ZFS Chapter 2

Simultaneously, Tae Yujun sprinted toward the dormitory, carrying Cecilia in his embrace. The monsters were still relentlessly pursuing them, and no matter how breathless he felt or how his throat burned, he couldn’t afford to stop.

 

“Huff, huff… almost there, Sister!”

 

At last, they reached the dormitory building. Tae Yujun pushed through the door with every ounce of strength he had left.

 

“Close the door now!”

 

Antonio’s booming voice urged Peter into action as he quickly locked the door. Watching Peter secure it with multiple layers of locks, Tae Yujun exhaled a deep sigh of relief. They had escaped by the narrowest of margins.

 

Leaving the nearly unconscious Cecilia in the care of the other nuns, Tae Yujun wiped the sweat from his forehead. His breath still wouldn’t steady. Struggling to control his trembling hands, he sank to the floor. Then Peter called out to him.

 

As Tae Yujun followed him to the auditorium, he saw his fellow seminarians gathered with pale, stricken faces.

 

“John, are you all right?”

 

“Yes, I’m fine. Sister Cecilia hurt her leg, though. Is everyone else safe?”

 

“That… a few people are missing. The parish priest and the assistant priest…”

 

Peter’s voice trembled. Tae Yujun had a gut feeling they wouldn’t make it back alive. His throat tightened. A brief silence passed among the survivors. Tae Yujun sighed and took out his phone.

 

“I have a phone. Let’s try calling 119 for help.”

 

“How do you have a phone?”

 

Seminary students weren’t allowed to use phones, except on weekends. Peter looked visibly surprised.

 

“I had it hidden. I never thought I’d need to use it like this…”

 

“That’s good. Hurry, make the call.”

 

With shaking hands, Tae Yujun dialed 119. But all he heard was a voice message saying the line was busy.

 

“That’s strange. They’re not answering.”

 

“What?! 119 not answering? Is that even possible?”

 

“No matter how many times I try, it’s the same. It says the connection is unavailable.”

 

The same thing happened when he called 112. As a last resort, Tae Yujun turned to social media to gather information. Trending keywords included “Find nearby shelters,” “Zombie outbreak,” and “Seoul zombie horde.” The portal site’s main page was also streaming live updates.

 

“Let’s watch this at least. We need to know what’s happening outside.”

 

Tae Yujun’s fellow seminarians gathered around him, watching the screen together.

 

―Right now, a strange phenomenon is unfolding in Seoul, particularly in the Myeongdong area. Unidentified assailants are indiscriminately targeting pedestrians. Let’s take a look at the footage first.

 

The video showed monsters similar to the ones they had encountered earlier, leaping wildly and attacking people. Especially chilling was their ambush tactic—dropping vertically from streetlights or trees to strike people’s shoulders or heads, exactly as they had done at the cathedral.

 

The sight of monsters plunging from trees like rain, covering pedestrians, made Tae Yujun feel nauseated.

 

―As you can see, these creatures appear to be wearing normal clothing. In fact, we’ve received numerous reports from viewers, as well as from police and fire departments, about ordinary people suddenly turning into monsters. Doctor, what’s your analysis of this phenomenon?

 

Next to the anchor sat an older-looking man in a white lab coat. The caption introduced him as a medical expert.

 

―This riot happening today, or rather, the act of aggressively biting others… I suspect it might be a symptom of an infectious disease.

 

―Does that mean this infection could spread? And those bitten by the assailant, who had reportedly exhibited the same symptoms, are at risk?

 

―Based on the videos reported so far, as you can see, this symptom transmits from person to person. An infected individual bites another, and within 30 minutes at most, the bitten person shows the same tendencies. In other words, it’s contagious.

 

―This pattern feels eerily similar to Hollywood zombie movies. Some netizens are even claiming these people are zombies.

 

The mention of the word “zombie” caused the atmosphere in the room to freeze. Tae Yujun scanned the faces of his fellow seminarians, pale with fear and tension. Though no one said it aloud, they all felt it—this was not human. Perhaps the word “zombie” truly fit. Tae Yujun himself couldn’t deny it. The incredible jumping ability, the grotesque movements, and those strange sounds—they were difficult to view as anything human.

 

And their aggression toward others. If what the doctor said was true, anyone bitten would also turn into a zombie. Zombies, like those only seen in movies, had become a reality. It was unbelievable, but no other explanation seemed to make sense.

 

―Hmm, it’s hard to say definitively. For now, I can only describe it as an unidentified disease.

