POV: Jisoo
The dorm halls smelled of damp wood and fear.
The fog outside had thickened, swallowing the edges of the courtyard in a gray haze that muted sound. Students hurried along the hallways, dragging chairs, desks, and makeshift barricades to block doors and windows.
The clatter of furniture and panicked footsteps echoed like distant thunder, a constant reminder that the island outside was no longer safe.
I lingered near the stairwell, trying to corral younger students into the common room. Their wide eyes darted between each shadow, each muffled scream that leaked in through the walls.
"Stay calm. We...we just need to stay together." I said, voice trembling more than I wanted.
One of the little ones, a first-year named Hae-min, gripped my sleeve. "Jisoo…what if they come inside?"
I swallowed hard. "We'll…we'll be safe here. I promise."
But even as I said it, I felt the hollow weight of my own words. I didn't know if that promise could hold.
"Barricades are useless if we just sit here! We can't just hide! We need to—" Minjae's voice cut sharply through the din. He was yanking chairs into position, his face flushed with frustration and fear. "Minjae!" Jun-ho's voice stopped him mid-sentence. Calm but sharp, carrying a presence that made everyone pause.
Ara followed him quietly, her bow slung at her back. They moved with silent efficiency, assessing barricades, ensuring lines of sight to the hallways.
I watched Jun-ho. He had this way of commanding attention without yelling, without showing panic. He moved with purpose, and it reminded me that maybe… maybe someone could lead us through this.
—
A sudden scream shattered the tense rhythm.
I whirled, heart in my throat, toward the south entrance.
A student—taller than most, wearing a green jacket—had run too far ahead, attempting to check a side corridor. Now, he was pinned against the wall by one of the infected who had slipped past our makeshift barriers.
Time slowed. I remember every detail: the student's face twisted in shock, mouth open in a scream that echoed down the hall, hands reaching out blindly.
The infected's movements were jerky but terrifyingly fast, teeth gnashing as it lunged.
Jun-ho reacted instantly, but even he was a second too late. The student's arm was bitten, and his body went rigid, then collapsed in a heap. His scream lingered in the air like smoke, a sound none of us could ignore.
I froze. The world narrowed to that single, horrifying moment.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard Jun-ho shout, "Everyone back! Barricade the doors!"
But I couldn't move. My hands shook. The little ones clung to me, trembling. One of them whispered, "He…he's gone?"
I swallowed, tears stinging my eyes. "Not…not yet." I said, knowing it was a lie. He was gone. And now, the reality of this island pressed down on us with crushing weight. Jun-ho's expression was tight, controlled. His fists clenched and unclenched as he assessed the hallway.
I could see it—the first flicker of heavy moral consideration, the ghost of a choice he would soon make again and again. He looked at me, eyes silently asking if I could handle what came next.
I shook my head. No. No one could.
—
POV: Jun-ho
A brief silence followed the chaos. I caught a glimpse of Jisoo with the others, still shaken up by what had just happened. For a moment, he seemed…smaller, almost human beneath the pressure of responsibility.
And then, in my mind, I remembered my cousin, years ago, caught in an accident I hadn't been able to prevent.
I had watched him suffer, had tried to reach him, and failed.
My hands tightened around a railing as if I felt that same helpless weight pressing down. Guilt, fear, and determination mingled in the air between us.
We can't let them die. Not like that.
—
POV: Jisoo
I turned back to the younger students, trying to hold it together. "We have to stay strong. We…we have to protect each other." I whispered, even as sobs threatened to escape.
Minjae paced, glancing toward the hallway. "We can't just sit here. We need a plan…" But the students were shaking, some muttering that survival wasn't guaranteed, that the island might already be lost.
Cohesion cracked, subtle at first—a whispered argument here, a panicked gesture there—but enough to feel the tension fraying the edges of our fragile group.
Hours passed in a blur of whispered instructions, hurried barricades, and the distant, ever-present groans from outside.
The dorm halls felt like a cage, and I realized we had crossed into an entirely new kind of fear. Fear without guidance, without certainty.
By the time night settled over the island, a thick, suffocating darkness, one fact was undeniable: the staff were nowhere to be found. Not a single teacher or supervisor patrolled the halls. We were alone.
Alone.
And the first death hung in the air like a shadow none of us could escape.
I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes for a brief moment. I could still hear the echo of the student's scream, feel the tremor of his body in my hands before it went limp. My heart hammered with guilt and fear, knowing that Jun-ho had seen it too, that he would carry the weight of that moment just as heavily as I carried mine.
The dorm felt smaller, suffocating. Every creak, every distant thump, reminded us: the island was no longer just a place to live. It was a prison, a battlefield, a test none of us were ready for.
And the students understood it now. The survival we had thought possible…uncertain.
We were on our own.