POV: Ara
The morning was a bitter reminder of the reality we were all trapped in.
The early light cast long shadows across the island, the sun hesitant to rise above the thick, restless clouds.
There was no time to appreciate the beauty of the coast now. Only the urgent, sharp noise of shuffling feet on the cracked, uneven floor filled the air as the group prepared to leave the dorms.
The barricades had held, but for how long? Jun-ho was at the front, as usual.
His voice, calm yet firm, cut through the murmurs of the students, now gathered in the common room, sorting through weapons and supplies.
It was a far cry from the careless mornings we had once known, the days filled with laughter and sunlight, before all of this. Now, it was only survival.
"We leave in twenty minutes. Everyone, grab a weapon. We move quickly, and we move together." Jun-ho said, voice low but carrying a weight of authority that had only solidified over the past days.
I watched the others, their faces pale, their eyes wide, as if the world itself was closing in on them. Some, like Minjae, looked defiant, a fire burning behind his eyes.
Others, like the younger students, looked uncertain, as if their bodies were here, but their minds had yet to accept the truth of what had happened.
I stepped closer to Jun-ho, my thoughts drifting back to the night before.
He had taken charge without hesitation, led the group with strategic precision, but I had noticed the exhaustion in his eyes. The same exhaustion clung to all of us, each of us barely holding it together, pushing forward because we had no other choice.
As I prepared my own pack, I caught Jun-ho's eyes for a brief moment, his gaze steady but distant.
He wasn't afraid—he never was—but there was something heavier in his expression. It was as if he were carrying the weight of all of our survival, and there was no way to share that burden.
A faint chuckle broke through the tense air as Minjae fumbled with his makeshift spear, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"Easy there, Minjae. The zombies will just laugh themselves to death if they see you stumbling like that." Jisoo said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the situation. Minjae shot him a glare, but then, as if realizing he couldn't hold the tension any longer, he let out a small laugh, albeit reluctantly.
"Just trying to keep up with you, Jisoo. Not all of us can be born survival experts." He muttered, adjusting his grip on the spear.
His words were light, but his eyes—wide with panic just hours before—now held a glint of something softer, more human. I wasn't sure if it was relief or just the need to survive in whatever way we could.
By the time we had gathered our weapons and supplies, the group had settled into a strange sort of routine.
The feeling of impending danger loomed over us like a constant shadow, but we moved with purpose.
"Ready?" Jun-ho asked, looking over the group one last time. His gaze lingered on each face, reading the fear, the doubt, the questions without words. He didn't need to ask anyone to trust him. He already knew they would, or at least, they would follow him because they had no choice.
Minjae, still tense but trying to mask it, nodded. "Let's get this over with."
The escape from the dorm was slower than I would have liked. Every creak of the floorboards, every shift in the wind outside, sent my heart into overdrive. But we had to keep moving. There was no time to linger.
We reached the dorm's front doors, the barricade still intact.
The moonlight had softened the edges of the night, and for a split second, it felt almost peaceful—like everything could go back to normal if we just ignored the world around us.
But then the stench hit.
The foul, acrid odor of decay, the telltale scent of the infected, flooded my nostrils, and I felt my stomach churn. Jun-ho stopped, raising a hand. His body tensed, signaling the others to fall silent.
I followed his gaze, scanning the night. There, on the edge of the trees, a figure stumbled into view.
At first, I thought it was a trick of the moonlight, but no.
It was moving slowly, dragging one foot after the other, its head tilted at an unnatural angle. The unmistakable stagger of the infected. A few more appeared, their faces slack, eyes glazed, their ragged breath harsh in the still air.
Jun-ho didn't hesitate. He raised his hand again, signaling for us to move. Quietly, carefully, we slipped out of the dorm, the group tightening into formation.
I was the last to leave, casting one final glance behind me.
The moon hung heavy in the sky, but the shadow of the dorm seemed to linger, as if reluctant to let go of what we had lost.
We moved swiftly, cutting through the narrow paths behind the dorm, my heart pounding in my chest with every step. The forest around us felt alive—every rustle of leaves, every snap of twigs, every distant groan sent my mind spiraling.
But we made it. We moved like shadows through the trees, a group of survivors clinging to what little hope we had left.
I glanced at Jun-ho, his face grim, his jaw clenched in concentration. He was leading us with cold precision, every movement calculated, every decision purposeful.
But then, the noise hit—a sudden, sharp scream.
One of the younger students—Tae-yeon—had tripped. His leg twisted awkwardly beneath him as he fell, and a loud, sharp cry of pain tore from his throat. "Stay down! Everyone, stay low!" Jun-ho shouted, already turning toward him.
I rushed toward Tae-yeon as the others scrambled for cover. The infection was too close now, too present.
The students who had tripped or faltered were becoming liabilities. But there was no time for hesitation.
"Tae-yeon, you okay?" I crouched beside him, my hands shaking as I examined his injury. He winced, his face pale. "It's just a sprain. You'll be fine, but we need to keep moving." I said quickly, relieved it wasn't worse.
But as I helped him up, I could feel the weight of the situation growing heavier. The escape hadn't been smooth, and with each passing moment, the risk of being surrounded by the infected was increasing.
We had to get to the safe area.
When we finally reached our destination—a small clearing by the base of the mountain—there was a collective exhale of relief.
The forest surrounded us, thick with trees that would offer some protection, but even here, we knew it wasn't perfect. We had only escaped, not won.
Tired, bloodied, and aching, we sat on the damp earth. The ground felt cool under my palms as I leaned back, my body exhausted but alert. The distant sounds of the infected, their groans and shuffles, still echoed through the forest. But for now, we were safe.
The group huddled together, exhaustion etched into every face.
There was no conversation, only the quiet sounds of breathing, the occasional cough, the shuffling of feet as we tried to get comfortable in our makeshift camp.
Jun-ho sat a few feet away from the group, his posture rigid. He was the last to sit down, his eyes scanning the treeline, always alert, always calculating.
There was no peace in his expression. I saw it now—the heavy weight of responsibility in his eyes. It was more than leading us to safety. It was the knowledge that each day we survived, the costs of survival mounted higher. The toll on all of us would be impossible to measure.
And yet, here we were, still breathing, still alive.
A sudden movement from the cliff caught my attention. I wasn't sure if it was just a trick of the shadows, but something moved at the edge of the clearing—too subtle to be a tree, too calculated to be an animal.
I turned toward Jun-ho, who had already seen it, his gaze sharp. Without a word, we both knew: we weren't the only ones on this island.
Someone was watching us.