Charge

Chan-hee lay alone in the corner of a room that they’d built with their own two hands. Soil had found its way underneath their fingernails and caked itself into every line on their palms, but they had made no move to wash them since long before night fell. Muffled conversations in Anjon’s main hall beneath them took on a gloomy, apprehensive air, then quieted as the sun slipped down below the horizon. Chan-hee imagined that others lay sleepless tonight as well. Many of them would be cursing their name.

The door creaked open. Familiar heavy footfalls padded towards them. Fabric rustled as Seung-soo stiffly lowered himself to the ground next to their sleeping bag, grunting as a joint popped. As strong as he’d become from his time surviving the apocalypse, he’d still never learned to stretch. Chan-hee said nothing and idly rubbed their thumb against a scab on their index finger that had reopened as they dug. He deserved an explanation. An apology. Anything. Seung-soo would want them to get straight to the point.

“How are they?”

“Shaun and Yu-ja? Angry. Grieving. But they’re alright.” Seung-soo paused. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to handle them.”

“I hope they forgive us.”

“If they don’t, I’d rather them hate me than you. They need a familiar face up top.” Chan-hee snorted.

“You, sacrificing yourself for the common good? Really?” Seung-soo tilted his head.

“Yes. I should have done it before, and I’m going to do it now.” Before the fall, he had waged a spiteful war against Chan-hee under the pretense of caring about their juniors. Both knew that the other had only wanted control. Dull shame pulsed in Chan-hee’s throat, but now, bearing the responsibilities that came with victory, it was far too late for regrets.

“I’m sorry,” said Chan-hee. It wasn’t good enough. It never would be.

“Don’t be.”

Chan-hee raised themselves onto their elbows. They couldn’t quite make out Seung-soo’s expression in the dark, but he held their gaze steadily.

“You don’t get it. I should have been the one to take care of him.”

“You couldn’t have prevented any of this.”

"That’s not what I meant.” Familiar ire awakened and bubbled in Chan-hee’s stomach, and Seung-soo matched their glare evenly.

“Stop feeling guilty,” he snapped, “that’s what I meant.” Swallowing down a retort, Chan-hee broke eye contact and let themselves fall back onto their pillow.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I didn’t want either of us to be alone tonight.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. Do you?”

“I need to,” said Chan-hee, “and I think it would be helpful for you as well.” Seung-soo considered their words, and hugged his knees closer to his chest.

“Then talk.”

Tonight, there was no wind. The air still smelled of smoke, and a bird Chan-hee could not name sang a lonely three-note tune, then quieted as silence returned its call. They squeezed their eyes shut.

“It’s too much. It’s all too much. How many names are in the book now? How many of the ones we find are going to be bitten? How many are we never going to find out about?” Chan-hee’s voice cracked. “I have to be ready for all of it. It’s my responsibility to be ready, and I’m not.”

“I know. I don’t envy you,” said Seung-soo, “but you don’t have to take responsibility for everything.”

“I’m your captain.”

Seung-soo rubbed his eyes wearily.

“I’m not trying to usurp you. I left petty shit like that behind when we Fell.”

“No, I don’t fucking mean—” Chan-hee let out a frustrated huff. “ I just don’t want you —or anyone else— to have to face what we did today. It’s my job to prevent it.” A garbled mess of words welled in their throat as they fought to explain.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do,” they said.

Seung-soo nodded, and took a moment to think.

“You’ll keep working,” he said finally. “You’ll keep building. You’ll hold it in. You’ll never think about it, because it’s over and it doesn’t matter and you’re stronger than anything you could possibly feel that says otherwise. You’ll keep going.” Chan-hee almost laughed.

“I’ve done that for years. I don’t think I can anymore.”

“Oh,” said Seung-soo. “I’m truly sorry to hear that.”

He swallowed audibly. When he spoke again, the words came out stilted and artificial.

“I know you’ll figure something out.”

“I will,” said Chan-hee. “Don’t worry about me.” Their hands throbbed, a reminder of the shovel that they had held and the grime that still stained them. Tomorrow, Chan-hee would carefully clean the dirt from underneath their nails and finish funeral preparations. In three days, they would bury his ashes south of Anjon with the other survivors. Chan-hee would be the first to cast dirt over the urn. The cuts and calluses would heal quickly, and when summer came they would take Yu-ja and Shaun to find lilacs and plant them around his grave.

