"When there's no more room in Hell, the dead will walk the Earth."
-George A. Romero
Hudson Maccabeus had always been a step off from the world, as if life were a song everyone else knew the words to but he only ever hummed along. Born under the wide skies of Australia, his story took a sharp turn down a flight of stairs at the age of four at the hands of his abusive father, an event etched not just into the cracks of his skull but into the entire trajectory of his being. His amygdala, that tiny almond-shaped part of the brain responsible for fear and anxiety, had gone quiet. Permanently.
He didn't know it then, but his mother's tearful victory in court and subsequent relocation to South Korea would become the closest thing to peace he'd ever know. Amelia Maccabeus was a flame of a woman. Brilliant, fierce, protective, who followed her best friend to a faraway country for a fresh start. She watched over Hudson with a gaze both nurturing and vigilant, aware that her son's missing fear often made him blind to danger, and sometimes too brave for his own good.
Adapting to Korean life was like learning to dance on a new floor with different music. There were missteps, and plenty of them. Words that didn't quite come out right, gestures that landed awkwardly, customs missed entirely. But Hudson was nothing if not adaptable. He paid attention. He watched. And slowly, like a chameleon studying the light, he began to blend in. Not perfectly, but well enough to earn nods instead of stares. Even if a few laughs were still at his expense, he welcomed them. They meant he was seen.
By the time he reached Hyosan High, he had grown into a lanky teen with sun-weathered freckles, a mop of sandy hair that never stayed down, and a tendency to speak with an odd blend of Aussie lilt and Korean fluency. He was quippy, sometimes too honest, and filled with facts that made his classmates either curious or confused. He could name constellations, quote Shakespeare, and explain the neurobiology of fear, all before lunch. If his new friends could tell anyone anything, it's that different is interesting.
To his surprise, his classmates didn't treat him like an outsider. In fact, many were fascinated by him. Some asked about his accent, others about Australia's wildlife, and a few about the scar on the side of his head. He didn't mind. Curiosity was a form of connection.
And then there was Choi Nam-ra. The class president, and one who, despite her antisocial demeanor, stood out the most in his eyes.
She was like him in the ways that mattered, quiet, observant, surrounded by walls people rarely tried to climb. Her presence was magnetic, not because she tried to be, but because she didn't. Hudson noticed her long before he ever spoke to her. The way she read during lunch, the subtle eye rolls at drama, the tiny smiles she gave to answers only she found satisfying.
He never expected to feel the way he did. But over time, affection crept in like ivy, slow and sure and impossible to uproot.
He never told her, of course. What would he say? That the boy without fear was terrified of being dismissed?
So he stayed close instead. Sat near her when he could. Chimed in during group work with facts she might appreciate. Made her laugh once with a terrible impression of a kangaroo, her smile that day stayed with him longer than he cared to admit.
Hyosan High had finally started to feel like something resembling home. A strange, cobbled home, sure, but a home nonetheless.
Later that day.
The warm smell of oil and spice greeted Hudson before he even opened the door. It curled around him like an eager handshake, full of promise and grease and something oddly comforting.
"Come on, Aussie! You're late!" Cheong-san called out from behind the counter, waving him in with a greasy pair of tongs.
Hudson smirked and stepped inside, ducking beneath the low-hanging fan. Cheong-san Chicken wasn't big, but it was loud with life. On-jo and I-sak were already seated at the table by the window, arguing over whether Gyeong-su had cheated at their last mobile game match.
"Oi! Cheating requires intent!" Gyeong-su defended, holding up his hands. "Lag isn't cheating!"
Cheong-san's mom peeked out from the kitchen, face warm and flushed from the fryer. "Hudson, right? Sit, sit! You're just in time. Wings are coming out now."
He gave her a small, appreciative bow. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you for having me."
Minutes later, the table was filled with sizzling chicken, golden and steaming. Hudson bit into a drumstick and paused mid-chew, eyes widening.
"Holy hell," he muttered, mouth half full. "This is the best fried chicken I've ever had."
