The sky outside was the same dull gray it had been all morning. But now, it looked... wrong. Like something was watching from behind the clouds.
Alicia and I didn't speak—we just ran.
We cut through the back lot, dodging panicked students sprinting in every direction. Some tripped. Some screamed for parents. Others just... stopped and stared, too broken to move.
Near the staff entrance, I spotted a glint of metal—a broken janitor's cart, overturned and spilling its guts. Tools.
"Wait!" I yelled, pulling Alicia to a hard stop.
She whipped around. "Shino, are you crazy?!"
"No. Just desperate."
I dropped to my knees, rifling through the mess—screwdrivers, wrenches, a rusted pipe cutter. My fingers closed around a dented metal pole with a jagged edge. It was light, sharp-ish, and just long enough. Not a katana... but it'd do.
Alicia grabbed a box cutter from the pile and tested it against the pavement. The blade stuck out, gleaming under the red emergency light leaking from the building behind us.
We armed up. Breathed in. Moved fast.
Back inside, the halls were painted in chaos. Blood. Screams. Slamming doors.
A girl from track—Leila—came sprinting around the corner, eyes wide, mouth stained with blood.
"Alicia?" she sobbed. "Please! Help—"
She didn't finish.
A shadow slammed into her from behind. The thing tore her down, gnashing, snarling. Flesh gave way like paper.
Alicia screamed.
I moved without thinking. The metal rod in my hand struck the thing's neck—once, twice, three times. Blood splattered my shirt, hot and thick. It collapsed. Leila was gone. Her body twitched once. Stopped.
We backed away, trembling.
"I knew her," I whispered.
"We'll know a lot of them," Alicia said, voice tight. "And we'll have to do it anyway."
Another groan. Behind us. Then another.
The infected were coming in waves now—students, teachers, janitors. People I'd passed in hallways, shared group projects with, smiled at in passing.
Now they staggered toward us, broken and wrong.
We ran.
Down a different hallway, stepping over broken glass and half-torn backpacks. One locker had been dented from the inside out. I didn't want to think about that.
"Auto shop," I said, yanking Alicia by the arm toward the stairs. "There's gotta be more tools down there."
We burst through the metal door into the basement-level shop room. It smelled like oil, sweat, and fear. Lights flickered.
Ben—one of the mechanic kids—was there. Or what was left of him.
He turned to us with his head hanging sideways, skin pale and veins like spiderwebs crawling across his face. His arm dangled by a thread of tendon. He growled.
I didn't hesitate.
The makeshift pole smashed across his jaw. He dropped, twitching, but still trying to bite.
"Neck," I muttered. "Gotta go for the neck or the head."
We scavenged fast—nails, pliers, duct tape, wire cutters. I wrapped a handful of nails around the rod and taped them down tight, forming a spiked head. It wasn't pretty, but it'd punch through bone now.
We found a crowbar, a sledgehammer too heavy to carry, and a toolbox we looted on instinct.
Then we heard it.
A screech. Not human. Not even close.
A shadow skittered along the wall—fast, on all fours. It hit a desk and leapt like a dog, knocking over a metal shelf.
"Alicia, GO!" I yelled, swinging the spiked rod.
It connected with a wet crunch. The thing shrieked and flopped backward, bones snapping. I pulled her toward the back stairwell.
We didn't look back.
When we burst out into the open air again, the campus was chaos. Students fighting infected. Some winning. Most losing.
Fires had started engulfing around us—maybe from cars, maybe from chemistry labs. Sirens wailed somewhere far away, but they were fading.
Alicia pointed. "There!"
My dad's pickup. Parked under a tree by the ag building. A miracle.
We jumped in. I grabbed the keys from the visor, cranked the engine. It roared to life, a comforting sound in a world gone silent.
As we pulled out, a girl banged on the window. Jamie. Cheerleader. Her neck was torn open. Her hands left red smears on the glass.
Alicia screamed.
I floored it.
We drove in silence. Just the wind and the road and the sound of the world falling apart behind us.
Alicia looked at me, still holding the box cutter, her hands shaking.
"I can't believe this is happening."
I didn't say anything. My hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles white. The blood on my arm had dried. My hoodie smelled like sweat and rot.
"Your farm," she said. "It's close, right?"
I nodded. "Ten minutes out. Maybe less."
"Do you think... your parents...?"
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know.