He is awakened by an announcement from the pilot.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m glad to report we have been cleared for landing at Cardiff Airport. All other airports in Europe are under lockdown so we can consider ourselves very lucky. We’ll be landing shortly.”

 

Satisfied by the information, but still dead tired, he closes his eyes again. 

 

He’s close to falling back asleep when he feels a loud thud on the floor. He opens his eyes and sees that half the people in business class are asleep, the other half too anxious to even close their eyes.

 

Rubbing his eyes, he stands up and stretches. There are aches and pains all over his body from having slept sitting two nights straight. Is it two nights? He’s not sure.

 

A muffled shout gets his attention and his fight or flight instinct kicks in.

 

No ing way, it’s been hours since they departed from Jerusalem. It’s supposed to take seconds.

 

He takes a good look at Sehun and sees the man looks ok, no deathly pallor, no groaning or desire for human flesh. He’s just tall, deceptively strong Sehun, who was also woken by the shout, it seems.

 

He walks down the short aisle to the curtain separating business class with the rest of the plane, hoping to find nothing. Carefully opening the curtain enough to catch a glimpse, he sees several infected people roaming the back of the plane.

 

.

 

Promptly closing it back, he puts a finger to his lips and makes sure everyone knows to stay quiet. No noise means no zombies.

 

“Bags,” he mouths as he takes a carry-on suitcase from a nearby seat and places it against the curtain. It won’t do much but they’ve got no other way to protect themselves.

 

People start delicately passing other bags to the two curtains concealing them on both aisles, stacking them up as quietly as they can.

 

The man on the aisle across from him works fast, perhaps a bit too fast, and makes the deadly mistake of dropping a bag through the curtain.

 

The effect is immediate. Infected people lunge at them with incredible speed and, before he knows it, Minseok is on the ground fighting one of them off. He won’t make it, he thinks. He’s too tired and unprepared and the thing on him wants nothing more than to rip him to pieces.

 

The gunshot is too loud inside the cabin but, suddenly, the body on him stops moving. He looks back and sees Sehun pointing a handgun at the dead body on top of him. Thank for soldiers right now.

 

He tosses the body aside and quickly stands up, going to Sehun’s side. The young soldier is still a bit unsteady on his feet so Minseok pulls him up by the waist to make sure he doesn’t fall. That’s when he feels the grenade. It’s a bad idea but they’re out of options. He feels like he’s been repeating this same situation over and over again in the past couple of days.

 

Not seeing another way out, he takes the grenade, pulls the pin, and throws it.

 

It’s three seconds later that there’s a big hole on the side of the plane, everyone out into the sky. Minseok drops to the floor, pulling Sehun with him and crawls into the seats in front of him. He has to fight hard to sit down and put on his seatbelt. Hopefully the pilots will be able to land the plane. Watching that Sehun is secure in his seat, he grabs the handles of the seat tight and thinks about Luhan’s smile.

 

--

 

It’s cold, is the first thing that comes to his mind. There’s something poking his side and he feels like he’s sort of upside down. 

 

What the hell? 

 

He opens his eyes and realizes he’s still sitting on the airplane seat, belt tightly fastened hanging two feet from the ground. Trying to get rid of the thing poking his side, he learns he’s been impaled by shrapnel from the plane. Jesus ing Christ. It’s a thin but long piece of metal that’s currently piercing through his abdomen. He has to think too long to remember what he’s supposed to do. 

 

Don’t touch it. Don’t pull it. Don’t move. 

 

Well, too ing bad because he needs to unfasten his belt and get down. If he doesn't die from internal bleeding, he will die from exposure. Either way he’s screwed.

 

He lifts up his head and looks around. There are parts of the plane scattered all over the place but no sign of movement. He looks to the adjoining seat but Sehun is not there. Is he dead? The seat belt doesn’t look torn and he sees no blood. What were the odds of surviving an airplane crash? He can’t remember. God, if Sehun died then… Maybe Minseok can find his body. What for, though? It’s not like he’ll be able to bury him while impaled.

 

There’s a woman close by also strapped to her seat trying to get free. Too bad she’d bite Minseok face off if she succeeds. She chomps her teeth down as she looks at him, but she’s stuck. Minseok needs to get out of here before she does get free. Start walking to his destination. Thankfully they were close to the Cardiff Airport, maybe he’ll make the research facility before dying, tell them what he knows about this virus.

