A throbbing ache settled in Riley’s skull, pulling him from the depths of unconsciousness. His vision swam as he blinked against the dim light filtering into the small locker room. Everything felt heavy. There was an odd quietness, almost peaceful, but the peace was uneasy—like the world held its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth, and as he shifted his head, a dull clatter echoed beside him. The baseball bat. The one used to knock him out. It rested on the ground next to his outstretched hand, streaked with dried blood and dust. Riley winced as he struggled to sit up, muscles sore from the unexpected beating. He pressed a hand to the side of his head, feeling the knot forming there.

Disoriented, he scanned the room. The faint orange glow of the setting sun spilled through a small window high up on the wall, casting long shadows on the cold tile floor. He was alone. Riley glanced at the window again—he had been out for hours, maybe longer. He could hear a faint car alarm blaring somewhere in the distance, but no other sound reached him.

He gingerly got to his feet, wobbling slightly. His head pounded, his legs stiff as he approached the locker room door. He grasped the cool metal handle, but something inside him made him hesitate. A strange, sinking feeling gnawed at his gut, rooting his feet to the floor.

His grip loosened, and the sudden wave of fear that followed left him breathless. He stepped back from the door, heart racing. The rational part of him screamed to move, to leave, to fight. But his instincts—the primal, fearful part of him—held him back.

Instead, Riley retreated to the far corner of the locker room. He curled into himself, clutching his knees to his chest as the eerie silence pressed in from all sides. The world beyond that door felt like another planet, one he wasn’t ready to face. Exhaustion overtook him, his body worn from panic and fear, and before he knew it, sleep crept in.

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He awoke with a start.

The faint light of dawn filtered in through the high window, cold and grey, bringing a strange sense of calm. Riley sat up slowly, his body stiff from the cramped position he had fallen asleep in. The bat still lay at his side, a strange comfort in its simplicity. He pushed himself up and dragged his aching limbs toward the shower area.

The water was icy, but it was enough to wake him fully. He scrubbed off the blood and grime, the water swirling in red streaks down the drain. He dressed in clean clothes he found in a nearby locker—an old athletic shirt and sweats, both slightly too big but functional. After drying off, Riley stared at his reflection in the foggy mirror.

The boy looking back at him wasn’t who he was yesterday. There was something new in his eyes. Fear. Uncertainty. He could feel the weight of his situation pressing down, like a vice tightening around his chest.

Hyping himself up, Riley grabbed the baseball bat, its solid weight reassuring in his hand. He returned to the door, staring at it for a long moment before he twisted the handle and yanked it open.

And then the smell hit him.

It was damp and unnatural, like the smell of wet earth and metal. His stomach twisted, but the sound of shuffling feet pulled his focus.

A figure stumbled toward him. Its skin was pale but smooth. The thing’s body, while seemingly alive, moved with a dead man’s gait. Its eyes were lifeless, bloodshot, but still clear enough to lock onto him. The way its arms reached out, jerking unnaturally, chilled Riley to the bone. It was like looking at someone freshly dead, skin still pristine but cold and clammy, veins faintly visible through its surface.

Riley swung the bat instinctively. The force knocked the thing back, crashing into a row of lockers with a loud thud. The sound echoed in the narrow hallway, and for a moment, Riley just stared at it, frozen.

The creature groaned, its hand twitching as it pushed itself up from the floor and lunging towards Riley. Riley didn’t wait for it to come at him again. He jumped to the side, the creature stumbling into the locker room. Riley slammed the locker room door shut and stumbled backward, breath coming fast. His heart pounded in his chest, and his vision blurred as he took deep breaths

The thought snapped him into motion. He bolted down the hall, the sound of shuffling feet and low moans growing fainter behind him.

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Frey blinked awake, the faint morning light filtering through the windows of the third-floor hallway. His muscles ached, stiff from sleeping on the hard floor, but it was better than being anywhere near the ground level. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the exhaustion clinging to his bones.

Around him, the survivors were scattered across the third floor, most of them gathered near the central hallway where they could keep an eye on each other—and the barricades. Thirty-three students had fortified the entire floor, pushing desks, chairs, and anything else they could find against the stairwells leading down. The barricades held firm at the top of the stairs, separating them from the danger below, as they anxiously waited, hoping help would arrive soon.

If it arrives, Frey thought grimly.

He got up and headed toward the restrooms to wash his face, hoping the cold water would snap him out of the fog. As he splashed water on his face, the door creaked open, and Emma walked in, her expression tired but calm. She offered him a weak smile.

"Hey," she mumbled quietly.

"Hey," Frey replied, rubbing a hand through his messy hair. "Any sign of... them?"

Emma shook her head. "Not yet. But they’ll show up. Sooner or later."

Frey nodded, drying his face with his sleeve. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the unspoken fear of what lay beyond their makeshift fortress.

They walked back toward the others, passing Bryce in the nurse’s office. She was sitting beside a couple of injured students, her face scrunched up in concentration as she did her best to adjust their makeshift bandages. Bryce wasn’t a medic, just another student, but she had a natural instinct to help, always trying to keep everyone together when things felt like they were falling apart.

