Chapter 2
Bella's Pov
Silence should never feel heavy, but right then, it felt like breathing inside a tomb.
The bathroom door dented inward again.
Metal groaned. Something — someone — snarled.
Yeah, that definitely wasn't normal breathing.
Normal breathing doesn't sound like someone gargling rage.
Violet whimpered behind me. "Bella… please tell me this is a prank show and we're about to sign release forms."
"I don't think insurance covers being eaten alive," I muttered.
Jesse steadied herself against the counter, knuckles pale. Alya knelt beside the bleeding student, shaking as she pressed tissue onto his wound — like tissue could solve this. Like kindness could stop death.
His skin already looked gray.
Eyes glassy.
Breath shallow.
We had seconds. Maybe less.
I crouched next to Alya, gripping her wrist — gentle but firm. "Alya."
Her eyes darted to mine — wide, scared, stubborn.
She always believed she could fix things if she tried hard enough.
"We need to go," I said quietly.
She shook her head. "He's hurt — we can't just—"
Another slam hit the door so hard it cracked.
Violet screeched. "OKAY WE CAN JUST LEAVE, WE CAN TOTALLY DO THAT."
The boy convulsed. Alya froze. And then — he gasped one last time.
Silence.
One heartbeat.
Two.
His chest stilled.
"Girls…" Jesse whispered.
A low growl vibrated in the air.
His fingers twitched.
My pulse plummeted.
No. Nope. Not possible.
People don't just—
His head jerked.
Alya screamed.
"ACHKKKKKKK"
"MOVE!" I yanked her back as the boy sat up with jerky, broken motions — like a puppet pulled by a drunk puppeteer.
His eyes weren't human anymore.
The slam at the door turned into splintering metal.
"Violet, window," I snapped.
"There's— THERE IS NO WINDOW— IT'S A BATHROOM—"
She was hyperventilating, spinning in a circle like a panicked hamster.
Great. Future surgeon, billionaire's daughter, walking meme, and me — unofficial babysitter.
We were going to die surrounded by soap dispensers. Fantastic.
The boy — no, the thing — lunged.
Jesse yanked Alya out of reach.
I grabbed the nearest weapon I could find.
A mop.
A freaking mop.
I jabbed it between his chest and the floor, pushing with every nerve in my arms. "Stay— down!"
He snarled, snapping teeth inches from my arm.
Violet cried in a corner. Jesse held Alya behind her like a shield. Typical.
The door bent again.
We were trapped.
I made a decision — either brilliant or stupid, the line was thin.
"Girls," I hissed, "stall door. Now."
They stared.
"Like hide-and-pray stall door??" Violet squeaked.
"No, like climb through the maintenance hatch above it."
Jesse blinked. "Why do you know about that?"
"Because unlike you I don't live life assuming ceilings are purely decorative — GO."
Alya scrambled first, trembling but determined. Jesse boosted Violet, who nearly kicked her in the face because panic apparently removed thigh coordination.
The zombie — yes, let's admit what it is — thrashed harder. My arms shook.
"Bella!" Jesse called from above, reaching down. "Come on!"
I shoved the mop into place, wedged it under the sink counter, and sprinted toward Jesse.
The door burst.
I didn't look.
I leaped, grabbed Jesse's hand, and climbed — muscles burning.
Violet sobbed above us. "I HATE APOCALYPSES, I WASN'T MENTALLY PREPARED— I DIDN'T EVEN BRING SNACKS!"
We rolled into the dark crawl space above the ceiling tiles just as something clawed upward behind us.
I lay there panting, covered in dust. Very glamorous. Happy birthday to me.
In the distance — halls echoed with screams. A crash. Running. Chaos building like a storm swallowing the school.
Violet whispers"...We are so dead. And I didn't even confess to my crush yet."
Alya also whispered, voice trembling: "T–those aren't normal injuries. That's… neurological. That's rabid behavior. That's—"
Bella: "That's not human anymore."
We crawled.
The ceiling creaked under us.
"Do we even have a plan?" Violet whisper-cried.
