⏤   𝗮𝘀𝗵𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝗿𝘄𝗶𝗻
two  birds  on  a wire ,  they
don't  know  that  they'll  catch  fire  .
˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍓🍒🍄 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

WENDY RHEE always believed her story was something that belonged to the background, a subtle whisper in the chorus of louder voices.

She stared out the window of the charter bus, her reflection melding with the blurred streaks of the bustling city of Atlanta. The towering buildings loomed over the streets like silent sentinels, their glass facades glinting in the afternoon light, casting fractured reflections of the sky.

People hurried along the sidewalks, tiny figures in the sprawling maze of the city, each with their own destinations, their own lives. The world outside moved at its usual frenetic pace, completely unaware of the silence that had settled like a shroud over the interior of the bus.

Inside, the stillness was almost oppressive. The usual chatter of her teammates, the laughter, the occasional banter — all were conspicuously absent.

Wendy could feel the weight of their collective disappointment pressing down on them, a heavy, unspoken tension that filled the narrow aisles and clung to the air like a suffocating fog.

The pit of her stomach churned with a hollow ache, the kind that comes not from physical hunger but from a deeper, more insidious emptiness. It was the gnawing realization of defeat, of having come so close to victory only to have it slip through her fingers at the last moment.

The memory of the competition played on a loop in her mind, each missed shot, each faltering breath, replaying itself with relentless precision. She could still feel the weight of the bow in her hands, the tautness of the string under her fingers, and the momentary rush of adrenaline that had coursed through her veins before each release. And then, the silence after — the awful, ringing silence that had followed the final tally of scores, confirming what they all already knew: they had lost.

As the bus rumbled over a pothole, jolting her slightly, Wendy's gaze remained fixed on the passing cityscape. The streets of Atlanta, usually so full of life, seemed distant, almost dreamlike. The people out there had no idea what it felt like to be sitting here, on this bus, with nothing to show for all the hours of practice, the sweat, the determination.

The tall buildings seemed to mock her, their heights unattainable, just like the victory that had slipped from her grasp.

She was supposed to be a leader, one of the best on the team, someone the others looked up to. But today, she felt nothing like that. Today, she felt small and insignificant, her confidence shaken to its core. The coach's words from before they'd left the competition still echoed in her mind, sharp and biting: "A senior with no gold medal to show for it." Those words had stung then, but now they seemed to burrow deeper, festering like an open wound.

The bus made a turn, and the skyscrapers began to give way to smaller buildings, the dense heart of the city easing into the outskirts. The transition was seamless, yet it felt jarring, as if they were leaving behind the promise of something grand, only to return to the mundane, to the reality of their loss.

Her thoughts wandered back to the competition, to the way her coach's face had hardened when the final scores were announced. She had wanted to say something, to apologize maybe, but the words had caught in her throat, choked by the lump that had formed there. Instead, she had sat there in silence, her eyes stinging, her vision blurred by the shame that welled up within her.

And now, as they made their way back to school, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had let everyone down — her teammates, her coach, herself.

Wendy let out a slow breath, her gaze drifting from the window to the other members of the team. They all looked lost in their own thoughts, their faces reflecting a mix of exhaustion and dejection. She wondered if they felt the same gnawing emptiness that she did, the same fear that maybe this loss was more than just a one-time thing. Maybe it was a sign of something bigger, a failure that went beyond the competition, beyond archery, into the very fabric of who she was.

The bus hit another bump, and Wendy clenched her fists, trying to ground herself in the present, in the here and now. But the ache in her stomach persisted, a reminder of the emptiness that had taken root there. She didn't know how long it would last, or how she would fill it, but as the buildings of Atlanta began to fade into the distance, she couldn't help but feel that something had changed. Something within her had shifted, and she wasn't sure if she could ever go back to the way things were before.

Then, she heard it — a sigh, long and heavy, cutting through the tension like a knife. She didn't need to look to know who it was. The coach, Mr. Harland, was standing at the front of the bus, his broad shoulders slumped in a posture that spoke of both disappointment and exasperation.

"People," he began, his voice gruff, the kind of voice that demanded attention, "you know what happens when you perform like that?"

The question hung in the air, met with the same silence that had enveloped the bus since they'd left the competition. Wendy could feel the collective tension of the team, the way everyone seemed to sink a little deeper into their seats, trying to make themselves small, invisible even. No one wanted to be the one to answer, to break the silence with a response that would inevitably lead to further criticism.

But Mr. Harland wasn't the kind of man who let silence do the talking. He was a coach who believed in pushing his students, in breaking them down only to build them back up stronger, tougher. At least, that's what he liked to tell them. Wendy had always been unsure whether she believed that, or whether he just enjoyed the breaking down part a little too much.

She continued to stare out the window, her mind half-tuned to the world outside. The streets of her familiar hometown seemed different now as if the town itself had shifted in some imperceptible way.

The usual rhythm of the place — people walking, cars honking, life going on — seemed to have been disrupted. She noticed how people were moving faster, their steps hurried, their expressions tense. It was as if an invisible current of fear had gripped the town, pulling everyone along with it.

A man sprinted down the sidewalk, his tie flapping wildly behind him, his face twisted in panic.

Wendy blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. It wasn't unusual to see someone in a hurry, but there was something off about his movements, something that sent a shiver down her spine. She scanned the scene outside, her eyes catching on small clusters of people, their heads turning this way and that as if searching for something — or someone.

Before she could make sense of what she was seeing, Mr. Harland's voice broke through her thoughts again, sharper this time. He coughed a deliberate sound that demanded attention. Wendy's heart sank as she felt his gaze land squarely on her back.

"Wendy," he barked, his voice slicing through the silence like a whip, "get up."

Her stomach twisted into a knot as the command settled over her. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, hoping that if she just stayed still, if she just kept her eyes shut, maybe he would move on, find another target. But the moment stretched, and the silence deepened until she knew she had no choice.

With a resigned sigh, Wendy pushed herself up from her seat. The eyes of her teammates bore into her as she stood, the weight of their expectations — or maybe their relief that it wasn't them — pressing down on her. She kept her gaze fixed on the coach, refusing to let her eyes meet those of her peers, refusing to see whatever judgment or pity might be reflected there.

Mr. Harland scoffed, a sound filled with disdain. "Take a long look, everyone," he said, sweeping his arm in a grand, exaggerated gesture toward Wendy. "She's your future."

