Byun Baekhyun tasted like heaven on Earth.

That was first and foremost on Michael Kwon's mind as he tangled his arms around his paramour's back, pulling their bodies skin to skin. The first taste carried just a hint of chlorine, and the next was pure heaven—just the flavor of Baekhyun's tongue on his lips, hungering to discover more and more of him. His swimsuit lay cast aside on the pool deck, right beside the other's inside-out trunks. Michael felt that clothing was always optional when dealing with Baekhyun; something innate within him just couldn't stand for being anything less than entirely entwined around the cruise line singer's body.

And the liplock—the liplock was enough to make Michael forget everything for a moment in time. To forget that he'd be dead within days—he was certain—because the island had been infested by rotting cannibals. To forget the rain pounding against the windows and the oft-given warnings not to swim in the middle of a thunderstorm. To forget that he'd been put on lookout by the door to the deck for some reason or other; Michael couldn't be bothered to remember exactly why right now. He lost all consciousness to his surroundings as the kiss went deeper and deeper and—

All of a sudden, a raucous pounding on the window—not like that of a casual call to attention, but the batter of a dozen fists against the glass-panel wall—ripped Michael right out of the kiss. He immediately shrieked like a little girl as, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a group of those things—those rotting cannibals—pressed against the side of the glass, drenched in so many pieces of brains and guts that not even the torrential downpour pounding down on them could wash it all away. Michael could hear Baekhyun wheeze for air as his arms and legs automatically squeezed the breath right out of him and he let out a second earsplitting scream.

It was only as he chanced another glance at the window that he realized the horde standing on the other side of it wasn't zombie at all; instead, a group of living, breathing, albeit a little frantic human beings stared back at him, and he all too suddenly remembered exactly why the manager Joonmyun had put him on lookout by the pool deck door.

They were expecting another group of survivors. But that realization came two seconds too late, because Michael's bladder had most definitely just completely emptied itself of its contents. At least, the water around his legs sure was suspiciously warm.

"Um, tell me you didn't just," Baekhyun spat as the other released him from his death grip and tittered awkwardly.

"Yeah, uh, sorry 'bout that," Michael said, sheepishly avoiding eye contact as he waded off to the side of the pool. He figured he might as well not leave the newly arrived guests waiting outside for too long—you know, there being zombies now and all. The chef tossed Baekhyun's suit across the pool before fetching his swim trunks and slipping them back on under the cover of water. He hoisted himself out of the pool and trotted for the door.

There was a full-on stampede as the outsiders practically piled in one on top of the other. Baekhyun watched curiously from halfway down the deck as the last of them filtered in and Michael in turned slammed the door shut. It was only after pushing their makeshift barricade—his grill and a pile of lounge chairs—back into place before the glass-panel door that he pivoted to face the group again.

Nine strange faces stared back at him, all looking a little worse for the wear. A tall, blond man in particular caught his eye—well-dressed and quite handsome to boot if not for the fact that he definitely looked to be missing a hand.

"Hi," Michael greeted, grinning brightly. He couldn't help but throw in a casual wink at the hot, handless one. "Sorry 'bout the wait. We weren't expecting you guys so soon." ...Well, he personally hadn't really been expecting them at all, considering their first course of action during the apocalypse was to walk a beach swarming with zombies, but, eh, moot point.

"No problem," a brunet male with sharp eyes exhaled between gasps for breath. "Really, we can't thank you enough for inviting us over. We were starting to think we'd die in that kitchen."

Michael didn't feel a pressing need to undergo the usual formalities; that was Joonmyun's job. He merely nodded before, wearing as personable a smile as ever, waving the shaken guests to follow him. Down the hall, trailing blood diluted with rainwater across the burgundy carpet beneath them, the group shuffled before eventually arriving at an open chamber.