Cheong-san's mom laughed from behind the counter. "You say that to all the Korean ajummas, huh?"
Hudson shook his head, licking spicy oil from his thumb. "Dead serious. Perfect ratio of salty to spicy. Crunchy, but not dry. Like, you could probably bribe world leaders with this."
"She's gonna get a big head now," Cheong-san grinned, popping a wing in his mouth.
"She deserves it," Hudson replied. "If I die tomorrow, this will be my last meal request."
"Don't say that," I-sak frowned.
"It's just an expression," On-jo explained quickly. "Foreigners say weird things."
"Hey now," Hudson chuckled. "You've heard my theory on how Korean kids are secretly bred in spice, right? It's evolutionary."
Gyeong-su snorted. "Didn't you say that eating spicy food builds emotional resilience?"
"Exactly," Hudson nodded. "Why do you think none of you panic during exams? It's the gochujang."
That got a round of laughs, even from Cheong-san, who nearly choked on a thigh.
As they ate, the conversation shifted to school, assignments, gossip, and then, inevitably, Mr. Lee.
"Did anyone else notice he smells like something died in his lab?" Gyeong-su asked, wrinkling his nose.
"More like something undead," On-jo muttered.
"He's always sweaty," I-sak added. "Like, even in winter."
"He's been in the science wing too long," Hudson offered. "I think he's fermenting."
That got another burst of laughter.
"Seriously, though," Cheong-san leaned in, lowering his voice. "There's something off about him lately. Like… twitchy. On edge."
"He always looks like he's listening to someone who isn't there," On-jo added.
"Paranoid," Hudson agreed. "Either he's running on three hours of sleep and coffee, or he's cooking meth in the back room."
"I'd believe either," Gyeong-su muttered.
They all shared a look, half joking, half serious. The kind of conversation that started light but left a strange taste behind. Hudson glanced out the window as the neon sign buzzed gently overhead.
He didn't know it yet, but it would be one of the last peaceful nights they'd share.
And the chicken? He really wasn't kidding, he would think of it later, when the world went to hell.
The next morning.
The alarm clicked on at 6:00 a.m., but Hudson was already awake.
He didn't startle, didn't groan, didn't even roll over. He simply opened his eyes, lay still for a breath, and then moved, deliberate, efficient, practiced. His mornings were ritual. Some would call it obsessive, others would use words like "psychotic" or "textbook Patrick Bateman." He preferred the term functional discipline.
Stretch. Cold water rinse. Brush. Floss. Moisturizer. Collagen-based eye serum, not because he cared about wrinkles, but because he liked the tingle.
Shirt, pants, wristwatch, done.
By 6:18 he was downstairs in the kitchen, flipping bacon beside a sizzling pan of eggs while the kettle came to a gentle boil. Amelia sat at the counter with her ever-mounting planner, scribbling notes in tight, looping handwriting.
"You're up early," she said without looking.
"You say that like I ever sleep in," he replied, plating two servings with casual grace.
Amelia glanced up and smiled. "Still. You could sleep until seven just once."
Hudson shrugged. "Why tempt fate?"
They ate together in quiet, as they often did, content in the silence between sentences, comfortable in the rhythm they'd built. Amelia had always been the anchor in Hudson's life, equal parts fire and finesse. She'd raised him with softness and steel, loving him fiercely but never letting his fearlessness turn into recklessness.
Today, however, she was dressed in sharp navy, business trip attire.
"Seoul. Five days," she reminded him gently, though she knew he didn't need reminding. "Board meetings, client dinners. I'll be back before you can burn the apartment down."
Hudson gave a mock-wounded look. "Excuse you. I'm a phenomenal cook."
She raised a skeptical brow.
"Okay," he conceded, "a functional cook."
"I stocked the fridge," she said, more seriously now. "And left cash for emergencies. If anything happens..."
"I call you. Or Mrs. Park. Or the embassy. Or the police. Or all four," he recited dutifully.
"You're such a smartass."
"You're welcome."
