The Manual

Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Geometry of Chaos

The sound of Henderson’s skull hitting the linoleum wasn't like the movies. There was no dramatic orchestral swell, just a sickening thwack—the sound of a wet melon dropped from a high shelf.

"Mr. Henderson!" Sarah shrieked. It was a high, piercing sound that cut through the low-frequency hum of the school’s ventilation system.

"Shut up, Sarah!" Cassie hissed, her voice vibrating with a frantic, cold energy. She didn't look at the teacher. She couldn't. If she looked at the way his legs were twitching, or the way Tyler—the varsity wrestling star who now looked like a piece of taxidermy gone wrong—was burying his face in Henderson’s neck, she’d vomit. And vomiting took time she didn’t have.

In the back of her mind, her father’s voice, raspy from years of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper paranoia, recited the manual’s preamble: The first ten minutes determine the next ten years. Most people spend those ten minutes wondering if what they’re seeing is real. Don’t be 'most people,' Cass.

"We have to help him!" Dani cried, her eyes wide and shimmering with a terrifyingly misplaced hope. She took a step toward the writhing pile on the floor. "Maybe he’s just having a seizure? Tyler, stop! You’re hurting him!"

"Dani, get back!" Cassie lunged forward, grabbing the strap of Dani’s backpack and yanking her toward the rear of the media center.

"Cassie, let go! He’s bleeding!"

"He’s dead, Dani!" Cassie shouted, finally looking. Henderson wasn't twitching anymore. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, flat and glassy, while Tyler tore away a ragged strip of his button-down shirt—and the skin beneath it.

The reality of the statement hit the room like a physical blow. The air seemed to leave the library. Heather, who had been clutching her designer bag like a shield, began to hyperventilate. Kayla, usually the loudest girl in the junior class, was backed against a bookshelf, her hands over her mouth, her eyes darting toward the door.

"The door," Kayla whispered. "We have to lock the door."

"Too late," Cassie said.

Through the glass partition of the media center, the hallway was a blurring watercolor of violence. Students were running, but they weren't running to anywhere. They were just running away from the things behind them. The "sick" ones. They moved with a jerky, predatory grace, their limbs snapping into place with every stride.

Cassie turned to the group. There were ten of them left in the room. Herself, the quiet Lily, Maya the honor roll student, Jade the athlete, and the two others—plus the four who were currently vibrating with the kind of panicked energy that gets people killed: Heather, Sarah, Kayla, and Dani.

"Listen to me," Cassie said, her voice dropping into a low, authoritative register she didn't know she possessed. "The front door is a kill zone. The windows are too high. We use the service elevator in the textbook storage room."

"The elevator?" Kayla snapped, her fear turning into sharp-edged aggression. "Are you crazy? If the power goes out, we’re trapped in a box. We should run for the parking lot. My car is right out front."

"The parking lot is where the military will funnel everyone," Cassie countered. She remembered Rule #4: Chokepoints are graveyards. The authorities love a good perimeter. "They’ll block the exits. If you’re in a car, you’re in a coffin. We go down to the basement, through the maintenance tunnels, and out by the athletic fields. My truck is hidden behind the equipment shed."

"I'm not going into a basement," Sarah sobbed. "It’s dark. We don’t know what’s down there."

"I know what’s here," Cassie pointed at Tyler, who was now rising from Henderson’s corpse, his chin glistening with a dark, oily slick. He turned toward them, his nostrils flaring.

"Oh god," Heather breathed. "He’s looking at us."

"Go! Now!" Cassie shoved Lily toward the back storage door.

The group scrambled. It was a messy, uncoordinated franticness. Heather tripped over a rolling chair; Sarah was frozen, staring at the blood pooling around the teacher’s desk. Cassie grabbed Sarah by the collar of her denim jacket and practically threw her toward the others.

They burst into the textbook storage room—a cramped space filled with the scent of dust and old paper. Jade, a varsity track star with muscles like coiled springs, slammed the heavy metal door shut and slid the deadbolt just as Tyler slammed into the other side.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"He’s trying to get in," Dani whimpered, her optimism finally fraying at the edges. "Why is he trying to get in? He knows us. We had Chemistry together."