The Three Seasons's lobby lounge had been emptied of most furniture a couple days ago; all but one couch now sat shoved against the front doors as a blockade. Every window, every transparent nook and cranny had been taped over with newspaper in hope that if those rotting things outside couldn't see them, they wouldn't break in and try to eat them. Nowadays, the resident staff—comprised of Jongdae, housekeeper; Yixing, room service attendant; and Joonmyun, general manager—spent most of its time camped around the lone remaining sofa they'd pushed up against the front desk. Lately, a female physician by the name of Dr. Byun had joined them. Michael supposed it wasn't such a bad idea, keeping a doctor around.

No one seemed to notice the group enter; all eyes were fixated on the big-screen television they'd huddled around as the manager flipped through channels. The satellite signal stuttered against the storm that had blanketed the island; each passing channel fizzed in and out in a burst of static and hisses. But Michael could make out just enough of the fleeting blips to figure out that nothing had changed at all. The Three Seasons crew had kept a vigilant eye on the TV for two days now, and not a single station—not even Fox News or ABC—had uttered a word about the situation on Esla Key. Zero. Zip. Nada. It was as if the outside world somehow didn't even know.

Michael cleared his throat.

"Ahem," he interrupted, "special delivery, boss."

In synchronicity, their four heads turned to blink at the new arrivals. Joonmyun hopped up from his perch at the front desk and darted across the lobby to greet them.

"You made it!" he exhaled with relief, like he'd been holding his breath since the moment he got off the radio with them. "You actually made it. I was worried you might not, but thank god you did." He paused, eyes glancing over each of the nine faces before him, before finishing: "Uh, I thought there were six of you?"

"We picked up a few other survivors with a car," the breathless brunet from before said. "They're probably the only reason we actually made it. Those things are everywhere out there. The beach is swarmed with them."

No sooner had he said his piece than a young blond stepped in. "Name's Luhan," he introduced and extended his hand toward the manager. Joonmyun shook it without hesitation. "This here's Minseok." He nodded toward the brunet to his left. "Nice to meet you."

"And the injured?" interjected a female voice. Michael took the opportunity—the opportunity being the fact that all eyes suddenly glued themselves to Dr. Alyssa Byun, Epidemiologist and Future Nobel Peace Prize Winner—to pull Baekhyun closer. He pressed his chest to the smaller man's back, trailing kisses up his neck while no one was watching. From the corner of his eye, he caught Jongdae crossing the room for one of the newcomers, a purple-haired girl who froze up awkwardly as the housekeeper squeezed her tight in his arms.

"No, really, this is so wonderful and great," he could just barely hear her drone, every word dripping with sarcasm. "How great, really, I was hoping you'd be alive..."

"The tall blondie is cute," Michael breathed into Baekhyun's ear, switching gears back to the more pertinent topic at hand: the hot, handless one's backside. Michael loved it when attractive men wore tight slacks; the fabric clung to his just right as he raised his arm in response to the doctor's question. He unconsciously crooked his neck for an even better look.

Baekhyun snorted. "Yeah, but what can he do with a stump?"

"All a man really needs is one hand," Michael reminded.

The dapper amputee wore a stony face, keeping his amputated stump pressed to his chest as if no one would notice his hand was missing if he didn't draw attention to it. He didn't seem to hear the pair checking him out from the corner, and if he did, he certainly didn't care. "Hi," was all he droned, sounding as if every ounce of happiness had been from his body. (Michael supposed that was a reasonable emotional reaction to losing a limb.) "Kris."

"Kris, would you mind coming with me?" Dr. Byun asked, immediately taking his remaining hand in her own and tugging him to follow. "I'd like to give you a checkup and make sure your injury is healing properly."

Michael buried his face in Baekhyun again, feeling his paramour's skin burst into goose bumps beneath his lips as they brushed across the nape of his neck. He only barely paid attention as Joonmyun fetched a key from the rack and tossed it over to the doctor, and she in turn turned to drag Kris out of the room. Michael peeked up to spot a girl with braided pigtails suddenly dart into the hall behind the departing duo, for some reason waving a battered iron fiddle above her head.

