My walking dead friend.

The moonlight filtered through the shattered windows of the second-floor hallway, casting long, skeletal shadows across the linoleum floor. It had been hours since the fall, hours since the world had narrowed down to the rhythmic sound of two sets of footsteps—one steady and deliberate, the other dragging and erratic.

Cheong-san tightened his grip on Gyeong-su’s hand. The skin was cold, a pale, sickly grey that looked ghostly under the fluorescent lights that still flickered sporadically. Gyeong-su didn’t pull away. He didn’t growl. He simply followed, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, his bloodshot eyes staring at the back of Cheong-san’s head with a vacant, lingering devotion.

"We need to find a place for the night," Cheong-san whispered. His own voice sounded thunderous in his ears. Every drop of water leaking from a pipe, every distant groan of the undead three floors up, every heartbeat of a terrified student hiding behind a locked door—it all flooded his brain like a tidal wave. Being a 'halfbie,' as he had started to think of himself, was an sensory overload he was still struggling to manage.

Gyeong-su let out a low, guttural huff behind the cloth muzzle Cheong-san had fashioned from a torn gym shirt. The small brass bell Cheong-san had scavenged from the faculty office and tied to Gyeong-su’s wrist gave a tiny, silver *ting*. It was a cheerful sound in a place of death, a tether to reality.

"I know, I know. You’re hungry," Cheong-san murmured, stopping in front of the biology prep room. He checked the hallway. A few 'ordinaries'—the full zombies—were milling about near the stairs. They ignored him. To them, he smelled like the void, like one of their own, despite the warmth still radiating from his skin and the logic still functioning in his mind.

He led Gyeong-su into the room and locked the door. The smell of formaldehyde was stifling, but it masked the scent of living blood that occasionally wafted through the vents, keeping Gyeong-su from agitating.

Cheong-san sat his friend down on a lab stool. Gyeong-su wobbled but stayed put, his red sneakers scuffing the floor. Cheong-san reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he untied the cloth muzzle.

"Don't bite me, okay? Just... stay calm."

As soon as the cloth fell away, Gyeong-su’s jaw snapped instinctively, his teeth clicking together. But then, those red, clouded eyes flickered. He looked at Cheong-san, and for a fleeting second, the mindless hunger receded. He let out a soft whine, a sound so human it made Cheong-san’s heart ache.

"Good boy," Cheong-san choked out, reaching into his pocket. He had found some raw meat in the cafeteria’s walk-in freezer earlier—scraps that the zombies hadn't bothered with because they preferred their prey screaming. It wasn't enough, but it kept the beast at bay.

As Gyeong-su ate, his movements jerky and feral, Cheong-san leaned his back against the cold lab table and stared at the ceiling. He touched the wound on his shoulder. It had already scabbed over with a thick, blackish crust. He didn't feel pain anymore, not really. Just a dull, heavy thrumming where his humanity used to be.

He thought of the others. On-jo’s face as he fell... the way she had screamed his name. It felt like a memory from a different lifetime, a dream dreamt by a boy who was worried about grades and fried chicken. Now, he was a monster’s keeper. He was a monster himself.

"They think we're dead, Gyeong-su," Cheong-san said quietly, watching his friend lick his fingers with a terrifying intensity. "Maybe it's better that way. If Su-hyeok saw you like this... if he saw me... he’d have to kill us. And I don't want to fight him."

Gyeong-su paused, the bell on his wrist jingling as he tilted his head. He crawled closer, his movements more like a predatory cat than a teenage boy. He leaned his forehead against Cheong-san’s chest, sniffing the air.

Cheong-san didn't flinch. He wrapped an arm around Gyeong-su’s shoulders, pulling him into a one-sided hug. "I'm still here. I'm not leaving you."

The silence of the room was interrupted by a sudden, sharp crash from the floor above. Cheong-san’s ears twitched. He could hear it clearly: the heavy thud of a table being overturned, the frantic scraping of sneakers, and then—a voice.

"Na-yeon, shut up! They’ll hear you!"

It was Wu-jin. Cheong-san stood up abruptly, his heightened senses narrowing in on the sound. They were still in the broadcasting room, or perhaps they had moved to the music room.

Gyeong-su heard it too. His posture changed instantly. The docile 'child' vanished, replaced by a creature of pure instinct. He let out a low, vibrating growl, his muscles tensing for a spring. He lunged toward the door, his fingernails clawing at the wood.

"No! Gyeong-su, stay!" Cheong-san grabbed him by the back of his uniform, using his newfound strength to yank the zombie back.

Gyeong-su turned on him, snarling, his teeth bared. The hunger was winning. The scent of his former classmates—of fresh, terrified blood—was a siren song he couldn't resist.

"Gyeong-su! Look at me!" Cheong-san shouted, pinning him against the lab table.

For a moment, they wrestled. Cheong-san was horrified by how much he had to exert himself. Gyeong-su wasn't just a zombie; he was a vessel of pure, unbridled adrenaline. The bell on Gyeong-su's wrist rang frantically, a chaotic staccato that echoed the panic in Cheong-san's chest.

"It's me! It's Cheong-san!"

He grabbed Gyeong-su’s face, forcing the zombie to look at him. "You liked me, remember? You always followed me around. You made those stupid jokes. You... you were going to tell me something before all this happened. Don't do this. Don't make me watch you eat them."