"That’s not Tyler anymore," Maya said softly. She was the daughter of two doctors, and while she looked pale, her hands were steady as she adjusted her glasses. "Look at the pupillary dilation. The motor spasms. It’s some kind of neuro-pathogen. It’s... it’s physiological, Dani. Not personal."

"I don't care what it is!" Kayla hissed, shoving past Maya to get to the elevator button. "Push it! Push the damn button!"

Cassie stood by the door, listening to the sounds in the library. The scratching on the metal was joined by more thuds. More of them were arriving.

"Wait," Cassie said.

"Wait for what?" Kayla screamed, her finger hammering the 'Down' arrow. "We’re going to die in a closet!"

"The manual," Cassie whispered. She flipped the book open to a dog-eared page.

Rule #7: Sound travels. Silence is your only armor. If you use a machine, make sure you’re ready for the dinner bell.

"The elevator chime," Cassie realized. "When it hits this floor, it rings. Loud."

"So what?" Kayla snapped. The elevator groaned behind the wall, the cables whining as the car ascended.

"So every one of those things in the hallway is going to hear it," Cassie said. She looked at the door. The metal was thin. "Jade, help me move these crates."

They began stacking heavy boxes of "Intro to Calculus" against the door, their breathing heavy and synchronized.

"Cassie," Lily said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was small but oddly calm. "The lights."

The overhead humming flickered. The pale blue light stuttered once, twice, and then died, plunging them into a thick, suffocating darkness. A second later, the emergency red lights kicked in, bathing the room in a bloody, rhythmic pulse.

Ding.

The elevator arrived. The chime was deafening in the small space.

Almost instantly, the scratching on the other side of the door turned into a frenzied battering. The metal began to groan. A sliver of the door frame buckled inward.

"Into the elevator! Move, move, move!" Cassie yelled.

They piled in. Kayla was the first one through the doors, nearly knocking Sarah over. Heather scrambled in next, clutching her bag. Dani and Maya pulled a catatonic Sarah inside.

Cassie was the last one, her eyes fixed on the door. A gray, bloodied hand forced its way through the gap in the door frame. The fingers were stripped of nails, raw and scratching at the air.

"Cassie!" Lily shouted from the back of the elevator, reaching out a hand.

Cassie dived inside. Jade slammed her fist against the 'B' button.

As the doors began to slide shut, the storage room door gave way. A flood of shadow and teeth burst into the room, silhouetted by the strobing red emergency light. A girl in a cheerleader uniform—someone Cassie recognized from her homeroom—lunged at the closing gap.

Her fingers caught on the edge of the elevator door.

"No!" Heather screamed, recoiling into the corner.

The elevator jolted downward, and there was a sickening crunch as the doors forced themselves shut against the obstruction. A severed hand, still wearing a 'Go Eagles' friendship bracelet, landed on the floor of the elevator.

Sarah let out a strangled moan and fainted.

The elevator descended in silence, save for the heavy, ragged breathing of ten girls and the rhythmic thrum-thrum of the cables.

Cassie leaned her head against the cold metal wall, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She felt the weight of the manual in her pocket.

Part I: The Detention Breakout, she thought. Chapter One: Survival is a Choice.

She looked at the girls. Heather was sobbing into her hands. Kayla was staring at the severed hand on the floor with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. Dani was whispering a prayer.

Cassie knew then what her father had meant. The world hadn't just ended. It had narrowed down to this metal box. And the rules had changed.

"Check your shoes," Cassie said, her voice sounding hollow.

"What?" Kayla snapped, looking up.

"Check your shoes for blood," Cassie repeated, looking at Rule #11 in her mind. Contamination is invisible. One drop is a ticket to the morgue. "If you’re carrying it on you, you don't leave this elevator."

The elevator hissed as it reached the basement. The doors began to slide open, revealing a dark, concrete tunnel that smelled of damp earth and oil.

"Welcome to the end of the world," Cassie whispered, stepping out into the dark. "Try to keep up."