"Hey, wait a minute, Miss Doctor Lady!" he could hear the girl's fading voice squeak in a very, very hillbilly accent. "You don't mind terribly if I tag along, do ya? I wanna see them fancy doctor tools if you got any! Back home in Nowhere, all we had when the doctor came to visit was the vet equipment, 'cause we had to share it with the livestock! I do recall Beom Beomseok got a nasty infection after the doctor forgot to sterilize the scalpel he'd just used to cut my sweet little Bessie's uterus open! Must've slipped his mind, bless his heart..."

The country bumpkin's voice trailed off, leaving an awkward silence hovering over the room. Ultimately, it was Joonmyun who cleared his throat, calling the lobby occupants back to attention. Michael suppressed a chuckle as the girl from before finally pried herself out of Jongdae's arms and then huffed, flipping her violet bob indignantly.

"Alright, gang," he said. "Here's the plan. For the moment, we're safe here. We've barricaded the doors, and we've got enough food to last the twenty of us about another week, but we're hoping we won't have to wait that long. Ideally, the military will come for us within the next few days. In the meantime, we're going to try and build an SOS on the roof to let any passing aircraft know we're down here and need help. We've got some extra bedsheets to spare. It'd be great if you guys could help—after you've showered and rested of course."

"We'd be more than happy to," Minseok immediately obliged.

"Sounds like a plan," Luhan interjected, "but one thing: what if the military doesn't come?"

Joonmyun grimaced at the question. It was only after balking for a moment that he finally exhaled: "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, let's get you guys settled in."

"Can you open your mouth and lift your tongue, please?"

Kris glowered sullenly at the doctor hovering beside him, digital thermometer ready in hand. It was only after huffing an agitated sigh that he obliged and grudgingly pried his mouth open. If his attitude was any indication, Dr. Alyssa Byun would almost swear he didn't even want to be helped. She stuck the stick into his mouth and instructed him to close down on it as Minnie Su rummaged through the doctor's kit beside them, every now and then gasping in wonder.

"Why, this here toilet paper-lookin' stuff reminds me of the time back home my brother Beomseok had to get a full body cast! Doctor said he broke every bone in his body tryin' ta tip one of the cattle, bless his soul. Poor Bessie just lost her balance and landed right on top of him! I reckon he looked like a livin' mummy for a while after that."

"Please don't touch the gauze," Alyssa said. Immediately, Minnie Su yanked her hands back into her lap and blinked at the doctor like she'd just been caught red-handed stealin' cookies from her mama's cookie jar.

"Well, I declare!" she squeaked. "I do apologize."

Alyssa only laughed. "It's fine really. I'd like to keep the bandages clean is all, and your hands could really use a washing."

The country bumpkin glanced down at the dried blood caked beneath her fingernails and gasped in recognition. "I do declare you're right!" was all she chirped before scurrying off to the bathroom sink. The faucet tap could be heard rushing to life from next door just as the thermometer in Kris's mouth suddenly beeped. The doctor pulled it out and squinted down at the temperature reading.

"Ninety-eight point six," she read aloud before scribbling the numbers down on her medical chart. "Perfectly average. All your vital signs seem normal, which is good news."

Normally, Kris might have spat out some cheesy pick-up line—"Do you have a fever? Because you're hot."—but he couldn't say he felt up to the task of flirting just then. ...Or ever again, really. Instead, he simply continued to scowl up at the pretty doctor from his seat on the bed as she took his unsightly, blistering stump in her hand and examined it with both eyes and fingers.

"The amputation site was cauterized, correct?"

"I... guess," he grumbled, averting eye contact, "if that's what you call the hillbilly shoving my arm against a grill..."

"The good news is," Alyssa said as she fished a tube of antibiotic ointment out of her bag, "she probably saved your life. If the wound hadn't been closed, your blood would likely be about as thick as Kool-Aid right now—if you even lasted this long, that is. Not to mention, she did a pretty solid job. You've got a second-degree burn, but it could have been much worse. You should thank her."