 

Taking a deep breath, he carelessly pulls up the buckle from the belt and drops like a rock. He nearly blacks out from the pain. He has to take steady breaths before he’s able to even think. He pulls through by sheer force of will.

 

He hears Sehun before he sees him. He looks ok, perhaps a little relieved. 

 

“You’re awake,” he says.

 

Minseok laughs, maybe losing his mind a little bit. “I am.”

 

Sehun smiles confusedly. “Come on,” he adds. “Before night comes.”

 

The soldier helps Minseok up carefully, trying hard to not dislodge the shrapnel from Minseok’s gut. They start walking slowly after Sehun has found something to cover themselves from the biting wind. The town next to where they crashed seems deserted, but there is definitely some movement behind the curtains as they walk through a residential neighbourhood.

 

Minseok loses strength with every step he takes so Sehun starts picking up more and more of his weight. By the time they reach the facility, some two hours later, Minseok’s legs feel like jelly. He stops before the gate and drops to the floor, not able to do much more than that.

 

He can hear Sehun in the distance buzzing an old intercom muttering in Hebrew each time his finger presses the button.

 

The last thing he remembers is hearing a loud buzz and then everything goes black.

 

--

 

There’s someone screaming. Soojung? Why is Soojung screaming? Where’s Jongin? Where’s Luhan? He’s sure they were fine when he left them. There’s something he was supposed to do for them. Something he had to do before finding his family and making sure they’re alright. What was it? His head is all a jumble of thoughts and memories. There’s a soldier with a bike. A rifle and a little boy. A hand lying on the floor, detached from an arm. A thing trying to take a bite out of him. A thin boy amidst a horde of undead. He wakes up.

 

“You’re a lucky bastard,” someone with a British accent says. “Who are you?” 

 

He’s alive, that’s for sure. He doesn’t think people who are dead are meant to be in so much pain. He’s lying on an uncomfortable exam bed, tied at the wrists, his side throbbing fiercely.

 

“I...I came here with a man…” He says to the british man. 

 

The brit sighs before going into the next room. There is a large glass window separating the room where another man is sitting. The british guy finishes talking and returns, the other man following.

 

“Who are you?” The British man repeats, approaching Minseok’s bed again.

 

Minseok looks at their new addition carefully. He has the scientist look all over him, wild hair, knitted vest, and thick glasses included. 

 

“Why are you looking at him?” The Brit asks.

 

“Because he’s the one in charge,” Minseok replies. He can see the difference in hierarchy just by the way they both stand. Minseok’s always been good at doing that.

 

“Do you know what this place is?” The man in charge asks.

 

“Of course I do. That’s why I’m here.”

 

He closes his eyes to try and focus. There’s an IV on his hand that tells him he’s probably been getting antibiotics and pain meds. He feels down his side to where he’d been impaled to find thick bandages around his middle. The Brit was right, he is a lucky bastard.

 

“Is this important to you?” The man in charge says, showing Minseok his sat phone.

 

Minseok stares at the phone as a cold flash runs through his body. “How long has it been?”

 

“Three days.”

 

. 

 

“Give me that,” Minseok orders heatedly. “Give me– . Give me the goddamn phone.” He grabs his side as sharp pain engulfs him. Moving is not a good idea but Minseok doesn't care. He’s worried. It’s been three days since he communicated with Luhan. He must think that Minseok’s dead.

 

“I’ll give it to you once you tell me who you are,” the man adds.

 

“Call it. Call the number. They’ll tell you who I am.”

 

The man dials the number and puts the phone on speaker. It takes a couple seconds but finally someone answers.

 

“Minseok?” Yunho says.

 

“I’m here. I’m here,” Minseok replies trying to sit up.

 

“My God, we thought you were dead. Where the hell are you?”

 

“Yunho, I’ve got a couple of nervous men here. They need the rubber stamp before we can speak.”

 

“My name is Yunho Jung, Deputy Secretary-general for the United Nations.” The two men visibly relax after hearing that. “To whom am I speaking?”

 

Wait. “Yunho, where’s Luhan? Why didn’t he answer?”

 

He can hear Yunho shuffling over the phone. “I’m sorry, Minseok. I did all I could.”

 

What? What the ? “What do you mean,” he asks angrily, finally sitting up and suffering for it. “. Where are they, Yunho?” His side is killing him, he can barely hold his position. “Where are they?”

 

“Calm down,” the Brit tells him, pushing his shoulder back on the bed. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

 

The man in charge takes over the call while the Brit tries to get Minseok to lie down. It takes a bit of fighting but Minseok’s strength leaves him soon enough. He drops back down and takes slow, deep breaths.

