"Guys! You made it!"
"Yeah," I smiled back. "You as well, it seems." I peered through the doorway, relief washing over as I spotted Sydney, Cindy, and Jason huddled together but clearly unhard.
"Yeah, co over quick," Christopher urged, his eyes darting nervously down the hallway behind us.
Elena and I slipped inside, and Christopher imdiately slamd the door shut, the tallic click of the lock echoing in the silence.
"As expected of you, Ryan," Sydney said, though her casual tone couldn’t mask the relief flickering in her eyes. "You survived this ss with Elena and ca out unscathed." She didn’t seem surprised to see , but I caught the way her rigid posture relaxed slightly when she confird we were both alive.
"Yeah, it was difficult, but we made it through," I replied, my voice hoarser than I’d expected. "And that..." I paused, my attention caught by sothing unexpected. "Could it be?"
My gaze fixed on the device Cindy was carefully adjusting—a complex array of dials, switches, and ters that looked like it belonged in a museum rather than a high school office.
"Yeah," Cindy bead at , her face lighting up with a genuine smile. "It’s a short-wave radio, and it actually works."
"Really?" Elena asked, hope blooming in her voice as she stepped forward eagerly. Too eagerly, perhaps—she winced slightly, a barely perceptible catch in her breath as a tender ache between her legs.
Sydney’s eyebrows raised at Elena’s subtle grimace. "Are you okay?"
"Ah... yes. Don’t worry about it," Elena replied quickly, color rising in her cheeks as she avoided my gaze. I felt a corresponding flush of heat in my own face.
If they learnt that while they were fighting their life through from the rooftop to the Director’s floor I was fucking Elena in the floor below, they might have definitely fell speechless.
Thankfully, Sydney didn’t press the issue, though her analytical gaze lingered on Elena for a mont longer.
"So you can actually send distress signals?" I asked, approaching Cindy while trying to push aside the lingering awareness of Elena’s proximity. The radio looked impossibly complex—dozens of knobs and switches that might as well have been hieroglyphics to .
"Yes, I’ve already transmitted on as many frequencies as possible, casting as wide a net as I can," Cindy explained, her fingers moving with across the controls. "I’ve been broadcasting our location and situation continuously."
"Wow, you actually know how to operate this thing?" Jason asked, genuine admiration in his voice as he peered over her shoulder at the intimidating array of controls.
I shared his amazent. The short-wave radio looked like sothing from a bygone era, all analog dials and chanical switches. Most of the labels were faded or missing entirely, leaving only cryptic markings that spoke to decades of use.
"Yeah," Cindy said with a nostalgic smile that softened her usually serious expression. "My father had sothing similar in his workshop. He was... he was really into amateur radio when I was younger. Taught the basics before..." She trailed off, her smile faltering slightly.
"So now we just wait?" Sydney asked, breaking the montary silence that had fallen over the group.
"We wait, but we can’t assu anyone received our initial transmissions," Cindy replied, her focus returning to the task at hand. "The best strategy is to keep broadcasting on all available frequencies until soone—anyone—picks up our signal. If the whole world hasn’t gone to hell, there should be military installations or ergency services monitoring these bands."
"Then we’re taking it with us," I decided, and Cindy nodded in agreent.
"The signal seems strong enough to reach most of New York City, probably extending beyond the tropolitan area, but I’m not certain about the maximum range yet," she explained, making subtle adjustnts to the antenna positioning. "If I can figure out how to boost the signal strength, it would dramatically improve our chances of reaching help. But I need ti to understand this particular model better."
"Well, we’ve got plenty of ti on our hands," Christopher said grimly. "Let’s head back to the library."
"By the way," I asked, curiosity getting the better of , "did you encounter many infected on your way from the rooftop to here?"
"Oh, we ran into a few," Sydney replied with a casual shrug. "But we just shoved them into empty classrooms and barricaded the doors. Not exactly rocket science."
I couldn’t help but laugh. "We did the exact sa thing. These things don’t seem to understand door handles."
"We shouldn’t get confident about it though," Elena said, her expression serious. "So of them are strong enough to break through doors by sheer force.
"L...let’s get out of here then!" Jason stamred, his face going pale as he glanced nervously at the office door.
"Right, let secure this first," Cindy said, carefully placing the radio into a sturdy shoulder bag she’d found. The device fit snugly, and she added so padding from desk supplies to protect it during transport.
"Before we go, let’s search the office," I suggested, already moving toward the imposing desk that dominated the room. "There might be other useful supplies."
I pulled open the first drawer, expecting to find the usual office detritus—pens, paper clips, maybe so ergency candy. Instead, I froze completely, my hand hovering inches above sothing that made my blood freeze.
Nestled among scattered docunts and office supplies was a weapon.
A silver handgun.
The tal glead dully in the dim light, and even without touching it, I could tell it was real.
"Is... is that actually real?" Cindy asked dumbfounded
"Yeah..." I nodded slowly, reaching out with trembling fingers to lift the weapon. The mont my hand closed around the grip, I knew without a doubt it was genuine. The cold tal felt substantial, purposeful, and undeniably deadly. The weight distribution, the texture of the grip, the precise engineering—everything scread authenticity.