Kris grimaced at the suggestion, and he certainly didn't so much as acknowledge Minnie Su when she finally flitted back into the room and plopped down on the bed right beside him. The bumpkin watched curiously as Alyssa proceeded to apply the antibiotic cream to the burn and then started to wrap a loose layer of gauze around it.

"Boy, we sure are lucky we found you a doctor, don't you think, Mister Kris?" the bumpkin babbled. "I reckon you'll be good as new in no time!"

Kris just grunted, to which Alyssa grinned and pitched in: "That's right! It should heal up in about two to three weeks."

But the validation clearly didn't lift his spirits any; his glum glare at the amputation only intensified before finally Minnie Su nudged him. "Now, you listen here, Mister Kris," she yapped, "if you ever need a shoulder to lean on, I reckon I'm about perfect height!"

"I don't need your sympathy," he answered flatly. "I just want," he started to say, only to trail off and groan as he realized saying anything at all was useless because he was never going to get his hand back, was he? He was just going to look like a freak for the rest of his life, and that was that. Nothing he could say or do could save him from this pitiful fate now.

Somehow, Minnie Su seemed to read his mind. She placed a should-be-comforting hand on his shoulder and told him: "Well, Mister Kris, I reckon nothing's gonna bring your hand back, but if you want, who knows? Maybe Miss Doctor Alyssa and I can find ya a new hand, and she can sew it back on your stump! Anyhow, ain't no sense in beatin' yourself up over it. I don't think any less of you just 'cause you got a gimpy arm now. I'll always be your friend!"

Was that really supposed to comfort him? He stared back at the bumpkin for at least twelve awkward seconds before actually replying: "We aren't... really friends."

"Oh!" Minnie Su exclaimed and then rapid-fire blinked. "Well, then I'd like to be your friend, Mister Kris."

He gawked back at her. "O...kay?"

The country yokel beamed with oblivious satisfaction. Poor thing didn't even seem to realize Kris wasn't actually agreeing to a change of social association so much as acknowledging that she was babbling and that he had indeed heard her so at the very least she wouldn't repeat herself again. Thankfully, Alyssa cut in at that exact moment, sparing Kris from anymore of the dreadfulness that was trying to communicate with Minnie Su.

"I hate to interrupt the peacemaking," she said, "but can you extend your arm for me so I can draw a tiny blood sample?"

Kris did a double take as if to make sure he'd heard the doctor right. "A blood sample?" he spat. "Why?"

"I'd just like to run some tests."

Alyssa rummaged through her bag, retrieving a tourniquet, needle and tube, and alcohol wipes. It wasn't till she turned back to Kris and nodded expectantly toward him that he finally relented and flexed his arm. The doctor pulled the tourniquet tight around his bicep and then unpackaged a wipe, rubbing the pit of his elbow clean.

"You might feel a little prick."

Having blood drawn was pretty high on Kris's list of least favorite ways to pass the time. He tried not to look as the doctor pulled his skin taut and then all but jammed the needle into his vein. Sure, she probably thought she was being delicate, but Kris felt more like he was being dry and drained of all life force by a bloodthirsty vampire. Tiny sample, his . Kris kept his gaze glued straight to the ceiling until the needle was withdrawn and the doctor had stowed the blood sample away.

"Well, I guess that's about it," Alyssa announced, and he watched as she proceeded to pack up the rest of her instruments and drape the kit full of medical instruments over one shoulder. Before she turned to leave, though, she pulled something from the side pocket of the bag and tossed it toward him. "And since you've been such a good boy, here. You earned it."

Kris caught the object in his hand and soon found himself blinking down at a lollipop. His face sank right back into a glower. "Don't patronize me," he grumbled, earning a buoyant laugh from the doctor.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Just trying to lighten the mood—I work with kids! Anyway, try to keep the wound clean. I'll swing by tomorrow to change the dressing."

