November

Silence is all I hear now. I used to just talk out loud to rid myself of this dead atmostphere, but I'd find myself at a loss for words. It's better to put this on paper anyway, in case something happens. The dead still listens. Anyway, it distracts me from the hunger.

I sure miss the food they served at the university.

Had I known this was going to happen, I would have stocked up on it months ago. But nobody saw it coming. Until the news station covered it, I had no idea there was a population on corpses coming back to life, being animated from the dead. Most people dismissed it as a useless suspicion -- until they arrived in our country in droves. I always hated the media. Hated the their constant prodding, their desire for a story. Never left anyone alone. Only now I'm grateful for their persistence to tell stories. Saved me from being completely screwed.

 Or maybe I'm still screwed. What am I supposed to do, fend for myself until I'm the last person on Earth? Or keep trying to find a single survivor? And then what? 

Then what?

Minho shut the book with one hand and chucked it onto his tattered backpack. 

He never thought he would be afraid of the town he grew up in. Not of the town itself, of course, but what was in it. The streets of Seoul, which had been so crowded and lively before, was now a deserted ghost town infested with corpses. Corpses that had a nasty bite of their own.

Pulled from his thoughts by a sudden hunger pang, he bit his knuckles.

Minho was hungry. Minho was very hungry. But not hungry enough to dive head first into a bloodbath, he thought mournfully. He scowled at the seemingly motionless dead from the tree he was resided in.

Looks can be so decieving. 

Oh, he tried to simply cross the street and sneak by them. After all, he was considerably faster and smarter, and how dangerous could they be? They're dead.

Being the badass Lee Minho was, he strolled across the road casually, toward the grocery store with perfectly good food. That plan didn't last for five minutes. The dead that were sprawled on the ground rose with a vicious, disgusting groan and used what was left of their bodies to move toward him. One was okay. Then there was two. Then three. He wasn't sure how he got out alive, but he made a note not to try until he was properly stocked with, oh, an AK47 or something like that.

When the epidemic first unfolded, most panicked and ran right out of their homes, only to be met with a gruesome fate. The rest stayed in their homes and tried their best to board it up, but were raided by hungry survivors not a week later, living turning against living.

And Minho? He was studying in the University when his best friend grabbed him by the shoulders and practically spat in his face, "IT'S HAPPENED, MINHO! I KNEW IT!"

Unfortunately, Jonghyun was seldom serious, so his amplified interest in the living dead was laughed off by Minho. 

Even when everyone around him started to believe it themselves when they saw the gruesome images of citizens, people they knew, with their faces completely distorted, grotesque body parts hanging by the skin, and different behavior, Minho waved it off. 

But Jonghyun, being Jonghyun, told Minho that trees were the best defense in such a situation. Windows can be smashed, doors can be broken, but trees? Diabolical. Jjong contantly pondered over strategies of protection. Of course, his ideas never did make it past his grave warnings and shaking fingers. Minho shook with a spasm of silent laughter, the first of good emotion in days. Then his humor faded, as it usually did when he realized just how bad his situation was. The last breaths of joy died in his lungs like a gently blown candle.

Now, there was a happiness that died before it was born. Suddenly, Jonghyun's superstition didn't seem so hilarious anymore.

Minho wished he knew where his friend was now.