“What about you?” they asked.

“I'll keep scouting. I’ll keep trying to find survivors.” Seung-soo met Chan-hee’s eyes. “And when it comes down to it, I’m not going to hesitate to do what I have to.” They bristled.

“Are you trying to imply something?”

“No. I just wanted you to know that I’m ready even if you aren’t.” Chan-hee’s lip curled.

“You’re ready.” The words spilled from their mouth before they could even think to stop them. “I’m curious. How’d you do it so easily?”

“What?”

“How’d you look Kyu-hyung in the eyes and shoot him dead?”

Seung-soo’s eyes went wide. Chan-hee’s heart dropped into their stomach.

“Shit.” They clapped their hands over their mouth as Seung-soo recoiled away from them. “I’m so so sorry. I didn’t mean that. I know how much you loved him too.”

“Fuck you. Fuck you, you piece of shit coward— I— fuck.” Seung-soo buried his head in his hands. He took a deep breath, and then another. Chan-hee kept their eyes trained on the wood planks in front of them, barely daring to breathe as hatred faded into a heavy, painful guilt. Finally, Seung-soo spoke.

“This is all so fucked up.” Chan-hee chanced a glance over to where Seung-soo sat slumped against the wall. Most of his face was hidden in shadow, but the exhausted tilt of his shoulders betrayed defeat in every way.

“I’m sorry. You’re not a coward. You’ve done so much and I know you’re doing everything you can.” Seung-soo’s voice slipped down to a whisper. “It just all happened so fast, you know?” Chan-hee nodded.

“Yeah. Last week, I still hoped that we were going to find him. And twelve hours ago we did, and now he’s dead and burned to ashes.” Because of us, they thought.

“Because of me.” echoed Seung-soo.

“I’m s—”

“—Don’t. Don’t say it. Please.” Something low and sad lodged itself in Chan-hee’s chest.

“Okay,” they said. “I won’t.”

Seung-soo made no move to get up.

“Can I stay the night?” he asked. Chan-hee nodded.

“There’s an extra bedroll to your left.” The floorboards creaked as Seung-soo undid the buckle and began to fidget with the blanket, then paused.

“Let’s… let’s go out and find some flowers tomorrow, yeah? For the funeral.”

“I’d like that,” said Chan-hee, turning to the side and folding their dirty hands underneath their head.

————————————————

Chan-hee unholstered their pistol, careful to grip tightly as they raised it. Almost enough pressure to make their hand shake. Wrapped their left hand around their right. Deep breath. Thumbs to the left. They shifted their weight forward to level the handgun at the head in front of them.

Kyu-hyung shivered, and Chan-hee flinched as he curled himself into a tighter ball. His hair had grown long in the months since Chan-hee had seen him. Shaking off Seung-soo’s worried glance, they exhaled deeply. Rolled their shoulders back. Clicked the safety off. Breathed in. Breathed out. This shot would not miss.

Every one of Kyu-hyung’s breaths was audible, pained.

He used to sleep so quietly.

He never got up in time to get his own breakfast. He always mooched off of Sang-min’s because he knew Sang-min could never say no. He hated omelettes, but insisted fried eggs weren’t at all the same. Chan-hee would just ruffle his hair and pull the trigger roll their eyes whenever the subject came up. He always wanted first shower, and no matter how much he pouted he never ended up getting it. His favorite color was purple. Chan-hee was certain he had joined the Orion for that alone. He’d watch anime instead of focusing on review. Chan-hee had told him to pull the trigger keep his desk clean so many times but no matter what he did it always ended up looking like he’d never even touched it. He was Dae-oon’s favorite kid please to boss around and he always made sure enough to share his snacks with anyone who wanted some and his mom please just fucking shoot had hugged Chan-hee the first time they’d met and she would never see him again and Chan-hee’s arms were shaking and their vision was blurred with tears but they had to do this they had to take care of this they were supposed to take care of him—

Cold hands wrenched the gun away and a shot tore the air from their lungs.

“Seung-soo?”

“Yeah?”

“What about when you can’t hold it in?”

Anjon was as silent as the grave.