 

―Citizens, as you just heard, an unknown infectious disease is spreading through the heart of Seoul. Please avoid going outside. Those at home should stay indoors, and those outdoors should immediately head to a shelter. Use the “Find Nearby Shelter” feature online to locate a safe place. For those in Seoul’s Jung-gu district, the designated shelter is the underground bunker beneath the King Sejong statue at Gwanghwamun. This is a state of emergency, so we urge all citizens to act with caution.

 

The broadcast abruptly shifted to an advertisement. Tae Yujun let out a sigh. Even in this crisis, they’re airing ads. A wave of irritation washed over him as he rubbed his forehead.

 

“Haa… It’s hard to get through to 119 right now. Brothers, I’ll keep trying to make contact.”

 

No one replied. Tae Yujun noticed his fellow seminarians were in shock, their expressions blank. Some quietly wept, while others sat on the floor in a daze.

 

At intervals, Tae Yujun repeatedly dialed 119. Each time, the same automated response told him no connection could be made.

 

“Still not getting through, John?”

 

“No, it’s unavailable to connect.”

 

“Sigh… What do we do? Are we just going to be stuck here like this?”

 

A fellow seminarian’s voice wavered with tears.

 

Tae Yujun felt the same unease and fear gnawing at him. At times like this, he wished for that “ability” of his—if only he still had it. But that power had vanished long ago. It had appeared suddenly one day and left just as suddenly, after taking so much of him with it. So, in this situation, the only thing left for Yujun to rely on was God.

 

He paused, lost in thought, then clasped his hands together. After making the sign of the cross, he silently muttered a prayer.

 

In the name of the Lord, I plead—enemy of humanity, vanish. Vade, hostis humana.

 

If only this prayer could drive away the enemy of humanity, just as he hoped. But reality was unforgiving. The rescue calls went unanswered, and no matter how much he prayed, nothing changed. Tae Yujun felt utterly helpless, like someone completely drenched by pouring rain.

 

Even so, he prayed the same words again. In this moment, the only thing he could cling to was God. He repeated the prayer dozens, even hundreds of times. The people around him remained mostly silent, occasionally interrupted by soft sobbing.

 

This was the world Tae Yujun faced on his first day, as zombies fell like rain from the sky.

 

---

 

“Is 119 still unreachable?”

 

“Yes. Don’t mention rescue… we can’t even get through on a proper connection.”

 

“What about 112?”

 

“It’s the same. They’re not answering at all.”

 

Three days had passed. Tae Yujun had tried calling for help numerous times during those 72 hours, but every attempt had ended in failure. Upon hearing the reply, Antonio, a fourth-year student, looked deeply disheartened. Tae Yujun wanted to console him but could only hand him a piece of cold bread.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Please eat quickly.”

 

Tae Yujun took another portion of bread from his share and gave it to Antonio. Then, after saying grace, he bit into the cold, hard bread. As he chewed in silence, the seminarians around him remained quiet as well.

 

The dormitory was a two-story building. The second floor, used for prayer and meditation, had always been off-limits to the seminarians, who resided only on the first floor. The twenty students had been assigned to five rooms, with four people sharing each.

 

However, due to concerns about the danger of sleeping apart, they had brought all the bunk beds into the auditorium, turning it into a communal living space.

 

Currently, Tae Yujun was in the dining hall adjacent to the auditorium, with the kitchen located further inside. The kitchen’s refrigerator held a small amount of frozen food, but fresh ingredients were running low. Given the seminary’s culture of modesty and frugality, they avoided storing large quantities of food.

 

As a result, the food supply was steadily dwindling. Although portions were rationed to ensure each person received their share, the limits were becoming clearer.

 

Most of the people here were adult men, and with the remaining food so scarce, what would happen when supplies ran out? Hunger would afflict them all. Without help from outside, wouldn’t conflicts inevitably arise? Tae Yujun didn’t mention the topic of food aloud, but the thought weighed heavily on him.

 

It had only been a few days, yet the refrigerator was already more than half-empty. The nuns had even begun cutting back on their portions. The unspoken tension grew heavier.

 

The only way to resolve this stifling unease was through a rescue team. But every time they searched the news, they were met with reports of the infection spreading further.

 

[Sharp rise in abnormal behavior. Numerous cases reported in Eunpyeong-gu and Gwanak-gu, Seoul.]

[All schools halt classes. What are the childcare measures?]

[Debate over closing Seoul. Growing tensions with Gyeonggi-do and Incheon.]