The words hit her like a slap, the sting of them reverberating through her. Wendy felt her cheeks flush with a mixture of anger and humiliation, but she bit down on her lip, forcing herself to stay silent, to stay still.

"Wendy here," the coach continued, his tone dripping with condescension, "is one of our best archers. Isn't that right?"

She didn't respond, knowing that no answer would satisfy him. But the pause that followed seemed to demand a reply, so she nodded stiffly, the movement barely perceptible.

"And yet," Mr. Harland went on, his voice growing louder, more pointed, "even our best can't secure us a win. What does that say about the rest of you? What does that say about the future you're all heading towards?"

The rhetorical question hung in the air, heavy with implied failure. Wendy's fingers tightened around the strap of her quiver, her knuckles turning white as she tried to keep her emotions in check. She could feel the heat of her teammates' stares, and could almost hear the unspoken thoughts that buzzed in the air around her. But she kept her gaze on the coach, her expression impassive, a mask she had learned to wear over the years.

Mr. Harland paced a few steps in front of her, his shoes thudding against the floor of the bus. "Archery alone won't secure your admission to a good college," he declared, his voice rising with each word, driving the point home with brutal clarity. "Not if you can't even qualify for a win. Not if you perform like you did today."

He stopped in front of her, his eyes boring into hers, the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear. The senior felt her heart hammering in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears, but she refused to look away. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

"And you, Wendy," he said, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone, "you couldn't even do that. You couldn't even qualify. What does that say about you?"

The words twisted in her gut like a knife. She wanted to argue, to defend herself, to explain that it wasn't just her, that the whole team had struggled, that the competition had been fierce. But she knew it wouldn't matter. Mr. Harland wasn't interested in explanations or excuses. He was interested in results, in winning, and today they had failed him. She had failed him.

She swallowed hard, the bitter taste of defeat lingering on her tongue.

Outside the window, the town continued to move, but now it seemed almost frantic, the people moving with a kind of urgency that she hadn't noticed before. Her eyes darted to a group of women huddled together on the sidewalk, their faces etched with worry. Another man ran past them, glancing over his shoulder as if something were chasing him.

The coach's voice pulled her attention back, his words a harsh reminder of the reality she was trapped in. "Take a good look, everyone," he repeated, his tone colder now, "because this is where you're headed if you don't start taking this seriously. If you think you can coast through life on your 'natural talent,' then you're in for a rude awakening."

He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting the weight of his words sink in. Wendy could feel the pressure building in her chest, the familiar burn of tears threatening to well up, but she forced them back, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

"You think colleges are going to accept mediocrity?" Mr. Harland asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "You think they're going to overlook poor performance just because you've got potential? No. They want results. They want winners. And right now, none of you are worth it."

The bus hit another bump, jostling Wendy slightly, but she remained rooted to the spot, her feet heavy on the floor. She wished she could disappear, sink into the ground, and escape the relentless scrutiny, the burning shame that was consuming her from the inside out.

"Wendy," the coach said, his voice softening just a fraction, but it wasn't a kindness — it was a warning. "If you don't step up if you don't start delivering, then you can kiss any chance of a future in this sport — or any sport — goodbye. You're supposed to be a leader, but today... today, you let everyone down."

The final words landed like a blow, knocking the breath out of her. She felt as if the world had collapsed around her, the walls closing in, the weight of his expectations crushing her under their immense pressure. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. All she could do was stand there, eyes burning, heart racing, trying desperately not to break down in front of everyone.

Finally, mercifully, Mr. Harland turned away, addressing the rest of the team. "You all need to think long and hard about what you want. If you're not willing to put in the work, if you're not willing to sacrifice, then you're wasting your time — and mine."

Wendy slowly sank back into her seat, her body trembling with a mixture of humiliation and anger. She felt hollowed out, emptied of all the confidence and determination she'd once had. Outside, the streets of her hometown blurred past, seemingly descending into chaos, but all Wendy could focus on was the ache in her chest, the gnawing sense of failure that threatened to consume her.

The bus jerked to a sudden stop, the motion so abrupt that Wendy was jolted from her thoughts. The silence that had blanketed the bus was now broken by the hiss of the brakes and the low rumble of the engine as it idled.

For a moment, no one moved. The weight of Mr. Harland's words still hung heavy in the air, suffocating them all in a cloud of dread and self-reproach. But then, the coach stirred, rising from his seat at the front of the bus with a purposeful, almost impatient energy. Without a word to the rest of the team, he strode down the aisle, his footsteps heavy, resonating in the uneasy quiet.

Wendy watched him out of the corner of her eye, still not fully understanding what was happening. The coach didn't pause as he reached the doors, didn't hesitate as he pressed the lever and stepped down onto the pavement outside. The doors closed behind him with a soft hiss, sealing the bus in its cocoon of tension once more.

From her seat, Wendy heard the bus driver mumble something under his breath, something that sounded like "What the hell?" The words were quiet, almost lost in the low hum of the engine, but they carried a note of disbelief that sent a ripple of unease through the team.

One by one, the students began to stir, their curiosity piqued by the driver's muttered exclamation. There was a hesitant rustling as bodies shifted, a few heads peeking over the tops of seats, eyes narrowing as they tried to catch a glimpse of whatever had drawn their coach's attention outside.

Wendy, however, remained where she was, her gaze fixed on the window, where the world outside had taken on an ominous stillness. They were now at the school, and what once had seemed so bustling and chaotic moments ago now felt like it was holding its breath, the streets eerily empty except for the figures she had seen before — those frantic, terrified people who had been running, fleeing from something she couldn't see.

The seconds ticked by in an agonizing stretch of time. The team, now fully alert, started to rise from their seats, their movements cautious, and uncertain. They leaned into the aisle, craning their necks to see what was going on, their whispers a nervous buzz that filled the small space. Wendy could hear their questions, their speculations, but she tuned them out, her eyes still focused on the outside world, her heart pounding with a sense of dread she couldn't quite explain.

And then, the coach reappeared.

He came barreling through the doors with a force that made them shudder on their hinges, his face a mask of sheer terror.

Wendy had never seen Mr. Harland look like that before, never seen the controlled, hard-edged man lose his composure. But there was no mistaking the fear in his eyes, the way his chest heaved as if he'd just run a marathon. He didn't speak, didn't offer any explanation. Instead, he turned to the bus driver with a frantic urgency, gesturing wildly for him to close the doors, to seal them in once again.