They left the apartment together shortly after, Hudson slinging his bag over one shoulder, Amelia carrying a trim suitcase in her opposite hand. The elevator ride down was quiet, soft instrumental music humming behind their thoughts.
Outside, the morning air was brisk and clear, sunlight catching the edges of glass towers like it was trying to make them gleam one last time. Hudson watched his mother flag down a taxi, her expression focused, her mouth chewing some invisible list in her head.
She turned to him at the curb.
"You'll be okay?"
"I always am."
"You better be."
They hugged briefly, Amelia pulling him close with an arm around his shoulders, pressing her cheek to his temple. Hudson let it linger just long enough, then stepped back with that small, irreverent smile of his.
"Don't miss me too much," he teased.
"I always do," she said.
The taxi pulled away. Hudson waved until it was out of sight.
He turned, earbuds in, playlist cued, feet carrying him toward Hyosan High.
Behind him, Amelia glanced once in the rearview mirror. Ahead of him, Hudson looked back at the empty curb.
They both smiled.
Neither knew it was goodbye.
An hour later
The morning sun had barely risen past the rooftops when Cheong-san came tearing through the school gates like a man running from a house fire.
Hudson nearly doubled over laughing. "You look like the final contestant on a survival game show!"
"I am surviving," Cheong-san panted, bent over and gasping for breath. "I refuse to do another lunch detention."
Hudson clapped him on the back. "Congrats. You made it by a hair."
A loud groan came from just behind them, On-jo, shoulders slumped in exaggerated defeat as the warning bell chimed overhead.
"Dead," she muttered. "I am officially lunch-dead."
"Oh no," Hudson teased. "Now you'll have to eat that rice porridge with guilt."
She swatted at his arm and kicked Cheong-san's bag from her hands, their morning ritual to decide who would play pack mule on their way to school.
"It's a little funny."
They made their way up the steps together, On-jo moaning dramatically the whole way as they met up with the rest of the crew outside their classroom.
Dae-su was arguing with Gyeong-su about whether milk before cereal was sociopathic behavior (Gyeong-su was defending himself poorly), and Su-hyeok stood beside Joon-yeong, half-listening, half-scrolling through his phone.
"Morning, merry misfits," Hudson said, sliding in between them with a relaxed grin. "Who's emotionally stable enough to survive a Monday?"
"No one," Su-hyeok said without looking up.
"Speak for yourself," Dae-su piped in, puffing out his chest. "I've been thriving since 7 a.m."
"You ate leftover tteokbokki for breakfast," Gyeong-su muttered.
"Exactly."
The bell rang. They groaned collectively and filed into the classroom, sliding into their usual seats with the practiced apathy of students everywhere.
Moments later, Ms. Park entered, sharp blouse, sharper glare. The classroom snapped to order.
"Phones," she said without preamble. "Now."
A chorus of groans rose, bags shuffled, and reluctant teenagers handed over their lifelines.
All except Hudson.
He calmly sat back, arms crossed, an innocent expression on his face.
Ms. Park's eyes narrowed. "Maccabeus."
"Yes, miss?"
"Your phone."
"Never owned one, and likely never will."
A beat of silence.
Dae-su snorted. Su-hyeok tried to smother a laugh.
Ms. Park stared at him. "You're lying."
Hudson smiled serenely. "Am I? We go over this nearly every morning, and yet you provide no evidence to the contrary."
Reluctantly, she moved on.
He slipped a hand into his bag under the desk, feeling for the phone he most certainly did own, long since silenced, tucked beneath his notebook and backup charger.
But just when the tension began to fade...
BING.
Dae-su froze. Everyone turned.
Ms. Park pivoted on her heel.
"I swear," Dae-su began, sweating. "That was... uh... ambient noise!"
"Hand it over."
Grumbling, Dae-su surrendered his phone, muttering curses under his breath.
Ms. Park's eyes narrowed again. "Anyone else?"
There was a pause.
Then On-jo slowly raised her hand and pulled out a cracked, outdated phone from her bag.