 

“I’ll get you some more pain meds but you’ve got to stop moving around so much.”

 

Minseok acquiesces easily. The man returns soon with the medicine and injects it into Minseok’s IV. hopefully he’ll start feeling better soon.

 

When the man in charge ends the call, he approaches Minseok and says, “they’re ok. They’ve been sent to a refugee camp in Nova Scotia.”

 

God damn it. This is what he was trying to avoid.

 

“Are you ok?” Sehun asks from the doorway. 

 

Minseok is relieved to see that the soldier’s ok. He’s got a brand new bandage on his arm and he looks healthy. Strong.

 

The man tells Sehun about the fate of his family when Minseok doesn't answer. “I’m sure they’ll be safe,” he adds.

 

“Are you you?” Minseok seethes. “Did Yunho tell you who I am? What I used to do?”  The man nods. “Then believe me, I know they’re not safe.”

 

“I understand how you feel,” he says placatingly.

 

“Do you?” Minseok huffs darkly. “Do you have a family?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then you don’t know.”

 

“I lost my son and wife in Rome. Well, I lost my son to the thing that used to be my wife. We have all lost someone, Mr. Kim.”

 

. Now he feels terrible. He rubs his hands on his face and takes a deep breath. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

 

Minseok sits up without help, feeling better now that the pain meds have kicked in. His side is still sore but he’s able to move around more confidently.

 

“Why are you here?”  The man asks.

 

“I was told your facility had a BSL-4 lab.”

 

“It does,” the man replies. He then frowns but leads everyone out of the current room and into the hallway. They delve deeper into the facility, bypassing offices and entering a large room where other researchers are at work. The fact that it’s nearly empty doesn’t draw his attention, but the wild infected person behind a glass wall is what does the trick. She looks like she used to work here but has now turned into a snarling, groaning zombie. 

 

Zombie. He’ll never get used to that word.

 

“He wants a what?” An Irish woman asks. Minseok seems to have missed the beginning of the conversation, but can definitely tell where they’re getting to.

 

“A deadly pathogen,” Minseok tells her. “Something with a high mortality rate but curable.”

 

“Well, you’ll probably want a bacteria rather than a virus. What do you think, Will?” She asks the doctor working alongside her.

 

“Ellie is right. Typhus?” He offers.

 

“Scarlet fever?”

 

“Meningitis? Pneumatic fever?”

 

“Wait, what’s this for, Dr. Rivera?”

 

“Mr. Kim believes we can use one of these bacterias against the undead,” the doctor answers.

 

“Well, they would certainly kill anyone who doesn't have access to a cure but the bacteria do need a live host to thrive. The undead are just too, you know, dead. Believe me, we tried.”

 

“Without circulation to carry the bacteria through the body they can’t thrive. Unfortunately for us, you just can’t make a dead person sick,” the male doctor – Will – finishes.

 

“The bacteria is not for them,” Minseok explains. “It’s for us. From what I’ve gathered in the past couple of days, these things have a weakness. I believe that weakness is weakness. I have seen them bypass people. Walk around as if they didn’t exist. Why?” He can see he has the attention of everyone in the room. “I think those people were sick, or dying. Terminal. I think these things could feel that. I think they need a healthy host.”

 

Minseok can see the doctors and researchers all stop and think for a minute. If his theory is correct, they could help so many people, but is it enough to convince them to give it a try?

 

“If you’re right,” Rivera starts, “infecting someone with a deadly disease is not exactly a cure.”

 

“True, it’s not. It’s just camouflage. It gives them a chance. That’s all we need.”

 

Will stands up from his seat and begins pacing around the room. “There is precedent,” he says. “Hungry predators would sometimes avoid diseased bodies. Can you imagine if we equipped our armed forces with that kind of protection? They’d be invisible to the enemy.”

 

“However,” Ellie adds. “The only way to test this wild theory of yours is if we inject ourselves with a deadly disease and go face to face with… her.” They all look at the woman behind the glass.

 

“What have you got?” Minseok asks.

 

“Well, everything. H1N1, Typhus, Bacterial Pneumonia. That’s not the problem.”

 

“What is then?”

 

“They’re all stored in B Wing, where the BSL-4 lab is,” Rivera tells him. He starts walking toward a side room, everyone following along. They enter a small security room, the front wall made up of several monitors with live security footage from the installation. “It’s where our doctors were investigating this virus. This is what B wing looks like now.” He directs Minseok to the monitors on the left.

