Eunseo

The halls of the English department were quiet. Quieter than usual, anyway.

Eunseo stepped over a body without looking down, her bat resting against her shoulder, fingers drumming idly along the taped grip. The corpse had already been picked apart—ribbons of flesh peeled away, stomach torn open like a split fruit. Something had gotten to them first. Probably the things still shambling around the building.

She didn’t care.

She hadn’t left her base for food, or weapons, or any of the things a "proper" survivor should be scavenging for. She had enough, for now. What she needed was something to do. Something to keep her from going insane in the fuckin' silence.

She ran her fingers along a row of abandoned books, eyes skimming the titles.Drab poetry she didn't care for. None of it was interesting. None of it would stop the restless edge creeping under her skin, the gnawing irritation of having nothing to keep her mouth occupied.

She clenched her teeth. The oral fixation thing had always been a problem—her coach used to call it a nervous habit, but that wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t nerves. It was just her. She used to keep toothpicks behind her ear, chew gum between innings, bite the inside of her cheek just to have something to focus on. Now, she was running low.

Then, finally, a miracle.

A pack of toothpicks left out on a party table, like a gift from the universe. They were scattered between heart-shaped streamers and cheap plastic cups filled with long-spilled punch. Seems the english department had some kind of holiday party. The irony of it wasn’t lost on her. The world ended on Valentine’s Day, and now, love letters and decorations lay forgotten beneath bloody handprints and half-eaten limbs.

Eunseo plucked one from the container, slipping it between her teeth as she pocketed the rest.

Further down the hall, she pried open a professor’s desk and found a pack of cigarettes. She wasn’t a smoker. Didn’t care for the habit. But the way the world was now? She figured she could start. Give her something to do with her mouth.

She was about to leave when she heard it.

A dull thud....Then another.

Something scratching, scraping, the sluggish weight of bodies slamming against a door.

A sigh left her lips, knowing the familiar noise.

Two zombies, clawing at the window of a study room like hungry dogs trying to get to a meal. One of them had bloodied fingers, nails peeled back to raw flesh from where they had been digging. Persistent. But not smart.

She twirled her bat once before stepping forward.

The first one went down easy—a clean crack to the skull, a splatter of dark, half-dried blood streaking the wall. The second barely had time to react before she swung again, its body hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

She exhaled through her nose and turned toward the door.

The glass was smeared with grime, so she couldn't see in. What were they trying to get to? It was a study room...She grabbed the handle, but it was jammed. A groan left her lip as she shouldered the door open with a rough push.

She stared for a long moment, assessing the dirty room. There was a survivor there, and her mind turned as she just maintained eye contact.

She should leave.

They weren’t her problem. They weren’t even someone she knew. Probably another student, but if they had shared a class, she couldn’t remember. She never paid attention to people who weren’t relevant to her.

She shifted the toothpick between her teeth.

Then, with an irritated exhale, she muttered, "You ain't one of them?" She flipped her bat and roughly poked at them with the other end. As if assessing a wild animal. They are just gonna slow her down...

But she didn't think long about it as her eyes flicked to the sky outside. Nearly dark, when undead got the most restless. She'd have to get out of here, back to base soon. But first. "You got a name?" She asked through a glare.