And with that, she disappeared from Room 308. Almost immediately, Minnie Su slapped both hands down on her knees and bounced up from the mattress to follow suit.

"Well, I reckon you don't want me hangin' 'round, so I'll be on my way!" she said as she collected the bow and fiddle propped against the side of the bed and then curtsied in parting. "I s'pose I'll go see about where my room'll be..."

Minnie Su was halfway to the door when, all of a sudden, something possessed Kris to stop her. "Wait," he interrupted, leaving the petite girl halting in place. As she spun around to face him, blinking expectantly, all he could really spit out was: "There's two beds." Seriously, what on Earth had gotten into him?

"Yes, indeedy," she agreed, nodding.

Kris ran his hand through his hair coolly. "So... you should stay here."

Minnie Su cocked her head to the side, puzzled. "But Mister Kris—"

"Look," he cut in, sighing. "We both know I don't like you very much"—actually, she probably didn't know that at all judging by the dopey look perpetually smacked across her face—"but I'm useless with one hand, and you're the only one I really trust to beat a zombie off me in the event that one gets in here. So, can we room together?"

He bit his lip on the last word. He had just enough dignity left in him not to throw in a "please."

"Well, okie-dokie!" Minnie Su readily agreed, grinning from ear to ear. "If you wanted a bodyguard, all you hadda do was ask! Y'know, one time back home, I chased a pack of wolves off the farm usin' just mama's fryin' pans and a lot of hootin' and hollerin'. Leave it to me, Mister Kris!"

...He already knew he was going to regret this.

Alyssa had barely taken a step out the door; she turned the corner, ready to return to her room at the end of the hall, when she nearly crashed face-first into a man standing just on the other side. The doctor let out a squeak, feeling her heart skip a beat, before she quickly realized it was only the room service attendant. Had he been standing just outside the room the whole time?

"Good God, Yixing!" she exhaled, laughing off the momentary startle. But the other just frowned in return, all the while practically wringing his hands blue.

"Is he like the old man?" Yixing whispered, eyes darting to the door to Room 308.

Alyssa swallowed, remembering the daring secret she had locked away in her room: the sickly old man she and Hannah had been trying to cure. The pair of amateur doctors had found him on a street corner too weak to carry himself to the hospital, and they'd offered care for him back at the Three Seasons just before the lockdown went into effect. She glanced back over her shoulder, checking that the two were alone in the hall, before facing her friend once more with pursed lips. In a hushed tone, she answered: "No. No, he doesn't seem to be infected. I don't know; maybe he's immune. He's not showing any of the same symptoms, none of the decomposition, nothing at all."

"Then..."

"I don't know," she sighed. "It's definitely not influenza—I can tell you that much."

Yixing bit his lip. "You really should tell Joonmyun, Alyssa."

"No," she spat, eyes narrowing. "I can still help him. Besides, we can't just throw him out onto the beach. He'll die out there."

"But this is crazy," he insisted, and his feet hastened to follow the other as she curtly brushed past him toward the end of the hall. "Isn't he dying anyway?"

Alyssa said nothing in reply; she didn't even acknowledge the question until she had reached the door to 303 on the opposite wall. The doctor placed a hand on the doorknob and then paused, facing him with one final sigh. "Please, Yixing," she muttered. "Hannah and I are keeping a close eye on him. I intend to do everything I can to help him. I won't let him die."

It was at that precise moment that the door to the guest room swung out from under Alyssa's hand and—speak of the devil—the head of a second young doctor poked out from within. Hannah quickly joined them in the hall, shutting the door quietly behind her.

"Hey," she greeted. "So, what's the word?"

Alyssa's grip on the medical bag mechanically tightened as she nodded toward it. "I talked him into a blood sample. The patient seems fine, really. Totally asymptomatic and in generally good health despite having just lost a limb." The doctor paused, glancing down the hall once more just to be safe. "I asked him how it happened, though," she exhaled. "He says one of the infected died and came back to life."

