"You are home," he said. Then his eyes went white.
Seok-jin covered her mouth. "Shh. Shh, baby."
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.
"Let go," she whispered. "Save your daughter."
They took her. He felt the fever rising in his own blood. The turn was seconds away.
Then the door broke.
He held the door with his back, arms stretched wide like a cross. The first infected reached him. He didn't scream. He just looked at Ji-ah and smiled.
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.
They did. Through the glass, they watched the other cars turn into slaughterhouses. Then the train lurched—someone had hit the accelerator from the engine.
They bit his arms, his neck, his back. But he kept running. Twenty steps. Thirty. Forty.