The driver, clearly rattled, complied without question. The doors slid shut with a final, echoing click, locking them inside, and separating them from whatever it was that had frightened their coach so badly. But even as the doors closed, Wendy could feel the shift in the air.

The bus no longer felt like a safe haven; it felt like a trap, like a box waiting to be broken open.

For a moment, there was only silence, the kind that was thick with anticipation, with the unspoken fear of the unknown.

Then, Wendy heard it — a sound that made her blood run cold, a sound that seemed to come from all around them. It started as a faint, irregular tapping, like the rattle of loose metal in a strong wind. But then it grew louder, more insistent until it was a chorus of harsh, desperate thuds echoing off the metal frame of the bus.

Wendy's heart raced as she finally tore her gaze, her eyes widening as she took in the sight that had already frozen her teammates in place, their faces drained of color, their eyes wide with terror.

The bus was surrounded.

At first, Wendy couldn't process what she was seeing. It didn't make sense. Her mind struggled to reconcile the images before her with reality, with anything that could be remotely possible. But the horror of it slowly sank in, the truth hitting her like a wave of icy water.

They were people — or at least, they had been people. Dressed in the same school uniforms she and her teammates wore during school hours, they were a grotesque mockery of life, their bodies twisted and contorted in ways that should have been impossible. Their skin was a sickly, mottled gray, clinging to their bones like thin, decaying parchment. Their mouths were smeared with blood, thick and dark, staining the fabric of their collars and ties, dripping onto the ground below. The smell of rot seemed to seep through the bus windows, acrid and foul, making Wendy's stomach churn.

But it was their eyes that terrified her the most. Or rather, the absence of them. The eyes that stared back at her were voids, milky and clouded, devoid of any spark of life, of humanity. These things that had once been her classmates, her peers, were now nothing more than hollow shells, driven by some primal, insatiable hunger.

They pressed against the sides of the bus, their hands pawing at the windows, leaving smears of blood and dirt in their wake. Their fingers, bony and cracked, scraped against the glass, trying to find purchase, trying to break through. They snarled and gnashed their teeth, their mouths opening and closing in a grotesque parody of speech, their tongues blackened and swollen.

Wendy felt her breath catch in her throat, her body paralyzed with fear. She could barely comprehend the horror that had unfolded in mere moments. The people she had known, the ones who had sat beside her in class, who had laughed and joked in the hallways, were now nothing more than monsters.

Their faces, once familiar, were twisted beyond recognition, and the sound of their moaning, low and guttural, filled the bus like the wail of the damned.

The bus shook as more of them swarmed around it, their weight pressing against the sides, rocking it back and forth. Wendy's hands gripped the edge of her seat, her knuckles white, as the realization of their situation settled over her like a suffocating blanket.

They were trapped. Trapped in this metal coffin, surrounded by things that had once been human but were now something far, far worse.

Panic surged through her veins, the impulse to scream, to run, to do anything but sit there, rooted to the spot. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. The bus, once a vessel of safety, of routine, had become a cage, a prison with no escape.

She could feel the tension in the air, the collective fear of her teammates, their breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. But all Wendy could do was stare at the faces pressed against the windows.

Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it, trying to piece together the fragments of a reality that had shattered in an instant. But there were no answers, only the relentless pounding of hands against the glass, the bloodied mouths opening and closing, and the lifeless eyes that stared back at her, empty and soulless.

The bus shook violently, as though the beings outside were trying to rip it apart with their bare hands. The noise was deafening — a clamor of pounding fists, scraping nails, and guttural moans that seemed to reverberate through the metal frame of the bus. The air inside was thick with fear, the students' quiet sobs and panicked whispers mingling with the chaos outside.

The coach was now a mess of nerves. He was pacing the narrow aisle, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, eyes darting toward the windows, which were now rattling under the force of the relentless attack. His face was pale, beads of sweat clinging to his brow, as though he were about to collapse under the weight of the situation.

Her own panic was rising, her chest tightening with each passing second. She pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed Glenn's number. The line rang and rang, but there was no answer. Each unanswered ring only amplified her fear, and her heart raced faster, pounding in her chest like a drum.

Glenn was always there for her and always picked up when she called. But now, in the middle of this chaos, there was nothing. Just an empty line, a silence that echoed back at her like a void.

A wave of helplessness washed over her, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She tried to push them back, to stay strong, but it was becoming harder with each passing second.

She could hear some of the other students beginning to cry, their voices trembling with fear as they frantically called their parents, and their loved ones, hoping for some reassurance, some escape from the madness. But the connections were spotty, and the calls that did go through were met with confusion, or worse, with the sounds of screams on the other end.

The coach's heavy breathing suddenly broke through the growing panic, his voice cracking as he tried to regain control of the situation. "Okay, listen up!" he called out, his tone still rough but tinged with a newfound urgency. The students fell silent, their eyes wide and fearful as they looked up at him, clinging to his words like a lifeline. "Is everyone okay?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the students exchanged glances, too scared to speak.

But then, in a tone that was softer than she'd ever heard from him, the coach continued, "We need to block the doors. We need to make sure those things can't get in." He glanced around the bus, his eyes settling on each student, one by one as if trying to gauge their state of mind. "Take your jackets, your gear — anything you've got — and cover the windows. Hang them up, and block the exits. We can't let them see us."

Wendy's breath hitched as she processed his words, the coach's sudden shift from harsh disciplinarian to a protector in crisis. His voice, once dripping with disdain, now held a desperate plea, a need to keep them safe. He wasn't scolding them anymore; he was trying to save them.

The students moved quickly, pulling off their jackets, their hands fumbling as they tried to tie them around the metal bars above the windows. Wendy followed suit, her hands shaking as she unzipped her jacket, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the cold sweat on her skin, the fear gripping her so tightly it was hard to breathe. She hung her jacket over the window next to her seat, the fabric blocking out the horrific sight of the monsters. The bus felt even smaller now, more suffocating, as the darkness closed in around them.

The coach continued to direct them, his voice growing stronger as the students hurried to block the exits, using their gear bags to barricade the door. Wendy's mind raced as she followed his instructions, trying to focus on the task at hand, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Glenn. Where was he? Why hadn't he picked up? The silence on the other end of the phone felt like a void, swallowing her hope and leaving nothing in its place.