 

At first he doesn’t see much but, as his eyes focus, he can see the hallways of B Wing are filled with former scientists turned into undead. What’s funny is that they’re not running around looking for their next victim, they’re standing there, mostly unmoving, as if waiting for something.

 

“I’ve never seen them act this way,” Minseok says. “Have you?” He asks Sehun.

 

Sehun shakes his head, seemingly enthralled by the picture the static undead paint.

 

“We think they’re dormant. Awaiting stimulus,” Will asserts.

 

“How many are there?”

 

“80 people worked there,” Ellie tells him.

 

The man in charge proceeds to tell him there’s only one way into B wing – the skybridge – which is now barricaded to stop the undead from breaching into the safe area they have created. “Lab 12 is our BSL-4 section. That’s where you need to go,” he adds. “I’ll go with you.”

 

“You can’t be serious,” the British man says. 

 

“B Wing is a maze, they’ll never make it on their own.”

 

“We don’t even know if his theory is correct,” Ellie adds.

 

“I know. That’s why I’m not asking any of you to go in there with him.”

 

The doctors don’t say anything else after that.

 

--

 

They are ready to set off about an hour later. Minseok gets an extra dose of pain meds to keep him on his feet until they are back.

 

“You shouldn’t even be going in your state,” the British man says. 

 

“I have to go. I won’t send anyone else in my place,” Minseok replies.

 

The British man, whose actual name is Robert, shakes his head but doesn’t argue further. Minseok doubts anyone else would go in his place if he were to stay anyway. But it’s better this way. Minseok is an expert, he knows what to do.

 

They safeguard themselves by wrapping magazines on their forearms to avoid getting bit and finding anything resembling a weapon to protect themselves. Will offers a baseball bat and an ax, Minseok taking the latter. Robert then offers a gun. 

 

Rivera and Minseok stare at it, a bit dumbfounded. Minseok because of the danger of attracting other zombies, and Rivera probably by the fact there is even a gun inside his lab.

 

“Too loud,” Minseok says after no one speaks for too long.

 

“I’ll take it,” Sehun states as he takes the gun and tucks it away. “Let’s go.”

 

“Try not to kill anyone. It only seems to make them angrier,” Robert adds.

 

Filing that bit of information away, Minseok starts moving. 

 

The doors to the skybridge are covered by desks and chairs, effectively stopping anyone, or anything, from entering the safe side of the facility. 

 

Begin careful of making any noise, they carefully start removing the barricade.

 

“You sure you want to do this?” Minseok asks Rivera as they put away the final pieces.

 

“Of course not,” he replies, contradictingly confident. “Let’s go.”

 

Once Minseok is on the other side of the door with Sehun, he hears Rivera say, “if anything comes through that door before us, you seal it. Got it?”

 

“Good luck,” Robert says.

 

Their steps are quiet and their eyes are sharp. Minseok takes the lead into B Wing hoping he has not used the last of his luck already.

 

The first room they reach is a cafeteria. Spoiled food lies in abandoned containers, trays are spread throughout the floor but there are no zombies here. 

 

They keep moving into the hallways leading to the labs, the scientist with them whispering directions. There they encounter the first undead.

 

“Here they are,” the scientist says as they stop right before the clear window of a lab. Inside, some three infected stand static, only grunting and groaning erratically.

 

Minseok signals for Sehun to crawl underneath the window to avoid detection. Signing for him to go, Sehun quickly gets to the other side motioning for Rivera to join him.

Minseok is the last to go, fortunately getting across without being seen.

 

At the end of the hall, the scientist leads them through a creaky door that has everyone on edge. Minseok is forced to leave his axe to bar the door, unwilling to alert more undead with the noise. They’re cutting it close enough as it is.

 

A few steps farther, their luck runs out. An infected stands too close for comfort but they manage to bypass him by the skin of their teeth. However, the scientist hits a metal container with his crowbar, creating a loud enough sound to attract the nearby undead.

 

“,” Minseok exclaims as the rotting body standing too close lunges at him. 

 

A gunshot stops the undead in his tracks, the smelly body dropping heavily to the floor by Minseok’s feet. If the crowbar didn’t catch the attention of all the other infected, then that gunshot did, Minseok thinks.

 

They run, Rivera shouting instructions as they pass door after door. More and more zombies join the chase as they advance, though. They’re not going to make it.

 

When they reach two sets of stairs while being followed by the horde, Minseok makes up his mind.