Hannah's eyebrows furrowed. "But that's impossible," she shot back. "He has to be mistaken."

"I know. But he insists that's what happened. He says this man bled to death from a bite wound to the jugular vein and then reanimated and bit his entire hand off. I don't really understand it either."

"Well, maybe the man just... passed out," Yixing suggested tentatively. Alyssa folded one arm across her chest and, with the other hand, rubbed circles around her temple.

"It's possible," she said, "but that doesn't explain how a man so weakened from blood loss could bite a stronger man's hand off clean off. In any case, there's definitely one thing in common here.

"Both men were bitten."

Jongin let out a yawn, flipping over in bed. He buried his face halfway beneath the pillow to block the murky light creeping in through the curtains and curled into a ball. The velvety blanket on his bare chest felt like heaven, second only to the cushiony mattress cradling his lithe frame. Room 319 was the only one in all of Three Seasons boasting memory foam mattresses; Joonmyun had to replace both beds in the room after an unfortunate incident involving a ceiling fan and a couple of drunk honeymooners. Needless to say, neither survived the accident, and there were legends to the day that their bloody ghosts still haunted 319.

Haunted, shmaunted. Rumors were just rumors, and this mattress was way too comfortable to give up.

The thought had practically just passed through Jongin's mind when, out of nowhere, a bloodcurdling scream erupted from the bathroom, sending him bolting upright in bed. ...Well, maybe not bolting; he was still groggy and it took him at least a couple of seconds to process the noise. Nevertheless, he let out a second yawn and stared at the bathroom door with half-lidded eyes as his two-seconds-older sister came trudging out, cloaked in nothing but a towel.

"Innie, the shower is cold," she grumbled.

He blinked slothfully back at her. "Yeah, so? You aren't supposed to shower in the middle of a thunderstorm anyway, Eunnie."

And with that, he plopped right back over on the mattress, putting a curt end to the conversation. Jooeun eyed him for a long moment before ultimately deciding retorting wasn't worth the effort; instead, she dragged herself over to the laundry basket and peered inside. One look at the crinkled jumble of yesterday's t-shirts and unwashed underwear was all it really took for the lifeguard to decide getting dressed wasn't really worth the effort either. After all, she was only going next door. It wasn't like she'd be running into her boss.

"B-R-B," Jooeun droned to the other twin, who let out a snore in reply, before plodding into the hall. She clung tightly to her towel—wouldn't want any wardrobe malfunctions, not that a bath towel really counted as a wardrobe anyway—and moseyed to the closest door down the hall, knocking on it.

There was no immediate reply, and she was just about to give up and go back to the room and settle for a cold shower when the door finally swung open. Jooeun found herself staring at a tall, skinny kid in a Pizza Hut uniform—the same one he'd been wearing for the past two days.

"Hey, pizza guy," she greeted, raising one hand in salutation.

"It'th Thehun," he corrected. It was only then that he seemed to realize a female was standing half before him, because he suddenly pulled at his collar and gulped. "Yeth?" Jooeun could practically smell the panic coming off his body as he broke into a cold sweat.

"Lemme take a shower in your room," she said. Perfectly nonchalant. "Our hot water's out."

"But... um, don't all the roomth share the water?"

"Seriously?" Jooeun groaned. And without another word, she turned to slog back down the hall to Room 319, leaving Oh Sehun crooking his neck for a better look at her thighs before she disappeared into the suite altogether. Jongin's snores greeted the twin sister on return. She slid the pillow out from under his head and whacked him—somewhat gently, but then, not really gently at all—on the back to wake him.

"Hhhnnnnn," Jongin groaned. He gathered just enough energy to open one eye and glare at her. "What was that for, Eunnie?"

"Innie, go ask the manager why the water is cold," she pleaded, receiving a disinterested grunt in reply.