She could hear the creatures outside, their groans growing louder as they banged on the windows, the sound of glass creaking under the pressure filling the bus. Wendy's breath came in short, shallow gasps as she worked, her mind barely able to keep up with the terror that was unfolding around her. The coach's voice was the only thing keeping her anchored, the only thing preventing her from spiraling into a full-blown panic.

Wendy turned her head to see Jade Leroy, one of the quieter, more reserved girls on the team. Jade was small and slight, with streaks of red in her dark hair that made her stand out, even in the dim light of the bus. Her dark skin glistened with a sheen of cold sweat, and her wide eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and urgency. Wendy knew her mostly by reputation — Jade was one of the weaker members of the team, often overlooked or underestimated. But now, her touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as if she was unsure whether to speak up.

"What is it?" Wendy whispered, trying to keep her voice steady despite the tremor she felt deep inside.

Jade didn't respond immediately. Instead, she raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the front of the bus, where their coach was still pacing, still trying to keep them all together. Wendy followed her gaze, her eyes narrowing as she noticed something off about the way his sleeves were bunched up, just above his wrists.

Then she saw it — a bite mark, clear as day, etched into the flesh of his forearm. It wasn't deep, but it was unmistakable. The skin around it was already starting to bruise, a sickly purple that stood out starkly against the coach's pale skin.

"Wendy..." Jade's voice was barely audible, a soft murmur that only Wendy could hear. "His arm."

Wendy's stomach churned, her fear suddenly sharpening into something cold and hard. They didn't know what exactly was going on out there, but they'd seen enough movies, and heard enough stories to make the connection.

Bites were bad. Bites were dangerous.

And now their coach, the one person who was supposed to protect them, was infected.

Wendy furrowed her brows, her mind racing as she tried to think of what to do. The air in the bus felt heavy, and suffocating, and she could feel Jade's eyes on her, waiting for her to react. She had always been the strong one, the leader, even when she didn't want to be. But now, that strength felt like a burden, a weight pressing down on her shoulders.

"Coach." Wendy's voice came out firmer than she expected, cutting through the tense silence like a knife. It was a tone she rarely used, one that commanded attention, and immediately, the other students turned to look at her, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern.

The coach, who had been helping another student hang a jacket over one of the windows, paused and looked back at them. His expression was tight, his eyes narrowed, and there was a flash of irritation in his gaze. "What are you two doing?" he snapped, his voice laced with the frustration of someone who had been pushed to the edge. "Come help us, don't just stand there!"

Jade shrank back, instinctively hiding behind Wendy as the coach started to approach them. His movements were jerky, almost aggressive as if he was trying to assert his authority in a situation that was rapidly slipping out of his control.

Wendy didn't move, her gaze locked on the bite mark on his arm. "Your arm," she said, her voice steady despite the fear bubbling up inside her.

"What?" The coach's brow furrowed as he glanced down at his arm as if he hadn't noticed the bite until that moment. His expression quickly shifted to one of annoyance as he yanked his sleeve down to cover the wound. "It's nothing," he muttered, trying to dismiss it as though it was just a scratch.

But it was too late. The other students had noticed too, their eyes widening in alarm as they took in the sight of the bite. A murmur of fear rippled through the bus, and several students instinctively backed away from the coach, their faces pale with dread.

"No, no, no," the coach said, his voice rising in pitch as he tried to regain control of the situation. He pulled his sleeve down further, but the damage was done. "It's nothing, I said! Just a scrape — nothing to worry about."

Wendy's heart pounded in her chest, her mind screaming at her to do something, to take charge before things spiraled even further out of control. She didn't know where the confidence came from, but it surged up inside her, pushing her to speak. "That's a bite mark," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the coach's frantic denials.

The coach's eyes flashed with anger, and he took a step closer, towering over her. "I said it isn't!" he barked, his tone turning mean and defensive. "Don't talk back to me, girl! You don't know what you're talking about."

Another student, a boy with a shaky voice, chimed in, "It really looks like you got bitten, Coach..."

"I don't care what it looks like!" the coach snapped, his face red with fury. "You're all lying! It's nothing! I'm fine! How many times do I have to tell you?"

The bus was dead silent now, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Wendy could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her, the fear in the air palpable as the coach loomed over her, his anger radiating off him in waves. But there was something else too — something dark and unsettling in the way he was breathing, the way his eyes darted around the bus, almost like a trapped animal. Wendy's instincts screamed at her that something was very wrong.

"Then why the hell are you trying to hide it?" Wendy shot back, her voice rising with the tension. She didn't know where this bravery was coming from, but it was like a dam had broken inside her, all her fear and anxiety pouring out as defiance. "Show it to us!"

The coach froze, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at her, his jaw clenching. The air had shifted, the suspense thick and heavy as everyone waited for what would happen next. For a moment, it felt like time had stopped, the only sound was the ragged breathing of the coach and the low, anxious murmurs of the students.

Wendy could see the anger in his eyes, the way his fists clenched at his sides, and she knew, in that instant, that he hated her. If he hadn't despised her before for losing the archery competition, he sure as hell did now.

Finally, Wendy broke the silence. Her voice was softer now, almost trembling as the weight of the situation pressed down on her. "I think you should leave."

The coach blinked, his anger momentarily replaced by confusion. "What?"

"Get out of here," Wendy repeated, her voice firmer this time, though still laced with fear.

The coach scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You want me to go out there?" he asked, gesturing to the chaos outside, where the beings still clawed at the bus, desperate to get in. "After everything I've done for you guys, you want me to leave?"

"You were bitten," Wendy whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay strong. She could feel the tension building, the pressure mounting as everyone waited for what the coach would do next. "Get out."

The coach stared at her, his face a mask of fury and disbelief. For a moment, Wendy thought he might attack her, might lash out in his anger and fear. But then, slowly, his expression twisted into something darker, more menacing. He let out a low, humorless chuckle, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

"You want me to leave?" he repeated, his voice dripping with contempt. "You think you can survive out there without me? You think you can do this on your own?"

Wendy didn't answer, her heart pounding in her chest as she held his gaze. She knew what he was trying to do, knew he was trying to intimidate her, to break her down. But she couldn't let him win. Not now, not when everyone's lives were on the line.

"I said get out," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but strong enough to carry the weight of her conviction.

The coach's eyes blazed with fury as he whirled back around, his face contorted with rage. "How dare you speak to me like that? You little —" His voice was venomous, a sharp contrast to the fear that had filled the bus moments earlier. He inched closer to Wendy, his steps deliberate, menacing. His bulk seemed even more imposing now, casting a shadow over her.

