Scene 1. Departure
The pipe shard floated on the water.
It turned slowly on the black surface. Drifting into the darkness along the drain's current. The thing Doctor Jang had let go. The last thing that had been between Doctor Jang's lips.
Lee Kang's hand seized the manhole grate.
Pulled. The rusted iron screamed. The sound of metal tearing rang through the drain. The grate's bolts wrenched free. Lee Kang pushed the grate aside. The hole opened. Light poured down from above. Orange. The light of the slum still burning.
His foot found a jutting edge in the drain wall. He climbed. Yeonhwa was bound to his back. Fixed there by the strap of Doctor Jang's bag, wound around her waist and shoulders. Her arms hung over his neck to the front. Cold fingers rested against his collarbone.
From below, Doctor Jang was looking up. In the dark. His face was not visible. What was visible was only the whites of his eyes turned toward Lee Kang.
"Wait here."
Lee Kang said. Without looking down.
"Don't light a fire."
His hand caught the manhole's edge. Hauled his body up. The rough thread on his stitched forearm pulled and the flesh dragged with it. He ignored it.
"Before I kill you."
The air aboveground filled Lee Kang's lungs.
The stagnant water smell of the sewer vanished. What entered in its place. Smoke. Ash. Half-burned timber. Beneath them. Blood. The night air of the Gyeongseong slum carried the smell of blood. The blood the sanitation unit had spilled.
His nose classified the smell. Classified it, took a bearing.
Stronger on the left. The smell of antiseptic mixed with alcohol. The smell of a hospital. The smell of a field hospital.
Lee Kang turned left.
On his back, Yeonhwa swayed. Her chin caught on his shoulder. On the burn. Bone pressed into the cooked flesh of the burn. No pain. Nothing hurt.
The iron taste lingered in his mouth.
His tongue groped between his molars. The taste that had not left since last night. The remains of what had burst from the Ookami's carotid. His throat moved. Swallowed.
He walked.
Passed between the skeletons of burned shanties. Charred posts stood on either side of him. Between them, smoke still rose. The smoke wrapped his bare body.
The field hospital came into view.
A white tent. Enormous. A red cross painted on its roof. The cross, stained by firelight, looked dark red.
A word bloomed in Lee Kang's mouth.
*Diethyl ether.*
Reverently.
Scene 2. The Lock
There were two guards at the tent's perimeter.
Standing. Holding rifles. One at the left of the tent entrance, the other at the right. Fifteen paces between their boots. Both facing the slum. Toward the fire. Not toward where Lee Kang was coming—the opposite direction.
Lee Kang approached from behind the tent.
Past the burned posts to the tent's back wall. The canvas was pulled taut. Tied to stakes. His hand took the canvas. Took it and pulled. The canvas did not tear. Thick waterproof tarp.
His nails dug into the canvas. Tore. The canvas split with a sound. A short sound. Similar to wind turning over a collar. A hole formed. Large enough for his body.
A smell pushed out from inside.
Ether. Sweet and chemical. Not stinging the nose but pushing into it. The acridity of antiseptic lay beneath. Alcohol. Gauze. Blood.
Lee Kang's heart struck once, hard.
*It's here.*
He pushed his body through the torn hole. Yeonhwa on his back caught on the tent's edge. He lowered his waist. Her head grazed the canvas as it passed. Inside.
The tent was wide.
Cots lined in rows. Twelve. People lay in nine of them. Patients. Still in uniform. An arm wrapped in bandages. A leg in a cast. Lee Kang's eyes scanned the patients. Scanned and discarded. Beneath his concern.
A medicine shelf stood against the tent's inner wall.
Glass bottles lined in rows. Labels affixed. His eyes swept the labels.
There was a sentry.
Inside the tent. In front of the medicine shelf. Sitting in a chair. Dozing with a rifle across his knees. His chin against his chest.
Lee Kang approached.
No footsteps. Because he was barefoot. He stood behind the sentry. The sentry inhaled. Exhaled. Snored.
Lee Kang's hand took the sentry's head.
The jaw and the back of the skull. Twisted. Snapped.
*Pop.*
The chair creaked. The sentry's body slid from the chair. Before it could meet the floor, Lee Kang's hand caught the uniform's collar and lowered it to the ground. So it would make no sound. The way one lays down a sleeping man.
Lee Kang stood before the medicine shelf.
He read the labels of the glass bottles. English. The letters were small. The kerosene lamp inside the tent wavered, casting shadows over the labels. His eyes traced the letters one by one.
M-o-r-p-h-i-n-e. No.
C-h-l-o-r-o-f-o-r-m. No.
D-i-e-t-h-y-l—
His hand stopped.
He took the bottle. Clear liquid inside. The label read *Diethyl Ether.* The corner of his mouth lifted. Faintly.
The kerosene lamp wavered.
Because the tent's entrance flap had opened.
"*Nan da*—"
Japanese burst out. From the tent entrance. A uniform stood there. The outer guard. Making his rounds, he had looked inside. He saw the sentry collapsed on the floor. He saw Lee Kang's bare back. He saw Yeonhwa bound to that back.
The uniform's hand raised his rifle.
Lee Kang slipped the ether bottle against his chest. Between his bare chest and Yeonhwa's body. The glass was cold.
He turned.
Scene 3. Predation
The uniform pulled the trigger.
The gunshot tore through the tent. The bullet passed Lee Kang's right side. A glass bottle on the medicine shelf shattered. Liquid spilled and the smell of alcohol exploded.
Lee Kang ran.