And why would a school director have a toy gun anyway?
"He could have been arrested just for having a handgun on school property," Christopher said, his voice filled with disbelief.
"Well, considering what can happen in Arican schools these days, you can’t really bla him for wanting protection," Sydney said.
She wasn’t wrong, and we all knew it. The grim reality of school violence had made administrators increasingly paranoid about security—perhaps this director had decided official protocols weren’t enough even more at Lexington Charter if targeted could result into a quite catastrophe with the numbers of important students here.
With careful movents, I ejected the magazine to check the ammunition. The satisfying click of the chanism felt both foreign and familiar in my hands.
Ten bullets. A full magazine.
The director hadn’t fired it recently—probably hadn’t had the chance to use it at all before whatever had happened to him outside the office. The tal showed no signs of recent use, just the careful maintenance of soone who understood the responsibility of firearm ownership.
"Let’s search thoroughly," I said again."Maybe there are additional magazines or other supplies."
The others nodded, and we spent the next ten minutes conducting a systematic search of every drawer, cabinet, and hiding spot in the office. We moved around but aside from the usual office supplies and personal effects, we found nothing else of imdiate tactical value.
"Do you actually know how to use that thing?" Sydney asked finally, voicing what everyone was clearly thinking. All eyes turned to expectantly, and I could sense their mixture of hope and apprehension. They wanted the security of having a weapon, but they obviously didn’t want accidentally shooting one of them.
"I an..." I raised the gun carefully, keeping it pointed away from everyone as I demonstrated my familiarity with the basic chanisms. I checked the safety, ejected and reinserted the magazine, and examined the firing chanism with movents that were more confident than I felt.
"Where did you learn to handle firearms?" Christopher asked, surprised.
The question made a bit uncomfortable, dragging up mories I’d spent years trying to bury. Images flashed through my mind—my father’s rages, the sound of my mother’s frightened sobs, the cold tal of his service weapon when he’d forced to clean it as punishnt for so imagined transgression. The sll of gun oil mixed with whiskey.
"That’s..." I started, then stopped, unable to find words.
"We should be leaving," Elena interrupted gently, her timing perfect. She must have seen sothing in my expression/
I nodded gratefully, tucking the weapon carefully into my waistband while making sure the safety was engaged.
"Right," I said, forcing my voice back to normal. "Let’s get back to the others and figure out our next move."
"Well, the way back should be considerably easier," Christopher said, and I found myself nodding in agreent.
Most of the infected should have been dealt with by now. There might be a few stragglers lingering on the opposite rooftop, but nothing we couldn’t handle with our newfound experience I believe.
"Alright, everyone ready?" I asked.
"Wait," Christopher interjected, patting himself down with a frown. "I don’t have any weapons."
"Here," Elena said, tossing him back the scissors he’d given her earlier. "They turned out to be pretty useless, honestly."
She wasn’t wrong—I’d barely seen her use them during our entire ordeal. They’d spent most of their ti tucked away in her pocket like a security blanket.
"Don’t underestimate these beauties," Christopher smirked, catching them and giving them a few experintal snips. "They’ve got more potential than you think."
"Um, wait just a mont," Cindy raised her hand, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. "Before we leave, I need to use the restroom right over there. I’m assuming not everyone has the iron bladder that you guys seem to possess?" She looked pointedly at Christopher and .
"Y...yeah, I should probably go too," Elena said, raising her hand with obvious embarrassnt.
"I’ll join you as well," Sydney added pragmatically. "No point in being uncomfortable during what could be a long journey."
"I think I’ll need to go after you girls," I admitted, glancing at Christopher who nodded in agreent.
"Yeah, man," Christopher laughed/ "The fear kept focused before, but now I really need to release all this built-up tension."
"Sa here," Jason chuckled nervously, adjusting the strap of his backpack.
"Let’s check the restroom first," I said, leading our small group out of the director’s office.
The faculty restroom was indeed nearby, its location marked by a small brass naplate that seed absurdly formal given our current circumstances. Christopher and I took point, pushing open the door.
The interior was a ss—blood spatter decorated the white tile walls like abstract art, and several stalls hung off their hinges. Broken mirrors reflected fractured images of our cautious approach, but most importantly, the space was empty of any imdiate threats.
"Clear," I called softly, and the three girls filed in while we stood guard outside.
The sound of running water and muffled conversations filtered through the door, punctuated by occasional sighs of relief.
When they erged, looking sowhat refreshed despite everything, it was our turn to use the adjacent n’s room. Like its counterpart, it bore the signs of whatever chaos had erupted in the school, but it was blissfully vacant.
We took our ti, doing more than just addressing biological necessities. The running water felt like a benediction as we splashed it on our faces, washing away the gri and dried sweat that had accumulated during our ordeal. We refilled our water bottles with the lukewarm tap water, and Christopher and I even managed to rinse so of the blood and debris from our arms and hands.