Jade's hand tightened around Wendy's arm, trying to pull her back, but Wendy stood her ground, her feet rooted in place. The air between them crackled with tension, a noticeable charge that made the other students hold their breath. The coach's face twisted with anger, his features almost unrecognizable as he advanced on her.

"Get over here," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, filled with the promise of violence.

Wendy refused, her jaw set, eyes narrowed with a newfound determination. She didn't flinch, didn't waver, even as the coach's hand twitched, his body tensing as if ready to strike her. His hand began to rise, but before he could follow through, he suddenly froze, his expression shifting from fury to confusion.

His nose was gushing blood, the crimson stream pouring down his face, staining his shirt. The students watched in stunned silence as he staggered back, his hand flying to his face in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. His eyes darted around wildly, panic setting in as the blood kept flowing, unstoppable.

He turned toward the windows, his bloodshot eyes catching his own reflection in the glass — or perhaps in the dead eyes of the being pressed against the window from the outside. His expression crumbled, and a low, guttural sob escaped him. The tears that followed were thick with fear and realization, his body wracked with shuddering breaths as he started to cry, deep, wrenching sobs that seemed to tear through him.

But none of the students felt any sympathy. The tears meant nothing. The man standing before them was no longer their coach; he was a danger, a threat to their very lives. They all knew it, even if they couldn't bring themselves to say it. He needed to leave, or he'd kill them all.

Jade, her hand still gripping Wendy's arm, suddenly let go, a surge of courage — or maybe desperation — taking over. In a swift motion, she swung her bag at the coach's head. The heavy bag connected with a sickening thud, and the coach crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold.

The bus erupted in chaos. Students screamed, their voices high-pitched and frantic, as the coach collapsed in a heap at their feet. Jade, her eyes wide with shock at what she'd just done, immediately moved to grab his legs, trying to drag him toward the exit. But the weight of his body was too much for her, and the reality of the situation crashed down on them all.

"What are we gonna do?" someone cried out, their voice trembling with panic. "If we open the door, they'll get in!"

"But if we leave him here..." another voice trailed off, the implications clear. If he woke up, if he turned, they were all dead.

"Hurry! Throw him out!" one of the students shouted, the urgency in their voice sparking a chorus of agreement.

Wendy could feel the tension rising around her, the fear spreading like wildfire. They were all looking at her, waiting for her to make a decision. She wasn't sure how she'd ended up in this position, but she knew she couldn't back down now. They needed someone to lead them, someone to keep their heads above water, and it had to be her.

"No," Wendy said, her voice cutting through the noise, bringing a temporary silence to the bus. She stepped forward, taking charge, the fear in her own heart pushed aside by the sheer necessity of the moment. "We can't just throw him out there. Those... things will get in, and we'll all be dead."

"But we can't keep him here!" a girl's voice cried, desperate, almost pleading. "He'll turn into one of them, and then —"

"I know!" Wendy snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I know. But we have to think this through. We need to block the door, keep them out, and we need to be ready — ready to defend ourselves if he...if he changes."

"Wendy, what do we do?" Enzo Sosa, one of the stronger members of the team, asked, his voice surprisingly calm. "Tell us what to do."

The weight of their trust fell heavily on Wendy's shoulders, but she forced herself to push forward. "We need to move back, keep as far from him as we can. Jade, Enzo, help me get the coach closer to the door. But don't open it yet. We'll deal with him first, then block the exit."

The students hesitated, fear gripping them, but Wendy's firm tone pushed them into action. They moved as a unit, Jade and Enzo grabbing the coach's limp body and dragging him toward the front of the bus, while the others clustered at the back, their faces pale with dread.

But then, just as they were about to shift his weight, a low, guttural growl rumbled from the coach's throat. His body jerked, twitching violently, and then, with a sickening lurch, he began to rise. The air in the bus froze, every breath held as they watched in horror. The man who had once been their coach was gone, replaced by a mindless, bloodthirsty monster.

The bus driver, who had been silently watching the chaos unfold from his rearview mirror, gasped in shock, his eyes wide as he saw the transformation. The students crowded at the back, pushing against each other in their panic, their terror rising to a fever pitch.

Then the coach let out a feral snarl and lunged forward, moving with a speed and ferocity that none of them had anticipated. He grabbed one of the students, a boy who had been too slow to react, sinking his teeth into the boy's shoulder before anyone could stop him.

Screams filled the bus, the sound deafening, as the students scrambled to get away. Enzo, his face a mask of horror, reacted without thinking. He charged at the coach, grabbing him around the waist and wrestling him away from the boy, trying to keep his teeth from finding another victim.

"Help me!" Enzo yelled, his voice strained with effort as he struggled to hold the biter back.

But before anyone could move, the biter's strength surged, fueled by the insatiable hunger that drove it. Enzo's grip faltered, and the biter twisted, breaking free with a savage growl. Desperation took over, and with a roar of effort, Enzo swung the biter with all his might, throwing him against the window. The glass shattered on impact, and the biter was thrown outside, tumbling into the mass of biters below.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, the biters outside turned their attention to the new victim, tearing into the coach's still-fresh body with a frenzy that was both horrifying and oddly relieving.

But the relief was short-lived. The chaos inside the bus continued to escalate as the boy who had been bitten rose to his feet, his eyes already clouded, his movements jerky and unnatural.

The screams started again, more frantic, more desperate, as the students tried to get away, some even jumping out of the broken windows in their panic. Enzo, still reeling from the battle with the coach, turned just in time to see the newly turned biter lunge at him. He tried to fight it off, but he was already exhausted, and the being's strength was overwhelming.

Wendy's heart pounded in her chest, fear threatening to paralyze her. But she couldn't afford to freeze up now. She had to do something. Without thinking, she pushed through the chaos, vaulting over the seats and the students, heading straight for her archery bag. Her hands shook as she yanked it open, grabbing her bow and an arrow, her fingers fumbling in her haste.

She loaded the bow, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as she aimed at the creature attacking Enzo. She released the arrow, watching as it sliced through the air and struck it in the neck. The impact knocked it back, but it wasn't enough. The biter kept coming, undeterred, its hunger driving it forward.

Wendy cursed under her breath, quickly loading another arrow. She aimed lower this time, targeting its chest, and let the arrow fly. It hit its mark, embedding itself in the biter's torso, but still, it wasn't enough. It staggered but didn't fall.

