Track Blood
762 Words
Jett stirred at her desk, one arm over her eyes, the other still tangled in her hoodie sleeve. The drone of the lesson hadn’t done much to keep her awake, and the teacher had long since stopped calling her name.
She sat up with a stretch, cracked her neck, and yawned. Her head still ached from the night before—too little sleep, too many dreams.
Practice. Track coach would rip her a new one if she was late again.
She stood, tossing her bag over her shoulder, and made her way to the door.
“Need to hit the field,” she muttered. The teacher waved her out absently, barely looking up.
Out in the hall, two girls passed by in the opposite direction. One looked like death. Literally. Pale, sweating, shaking. Jett frowned but kept walking.
No one ever checked on her. Why should she check on anyone?
She jogged down the stairs, her hoodie bouncing against her ribs. The school smelled like bleach and cafeteria grease. Everything normal. Everything fine.
Outside, the sun hit her hard. She blinked and pulled up her hood.
The track field looked almost peaceful. A few students had skipped class to laze around. Off to the side, a couple was making out like the world was ending. Another girl yelled at her boyfriend, who just shrugged her off like he didn’t care she was practically crying.
Jett rolled her eyes.
Typical high school drama.
She jogged across the field as the bell rang.
That’s when she saw the girl collapse.
She hit the ground like a bag of bricks—no flail, no cry. Just down. And then the twitching started.
Jett slowed, confused. A group of kids formed around her. The gym teacher came jogging over, pulling out his walkie.
“We’ve got a possible sprain out on the track,” he said, too calm. “Need a medic.”
He knelt next to the girl. “Anyone know if she’s prone to seizures?”
Jett stood just outside the circle. Something itched at her spine. Something felt wrong.
Then the girl stopped moving.
Blood ran from her nose… and her eyes.
The kids started screaming.
Above them, glass shattered. Every head turned up. A window on the fourth floor of the school burst open.
A body fell.
It slammed into the ground with a wet, heavy crunch.
Gasps turned into shrieks.
“WHAT THE f**k!” the gym teacher shouted. “Someone call 911!”
Then the girl on the ground sat up.
Jett didn’t even scream. She just watched as the girl lunged and bit the gym teacher's face. The sound he made didn’t sound human. He shoved her off, stumbling, clutching his jaw. He started convulsing.
The girl turned—her mouth red—and ran straight into the crowd.
They scattered, but not fast enough.
Jett’s brain screamed run.
So she did.
She sprinted across the field, heart in her throat. Every step she took showed her more chaos.
The yelling girl was on the ground. Her boyfriend was eating her.
The “couple” near the stairwell—she hadn’t been kissing him. She’d been chewing through his face.
Blood on her shoes. Screams in her ears.
No time to process. No time to breathe.
She barreled back into the school through the front doors, dodging a stampede of students. Her keys. Her scooter. She needed to get out. Go home. Go anywhere that wasn’t here.
Near the front office, she skidded to a halt. A crowd of students—pale, bleeding, wrong—turned to look at her.
Dead white eyes.
They charged.
A hand grabbed her collar and yanked her sideways.
She was pulled into a classroom and the door slammed shut behind her.
Another hand clamped over her mouth.
Jett thrashed, ready to bite back—until she saw who had grabbed her.
A tall boy in a bloodstained black shirt held a finger to his lips. His face was streaked with sweat and dust, jaw clenched like steel.
Beside him, a red-haired girl with cracked glasses clutched a metal ruler like a sword.
In the corner, a group of students huddled together. Crying. Shaking. Too scared to move.
“Quiet,” the boy whispered, voice like gravel. “They’ll hear.”
Jett stared at them.
At all of them.
Then she sat down slowly, her back against the door, heart pounding through her ribs.
She still hadn’t said a word.
She wouldn’t. Not yet.
But she was listening now.
And she wasn’t running anymore.
- Writer
