I look around the classroom, taking in the few things we've got to work with. The fluorescent lights cast an eerie glow over the scattered desks and chairs. "Um, so... I've got this metal trash can, but you guys probably need something to fight with… right?"

Sara, Tim, and Lily exchange a brief glance before spreading out, their eyes darting around the room.

Sara grabs a thick wooden broomstick and attempts to snap the broom part off. She grunts with effort, her face reddening as she strains against the stubborn wood. After a few unsuccessful yanks, she finally manages to break it with a loud crack.

Tim goes for a metal chair, holding it by one of the legs.

The seat could work as a shield, I guess.

Lily takes her time, carefully examining each potential weapon before finally picking up a heavy-duty stapler. "It's not a sword, but it's something,"

"Alright," I nod, pretty impressed by how they think on their feet. "Cool, cool."

Tim looks at me, his jaw clenched. "Now what?"

"Well, I guess we'll need to go hunting now," I try to sound confident. "But we'll do it as far from the restroom as possible. There's a Level 15 Elite Zombie around there. And we're nowhere near ready for that yet."

Sara's eyes go wide, and she looks like she might hurl. Her voice comes out as a squeak. "Level 15? Are you for real?"

"I am," I tell her straight up. "And trust me, you don't want to run into that thing."

Lily taps the stapler against her palm, her brow furrowed in concentration. "So, the further we are from there, the safer we'll be, right?"

"Yeah," I nod. "The weaker zombies should be further out. They're what we want to focus on for now."

Tim cracks his knuckles, his voice tinged with impatience. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go bag some zombies."

I turn toward the door, ready to take them out into the halls. But I can't quite shake this feeling in my gut, that’s heavier than the trash can I'm holding. "Anyways... Stay close, watch your corners, and most importantly, keep an ear out. The zombies make noises. Learn to recognize them; it just might save your butt."

Stolen novel; please report.

Everyone nods, as we get ready to step into who-knows-what.

I grab the door handle and yank the door open, the hinges making a loud squeaking sound, and we step into the dimly lit hallway. The fluorescent lights above us keep flickering. My eyes adjust to the dark, and right away I'm looking for any sign of movement. But it's the stillness that hits me first — the suffocating, physical lack of movements.

Sara, Tim, and Lily stick close behind me, holding their weapons tight. As we move further down the hall, we see something that makes us all suck in our breath. There are blood splatters all over the walls and lockers, and a few steps ahead are the bodies of kids we might have known, now torn up so bad we can't even recognize them.

Sara lets out a muffled gasp, her face going white as a sheet. Tim's eyes widen, his grip on the chair leg tightening even more. Lily hugs the stapler close to her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"We can't freak out," I tell them, even though I want to throw up, "Freaking out will get us killed."

Sara nods rapidly, her breath coming in short, choppy bursts. "Right, no freaking out," Her voice wobbles as she speaks. "Got it, absolutely no freaking out." Her eyes dart around frantically, betraying her attempt to stay calm.

I scan the hallway carefully, listening hard for the zombie sounds I warned them about. "If you want to make it out of this alive, you have to shut off the part of you that wants to scream, or cry, or run away."

Tim's face hardens, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. His voice carries a hint of challenge. "Scared? Me? No way, I'm not scared. What's next? Let's get on with it already."

"We need to move quietly and stick together," I tell them, setting off down the hall with careful steps. "We make our way to the East Wing; there are fewer people there, which probably means fewer zombies."

"And if we bump into any?" Lily’s voice is low and controlled.

"We take them down, quietly if we can. Always aim for the head. It's their weak spot, so you'll do double damage," I reply, my grip tightening on the handle of my metal trash can.

As we walk, the distant sound of moaning reaches our ears — an unsettling, inhuman noise that sends shivers racing down our spines. The sounds seem to get louder as we move, filling the air with a crushing sense of dread. My eyes dart back and forth, scanning each cross-section of the hallways, each open classroom door, for signs of the undead.

"Remember," I glance back at the trio, whose faces are a mix of determination and fear, "the goal is to level up. We're here to fight, not to..."

And right then, a sudden rustle comes from a nearby classroom, along with a low, throaty groan. We all tense up, my companions' eyes going wide, their breath catching.

Something's in there, something that's caught a whiff of us. And it's moving towards us. The groaning gets louder, accompanied by the shuffling of feet dragging across the floor. We're about to face our first real challenge, and I can only hope we're ready for it.