May 21st 2020
825 Words
Morning light spilled through the giant window of the principal’s office, pale gold and almost gentle. The only reason I’d chosen this room was the height. Second floor. A split hallway. Two stairwells. Options mattered.
I stood there for a moment, letting the sun touch my face. A small, bitter smile surfaced.
“A nice way to wake up. For once.”
Robin was still asleep on the couch. Good. She needed it. A child her age shouldn’t have been pushed this hard, shouldn’t have been dragged through the night the way I’d dragged her. Guilt gnawed at me, sharp and relentless, a replay I couldn’t shut off. I needed to let her rest. She needed a place where nothing reached for her.
The door hadn’t moved.
“Good.”
I turned toward it anyway, because survival never lets you linger.
The moment I opened it, the world split open.
They filled the hallway. Thirty of them at least. Small bodies. Dead ones. Standing. Watching.
My instincts screamed. I slammed the door and threw my weight against it, hands scrambling for the desk.
Where the hell did they come from?
The school had been clear the night before. Clear.
My thoughts spiraled, sharp and fast. Robin.
Images flooded in without mercy. Her pinned to the floor. Small hands tearing. Blood. Screams. My vision tunneled, the room collapsing into black.
No.
Panic would kill us faster than teeth.
A hand slapped the door. Then another. Then many. They knew.
“Robin.” I crossed the room and shook her gently. “Sweetheart, we have to go. Now.”
She stirred as I lifted her, slung one of the packs over my shoulder, and moved for the window. Second floor. Too high to jump. I scanned for anything. Anything.
Glass shattered as I tossed the bag outside.
“Vicky?” Robin gasped, awake now, eyes snapping from the window to the door where groans and thuds leaked through. “How can I help?”
“Find a way down,” I said. That was all I had.
The tree branch scraped against the broken window, wood against glass.
“There,” I breathed.
She startled, then nodded. I kept my voice steady as she climbed out, slow and careful, limbs light and precise. I stayed close, whispering encouragement I barely believed myself.
Then a crash echoed down the hallway. Heavy. Wrong.
I motioned for silence and moved toward the door, peering through the cracked office window. I saw a woman being dragged down, her screams shredding the air as children tore into her. Flesh. Blood. Too much.
I turned away.
The rope came out next. I tied it fast, hands shaking, lowered supplies. The pounding on the door grew frantic. I rushed now, moving onto the branch.
It snapped.
Robin screamed my name.
The fall knocked the breath clean out of me. Pain detonated through my ribs and arm as I hit the ground, rolling instinctively. Above me, Robin scrambled down, shaking, then threw herself onto me.
“I’m okay,” I gasped. “But we can’t stay.”
We didn’t have time to process the pain. We barely had time to move.
A crunch behind us. Robin screamed again.
I turned. One of the children. Fresh from feeding.
Then another fell from the window above, body shattering on impact, rising anyway.
Behind me, something bigger moved.
Robin was shoving her pack into the face of a massive biter when I reached her. I screamed, shoved it back with everything I had.
“RUN!”
She ran.
I fought.
I don’t know how I stayed upright. Fear hollowed me out, left only motion. I tore through a door, searching, calling her name too loud and knowing it.
The bathroom came next. Blood. Pain. My arm hung wrong. Broken.
Footsteps thundered.
I turned and saw her. A woman. Too fast. Too close.
She hit me hard, drove me into the wall. Her mouth opened. Blood streaked her face. The smell burned.
I couldn’t fight her. Not like this.
“Hey! Miss Teacher.”
Robin’s voice.
The biter faltered. Something struck its legs. I shoved, both of us crashing down. Robin swung again and again, small body fueled by something feral and unstoppable.
When it was over, she grabbed me and pulled me up.
Outside, we barricaded the doors. Then we sat on the steps, shaking, crying, holding each other while the building screamed behind us.
Later, in the truck, she noticed my arm.
We made a splint from a ruler and a torn shirt.
And then she told me everything.
About her sister.
About the cold.
About her parents.
I held her while she cried herself empty.
When something hit the back of the truck, I started the engine.
Now I’m here. Parked at a rest stop. Writing on the steering wheel. My arm throbbing. Robin asleep beside me.
Tomorrow has to be better.
It has to be.
- Writer