“Need a hand?” Frey asked, sticking his head in.

Bryce glanced up, managing a small smile. “Nah, I think we're okay for now. But thanks.” She went back to fumbling with the bandages, clearly out of her depth but doing the best she could. Even with the chaos outside, Bryce kept trying, never letting the fear stop her from helping where she could.

Frey moved on, finding Oliver near the barricade. The boy was silent, methodically inspecting the barricade for weak points, his face set in a determined frown. Oliver didn’t talk much, but his focus on their survival was unmatched.

“You holding up?” Frey asked, leaning against the wall.

Oliver didn’t look up. “Fine. Just need to make sure this holds.”

They shared a moment of quiet understanding before Frey turned back to join Emma. She was sitting against the wall now, her legs stretched out in front of her as she stared at the ceiling. Frey sat beside her, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence.

“What do you think’s out there?” Emma asked after a few minutes, her voice barely above a whisper.

Frey didn’t answer right away. He knew what was out there. He just didn’t want to say it.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the lower floor, shattering the stillness.

Frey shot to his feet, heart pounding in his chest. Emma scrambled up beside him, her eyes wide with fear. Around them, the others jolted awake at the sound of the crash, rising groggily from their makeshift beds, murmuring anxiously as confusion spread through the group.

“What the hell was that?” someone asked, their voice shaking.

Frey’s mind raced as he tried to make sense of the noise. It wasn’t just one crash—it was the sound of shattering glass, followed by more breaking, like something was being slammed into a window over and over again. And it was close, right below them.

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Riley's legs burned as he rounded another corner, sweat pouring down his face despite the chill in the morning air. He kept his eyes forward, refusing to glance at the corpses that lay still on the ground. Dodging pools of blood and leaping over the undead that reached out to grab him, he weaved through the hallways like a rat in a maze. The school was crawling with them, every turn a gamble, each step a risk of running straight into another one. 

He had to find a way out. The front was completely overrun-he'd seen it earlier, the doors blocked by a horde of undead bother inside and out. But maybe the back...maybe there was still a chance.

As he approached the side door, Riley’s heart sank. A group of undead shuffled through the corridor, their movements unnervingly coordinated, their once-human appearances flawless, but their skin pale and lifeless.

He ducked into the nearest classroom, pressing his back against the door. His breathing was ragged, panic clawing at his chest. He couldn’t outrun them, not like this. Not without a plan.

Then, he heard it—a faint, desperate panting coming from just outside the door. Riley peeked through the small window and saw a boy, no older than he was, slumped against the wall. The kid looked terrified, his eyes wide with fear.

Riley froze, his heart hammering as he watched the boy through the small window. He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t a hero or a leader. Hell, he could barely think straight. His mind raced, trying to process everything at once—how to survive, what to do next, whether or not to help the boy.

For a moment, he just stood there, indecision pinning him in place. The bat felt heavier in his grip than before, his sweaty palms slipping as he gripped it tighter. His stomach churned, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

The boy slumped further down the wall, his breathing laboured. He looked like he wasn’t going to last much longer. Riley swallowed hard, his throat dry. He couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. He had to try, didn’t he?

Riley glanced back at the corridor behind him, then to the boy outside. Slowly, cautiously, he cracked the door open just enough to whisper through.

“Hey,” Riley called, his voice shaky, barely above a whisper. “You… you okay?”

The boy’s head snapped up, eyes wide with fear. He didn’t respond, just stared at Riley with a pleading look. Riley’s hand trembled on the doorknob.

“Can you… can you get up?” he asked, his voice uncertain. “We… we can get inside. It’s safer in here.”

The boy nodded, though weakly, and with a lot of effort, he tried to push himself up. Riley opened the door a bit more, peeking around to make sure nothing was coming down the hallway. His heart was in his throat. Everything felt too fast and too slow at the same time.

Finally, the boy stumbled into the room, and Riley quickly shut the door behind him, locking it with trembling hands. He took a step back, his chest heaving from the sheer adrenaline. The boy collapsed against a desk, breathing hard but safe—for now.

Riley bit his lip, unsure of what to say next. “You... you hurt?”

The boy shook his head, still catching his breath. “N-no,” he stammered, eyes darting nervously toward the door as if expecting something to burst through at any second. “Th-thank you.”

Riley just nodded, not trusting himself to say much more. He wasn’t sure he’d even done the right thing, but at least the kid was inside now. He didn’t know how long they could stay in this classroom, but it felt better than being out in the hall.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Riley leaned against the wall, trying to calm his breathing. He still didn’t have a plan. He was just reacting, just surviving.

But he wasn’t ready to lead anyone—not now, not ever.

Riley stood there, his back pressed against the cold wall, gripping the bat like a lifeline. The boy across from him was still panting, but the fear in his eyes was slowly being replaced by something more grounded—caution, maybe, or exhaustion. Riley wasn’t sure.

The silence between them was thick, like neither of them knew what to say or even wanted to break the quiet that felt strangely protective. Riley could hear his heartbeat, the dull thud of it in his ears, and he shifted uncomfortably.