"Stay alive?" Jesse offered.
Alya nodded shakily. "Statistically, sticking together increases survival probability in disaster scenarios."
"Statistically," Violet whispered back, "I'm going to pee myself."
We reached a grate overlooking the hallway.
Students sprinted below — crying, slipping, dragging friends. Some were bleeding. Others screaming names.
A boy tackled another — not to save them.
To bite them.
My stomach twisted.
"This isn't real," Violet whispered. "This is one of those hidden camera stress tests, right? Like from YouTube?"
A girl below slammed into a locker, sobbing.
"Please— PLEASE— don't—"
The thing chasing her didn't care.
A sickening crunch.
Alya covered her mouth, tears falling.
Jesse looked away, jaw clenched so hard I thought her teeth would crack.
I swallowed hard. Logic. I needed logic.
We can't stay here.
We need supplies.
Weapons.
Exit routes.
But first—
"Gym," I breathed.
Three heads turned to me.
"There's sports equipment there. Bats. Bars. Emergency kits. Exit door behind the bleachers leads outside."
Alya blinked. "Yes. That's— that's actually smart."
Jesse nodded. "Lead the way."
Violet sniffled. "I want to survive but also faint at the same time. Please carry me spiritually."
I crawled forward.
And then — voices.
From the hallway below.
"Oh my gosh, babe, run FASTER—!"
A couple sprinted hand-in-hand like a dramatic Netflix romance scene — except instead of sunset lighting, they had death behind them.
"ARE YOU SERIOUS," Violet whispered. "THE WORLD IS ENDING AND THEY'RE STILL BEING CRINGE?"
The guy pushed his crying girlfriend forward. "You go first!"
He tripped her.
HE TRIPPED HER.
Jesse's jaw dropped. "Did he just—?"
The girl screamed as a zombie tackled her.
The boy ran the opposite direction.
My blood froze.
"That jerk," Violet hissed. "If we survive I will personally haunt him."
He turned the corner — and slammed directly into a zombie.
Karma speedrun. Good.
Alya's voice was small. "People change fast when scared."
I shook my head. "Fear doesn't create your character. It just reveals it."
Right now, we had to reveal ours.
I dropped lower, eyes scanning paths. "On my count, we go down through the maintenance ladder and make a run toward the east stairwell. Stay close. Don't scream. Don't fall."
Violet raised her hand.
"Question: what if I scream AND fall?"
"Then I'll drag you like a sack of rice," I said.
"That's friendship," she whispered tearfully.
We moved.
Well, we tried — until a ceiling tile cracked under me and I nearly went straight through. I froze.
Alya gasped quietly. "Bella—"
"I am fine," I whispered. "No one panic."
Violet already panicking: panic more
Jesse reached forward and squeezed my wrist. A silent reminder:
Fear or not, doubt or not, this wasn't where we died.
Not today.
Not like this.
And definitely not in a school bathroom with a mop as my last legacy.
I shifted my weight carefully, trying not to fall through the already-cracking ceiling.
The tile groaned again — like it had feelings and those feelings were "I quit."
Violet whimpered.
Alya held her breath.
Jesse's grip on my wrist tightened — grounding me, like her hand alone dared gravity to try something.
"Slow," Jesse whispered. "We move slow."
Right. Slow. Quiet. Alive. Those were the current goals.
I maneuvered to the metal beam, gripping it with my fingertips until I felt stable enough to breathe again.
My whole body trembled.
"You good?" Violet whispered.
"I am… emotionally questionable," I whispered back, "but physically intact."
"That's enough for me," she muttered.
We crawled farther down the crawlspace until a maintenance ladder came into view. A dusty light shone up from a vent below it, flickering like a dying flashlight.
"Okay," I breathed. "We drop down here."
Alya peered through the grate. "Clear?"
I listened — footsteps echoed distantly, screams far but real. For this second, this exact moment — empty.
"Clear," I said.
Alya opened the grate gently. Jesse went first, descending slow and silent like she practiced escaping buildings for fun. Violet followed, shaking violently but managing not to die, which I counted as progress.