Three steps. To the uniform. The uniform tried to fire a second shot. Lee Kang's hand caught the barrel. Wrenched it up. The second shot punched through the ceiling. A hole opened in the tent roof.
His knee drove into the uniform's belly. The uniform folded. His hand came off the rifle. Lee Kang tore the rifle away and threw it to the floor.
A sound came from behind.
A second uniform charged into the tent. Bayonet drawn. A shout pouring from his mouth. Japanese. Lee Kang's brain did not receive the language.
He seized the first uniform's throat. Lifted him. Threw him at the second. The two tangled and rolled across the floor.
More footsteps from inside the tent.
A military surgeon. A man in a white coat. Gripping a scalpel. The patients were screaming from their cots. Lee Kang's ears blocked the screams. Processed them as white noise.
The surgeon ran at Lee Kang with the scalpel.
Lee Kang's left hand caught the surgeon's wrist. The wrist holding the scalpel. Wrenched. A sound. Not the sound of bone breaking but of tendons twisting. *Kuk.* A scream burst from the surgeon's mouth. The scalpel fell to the floor.
The two tangled uniforms came free and stood. The first swung a fist. It caught Lee Kang's jaw. His head snapped sideways. The iron taste burst in his mouth again. This time his own blood. Blood from his gums. The Ookami's remains and his own blood mixed inside his mouth.
His head came back.
The second uniform stabbed with the bayonet. Toward his side. His body twisted half a beat. The bayonet grazed his side. The same place. The fourth time. Laceration laid over laceration.
A sound climbed from Lee Kang's mouth.
*Grrr.*
His right hand wrenched the second uniform's bayonet hand. The bayonet fell. His left hand took the uniform's head. The back of the skull. Pulled.
The uniform's throat came before Lee Kang's face.
The nape was visible. Skin bared above the uniform collar. He could see it beating beneath the skin. The thick vessel at the side of the neck. The skin rippling faintly. In time with the pulse.
Lee Kang's nose caught it. The smell of blood beneath the skin. The smell of living blood. Something hot flowing one thin layer of skin below.
Lee Kang's mouth opened.
His teeth met the uniform's nape.
He bit.
The teeth pierced through skin. The same as with the Ookami. The same yet different. The Ookami's flesh had been hard. Because the muscle was abnormally developed. This was different. Soft. Human flesh. Less resistance as the teeth burrowed in. The sensation of flesh tearing spread through his mouth. A vessel burst.
Blood came.
Hot. It flowed into his throat. The iron taste filled his palate, wrapped his tongue, passed his throat. Lee Kang's eyes closed once. The instant they closed—
What had hurt vanished.
The laceration on his side. The bite on his forearm. The puncture in his left hand. The burn. All of it. The instant the blood passed his throat, the pains were all at once buried. Not buried—filled. Something hot poured into the empty places.
Force entered his jaw. His teeth burrowed deeper. Flesh tore away. The uniform's scream cut off. Where the scream had cut off, blood surged like a fountain. It soaked Lee Kang's face. His jaw. His chest.
The uniform's body fell to the floor.
Lee Kang spat the flesh from his mouth. Did not spit it. Chewed. Once. Twice. Swallowed.
The instant he swallowed, something turned inside his body. Like a switch flipping up. What had been off came on. Strength returned to his legs. Strength returned to his arms. The muscles that had gone slack moments ago pulled taut.
Blood ran from the corner of Lee Kang's mouth. Someone else's blood. Someone else's flesh.
The tent went quiet. The first uniform lay face-down on the floor. The surgeon held his wrist, leaning against the wall. The patients were frozen on their cots. The silence that follows the end of screaming filled the tent.
A word came from Lee Kang's mouth.
"Diethyl ether."
He murmured.
Through blood-stained lips. Through teeth with flesh wedged in them. Tenderly. Reverently.
The glass bottle in his chest pressed against his bare skin. Cold glass. The weight of ether.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
Scene 4. Spoils
The air outside the tent was different.
Inside, ether and blood and antiseptic had mixed. Outside, there was only smoke and ash. Lee Kang's lungs drew in the smoke. Released it. The breath leaving his mouth bloomed as red steam. The blood in his mouth mingling with the vapor.
Lee Kang slipped out through the torn hole at the tent's back.
He walked. Between burned shanties. Between charred posts. Ash crumbled beneath his feet with a sound.
His right hand rose to his chest.
He touched the glass bottle inside. The bottle wedged between Yeonhwa's body and his bare chest. Cold. The ether sloshed inside. His finger tapped the bottle once. *Tok.*
His mouth opened.
"Found one."
To Yeonhwa. To Yeonhwa on his back. To unconscious Yeonhwa. To Yeonhwa hanging limp with her chin caught on his shoulder.
His voice was tender. The voice of someone who has bought a present at the market. Blood was drying at the corner of his mouth. Flesh was wedged between his teeth. Blood ran from his side, soaking his waistband.
"I can make the medicine now. Doctor Jang will make it."
His feet walked toward the sewer manhole. Treading the ash heap of the burned slum. Wind blew. Ash scattered. Ash settled onto his blood-soaked body.
The smell of Yeonhwa's hair reached his nose. Beneath the blood and the smoke. Very faintly. Something like lilac.
His eyes sank half-shut.
As they sank, his mouth opened.
"Next is the Governor-General's."
He murmured.
The night sky was burning. The slum's fire stained the clouds red. Beneath that red sky, a blood-soaked monster walked, a girl who was nothing but bone bound to his back. A single glass bottle cradled to his chest. Another's blood hanging at the corner of his mouth.
The sewer manhole came into view.
His feet did not stop.
He walked.