"Why do I have to do it?" he said as he tugged the pillow back from his sister and burrowed his way beneath it once more. "You're the one who wants to take a shower, Eunnie..."

"But I'll have to get dressed and put my makeup on to talk to him, Innie!"

"So get dressed and put your makeup on, Eunnie."

"But then my hair will still be dirty," she pouted.

"So take a cold shower, then ask him," his muffled voice wafted out from beneath the cushion.

Jooeun knew Jongin well enough to know when a loss was a loss. She crawled off the bed and shambled to the laundry basket, rummaging through it for the least rumpled t-shirt she could find. "Where's our underwear?" she asked.

"My underwear is in the dresser," Jongin sighed. "I don't know where yours is, Eunnie."

She examined the only semi-not-dirty shirt in the hamper and, realizing it had a Call of Duty logo on it, which wasn't likely to impress the boss, immediately tossed it back in. "I'll just wear my bathing suit."

Forty-five minutes later, Jooeun strode out of the room again looking like a different girl altogether; she'd brushed all the kinks out of her bluish-grey mop and dolled up in a fresh coat of makeup and wiped away at least most of the lipstick that somehow got on her teeth instead of her lips. Like a beautiful swan transformed, she flounced down the stairs two at a time toward the lobby. When she saw Joonmyun hovering at the front desk, an aura of golden, heavenly light encircling him, every cell in her body just about melted into a hot puddle of ooh-la-la was the manager fiiine. Unconsciously, she fanned herself before strutting up to the counter to greet him.

"Hi, boss," she purred—and then quickly zipped her lips because she could already feel an incomprehensible string of words including "heavenly guardian angel" and "be my sugar daddy" raring to slip out. Jooeun's knees wobbled when Joonmyun blinked up at her.

"Hey, Jooeun," he sighed. A second-long glance was all he spared his employee before returning attention right back to the papers before him. He idly tapped the desk with the of his pen, seemingly tense.

Jooeun cleared —daintily, of course—before prodding: "Hey, boss, I was just wonde—"

"I'm sorry," he cut in mid-sentence, frowning apologetically at his staff member. "I really can't talk right now. I have to make sure all the new guests have everything they need. Toothbrushes, clean clothes... I should make sure Michael's in the kitchen and not fooling around with his boyfriend, too..."

"New guests?" She blinked. She hadn't noticed the arrival of any new guests. Weren't they still on lockdown, anyway? "Since when?"

Joonmyun glanced at his wrist watch before shooting back: "Well, you've been sleeping for approximately two days now, so—"

"Two days? It was a catnap!"

"—we got in touch with some survivors over at Atlantis. They're going to be staying with us till help arrives. And then as soon as the storm passes, I'll have to arrange a party to set up an SOS on the rooftop..."

"Oh," she said, blinking. "Well, if you need help passing out toothbrushes, I'm your girl!" she declared and flashed him a bright grin and two thumbs up. It wasn't like Jooeun to volunteer for more work, but hey, anything that could get her in the boss's good graces could hardly be classified as work at all.

"You know, I thought you were a goner for sure when I saw the lights go out down the beach!" Kim Jongdae muttered from somewhere beneath the jumble of dirty bedsheets stockpiled in his arms.

Ahreum, who had grudgingly taken the task of helping him bring linens up to the roof (which was exactly why he was carrying all of them and she was carrying nada) opted not to warn the housekeeper before he misstepped right off the last stair and tripped into a faceful of grody, unwashed cloths. He had plenty of padding, so hey, why bother sparing him the humiliation? Jongdae burrowed his way out of the sheets and then scrambled back to his feet, dusting his knees off.

"Oopsy daisy," she droned flatly, strutting right by him as he scooped the pile back into his arms. He somehow managed to pick up all but one, but he could barely even see around the five-foot bundle in hand, let alone bend over to pick it up without dropping the rest of them.

"Hey, Catcyclo—"

"Don't finish that word."

