[Win – School Grounds – 10:05 a.m.]
The air down here stinks of rot and ash.
Palm's breath is heavy beside me, his crowbar glinting in the morning light.
We leaped from the rooftop to this cracked balcony, leaving the others—Kao, Best, Namtan, FahFah, Jack, Emily—behind on rooftop .
Lin's gone. Dean's gone. And now it's just us, running for food, for water, for something to keep us from breaking.
My pipe's cold in my hands, slick with sweat.
Every step echoes like a scream in my skull.
"We stick close," I whisper. "Find the cafeteria. Grab what we can."
Palm nods, eyes sharp but tired.
"Like old times," he says, a half-smile flickering.
I want to hold that smile, keep it safe.
But the moans from below claw at the thought.
[10:10 a.m.]
The school's halls are a graveyard.
Broken desks, smeared blood, papers torn like skin.
The cafeteria's at the end of this corridor, but every shadow feels like a trap.
Palm moves first, steps light, crowbar raised.
I follow, pipe ready, heart hammering.
A sound—wet, guttural—stops us cold.
Around the corner, a Basic shuffles, its jaw hanging, eyes milk-white.
It's alone. For now.
Palm glances at me.
I nod.
He swings.
The crowbar cracks its skull, and it drops like a sack of bones.
But the sound—God, the sound—echoes too loud.
[10:15 a.m.]
More come.
Of course they do.
Two Basics, dragging their feet, and a Screamer, its throat pulsing with that awful wail.
The noise cuts through me, sharp as glass.
"Win!" Palm hisses, shoving me toward the cafeteria door.
I stumble, swing my pipe, catch a Basic's arm. It doesn't flinch, just keeps coming.
Palm's crowbar slams into its chest, pushing it back.
The Screamer's wail spikes, and my head feels like it's splitting.
"Move!" I yell, kicking the door open.
We spill into the cafeteria, slamming it shut.
The moans follow, fists pounding wood.
[10:20 a.m.]
The cafeteria's a mess—overturned tables, spilled trays, a stench like sour milk and death.
We tear through cabinets, finding cans of beans, a bag of rice, two water bottles.
Not enough. Never enough.
Palm stuffs the cans into his bag, quick but careful.
"You okay?" he asks, voice low.
I nod, but my hands shake.
Lin's smile flashes in my mind—her running, luring the horde.
Kao's whisper—"Ican feel them"—twists my gut.
What is she? What was Dean?
"Win," Palm says, sharper now. "Focus."
He's right. If we don't get back, the others—
A crash.
The door buckles.
[10:25 a.m.]
Three Basics burst through, claws scraping tiles.
The Screamer's wail follows, shaking the walls.
I swing my pipe, smashing a Basic's shoulder. It staggers but lunges again.
Palm's crowbar catches another, but the third—too fast—swipes at him.
"Palm!" I scream.
His arm bleeds, a gash deep and red.
He grits his teeth, swings again, drops the Basic.
The Screamer charges me, its wail deafening.
I drive my pipe into its throat, silencing it.
The room spins, blood pounding in my ears.
[10:30 a.m.]
Palm's leaning against a table, clutching his arm.
Blood drips, pooling on the floor.
"It's fine," he mutters, but his face is pale.
It's not fine.
Not with Lin's black veins in my head.
Not with Kao's "Naïve" truth.
"We need to go,"
I say, slinging his bag over my shoulder.
He nods, but his steps are slow, heavy.
I grab his good arm, pulling him toward the back exit.
The moans outside grow louder, closer.
[10:35 a.m.]
We stumble into a hallway, the back door to the grounds in sight.
Palm's breathing is ragged, his grip on the crowbar slipping.
I hold him up, my pipe ready in my other hand.
"Stay with me," I whisper, my voice breaking.
I can't lose him. Not after Lin. Not after Dean.
A shadow moves ahead—a Basic, blocking the door.
I don't think.
I charge, pipe cracking its skull.
It falls, but more moans echo behind us.
[10:40 a.m.]
We burst onto the grounds, sunlight blinding but cold.
The school's back gate is close, leading to the alley where Lin ran.
Palm stumbles, blood soaking his sleeve.
I tear my shirt, wrapping his arm, my hands shaking.
"You're okay,"
I lie, my throat tight.
He looks at me, eyes soft despite the pain.
"Win… if I don't—"
"Shut up," I snap.
"You're not dying."
But his blood's too red, too much.
And the moans don't stop.
Palm leans on me, his weight heavy.
The moans are closer now, a horde stirring.
I don't look back.
I can't.
Because if I do, I'll see Lin running.
I'll see Dean falling.
I'll see Palm slipping away.
We run, his blood on my hands, the world cracking behind us.
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