---
The school was a husk of what it once had been.
They slipped inside through a broken side entrance, Ben pressing his body weight against the door to muffle its creak. Lockers lined the hallway, bent and dented like someone had tried to punch their way out. Posters still fluttered above the bulletin boards: Science Fair Postponed! and Drama Club Tryouts – March 12!
Emma clung to Clara's hand, small fingers sticky with sweat. She didn't cry anymore. Not today.
They'd run all morning—through backyards, over fences, past things they didn't name. The kind of things you can't unsee. This was the first time they'd had four walls between them and the hungry.
Ben turned to Clara. Whispered, "We hold here. At least until nightfall."
Clara nodded. She was out of breath. Her left heel bled from stepping on broken glass earlier, but she hadn't said a word about it.
They ducked into a classroom. Desks overturned. A child's drawing on the whiteboard: stick figures holding hands, with a sun in the corner. The smiling kind of sun. Its cheerfulness made Clara nauseous.
---
They set up behind a row of filing cabinets. Just enough room for the three of them to sit shoulder-to-shoulder. Emma leaned her head on her mom's lap. Ben crouched at the edge, poker in hand, peering through a slit in the door.
Every sound mattered.
Somewhere in the school: a shuffle.
A creak.
Then silence.
Then another shuffle.
Ben motioned with his fingers: one infected, maybe two. Hallway. Moving slow.
Clara pulled Emma close. She whispered in her ear, "Pretend we're statues, baby."
Emma's eyes flicked upward. "Like the frozen game?"
Clara forced a smile. "Exactly like that."
---
Time passed like molasses sliding uphill.
At one point, a bell rang.
It was a broken buzz, garbled and shrill—but it still made Clara jump. Emma clutched her tighter. Outside the classroom, heavy footsteps broke into a sprint, thudding down the hallway.
Ben mouthed silently: Drawn to noise.
Then: Stay still.
They did.
For an hour, maybe more.
---
Later, when the school quieted again, Ben turned to Clara. Whispered: "We need food. Water. Supplies. We can't stay all night without scouting."
"I'll go," Clara said without thinking.
Ben gave her a look.
"I can be quieter than you," she added, eyes daring him to argue.
He sighed, defeated. "You're not wrong."
"I'll take the east wing. Check the cafeteria. Maybe the nurse's office."
He nodded.
Emma's voice was the softest thing in the room: "Don't go."
Clara kissed her forehead. "I'll be back before you miss me."
---
The halls felt like a throat. Tight. Dark. Waiting to choke her.
Clara moved like a ghost, barefoot and careful. She passed classrooms with doors hanging off hinges. A music room. A gym where basketballs lay still. The silence screamed louder than anything else.
She reached the cafeteria.
It was mostly ransacked. But in the pantry, she found a sealed box of snack bars. A crate of bottled water tucked under a steel table. She took what she could carry and turned back.
That's when she heard it.
Whimpering.
Soft. Raspy.
A child?
She hesitated.
It came again—from behind the kitchen freezer.
Clara crept forward. Peered behind.
It wasn't a child.
It was a man. Emaciated. Dried blood caked his face. One leg bent the wrong way. He hadn't turned… yet.
His eyes found hers. And in a voice like leaves rustling in wind, he croaked, "Don't… scream."
---
Back in the classroom, Emma had fallen asleep in Ben's lap. He didn't dare move. His legs were cramping, but he stared at the door like it owed him money.
When Clara returned, she looked shaken.
"Found food," she whispered, handing over the bag.
"You okay?" Ben asked, scanning her face.
She nodded, but her eyes didn't.
He didn't push.
---
That night, they barely slept. Every sound set off a fresh wave of adrenaline. But somehow, they made it through.
In the morning, they'd move again. But tonight, they were just statues in a haunted school. A broken family in a broken world, huddled behind a row of dusty cabinets, whispering dreams and fears into each other's ears.
And when Emma stirred and whispered, "Will we go back home someday?"
Clara didn't answer.
Ben did.
Quietly.
Truthfully.
"No. But we'll make a new one."
---