Who hadn't heard of Cornelius Frederick Alan Johnson?

The man had roamed across Asia, teaching English throughout the continent and mastering martial arts along the way. In 1998, fresh out of college, he became a fourth dan in Taekwondo in Korea. In Japan, he didn’t just dabble in Kendo—he became a Master, sparring with the best and earning a feature in the national papers. His Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu black belt? That came from years of brutal training in Rio de Janeiro. And in Hong Kong, he sharpened his Wing Chun skills until his strikes were as fast as they were lethal. Kung Fu, Muay Thai—he’d trained in those too, during his time in Thailand.

The students had heard stories about Mr. Johnson, about the quiet English teacher with a past that read like a movie script. He was one of those teachers that got fists bumps and head nods from students. Even the toughest, most rowdy students, the ones purportedly affiliated with gangs, showed him respect.

Seeing him now, poised and radiating confidence, the students felt gratified. Amidst their terror, some even felt a flicker of hope.

Hovering closer, the fly’s smile grew more bashful, as though mocking the scene. The students held their breath, their gazes fixed on the teacher, hoping against hope that he would perform a miracle.

Mr. Johnson's eyes narrowed. "Hyaaah!" he shouted, a sound that seemed equal parts a battle cry and a focus on summoning his strength. The students gasped, their anticipation soaring. The teacher's hand shot out, fast as a blur, but rather than shooting toward the fly, Mr. Johnson's hand seized hold of a boy standing nearby.

"Mr. Johnson, what you are doing?" the boy yelped as the teacher grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him up toward the fly. The boy struggled, his face twisted in confusion and terror, but he could not escape the teacher’s grip.

“Shut up, Takashi!" Mr. Johnson barked, delivering a swift slap to the boy’s head. The force of the blow was enough to daze Takashi, his eyes blinking rapidly as if he were seeing stars.

The entire bus went silent.

"Listen, Takashi," Mr. Johnson hissed, his voice low and severe. "I just saw your mom and dad get eviscerated by a floating eye. They were turned inside out like some kind of fucked up science experiment. Are you really going to let them cross into the afterlife alone? Unfilial bastard. You’ll join them, or I’ll make sure you do.”

"But sir, my parents...they in Japan. Am is foreign exchange student," Takashi cried, tears streaming down his face. He thrashed against the teacher’s hold, but the man’s grip was unrelenting. Takashi could only watch as the fly drifted closer, its smile stretching impossibly wide, proboscis already extending. "No, Mr. Johnson! Please, let me go!" he screamed, panic choking his words. His tear-streaked face twisted in terror as the buzzing monstrosity approached.

Mr. Johnson held the boy firmly, his gaze resolute. "Your parents would be proud, Takashi," he said, heartfelt admiration in his tone. "To put yourself in harm's way to save others. Such selflessness. Students like you and Sarah are why I teach. You're a true hero.”

"Fuck you!" Takashi spat. "I don't want be hero. I don’t want—" The fly latched onto Takashi's face with a wet squelch, cutting off his words. Its proboscis pierced through the boy's mouth and down his throat in one fluid motion. Takashi's screams were muffled by the insect's grip, his body convulsing violently as the fly began to feed. The process was much faster than with Ethan and Sarah. Takashi's flesh shriveled, his once youthful face collapsing into itself. Within seconds, he was reduced to a deflated husk, his skin hanging loosely from his bones, his eyes sunken and lifeless.

The fly withdrew and Takashi’s head lolled back. The fly finally showed signs of struggle. It hovered sluggishly, its child-like face flushed pink as if it were drunk, its abdomen swollen to the point to being nearly transparent. Raising its head, the insect made a strange, clicking sound—a series of sharp, staccato noises that echoed through the bus. The sound was chilling, like the grinding of teeth mixed with the crackling of dry bones. Afterwards, it buzzed towards the shattered bus window, its movements slow and labored, and disappeared into the horde of creatures rampaging outside, leaving behind the corpse of a boy that would never return to the Land of the Rising Sun.

The silence that ensued in the bus was broken only by the muffled sobs and panicked breathing of the students. The faint hope they had felt moments earlier was now replaced with a cold, suffocating dread.

But even dread was a momentary reprieve.

A student at the back of the bus screamed, pointing frantically out the window. Rick turned his head slowly in the direction the student was pointing, almost afraid of what he would see.

In the distance, a dark cloud approached. But as it drew nearer, it became clear that it wasn’t a cloud at all. It was a swarm—hundreds, maybe thousands of flies, each one with a human face, their bloated abdomens gleaming in the dull light.

