He smiled. For the first time in years, it was real.
They made it to car 9, where a hulky factory worker named Dong-chul was using a fire extinguisher to bash skulls. His pregnant wife, Ji-ah, stood behind him, calm as stone.
Seok-jin's fund manager instincts—risk assessment, asset protection—kicked in. He grabbed Soo-min, threw a suitcase into the aisle to trip the first wave of infected, and ran. Behind them, the living became the turned in seconds: foaming mouths, broken limbs snapping into place, a choir of wet growls.
They ran. Seok-jin carrying Soo-min, pulling Ji-ah. Through car 11, 12, 13—each one a gallery of horrors. By car 15, only the three of them remained. By the final car, only Seok-jin and his daughter.
Then the screaming began.
Seok-jin covered her mouth. "Shh. Shh, baby."
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