"Damn it!" Wendy growled, her frustration mounting as she loaded a third arrow. She knew she had to make this one count. She drew the bowstring back, her muscles taut with the effort, and aimed for the head. Her breath held for a moment, and then she released.

The arrow flew true, piercing the biter's skull with a sickening crunch. It jerked violently, its limbs spasming for a moment before it collapsed to the floor, finally dead.

Wendy stood there, panting, her heart racing as she stared at the lifeless body. The bus was eerily silent now, the only sound the ragged breathing of the students who had survived. She lowered her bow, her hands still trembling, her mind reeling from what she had just done.

Only a handful of students remained, their faces pale and streaked with tears, their eyes wide with shock and disbelief. The others, those who had panicked and leaped from the windows, were now gone, lost to the nightmare that awaited them outside.

The atmosphere was thick with the scent of blood and fear, a suffocating reminder of the horrors they had just witnessed.

Wendy stood in the center of the aisle, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to steady herself. She scanned the bus, her heart sinking at the sight of the empty seats, the broken windows, and the bloodstains that marred the floor. The realization of how few of them were left hit her like a punch to the gut, but she couldn't afford to let it paralyze her. Not now.

The bus driver, who had been a silent observer until now, suddenly let out a panicked scream. His eyes darted around wildly as if he were only just now grasping the full extent of the nightmare they were in. Without warning, he bolted toward the back of the bus, his footsteps pounding against the floor in a frantic rhythm.

"No, wait!" Wendy shouted, but her voice was drowned out by the driver's hysterical cries. He fumbled with the latch at the back of the bus, his hands shaking so badly that it took him several tries to get it open. The other students began to yell at him to stop, their voices a noise of panic and fear, but he was beyond reason, driven purely by terror.

The hatch finally swung open, and in his panic, the driver lost his footing and tumbled out, landing with a heavy thud on the ground below. For a brief moment, there was silence, a dreadful calm that hung in the air. But then, the beings descended upon him, their rotting bodies piling over his as they tore into him, ripping flesh from bone with a sickening hunger.

The students inside the bus screamed in horror, some turning away, unable to watch, while others stood frozen, their eyes wide with disbelief. The gruesome scene outside was a stark reminder of the fate that awaited them if they didn't act quickly.

Wendy felt a surge of desperation welling up inside her, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to stay focused.

"We have to go, now," she said, her voice cutting through the panicked cries. "Grab what you can. Aim for the head — that's their weak spot. We don't have much time."

The students who remained nodded, their faces pale but determined. They scrambled to grab their archery equipment, some shaking so badly they nearly dropped their arrows. Wendy watched them for a moment, her heart aching at how young they all looked, how scared. But there was no time for pity, no time for fear. She slung her own bow over her shoulder, her fingers brushing the arrows she had left, taking another bag that was filled with her.

Wendy's eyes scanned the chaos outside. Those things were still distracted, feasting on the remains of the bus driver, their focus entirely on their gruesome meal. It was now or never.

"Follow me," She ordered her voice firm. She didn't wait for a response and didn't give herself time to second-guess her decision. With a deep breath, she leaped from the bus, her feet hitting the ground with a soft thud. She barely glanced at the pile of biters as she vaulted over them, her body moving on instinct as she sprinted toward the school.

The others followed her lead, their footsteps pounding behind her as they ran, their breath coming in desperate gasps. Wendy didn't look back, didn't dare to see how many of them were still with her. All she could do was keep moving, dodging the ones that lurched toward them, their decaying hands reaching out with mindless hunger.

Wendy's heart hammered in her chest, the adrenaline pumping through her veins as she took quick, precise shots at the ones that got too close. An arrow to the head dropped one, then another, her hands moving on autopilot as she reloaded, aimed, and fired. Each shot brought a grim satisfaction, a sense of control in a situation that was spiraling into chaos.

The entrance to the school loomed ahead, a dark, looming shadow against the chaos of the outside world. Wendy pushed herself harder, her legs burning with the effort as she closed the distance. She could hear the growls of the monsters behind them, and feel the rush of air as their clawed hands swiped just inches from her back. But she didn't slow down, didn't let the fear take hold.

Finally, she reached the doors, her hand slamming against the cold metal as she pushed them open. The hallway beyond was eerily silent, the stillness a stark contrast to the noise outside. Wendy didn't pause. She bolted down the corridor, her eyes darting around for any sign of danger. The women's restroom was just ahead, the door slightly ajar.

Wendy's breath hitched as she reached it, her hand trembling as she pushed it open. The bathroom was empty, and the stalls lined up in neat, silent rows. She turned back, holding the door open as her teammates rushed in behind her, their faces pale and strained. One by one, they slipped inside, their breaths coming in ragged gasps, their eyes wide with fear.

Wendy counted each one, her heart sinking as she realized how few of them there were. But there was no time to dwell on it. As the last student entered, she slammed the door shut and locked it, the metallic click echoing in the silence.

For a moment, the only sound was the harsh, uneven breathing of the students, the pounding of their hearts almost audible in the stillness. Wendy leaned against the door, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, her mind racing.

The growls and screams from outside were a constant reminder of the nightmare that awaited them beyond these thin walls. The sound pressed against the door like a living thing, a force that threatened to break through at any moment. But for now, they were safe. For now, they had a chance to breathe.

Wendy looked around at the few students who had made it this far, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear. Their bodies shook with the aftermath of adrenaline, and their eyes held the same question: What now?

She didn't have an answer, but she knew one thing for sure. They couldn't stay here forever. Those things out there would find a way in eventually, or they'd be trapped, with no way out. But for now, they needed to regroup, gather their strength, and figure out their next move.

The bathroom was filled with the scent of fear and sweat, a heavy, oppressive mix that made it hard to breathe. Wendy's hands shook as she reached for her bow, her fingers brushing the smooth wood as if drawing strength from it. She glanced at the others, her heart aching for the loss they had endured, the lives they had been forced to leave behind.

But there was no time for mourning. No time for regret. They had to keep moving and keep fighting. Wendy's eyes met Jade's, the other girl's face pale but resolute.

"We should rest for now," She said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We'll figure out what to do next."

The students nodded, their exhaustion finally catching up to them as they slumped against the walls, their bodies trembling with the release of tension. Wendy remained by the door, her ears tuned to the sounds outside.