 

“Go,” he tells Rivera and Sehun. “Sehun’ll get you there safely.”

 

They run up a flight of stairs while Minseok takes the other. He hits the metal railing with the crowbar he took from Rivera to call the infected towards him. It works too well; the creatures following him close behind as he runs through unfamiliar hallways. 

 

He walks through a heavy door when he realizes he’s lost them in the race. However, he fears they may have followed Sehun and the scientist in spite of his efforts.

 

He waits a few minutes but he fears he might be correct in his assumption. He couldn’t have lost them so quickly, that seems odd.

 

Not wanting to waste time, he walks down the hallway he’s in to try and find an exit. Maybe he can reach Sehun and Rivera and help them get away from the hoard. 

 

As he walks, he realizes he’s in a different part of the lab. It certainly looks different to the other hallways he’s been walking through. That’s when he notices he’s probably found his own way to the lab he needs. 

 

“I’ll be damned,” he mutters as he advances. Minseok can tell this is where they study deadly pathogens by the look of the place. Extra thick walls, more ventilation, waterproof floors. This is the BSL-4 lab.

 

There are numbers written outside several doors that eventually guide him towards the one he needs, Lab 12. It’s a typical lab with a high containment cold storage room, with one antechamber for the space suits. 

 

He enters the lab, the door closing quietly behind him, but is unable to enter the antechamber to the cold storage. A code pad mocks him. This cannot be what stops him. But how to get in? If he just busts it open, there’s a high risk of letting out something he doesn’t want. Or, simply contaminating himself with something that will definitely kill him. He’s made it this far, he can’t die because he was careless. 

 

He’s about to try a random number when a phone outside the lab rings. Minseok rushes to pick it up.

 

“5-6-9-6-4,” Ellie dictates. “It’s the security code. It’ll work for both doors and the freezers.” She says the numbers again for good measure but Minseok’s already memorized them.

 

He tries the code and the antechamber door opens. When he steps in, the door automatically seals him in. 

 

He debates whether or not to wear the space suit required to enter the cold chamber, but quickly dismisses it. He’s going to be carrying those vials out of the cold anyway, the suit won’t do much after that. 

 

Mind made, he steps into the cold storage room without further delay.

 

Looking around, he sees there are a few freezers against the walls that contain some of the world’s deadliest pathogens. Minseok walks about the room and reads the labels outside each one.

 

Rabies. Monkeypox. SARS. 

 

Botulism. Anthrax. Mad Cow Disease. 

 

Tetanus. Cholera. H5N1.

 

H1N1. Typhus. Yellow Fever.

 

Those are his choices. Some of them he discards immediately, either because they have no cure or because they’d be inconvenient. He doesn’t think uncontrollable diarrhea is a good choice for camouflage.

 

There’s a camera inside the cold storage room and he looks at it pensively, as if it could tell him what to use. He knows there are a few that could work, but are they what he needs? Are they deadly enough to fool the zombies into thinking he’d be a waste of their resources?

 

Maybe he should take a few choices to try. The treatable ones, at least.

 

He grabs a small metal basket then punches in the code to open the freezers he needs. He pulls out a couple vials for each disease he’s chosen. Typhus, Botulism, and Yellow Fever. Serious yet treatable diseases. 

 

He’s pulled out his thoughts by a pounding at the lab door, his only exit. There is an infected wanting to get in. 

 

. How’s he supposed to leave now?

 

He was so close to actually making it out. Perhaps he used up all his lives already, he has no more left. Taking a deep breath, he thinks. First, he has no weapons, having left the crowbar next to the goddamn phone. Second, he’s carrying volatile pathogens that might end up killing him if he’s not careful. Third, well... that’s about it.

 

Except. 

 

There is a way he could leave. It’s risky. Might end up killing him after all. Should he?

 

He exits the cold storage room into the lab, making sure the doors behind him are properly sealed, and grabs a pen from one of the discarded items of clothing left by some poor infected schmuck. He picks up a pen and a piece of paper and writes a message he hopes someone on the other side of the facility sees. 

 

Tell my family I love them.

 

It’s not enough. Luhan will probably go to hell itself to drag him out and kill him, but it’s all he can think of right now.

 

He hopes to God they have the antidote in storage. He really doesn’t want to die.

 

Taking a syringe, he pulls out some liquid from the Botulism vial, and injects it into his arm. He hopes the disease is serious enough and acts fast enough to appease the undead.

 

Now, all he has to do is wait.