green sign appeared like a belated miracle: “EMERGENCY STAIRWELL – EXIT.” Hong threw himself at the doorknob as if his life depended on it—and it did. His hand slipped on the metal; the knob didn't budge.
Locked.
Fucking Hell.
“Damn it, it’s locked!” Hong whispered, but his voice was cracked, almost a sob.
He pulled again, harder, his entire arm trembling. Nothing. The door didn't even vibrate. It seemed welded to the very end of the world.
“What kind of building locks the emergency stairs?!” Nut spat through gritted teeth.
“A building that was hiding a zombie outbreak, maybe?!” Hong shot back, the sharp desperation making his voice thin.
Nut dropped the extinguisher for just a second to slam his shoulder against the door. The impact reverberated loudly, echoed like a plea for death.
And then they heard it. Not the three following the can. Others.
Dragging footsteps. Oiled with saliva, wet moans that seemed to come from an overly full throat. Something hit the wall, scraping like bare bones.
Hong slowly lifted his face, holding the air in his chest.
“Nut… I think there are more coming from the right.”
Nut leaned his forehead against the door. Just a second. A micro-interval of emotional purity, the kind of pause that precedes a breakdown. He took a deep breath. His breathing was heavy, determined, returning to his body like armor.
He straightened up.
“I’m going to break this door down.”
“You can’t—Nut, it’s metal!” Hong whispered, almost begging.
“I lifted you, your huge backpack, and Tui at the same time that one time in the gym. I can at least dent a door.”
Hong blinked, incredulous.
“That was because you were mad at us!”
“Then imagine now that I’m scared of dying.” Nut raised the extinguisher.
The collective dragging grew louder. A shadow rounded the corner, slow, disheveled, its body crooked as if it had forgotten how to walk.
Nut didn't wait for the terror to settle.
He struck the door.
The extinguisher hit hard, the metal of the door shrieking in a muffled scream. The impact echoed through the entire corridor as if someone had hit thunder with a hammer inside a tight vault.
Hong held his breath—not from fear, but from the sharp realization that everything was now in Nut’s hands, in the strength of the blow, in the next second that would arrive like a predator.
Another crash. The noise exploded in the corridor as if someone was hitting a sledgehammer inside a giant can. The entire door vibrated. Nut didn't even wait for it to stop trembling before raising the extinguisher again.
And one more.
The metal began to deform, first a faint crease, then a real dent, the kind that clearly signals: there is something absurdly strong on this side. A microscopic gap appeared in the frame, half a centimeter of hope.
“Jesus, this is insane. But don’t stop!” Hong whispered, his voice so thin it seemed about to break along with the door.
Nut drove his feet into the floor, his entire body tensing like a steel cable. He rotated his shoulders, took a deep breath, and delivered one more blow, this time with all the strength fear gave him. The doorjamb squealed, the door shuddered, and a tear opened at the base of the lock.
And then…
CRACK.
It wasn't a common sound. It was a dry, deep snap, the kind of noise that makes a heart skip a beat. The lock finally gave up on life.
Nut grabbed the door with both hands and pulled with all his might. It swung open sideways, dragging and screeching, revealing only a narrow gap wide enough for one person to pass at a time—a single-file line into chaos.
On the other side, the stairwell stared back at them with that dismal air of forgotten places: dim light, stained steps, the smell of mold and dust stored for years. It looked like a vertical pit where the air was heavier.
Hong shoved Nut inside first, practically throwing him.
“Go first!”
Nut jumped two steps at a time, half stumbling, his hand slipping on the rusty railing. Hong grabbed his arm before he could tumble straight down.
And it was then, as Hong turned to enter last, that he saw through the crack of the door…
Something rounding the corner.
Not one body. Two.
And then three.
And then four.
At least four zombies, advancing too quickly for things that clearly no longer understood their own bodies. Their fingers clawed at the wall, leaving white streaks in the plaster. Their legs dragged, but their steps were determined, voracious.
Hong pulled the door and slammed it against the frame with all the force he had.
The metal shook as the first zombie hit the other side, a muffled, fierce sound, like a fist of rotting flesh striking a metal plate.
“Go!” Hong yelled, his voice echoing up the narrow walls.
They tumbled down the stairs, half-running, half-falling, the echo of their footsteps mixed with the incessant thunder of the dead throwing their bodies against the door.
The sound was deafening. As if dozens of hands were punching the world to force their way into it.
And the stairs seemed endless—a concrete shaft that swallowed them while, above them, the apocalypse hammered the entrance, trying to break through.