The bathroom had become their sanctuary, a brief respite in a world gone mad. But Wendy knew it wouldn't last.

The minutes dragged on, and the restroom, which had been a sanctuary moments before, now felt more like a tomb, its walls closing in as the chaos outside intensified. The sky outside, visible through a small, grimy window high up near the ceiling, was a canvas of darkness, streaked with the occasional flicker of distant lightning. The dark clouds roiled and churned as if echoing the turmoil that had overtaken their lives.

The small window offered only a narrow glimpse of the outside world, where the street lights flickered weakly, casting long, distorted shadows. Beyond the glass, the world had succumbed to nightmarish disarray, with shadows moving frantically, accompanied by the faint, eerie glow of fires that had broken out across the town. The once-familiar landscape had been transformed into a hellish tableau, a stark reminder of how drastically everything had changed.

Inside the bathroom, the sound of muffled banging and scratching at the door had become a constant, unnerving presence. The students' earlier attempts to block the door with their gear had been hasty and imperfect, leaving gaps that allowed the sounds of the outside world to seep in. Each bang and scrape was a reminder of the danger lurking just beyond their temporary refuge.

Jade had once reached for the door, her face a mask of desperation, but Enzo had stopped her, holding her back with a firm grip. They didn't know whether the noises were made by survivors or by the grotesque creatures that had attacked them, and the uncertainty was unbearable.

The silence between the banging was filled with the sound of their collective breathing, punctuated by the occasional sob or whisper. Wendy sat against the wall, her head resting on her knees, trying to block out the sounds and the sight of the darkness outside. Her heart pounded with a relentless rhythm, each beat a painful reminder of how fragile their situation was. She couldn't shake the image of the world outside, a world she had once known and now felt so far removed from.

Suddenly, the old speaker system crackled to life, its voice cutting through the tension like a knife. The sound was faint and distorted, but it carried with it a sense of urgency that drew everyone's attention.

"Students and teachers, I'm Miranda Singh, the English teacher," the voice came through, trembling and distorted. Wendy's breath caught in her throat as she recognized the voice, a faint glimmer of comfort in the midst of despair.

She had never been one of Mrs. Singh's students, but the sound of a familiar, authoritative voice was oddly reassuring amidst the chaos. "Something strange is happening throughout the school. Some students are attacking others indiscriminately. Please flee and find a safe place. And if any student or faculty hears this and is able to, please call the police and fire department."

Wendy's heart sank as she instinctively reached for her phone, only to remember with a jolt that it was not with her. The frustration boiled over, and she slammed her fist against the wall beside her, the impact sending a shockwave of pain through her hand. She had been so focused on survival that she hadn't thought of her brother, Glenn, or her parents who were on a business trip to Michigan.

Were they experiencing the same nightmarish reality? Had they been trying to reach her? Were they even alive? The unanswered questions gnawed at her, and her worry for her family was a heavy weight on her chest.

Mrs. Singh's voice came through the speaker again, more frantic this time. "Students, hide somewhere safe until help arrives. If you can get out of the school, please get out. I'll say it again. Some students are..." Her voice faltered, the tremor in her tone betraying the fear she was trying to mask. Wendy could hear the sounds of the creatures converging on the speaker's location, their growls and moans growing louder, more insistent.

The speaker crackled again, but the voice was different now, softer, more resigned. "Hey, everyone... I don't know what's going on in here or how this whole thing happened, but... still, find a safe place and hide." The words were interspersed with muffled sobs and sniffles, a heartbreaking contrast to the chaos outside. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I can't help. Don't get hurt, okay? Please, let's stay alive and meet again. Okay?"

The bathroom fell into a heavy silence as Mrs. Singh's voice faded away. The students, their faces streaked with tears, stared at the speaker with a mixture of despair and gratitude. The message had been a lifeline, a connection to a world outside their immediate nightmare, but it had also been a stark reminder of their isolation.

Wendy's tears began to flow freely, the barrier of her emotions finally breaking. The images of the coach's death, the students who had attacked her, and the brutality of the ones outside converged into a wave of grief and helplessness. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.

Jade, who had been sitting beside her, leaned in and placed her head gently on Wendy's shoulder. The touch was soft, a small but significant gesture of solidarity amidst the fear. Jade's presence was a comfort, a reminder that despite the overwhelming horror, they were not entirely alone. She rubbed Wendy's knee soothingly, her own face wet with tears.

The other students, too, were lost in their own grief, their faces reflecting the shared burden of fear and sorrow. They huddled together in the bathroom, their breaths shallow and uneven, their eyes darting anxiously toward the door as the sounds of the biters continued to echo through the corridors.

The bathroom had become their sanctuary and their prison, a place of temporary safety that offered no answers, only the harsh reality of their situation. As Wendy looked around at the faces of her fellow students, she saw in their eyes the same fear, the same determination to survive.

The night outside continued to rage, the sky a dark expanse filled with ominous clouds and flashes of lightning. The sounds of the growls grew louder, a constant reminder of the danger they faced.

THE AFTERNOON SUN BATHED THE baseball field in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows across the emerald expanse of grass. The air was thick with the smell of freshly mown grass and the earthy scent of the dirt infield, a sensory reminder of summer afternoons spent in small-town America. The stands were alive with the murmur of voices, a steady hum of excitement that swelled and receded like the tide, punctuated by the sharp crack of a bat meeting ball and the enthusiastic cheers that followed. Parents and friends lined the bleachers, their voices rising in a chorus of encouragement, the sound carrying on the gentle breeze that rustled through the nearby trees.

Thomas Grimes sat among them, his eyes focused on the field, where his baby cousin Carl stood, small and determined, among the other boys in their white uniforms and caps. Carl's jersey was slightly too big, the fabric billowing around his small frame as he adjusted his cap with a seriousness that belied his age.

Thomas couldn't help but smile, a soft, almost wistful expression crossing his face as he watched the boy take his place on the field. The sun hit his face, warm and almost comforting, and he squinted slightly against the brightness, feeling the heat seep into his skin, warming him from the outside in.

Around him, the shouts of parents filled the air, their voices a mix of urgency and pride as they called out to their sons, offering words of encouragement or quick reminders of technique. The sounds blended into a familiar symphony of support, a backdrop to the unfolding drama on the field.

But for Thomas, there was only one voice he cared to hear, one small figure in a sea of movement that held his attention.