"God, I never thought I’d miss hot showers this much," Jason muttered, attempting to finger-comb his disheveled hair into so semblance of order.
"We don’t know when we’ll get another chance to clean up properly," I replied, wringing out my shirt as best I could. The fabric was stained beyond repair, but at least it felt less oppressive against my skin.
Once we’d all made ourselves as presentable as possible under the circumstances, we regrouped and made our way back toward the rooftop access.
The conversation flowed more easily now, punctuated by the occasional nervous laugh or shared observation about our situation. Our little ti together brought us quite closer and contrary to my classmates from my high school I felt more comfortable with these people.
"You know," Cindy said as we climbed the stairs, "I never imagined my amateur radio knowledge would actually co in handy. My dad always said practical skills were important, but I thought he was just being paranoid."
"Paranoid or prescient," Sydney replied. "Right now, I’d say he was ahead of his ti."
When we finally reached the rooftop, the scene that greeted us was both beautiful and ominous. The sun was settling toward the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and gold that seed almost obscene given the circumstances. Yet despite the approaching twilight, the blend of infected voices continued unabated from the courtyard below.
Now the second jump, this ti I won’t fail pathetically my jump and drag down another person with .
"Hey, I count maybe four or five over there. We should go first and clear them out before everyone else makes the jump," Christopher said pointing to the other rooftop as he looked at .
"Yeah," I nodded in agreent.
While he prepared for his leap, I approached Elena, a bit concerned.
"Are you sure you can handle the jump?" I asked quietly, close enough that the others couldn’t easily overhear. "I an, with the... discomfort..."
"It’s just a bit of tenderness, Ryan. Nothing I can’t manage. I’m not about to beco dead weight because of so temporary soreness...."
"Good then," I said relieved.
"Here I go," Christopher called out, taking several quick steps before launching himself across the gap with impressive form. He landed with a solid thud and a triumphant grin, imdiately turning to wave us over.
"Show-off," I muttered, but I was already positioning myself for my own jump. This ti, I was determined to make it look effortless—no more embarrassing near-misses that would draw unwanted attention to my unusual physical capabilities.
I took a running start, my muscles coiling with carefully controlled power before I launched myself through the air. The sensation of flight lasted only seconds, but I had to consciously hold back to avoid overshooting the landing by a dangerous margin.
"Damn, Ryan!" Christopher exclaid as I landed with perfect balance. "It looked like you practically flew across. That was so serious hangti."
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant while internally cursing my lack of subtlety. "Must be all that adrenaline," I said, hoping he’d buy the explanation.
Fortunately, Christopher was already distracted by the approaching infected, and I was grateful when he didn’t pursue the topic further. Together, we moved to intercept the handful of creatures shambling toward us across the rooftop debris.
Christopher wielded Elena’s borrowed chair leg with surprising skill, using it to maintain distance while delivering powerful strikes to keep the infected at bay. anwhile, I found myself relying more on speed and precision, dodging their grasping hands while delivering targeted blows that sent them stumbling backward.
One by one, our companions made the jump safely. Cindy landed with a small stumble but quickly regained her footing. Jason’s approach was more cautious, but he cleared the gap without incident. Elena’s jump was smooth and controlled, though I noticed the slight tightness around her eyes that suggested she was indeed dealing with more discomfort than she’d admitted.
Only Sydney remained on the far side, and she was positioning herself for the leap when disaster struck.
"Sydney!" Cindy’s voice cracked with panic, making all of us whip around in alarm.
"Screw this!" Sydney cursed.
An infected we’d sohow missed had erged from behind one of the rooftop structures, approaching Sydney from her blind spot while she was focused on the jump. She’d managed to get her backpack between herself and the creature, using it as a makeshift shield while trying to stab at it with her knife, but the infected was relentless in its advance.
What made the situation truly dire was Sydney’s proximity to the edge. Each step backward to avoid the creature’s grasping hands brought her closer to a potentially fatal fall.
Without conscious thought, I was already moving. My body reacted before my mind could fully process the danger, muscles coiling with power that I no longer bothered to conceal. I sprinted past my stunned companions and launched myself back across the gap in a single, powerful bound.
My landing was anything but subtle—I ca down hard, absorbing the impact through my legs before imdiately transitioning into a devastating flying kick that caught the infected square in the head. The creature was lifted off its feet by the force of the blow, sailing backward to crash into the rooftop access door with a sickening crunch of breaking bones.
"Are you okay?" I asked Sydney urgently, though I was acutely aware of the stunned silence that had fallen over our group.
Sydney’s jaw was hanging open, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at . Behind her, I could hear similar expressions of disbelief from our companions.
"Grrr!"
The sound made spin around instinctively, my body moving with reflexes honed by sothing beyond normal human experience. The infected I’d kicked was struggling to its feet.
Without turning to look, I reached for my knife and sent it spinning through the air in a perfect arc. The blade buried itself to the hilt in the creature’s forehead, punching through bone and brain with surgical precision. The infected dropped like a marionette with severed strings, finally and permanently still.
Another silence fell over the rooftop.
Shit.
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