 

No news brought any positivity. Tae Yujun swallowed a piece of bread and opened his message inbox, checking it so often that he wondered if the screen might wear out from constant use.

 

…still no word from the doctor.

 

Once again, there was no contact from Dr. Jang today. No calls, no messages—nothing.

 

At the relatively late age of twenty, Tae Yujun had struggled with life and faith more than most. He hadn’t gone to university, instead spending his days drinking and living in idleness. The person who helped him find direction in life was Jang Junsik, Tae Yujun’s Catholic godfather.

 

Despite being a highly capable medical scientist, Dr. Jang frequently visited Tae Yujun, even amidst his busy research schedule. He supported Tae Yujun’s dream of becoming a priest and offered unwavering encouragement. In return, Tae Yujun had come to see Dr. Jang not as the adoptive parents who had abandoned him, but as a true father figure.

 

If I could show him the moment I’m ordained, he’d be so happy. He’d be proud of me. Where could he be? Could he have gotten hurt or caught up in this chaos? Is he in danger?

 

His mind swirled with worries. Tae Yujun chewed and swallowed the now-hard bread without realizing it. Just as he was about to search the news again, a commotion broke out in a corner of the dining hall. Two seminarians stood up, glaring at each other.

 

“Starting tomorrow, let’s make sure the food is distributed more strictly. I’ll take charge.”

 

“Why should we trust you with the food? Who do you think you are?”

 

“It’s because the distribution hasn’t been fair. Just look—Antonio is eating two extra pieces of bread.”

 

Hearing this, Tae Yujun frowned.

 

“Brothers, I gave those pieces to Brother Antonio myself.”

 

“See? That’s exactly the problem. Everyone should get an equal share of the bread.”

 

“I only gave it to him because I wanted to.”

 

“People like you are what throw everything into chaos. Discipline needs to be restored.”

 

Although Tae Yujun was typically composed, he found it unbearable to hear such snide remarks.

 

“What did you just say? Discipline?”

 

“John, calm down.”

 

Antonio stepped in to mediate.

 

“I’ll give this bread back to John. Is that fine with you?”

 

Only then did the two seminarians reluctantly nod. For now, peace had been restored, but Tae Yujun couldn’t shake the thought that this dormitory was on the verge of collapse.

 

Even those who believed in God found themselves powerless in such extreme circumstances. Hunger and the threat to their lives had awakened their most primal instincts. They were no longer the fellow seminarians who casually exchanged cheerful greetings. In this dire situation, where survival was all that mattered, people became hypersensitive and tense, reacting sharply even to the smallest movements.

 

Some seminarians cried all day, while others lashed out, irritated by their noise. And then, something uttered—

 

Squawk!

 

A bizarre screech from just outside the window sent a wave of fear through them, as though their very souls were being torn from their bodies.

 

“Ahhh! Do—Do something, anything!”

 

“Calm down. There’s a grille—it won’t get in.”

 

“But still! It’s—it’s right there!”

 

The real issue was the dormitory building’s design—lacking air conditioning, it had far too many windows. Even now, the shadow of a monster wandered outside, its face pressing against the window, as if sniffing for the scent of those inside. Thankfully, the windows were semi-opaque. Tae Yujun didn’t want to imagine what it would be like if they were clear.

 

“It’s okay, brother. Things will settle down soon. If my theory is right.”

 

After lightly patting his trembling fellow seminarian’s shoulder, Tae Yujun pointed at the clock. It was 7 PM—just about time for darkness to fall.

 

Over the past three days, they had discovered one thing: the monsters quieted down after dark.

 

“Remember? Yesterday and the day before, they stopped making noise after 7 PM.”

 

“Sniff… sniff… Y-yeah, that’s right.”

 

His tear-streaked fellow seminarian nodded weakly.

 

“It always gets quiet around this time. As you can see, they’re not moving now.”

 

Tae Yujun gestured toward the semi-opaque window. In the faint evening light, the silhouettes of zombies hung upside-down from the trees. They seemed to be the type to go to sleep early.

 

“But they’re still right there.”

 

“It’s fine. Once they hang like that, they rarely move.”

 

Despite his reassurances, his fellow seminarian didn’t seem to calm down. Tae Yujun gently took his trembling hand in his own.

 

Deus, audi nos. (O God, hear us.)

 

Reciting a few lines of prayer, Tae Yujun thought silently. He wished that this prayer could drive away the monsters and restore a normal day, indulging in a fleeting, impossible dream. But it all remained just that—a dream.