Cho sighed, but they had common purpose, to survive and get out of this building. He took out his phone. The dim light from the screen was more than enough to navigate by, and he wanted to use the phone’s GPS to make sure they moved in the proper direction, but there was no signal this deep in the shattered building.
“What is that?” the girl asked curiously. Few North Koreans owned such elaborate cell phones.
“Something I stole.” Cho didn’t want her asking more questions, and in this chaos, stealing wasn’t necessarily a crime.
Cho used the phone’s light cautiously, illuminating a passage briefly and then hiding it before leading his small entourage forward to the next corner or junction in the hallway. The mother followed behind, supported by her daughter. The other child, a boy of five or six, clung silently to his grandmother’s skirt, ignoring a deep gash on one arm.
They followed one hallway that led to a larger passage, headed east — west. There were stairs at the west end leading up, but the steps were blocked by debris. East led back toward the street where he’d seen the tank. As he reluctantly turned to backtrack his route, the mother said one word, “Please,” and sank to her knees.
He heard the exhaustion and pain in her voice, and answered, “Rest. I’ll find a path out of here.”
“Thank you. What is your name?” Koreans were sticklers for proper introductions, and he automatically answered, “I am Cho Ho-jin, ajumma.” He used a form of address reserved for mothers and “mature” women. Calling a twenty something office girl “ajumma“ would have gotten him slapped.
Even though she was in pain, she said formally, “I am Cheon Ji-hyo. This is my mother, Gam Sook-ja, and my children, Go Shin-chang and Go Shin-ha,” pointing to the girl and the boy. The girl bowed. Cheon asked, “There was another couple in the room with us. Did you see what happened to them?”
Cho shrugged, and winced at the pain in his back. He’d had a rough day. “They didn’t come out behind you,” he answered. He left unspoken the conclusion that they’d been caught in the grenade blasts. “Did you know them?”
“No. We never learned their names.” She sighed sadly and settled herself more comfortably. “We will rest and wait for your return.” Her voice was weak.
Cho nodded and started to head east, but the girl, Go Shin-chang, began to follow him. He stopped and motioned for her to go back. “Stay here with your mother, child.”
“No. I’m quiet, and if something happens to you, we need to know.” She’ll probably take the phone, he thought, but if I’m dead, who would I call?
He couldn’t argue with her logic. They would die in this place if they didn’t find an exit. “All right, but stay back some distance.” She nodded, and they set out. She did stay back, three or four meters, and her footsteps were light. They navigated by sound, using the light from his phone sparingly. Cho was beginning to worry about the battery charge. He’d been using it heavily.
After about twenty-five meters, they came to a large cross-passage, equal in width to the one they were in. He turned south, and came into what looked like the main entrance. Although the doors could be opened from the inside, someone had chained them shut.
The two found a fire axe on the wall and tried to break the lock, without success, but searching the offices, they found a coat rack with an iron upright. Using it like a crowbar, Cho was able to twist the chain until the lock broke. Clearing the chain away, he cautiously opened the door, which led up to a small lobby and the main exit to the street. He didn’t open the outer door, but did look through the nearly opaque glass. He could see no movement, and it was quiet.
With the young girl in front, they hurried back to the other three. Gam Sook-ja, the grandmother, held the boy in her lap while the mother leaned against her shoulder, asleep. It took some care and effort to rouse her, and even a gentle shake on the uninjured shoulder caused her sharp pain. It took both Cho and the woman’s daughter to get her upright, and they moved at the best pace they could.
They had to half-lift the mother up the steps, and Cho had to stop the grandmother from just walking outside. Leaning Cheon against the wall, with Go Shin-chang keeping her from collapsing, Cho motioned the others into a corner, and after taking another look through the glass, opened the door just enough to look down the street, toward the street where the tank had passed.
With one direction clear, he opened the other door slightly and made sure that direction, to the west, was clear as well. He stepped outside.
The sunlight, even filtered by smoke and dust, was more than welcome. He watched and listened carefully while the others emerged, and reported to them, “There is fighting in the distance, but I can’t hear any nearby. Where will you go now?”
Go Shin-chang answered for them. “There is a foreigner living west of here, just outside the city. She runs a clinic. Our neighbors went there when they were sick. It’s a mission, with food and medicine. They can treat my mother and brother, and your back as well.”
“My back?” Cho’s back was sore, but that was understandable. A wall had fallen on him.
The girl took a step to his side and reached around to touch him, below his shoulder blade. She showed him a fingertip wet and red. “You’re bleeding in three places.” After a pause, she added, “Please come with us.”
Maybe that wall had some sharp corners. His orders took him south, but if west led to the chance of medical attention, that was an acceptable detour. Nodding agreement, Cho took the mother’s uninjured arm and put it over his shoulder, then faced west.
Besides, the mother wouldn’t last the day without some sort of medical care. She could die from blood loss and dehydration, and the boy needed stitches and antiseptic, or he would eventually lose the arm, and his life.
Cho’s hatred of North Korea did not extend to the general population. Only a fool blamed a farmer for the king’s crime. His father, Cho Hyun-jae, had been executed by the Kims for failing to win a war they started. Cho’s family had been punished beyond reason for this “offense,” as if losing his father wasn’t punishment enough. That was the first of many reasons that he had for hating the DPRK government.
Not that he was fond of his Russian employers. They’d fed and educated him, but only as a tool. He’d given good service, but now their orders were absurd. Were they ready to use him up?
Their slow progress had brought them close to a cross street, and rather than stop carrying the mother, he told Go Shin-chang to scout the intersection, and what to look for. The girl ran ahead.
He hoped the mission wasn’t far.
Kary Fowler heard the shout from Kwan all the way in the kitchen. “Fowler-seonsaengnim, come quick!” Kwan, alert but hobbled with a broken ankle, had volunteered to watch the front gate and serve as general lookout.
Others outside repeated the call, and she motioned to some inside as she left the dining hall. Whatever was going on out there, it sounded like Kwan needed reinforcements.
Thank heaven she hadn’t heard any pistol shots. She’d loaned Kwan Sergeant Choi’s gun, not only because he had sentry duty, but because he’d served in the army and might actually use it, if need be.
She burst out the front door of the dining hall, but had to clear the office building to see the gate clearly. She rounded the corner at speed and, glancing back, was relieved to see two other women in her trail.