Ms. Park raised an eyebrow.
"That's from last year," she said flatly.
"Worth a shot," On-jo replied, deadpan.
A few muffled laughs passed through the room. The tension eased again.
Until the door creaked open.
Heads turned.
A figure stood in the doorway, swaying, clothes torn, face bloodied, one shoe missing.
It was Hyeon-ju...
Gasps filled the room. Ms. Park rushed forward.
"Oh my God, what happened?!"
Hyeon-ju blinked slowly, her lip trembling, eyes unfocused. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.
"M-Mr. Lee," she whispered. "He… he grabbed me. Locked me up."
The room froze.
Hudson stared at her, brain processing everything with detached clarity. Bloodied. Bruised. Hands shaking.
Scooping up Hyeon-ju's shivering body as though she weighed nothing, Su-hyeok moved like a battering ram with a heartbeat, barreling down the hallway with a purpose that dared anyone to question him.
Hudson followed close behind, his long legs keeping pace. Ms. Park was just ahead, barking instructions into her phone while trying not to panic.
They rounded the final corner into the infirmary, the quiet sterility of the room a stark contrast to the chaos that trailed behind them. Su-hyeok laid Hyeon-ju gently on one of the beds as the nurse slid a thermometer into her ear.
"…That can't be right," she murmured, staring at the device.
"What's it say?" Hudson asked, his tone unnervingly even.
"Twenty-nine degrees." She blinked, not believing what she was seeing. "That's corpse temperature..."
As if summoned by the word, Hyeon-ju's back arched violently. Her arms flailed, and she let out a guttural snarl that made everyone in the room freeze.
"Mr. Lee… He gave me something…" she hissed. Her eyes darted wildly. "Shot… I'll kill them all… I'll kill!"
Her body spasmed again, knocking over a tray of supplies.
Hudson instinctively moved between her and Ms. Park. "You might want to call someone. Not school admin like, an ambulance someone."
Su-hyeok had gone pale. Ms. Park was already fumbling for the emergency intercom. "Stay here, watch her. I'm getting help."
Hudson exchanged a quick look with I-sak, then nodded toward the door. "We should tell the others."
The walk back to the classroom was quieter than it had any right to be.
Hudson mulled over the pieces: the temperature, the thrashing, the bite attempt. He wasn't scared. He didn't feel that. But he knew something was seriously, viscerally wrong as nerves he didn't know he had fired off warning signals.
They stepped back into the classroom. The usual buzz of low conversation dimmed the moment they entered.
On-jo turned from her seat, her wrist freshly bandaged. "What happened?"
I-sak's voice cracked slightly. "She's… ice cold. Like… actually freezing. Almost bit On-jo earlier."
"She was growling," Hudson added, walking in behind her. "Legitimately. Like she was feral."
The room murmured with unease. Eyes widened. Questions began bubbling up.
But one person didn't even look up.
Nam-ra sat with her head in a book, pen in hand, as though the world hadn't just tilted off its axis.
Hudson noticed.
He said nothing at first, just let his gaze rest on her, a quiet study of someone who fascinated him far more than he was willing to admit. Something about her calm detachment mirrored his own, and yet… hers felt different. Chosen, almost.
He wondered what was going on behind those focused eyes.
I-sak gave her a pointed look. "You're seriously still studying?"
Nam-ra didn't flinch. "If something's wrong, teachers will handle it. Until then, exams don't pause."
Ruthless, he thought to himself as his eyes lingered a moment longer… then he turned back to the group.
"Either way," he said, "something's going down. And I don't think it's going to stop at the infirmary."
The lunchroom buzzed with the usual midday chatter, plastic trays clattered, food wrappers crinkled, and teenage voices bounced off concrete walls. The illusion of normalcy clung to the air, stubborn and sweet, like perfume over smoke.
Hudson slid into his usual spot at the table, a tray of kimchi rice and dumplings in front of him. The guys followed right after, Cheong-san, Su-hyeok, Gyeong-su, and Dae-su, already mid-argument about whether aliens would bother with a backwater planet like Earth.