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The students' cries grew louder, their terror reaching a fever pitch as they realized the inevitable. The swarm was coming for them.

"Fuck this shit!" the bus driver shouted, scrambling back to the driver's cabin. The engine roared like a caged animal, and the bus lurched forward, throwing students into each other.

The bus sped down the street, its tires screeching against the asphalt. It swerved, avoiding a colossal creature with limbs like tree trunks that towered into the sky. Since it was impossible to completely avoid the creatures, the bus driver seemed to aim for smaller beasts that scurried across the road. The bus struck one, a squat, dog-sized thing with spider legs and a parrot's head. It crunched under the wheels, leaving behind a streak of dark blood.

Another sharp turn.

The students were tossed like ragdolls. Avery, who had been pressed against the window, was flung out by the force, his scream lost in the chaos as he hit the pavement. He scrambled to his feet, chasing after the bus. "Come back!" he cried as the bus shot away. "Please!" His voice was raw, his face pale and streaked with tears.

Rick and his classmates watched from the rear window as a giraffe with a woman’s head approached Avery. The creature's face was etched with maternal concern, its long neck swaying as it moved closer. Avery staggered, his legs buckling. "Shoo!" he screamed, his hands up in a futile defense. "Get away from me!" The giraffe's expression only grew more sympathetic, more tender, like a mother wanting to placate a frightened child.

The bus took a sharp turn, and the last thing Rick and his classmates heard was Avery's chilling scream.

A tense silence settled over the students. Their faces were ashen, eyes wide, breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps. They exchanged glances, each one silently pleading for some kind of reassurance but finding none.

Outside, a large bird with the head of a snake swooped down, snatching an elderly woman with a cane off the sidewalk. Her scream pierced the air as the creature's fangs sank into her shoulder. The bird ascended, carrying her higher and higher while her arms flailed. It was then that another bird, a vulture with a wolf’s head, darted in, talons extended. The two avians clashed mid-air, a cacophony of hisses and snarls echoing as they tore into each other. The elderly woman, caught between, was wrenched apart. Intestines spilled from her torn torso, twisting in the air like pink serpents. As her lifeless halves fell, blood sprayed like rain, drenching the ground in gore, while feathers and scales rained down after.

The students recoiled, some covering their eyes, others unable to tear their gaze away.

A centipede with a child's head skittered past the moving bus, its hundreds of legs slicing through the air like blades, severing a man’s legs as he tried to crawl away.

A car shot down the road—a black limousine. It overtook the bus, its tires screeching as it skidded along the cracked pavement, weaving around wreckages and monstrosities. Ahead, a woolly mammoth lumbered down the road, covered in writhing eyes. It stomped on cars and blasting its trumpet. Without slowing, the limo arced sharply, tires screaming in protest. The back end swung wide, losing grip as it drifted. The front of the car grazed the mammoth’s shaggy side, inches from disaster. As the rear swung around, the wheels shifted from being counter-steered. The limo flowed like liquid around the colossal beast.

The limo had just dodged one danger when another made an entrance, a creature with a mouth like a bear trap. It leaped at the car, claws outstretched. A muzzle poked through the narrow gap of the window, and with a sharp, cracking report, the gun fired. The creature was blasted back, flipping through the air but landing on its feet, tensing to leap again. The limo tore down the road in a blur of speed, leaving the creature behind. Rick caught a glimpse of the limo's number plate as it vanished into the distance.

The number plate read: PAYTON5.

Before the bus reached the woolly mammoth, it turned into another street. Almost at the same time, a thud echoed through the bus, metal groaning as something slammed into it from behind. The force launched the bus forward, hurling students from their seats and nearly throwing a few out the window. The bus skidded sideways, tires burning against the pavement. It careened off course, then crashed into a telephone pole with a deafening crunch.

Rick’s head slammed into the seat in front of him. He groaned, clutching his throbbing forehead. Around him, the other students were in similar states. Some were bleeding, cuts from broken glass tracing thin lines of red across their skin. They ignored their injuries, eyes darting around in panic.

The neighborhood outside was eerily still. They were in Edgehill, an old part of Nashville. The streets were empty, devoid of the nightmare creatures that had swarmed them moments ago.

“Damn it!” the bus driver shouted, his voice laced with panic. “What the hell hit us back there? Anyone see?"

The students traded glances, seeking answers from their peers.

"Ain't see shit," Will muttered, pushing himself off the floor with a groan. Blood trickled from a cut just above his cheekbone.

"This bus is toast! We gotta get out, now!" the driver barked.

The students hesitated, fear and indecision written on their faces.

Get out?

As in, outside where those monsters roamed?