Alya climbed next — whispering physics formulas under her breath. Panic disguised as nerd — her coping mechanism.
I waited last, because leader responsibilities suck.
Before I went down, I took one more look through the crawlspace — at the tile that nearly sent me to my very undignified death.
"I refuse to be killed by architecture," I whispered, then climbed.
Feet hit the floor soft. The hallway smelled like dust, fear, and that weird school air-freshener that never actually freshened anything.
We pressed against lockers, moving low, quiet, fast.
"Gym is two hallways down," Alya whispered.
"And then stairs," Jesse added.
"And then hopefully zero zombies," Violet prayed out loud. "Please zero zombies. I can fight emotionally but physically I'm fragile."
"Shh," I hissed.
We reached the corner. I peeked around it.
Empty hall.
Lights flickering.
Trash scattered.
A shoe lying abandoned like someone actually outran death barefoot.
And blood smeared along the wall — handprints. Scratch marks. A smear that slid downward like someone tried to stand and failed.
My skin crawled.
"This is bad," Alya whispered.
"This is survivable," I corrected. "Bad is failing a quiz. This is… post-quiz consequences."
"Bella, that's not how metaphors work—"
Footsteps echoed behind us.
Fast.
Uneven.
Hungry.
We turned slowly.
A boy limped toward us, uniform torn, one sleeve missing, blood down his chin. His head twitched like it was too heavy for his neck. His breath rattled wet.
Violet's lips trembled. "Oh no— no no no no—"
His eyes met ours.
Not human eyes.
Animal. Empty. Starved.
He sprinted.
And I sprinted back — grabbing a broken broom handle leaning against the janitor cart beside us. I didn't think. I didn't debate humanity. I didn't calculate survival odds.
I swung.
It cracked across his arm — not stopping him, just slowing enough that Jesse tackled him to the lockers.
"GO!" I shouted.
Alya grabbed Violet's wrist and ran. I swung again. Jesse shoved off him and followed.
He lunged at me, fingers clawing, mouth open like he wanted to eat my fear first then my face.
I kicked him in the knee — he dropped. I ran.
We sprinted the hall, hearts pounding like drums before war.
The gym doors came into view — big, wide, and suddenly looking like salvation wrapped in wood and panic.
"Almost there!" Alya gasped.
Violet sobbed, "If I live I'm donating to every charity, I swear—"
A shadow moved inside the gym window.
A shape.
More than one.
My stomach flipped.
But turning back meant death.
Turning forward meant maybe death.
So — forward.
We burst into the gym.
And froze.
Two boys stood in the center — sweating, scared, holding baseball bats. Not zombies.
Thank God.
One pointed his bat at us like we were intruders in his apocalypse fort.
"You infected?!"
I raised my hands. "Do I look eaten?"
He hesitated. "You could be bitten somewhere invisible!"
I glared. "Do I LOOK like someone who would let a zombie bite me gently and politely in a non-obvious place?"
The other boy blinked at us, shock turning into recognition.
"Oh— you're the smart girls!"
Violet sobbed harder. "Y-yes— we are smart and dying— please love us and protect us—"
Alya elbowed her. "Stop flirting during collapse!"
"Flirting keeps me alive emotionally—"
I ignored them and grabbed a metal bat from the equipment bin.
Cold. Heavy. Real.
Not a mop this time.
I turned to the boys.
"We're surviving," I said. "With or without you."
Jesse stepped beside me. Alya and Violet behind us.
The boys exchanged looks.
"We stick together then."
"Yeah," the other said. "Teamwork."
A crash sounded outside the gym entrance.
Snarls. Scraping.
We locked the doors.
Silence returned — not peaceful.
Tense.
Tight.
Like holding breath when predators pass.
Violet whispered into the quiet, voice small and shaking:
"…I miss math class."
I held the bat tighter.
"I miss knowing what the world was."
I used to think birthdays were about candles and cake.
Now I knew better.
Birthdays were about staying alive long enough to have another one.
And I was not dying tonight.