"Okay, but seriously," Dae-su said, jabbing a chopstick toward Hudson, "you never flinch. Not even when Ms. Park smacks the desk like a madwoman. It's weird, man."
Cheong-san leaned in. "It's 'cause of his brain, right? That thing you told me, your 'no-fear' thing?"
Hudson sighed, popping a dumpling into his mouth. "It's called amygdala dysfunction. Medical. Not badass. It's not like I'm Bruce Wayne or some crap."
"Still sounds metal," Su-hyeok chimed in, biting into a chicken skewer. "You could totally be a horror movie final boss."
"I'd rather be the sarcastic side character who lives by accident," Hudson replied dryly.
"No way, dude," Dae-su said, grinning wide. "You're like… our Aussie Terminator."
Cheong-san's eyes lit up. "Oh! You should do the knife trick. You showed me that once, remember?"
Hudson blinked. "In a cafeteria? And can you ever keep a secret? I'm second-guessing telling you anything in the future." He sighed with a smirk.
"C'mon, man!" Su-hyeok egged him on. "We need to see that."
Dae-su banged the table. "Do it! Do it!"
A small crowd of curious eyes turned toward them. Hudson looked around, rolled his eyes, and gave in with a long-suffering sigh.
"Peer pressure wins again."
He cleared a spot on the table, slid his tray aside, and picked up a dull cafeteria knife.
"No, no, no, you need the real thing for this," Su-hyeok said as he reached into one of his inner jacket pockets, producing a well-made pocketknife.
Shooting him a glance before slowly taking it, Hudson placed his hand palm-down, fingers spread. He exhaled once, then began.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, the blade blurred between his fingers with unnatural speed and precision. The table fell silent for half a second.
Then erupted.
"WHOOOOO!" Cheong-san shouted.
"YEAH! THAT'S OUR AUSSIE!" Dae-su roared, throwing his arms up.
Students at nearby tables burst out laughing and clapping. Someone even whistled.
Hudson pulled the knife away and gave a theatrical bow before handing it back to Su-hyeok. "Please, hold your applause. Or don't. I deserve it."
But as the laughter continued, a scream echoed faintly from the floor above.
It was distant, swallowed by concrete and metal, but unmistakable.
Another scream followed it. Louder. Closer.
The laughter faltered.
Hudson's smile faded.
Then came the thunder of feet, frantic, disordered, running.
From upstairs.
From the stairwell.
From the end of peace.
Had Hudson known what would come, he might've spoken to Nam-ra sooner, might've told her what simmered under his calm exterior. But as the lunchroom descended into scattered confusion, she had risen from her seat, slipping out the door with the same silent poise she always carried.
He followed.
Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was fate.
"Nam-ra!" he called, catching sight of her just down the hallway. Su-hyeok, a few paces behind, glanced back toward the cafeteria, torn between staying and going.
But the choice was made for them.
From the stairwell beside them, a student exploded outwards, eyes wild, foam and blood matting their mouth. They crashed into another, biting deep into the neck like an unhinged animal. The victim screamed, a raw, gurgled sound that would echo for hours in Hudson's memory.
Su-hyeok froze, unable to process what he'd just seen.
Hudson did not.
He launched forward, grabbing Nam-ra by the wrist. "Move!" he barked.
They ran.
Su-hyeok snapped to reality and sprinted after them as all hell erupted behind.
Down the corridor, past the shrieks, dodging flailing limbs and collapsing bodies. Hudson's mind processed it all without fear, without the paralytic haze that gripped so many others. It wasn't courage. It was just... the way nature intended for him.
As they burst through the front doors of the school, chaos met them in the courtyard. Teachers screaming. Students fleeing in all directions. But amidst the madness stood opportunity: a ladder leaning unattended against the front of the main school building.
Hudson beelined for it. "There!"
He yanked it into place and looked to Nam-ra. "Up! Now!"
She didn't hesitate. Not until halfway up did she look down, her eyes locking with his.