Gyeong-su’s snapping jaws slowed. He stared into Cheong-san’s dark brown eyes, and a tear—thick and tinged with red—leaked from his left eye. He slumped, the tension leaving his body as he let out a broken, wheezing sound.

Cheong-san exhaled, his forehead dropping to rest against Gyeong-su’s. "Thank you. Thank you for staying."

He quickly moved to re-apply the muzzle. He couldn't risk it. If the group moved, he had to move too, but in the opposite direction. He had to lead Gyeong-su away from the scent of the living.

"We have to go," Cheong-san whispered, grabbing his backpack. "We'll go to the roof on the other wing. It's further away from them."

They slipped out of the biology room and back into the dark corridor. Cheong-san was a shadow, moving with a grace he’d never possessed as a human. Gyeong-su followed him, the bell on his wrist giving a soft, rhythmic *clink-clink-clink* with every step.

As they passed the stairwell, Cheong-san stopped. He smelled something different. Not the metallic tang of blood, but the sharp, acidic scent of fear and... perfume?

He pulled Gyeong-su into the shadows of a locker alcove just as a door creaked open at the end of the hall.

It was Na-yeon.

She looked disheveled, her pink cardigan stained with dirt and sweat. She was holding a plastic water bottle, her eyes darting around with a mixture of terror and a strange, hollowed-out guilt. She had been kicked out, or perhaps she had run away.

Cheong-san felt a surge of cold, white-hot rage. This was the girl who had killed his best friend. She had rubbed zombie blood into a scratch just to prove a point. She was the reason Gyeong-su was a walking corpse and Cheong-san was a freak of nature.

Gyeong-su sensed his anger. He stepped forward, the bell jingling.

Na-yeon froze. She turned her head toward the sound, her breath hitching. "Who's there?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Cheong-san watched her. He could end it right now. He could let go of Gyeong-su’s hand and let the infection take its revenge. He could watch her face as she realized that the boy she murdered had come back for her. It would be justice. It would be easy.

Gyeong-su strained against Cheong-san’s grip, his muffled growls sounding like a distant storm.

"Cheong-san?" Na-yeon gasped, squinting into the darkness. "Is... is someone there? Su-hyeok? Is that you?"

She took a step closer, her hand reaching out.

Cheong-san looked at Gyeong-su. The zombie was focused entirely on her throat. But then, Cheong-san looked at Gyeong-su’s hand—the one he was holding. It was the hand Na-yeon had infected.

If he let Gyeong-su kill her, Gyeong-su would truly be a monster. And Cheong-san would be the one who made him one. Mrs. Park’s voice echoed in his head: *A student is a student, no matter what.*

"No," Cheong-san whispered to himself.

He reached out and grabbed a loose fire extinguisher from the wall bracket. With a strength he didn't fully understand, he hurled it down the opposite end of the hallway.

*CLANG!*

The heavy metal cylinder smashed into a trophy case, the sound of breaking glass shattering the silence like a gunshot.

"Aah!" Na-yeon screamed, spinning around and bolting back into the room she had come from, slamming the door and locking it with a frantic click.

The noise drew the attention of the zombies on the lower floors. Cheong-san heard them coming—the collective groan of a hundred hungry mouths.

"Come on," Cheong-san urged, pulling Gyeong-su toward the service elevator. "We can't stay here."

They climbed the stairs to the rooftop of the gymnasium wing, far from the main building where the others were trapped. The air was colder here, the wind whipping through Cheong-san’s hair. Below them, Hyosan was a sea of fire and darkness. The city was dying.

Cheong-san led Gyeong-su to the edge of the roof. They sat down, their legs dangling over the precipice. Cheong-san took out a small piece of chocolate he’d found in a locker—his own hunger was different, less urgent but more complex. He took a bite, but it tasted like ash.

Gyeong-su sat beside him, his head resting on Cheong-san’s shoulder. The muzzle was back on, and the bell was silent as he remained still.

"Do you think they'll come for us?" Cheong-san asked the stars. "The army? Or will they just burn the whole school down?"

Gyeong-su didn't answer, but he shifted, his cold hand fumbling until his fingers brushed against Cheong-san’s. He didn't grab it with the strength of a predator; he simply let his hand rest there, a mimicry of the friendship they had shared for a decade.

Cheong-san looked at the red sneakers Gyeong-su wore. They were scuffed and bloody now, but they were still the same shoes Gyeong-su had been so proud of.

"I'm going to get us out of here," Cheong-san promised, his voice cracking. "I don't know how, and I don't know what we'll be when we get to the other side, but I'm not letting them kill you. And I'm not letting you become just another one of them."

Gyeong-su let out a soft, rattling sigh. For a moment, the bell on his wrist gave a single, delicate *ting*.

Cheong-san leaned back, closing his eyes. His hearing picked up the sound of a helicopter in the far distance, the screams of the city, and the steady, slow thud of his own heart. He was a bridge between two worlds, and as long as he held Gyeong-su’s hand, he wasn't ready to let go of either one.

"Sleep, Gyeong-su," he whispered. "I'll keep watch."

In the moonlight, the two of them looked like any other pair of teenagers taking a break from the world, if one ignored the blood, the muzzle, and the fact that one of them was no longer breathing. They were together, and in the apocalypse, that was the only thing that mattered.