“So… uh…” Riley’s voice came out awkwardly, not quite knowing how to finish the thought. What was he supposed to say? Ask the kid if he was okay? No one was okay right now.

The boy looked up at him, his face pale but his expression softening. “Are… are we safe in here?” he asked, his voice small.

Riley wanted to say yes. He wanted to give the kid some reassurance, but he didn’t know. He wasn’t even sure how long this room could protect them, especially if more of those things were roaming the halls.

“I… I think so. For now,” Riley muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, the door’s locked, right? We should be okay.”

The boy nodded slowly, though the unease in his eyes didn’t fade. Riley didn’t blame him. This wasn’t the kind of situation that made anyone feel safe.

“I’m Riley,” he said after a beat, figuring introductions were the least awkward way to fill the air. “Uh, you?”

“David,” the boy replied, his voice still shaky. “I… I was trying to find a way out. But they… they were everywhere.”

Riley sighed, leaning back against the wall and sliding down until he was sitting. He stared at the floor for a moment, the reality of the situation sinking in a little more with each breath. “Yeah… I know what you mean. I thought I could get out through the back, but it’s blocked too.”

They both sat there in the quiet for a few moments longer. David pulled his knees to his chest, Riley stared at the boy, still catching his breath, both of them sizing each other up. In the dim light of the room, Riley couldn’t quite place him, but something about him looked familiar—like they had passed each other in the halls before all this started. His mind raced with a million questions, but one in particular stood out.

“What year are you in?” Riley asked, breaking the silence.

The boy blinked in confusion before replying. “Grade 11… you?”

“Grade 12. Thought you looked younger,” Riley muttered, half to himself. They both went to the same school, after all. It wasn’t surprising, but it still felt surreal to meet someone else here, alive. Everyone else was either gone, turned, or worse.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment longer before Riley spoke again. “Where were you hiding this whole time?”

David shifted uncomfortably. “Third floor,” he said, his voice quiet. “A bunch of us barricaded ourselves up there. We thought we’d be safe, but… things got bad. They started arguing, couldn’t decide how to escape. I slipped out in the a few hours ago while everyone was asleep.”

Riley’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait—did you see Frey? Tall guy, dark hair, always trying to take charge of things?”

David furrowed his brow, thinking. “I… yeah, I think I remember someone like that.”

Riley straightened up, his grip tightening on the bat. “I have to get up there. Frey’s still alive.”

David’s eyes widened, and he shook his head vigorously. “No, no, no. You don’t want to go back there. The people up there… they’re indecisive. They’re stuck, arguing about what to do. And the barricades won’t hold for long. It’s a death trap.”

“I don’t care,” Riley said firmly. “I have to try. You don’t need to follow me.”

David opened his mouth to argue, but Riley was already pushing forward. He pulled the bat from his hands and held it out to David.

“Take this,” Riley said, his voice calm but urgent. “I’ll create a diversion. The undead blocking the back will follow me, and when I give you the signal, you run for the side door. Don’t look back.”

David stared at him in disbelief. “You’re insane. That’s suicide!”

“Maybe,” Riley said, flashing a grim smile. “But it’s my choice. You get out, and you make it. That’s enough for me.”

David hesitated, then slowly reached out and took the bat. “You’re crazy,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But thanks. I hope you make it out alive—with your friend.”

“Just be ready,” Riley said, stepping towards the door. He cracked it open, peeking out into the hallway. The coast was clear—for now.

He looked back at David one last time. “Wait a few seconds after my signal, then book it for the side door. Don’t stop for anything.”

David nodded, gripping the bat tightly. Riley took a deep breath and stepped out into the hallway, his heart pounding. He kept low, moving quickly and quietly. The school was eerily silent, save for the distant, unsettling groans of the undead.

Once he reached the end of the hallway, he glanced back and gave David a quick signal—then bolted.

He sprinted down the hall, his feet pounding against the linoleum as he weaved and dodged past the scattered undead. Their grotesque faces twisted toward him, arms outstretched, but Riley shoved the ones that got too close, never breaking stride. He hopped over the bodies of the fallen, almost slipping in a pool of blood but managing to keep his balance.

Reaching the first set of stairs leading to the second floor, he threw himself up them, two steps at a time. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he couldn’t slow down—not now.

More undead were scattered through the hallway, but Riley kept moving, zig-zagging between them with adrenaline-fueled precision. He barrelled past a row of lockers, then skidded to a stop in front of a trophy cabinet.

Something clicked in his mind. Backtracking, he clenched his fist and punched through the glass, shattering it with a loud crash. Ignoring the shards, he grabbed a large trophy, yanking it free from its stand.

He hefted the trophy, then swung it with all his might, smashing the rest of the cabinet into pieces. The noise echoed through the school, loud and sharp, drawing the attention of every undead in earshot.

“Go!” Riley shouted, his voice echoing through the hallway. He hoped David would hear him—and that he’d run.

Then, without hesitation, Riley turned back toward the stairs, his voice rising to a yell. “Frey! Open the barricade! I’m coming up!”

The groans of the undead grew louder, closer, but Riley didn’t stop. He sprinted toward the stairwell, the sound of shuffling feet and guttural moans filling the air around him.

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