Su-hyeok stepped up behind him. "Your turn."
But Hudson shook his head, already pivoting to face the growing swarm pounding through the school's shattered entry.
"I'll hold 'em."
"Hudson..."
"Climb, Su-hyeok!"
The words left no room for argument.
Su-hyeok growled in frustration but obeyed, scrambling after Nam-ra.
And then Hudson turned to the tide.
Years of Muay Thai kicked in like a second skin. His fists and legs moved like steel pistons, cracking jaws, shattering ribs, driving infected bodies to the pavement. A roundhouse knocked one clean off their feet. Another he grabbed by the collar and slammed into the concrete until it stopped twitching.
But even he couldn't fight forever.
One latched onto his arm.
The teeth sank deep.
He didn't scream.
He only growled and slammed it away, blood flowing freely from the wound.
Still he fought.
A spinning elbow. A brutal knee. He broke necks and cracked skulls, becoming a one-man wall between the swarm and the two students climbing to safety.
"GO!" he bellowed as more pounced on him.
They swarmed, tearing and biting, a tidal wave of the dead crashing down.
And yet, he made no sound of pain.
Only resistance.
Nam-ra screamed his name. Su-hyeok froze, paralyzed by helplessness.
Then he reached the top of the wall, Nam-ra pulling him to safety a mere second before one of them crashed into the ladder below.
Together, they looked down.
Hudson was gone beneath the mass of bodies.
But not forgotten.
Never forgotten.
Silence held the classroom in a chokehold. The kind of silence that followed death. That knew death.
Half the class had made it back, bloodied, breathless, and shell-shocked. The sounds of screaming and chaos still echoed beyond the door, muffled by thick walls and disbelief.
But it wasn't enough to drown out Dae-su's rage.
With a furious yell, he seized one of the heavy metal chairs and hurled it straight through a window.
CRASH!
Shards of glass exploded outward, catching the sunlight and scattering like ash. Everyone flinched.
Cheong-san stood near the window, fists clenched tight at his sides. His eyes were locked on the bloodstained courtyard below, the spot where Hudson had made his last stand.
Or so they thought.
He blinked hard, shoved his phone to his ear, and paced.
"Yes, I'm calling from Hyosan High. There's... there's a situation! Students are biting each other. Like Train to Busan. One of our classmates is dead. Multiple. You need to send..."
He stopped.
His face twisted with disbelief. "No, I'm not joking. Do I sound like I'm pranking you?!"
Nam-ra sat near the back, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly. She didn't speak. She barely blinked. Her eyes stared into the floor like it might answer for the hell that had erupted around them.
Across the room, Na-yeon stood, arms crossed, voice sharp like broken glass. "Why is no one taking control?! You're the class president, Nam-ra. This is on you!"
Several heads turned.
Nam-ra said nothing.
Na-yeon took a step forward. "You're supposed to lead us! That's your job. That's why you got voted in!"
"I didn't get voted in," Nam-ra said, voice barely above a whisper.
"What?"
She lifted her gaze. "Someone paid for me to get the position. I never wanted it."
The air in the room turned colder. Heavier.
Na-yeon's lips curled, ready to launch again, but Cheong-san cut her off.
"Enough." His voice cracked like thunder.
Everyone looked to him.
"We just watched one of our friends die saving us. Hudson didn't ask for a title. He didn't need one. He just acted. So maybe stop looking for someone to blame, and start figuring out how we survive."
Na-yeon was silenced.
"Several other students would have also called the cops at this point. This will all be over soon," Su-hyeok stated, with the inescapable weight of doubt even in his voice.
Silence returned.
Only this time, it held something new: guilt.
Outside, the wind carried the scent of blood and smoke.
And below, in the quiet courtyard beneath the wall.
He laid still.
Unmoving. Pale. Torn.
But then...
His fingers twitched.
His jaw clenched.
His eyes shot open.
Bloodshot. Wild.
Empty of fear.
Full of something else.
Something... wrong.
"I...I will die your s... son."