"—pedia, could you get that for me?" He nodded toward the off-white blanket on the floor, and Ahreum just chuckled cheekily at the mere notion she'd touch someone else's soiled sheets.

"Aren't you the housekeeper?" she retorted, giving him the look. The look being an incredulous glare that she could only hope would remind Jongdae that she still sort of despised him and was never just going to magically get over the fact that he'd started that terrible nickname for her all the way back in elementary school and was still public enemy number one as far as she was concerned. "Toting dirty sheets around is your job, not mine."

"C'mon, it's one sheet. It's not gonna kill you."

Ahreum pointed at the tall glass of iced liquid in her hand. "Do you see me carrying this lemonade?" she sassed. "I'm sure the sheet isn't gonna go anywhere. You can come back for it."

And with that, she flipped her hair, trudging right up the stairs without another word.

The storm had finally cleared, leaving only a slick, slippery rooftop—Ahreum wondered if the Three Seasons' insurance still covered accidental neck breaks in the event of an apocalypse—and faint traces of rain clouds rolling out onto the city in its wake. The sun threatened to set soon; the frazzled resort manager had more or less declared it a race against time to get a makeshift SOS set up before night fell. The other survivors scurried like ants about the rooftop, straightening up letters "H" and "E" as Jongdae came waddling upstairs and tossed the sheets on the ground.

"That should be enough for the 'L-P.'"

"Thanks," Joonmyun said. Immediately, the ants swarmed the sheets and set to work spreading them out on the roof like mindless worker drones. Ahreum could hardly believe the efforts some people would go to for pipe dreams; it wasn't like the military was actually going to help them. Anyone who had ever seen one of those god-awful Hollywood zombie movies could tell you that. If anything, the army would just break into the hotel and shoot them down and then that'd be it—they'd all be dead because of some stupid help sign they'd wasted the last few minutes of their lives erecting.

Ahreum huffed and turned to look out on the beach. The waves still churned just offshore in the aftermath of the storm, and the once glimmering white sand had vanished beneath a layer of drab grey mud and kelp washed up from the sea. Truth be told, she had never really spent much time on the beach; she preferred the confines of the indoors to where she could sunburn, but even she had to admit that the oceanfront hardly resembled its former beauty.

It wasn't the storm, though. It was the hordes of walking corpses that now lined the shore, their shuffling steps leaving footprints of blood and carrion where the sparkling sand had once been. It was the hundreds of rotting hands hungrily pounding on the walls of the hotel, swarming the building like cockroaches. It was the odor of death that always hung in the air now.

As far as Ahreum was concerned, they were all going to die. In the meantime, she was going back inside to enjoy her lemonade.

Author's Note!

there are passages here and there in this chapter that i really hate and would love to clean up some more, but after working on it non-stop for the past 4 days, i don't feel like going back and editing it yet again. lol. i don't know if you could tell but i was REALLY overwhelmed at the beginning — having to introduce like 15 characters doing 10 different things all at once and all. the chapter is a little disjointed because i really just wanted to get through the rest of the introductions and relationships so now i can move on with the story! so, yeah, sorry for the pointless scenes here and there and the lack of zombie slayin' action, but it'll be back eventually. chapters will be shorter from now on so that i don't have to dedicate entire half weeks to writing them. oh yeah and sorry if your character didn't show up in this chapter at all, but that'll happen from time to time because, again, including so many characters at once is really difficult.

congratulations to the final chosen ones, xiumini and fairycrumbs! and again, i'm very sorry to all who applied and didn't get a spot. ( /)u(\ ) i would have loved to be able to take so many more than i did, but ultimately there's only so much i can handle (and this is already too much honestly) and in the end it came down to whose partner wasn't taken and whose app fit the zombie apocalypse setting the best. i know everyone says this, but i really mean it: i loved your apps and not being able to choose more killed me! :< so thank you all again for applying and feel free to recycle your apps if i ever make another horror apply fic!