Lori Grimes, Carl's mother, had stayed back at home today. Thomas could only guess what she might be doing — probably something to keep herself busy, to distract her from the ever-present worry that had settled over her like a cloud since Rick had ended up in the hospital.

It had been a difficult time, an unspoken weight that had fallen on the Grimes family, pulling them together in a way that felt both natural and necessary.

After Thomas graduated, he had stepped up without hesitation when Lori had asked for his help, knowing instinctively that it was what needed to be done. As Rick's closest relative besides his own parents, there had never been a question in Thomas's mind that he would be there for his family, that he would help shoulder the burden in whatever way he could.

So he had done the small things — the things that might seem inconsequential to someone on the outside but were invaluable to Lori as she tried to keep life as normal as possible for Carl.

He had helped with groceries, carrying bags into the house, stocking the fridge with the staples that kept the household running. He had taken Carl to his ball games, sitting in these very stands, watching with a mixture of pride and protectiveness as his little cousin played his heart out on the field. And he had helped Lori with the small repairs around the house, fixing appliances that had broken down, trying to keep the physical structure of their home intact while they all dealt with the emotional cracks that had appeared in the wake of Rick's accident.

Today was no different. Thomas had arrived at the house early, his truck rumbling quietly in the driveway as he waited for Carl to gather his things. Lori had been in the kitchen, her movements brisk and efficient as she packed a small cooler with snacks and drinks for the game. She had given Thomas a tired but grateful smile, a silent thank you that he had acknowledged with a nod. Carl had bounded out of the house, his energy contagious, and Thomas had felt a small swell of affection for the boy who reminded him so much of himself.

Now, as he sat in the stands, the sun warming his face, Thomas felt a sense of contentment that was rare these days.

It wasn't that things were easy — far from it.

But in moments like this, watching Carl play, seeing the way he laughed with his teammates, the way he concentrated on the game with a seriousness that made him seem older than his years, Thomas felt a connection to something pure and untainted by the complications of adult life.

Carl turned suddenly, his small face lighting up with a smile as he spotted Thomas in the stands. He raised a hand in a quick, enthusiastic wave, and Thomas felt his heart lift in response. He waved back, the motion instinctive, his smile broadening as he saw the joy in Carl's eyes.

It was a simple gesture, but it meant everything. It was a reminder that, despite everything, despite the worry and the uncertainty that hung over them like a shadow, there were still moments of light, moments of connection that made it all worth it.

The shouts of encouragement from the other parents continued, a steady rhythm of support that echoed around the stands, but for Thomas, the world had narrowed to this one moment, this one connection between him and his cousin.

The sun was warm on his face, the air was filled with the sounds of summer, and for just a little while, everything felt okay.

As Carl stood on the field, his small frame tense with anticipation, Thomas noticed the way his cousin's shoulders rose and fell with each anxious breath.

Carl's eyes darted toward Thomas, wide and searching for reassurance in a sea of uncertainty. Thomas met his gaze, raising his hand in a calming gesture, subtly mimicking the act of deep breathing.

It was a small, almost imperceptible movement, but it carried the weight of years of familiarity and unspoken understanding.

Carl nodded, the tightness in his posture easing ever so slightly as he focused on the simple act of breathing, just like Thomas had shown him countless times before.

With a determined set to his jaw, Carl approached the starting plate, his steps measured and deliberate. The sun, still warm and golden, cast long shadows on the field, creating a stark contrast between the light and the dark. Carl positioned himself carefully, his small hands gripping the bat with a focus that seemed far beyond his years. Thomas could feel his heart beating in time with his cousin's movements, a silent rhythm of connection that spanned the distance between them.

As Carl squared up, ready to face the pitcher, Thomas couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. He was the first to shout out words of encouragement, his voice rising above the din of the other spectators. His voice was strong, filled with the kind of confidence that only comes from a deep, abiding love for the person you're cheering on.

Carl glanced in his direction once more, a quick flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes before he turned his full attention back to the game.

But then, in the distance, something shattered the serene bubble of the afternoon.

A scream.

A sound so raw, so filled with terror, that it sliced through the fabric of the day, leaving behind a jagged tear in the peace that had settled over the field. It wasn't the kind of scream one heard often — a sound of pure, unadulterated fear that seemed to freeze time itself.

For a brief, disorienting moment, no one moved. The world stood still, the familiar sounds of the baseball game abruptly silenced, leaving only the echo of that horrifying scream hanging in the air.

Thomas felt his stomach drop, a heavy, sinking feeling that coiled like a snake in the pit of his gut. He turned his head slowly, as if in a trance, toward the source of the sound, the edges of his vision blurring as adrenaline began to surge through his veins.

Beyond the metal fence that bordered the field, a scene of chaos unfolded. A few adults were running, their faces contorted in terror, while others stumbled and fell, only to be swarmed by figures that moved with an unnatural, predatory grace.

Thomas's breath caught in his throat as he saw the true horror of what was happening — people were being attacked, bitten, by others who seemed almost feral, their movements jerky and devoid of humanity. Blood splattered across the grass, a dark, violent contrast to the vibrant green, as those who had been bitten crumpled to the ground.

Thomas wrenched his gaze away, his mind struggling to process the nightmare that was unfolding before him. The stands, once filled with the excited murmurs of parents and friends, erupted into a cacophony of screams. Panic spread like wildfire, and the crowd surged, a mass of bodies moving in every direction, driven by a primal instinct to flee from the impending danger. The air was thick with fear, a palpable force that pressed in on Thomas from all sides, threatening to overwhelm him.

But there was no time to think, no time to analyze or understand. There was only Carl.

Thomas's body moved on instinct, his legs propelling him toward the field with a speed and urgency he didn't know he possessed.

He reached Carl in what felt like an eternity and an instant all at once, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest that it drowned out the chaos around him. Carl looked up at him, his face a mixture of confusion and fear, but there was no time to explain, no time to offer comfort.

Thomas scooped his cousin into his arms, the boy's weight familiar and grounding, even in the midst of the terror that swirled around them. He turned, dodging the frantic bodies that jostled and shoved in their desperate attempts to escape. His mind was singularly focused, the world narrowing to the path ahead, to the safety of his car, to the escape that lay just beyond the crush of terrified people.

The sun, so warm and bright only moments ago, now felt oppressive, a harsh light that illuminated the horror in stark, unforgiving detail. Thomas's breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles burning with the effort of carrying Carl and weaving through the crowd, but he didn't slow down. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, sharpening his senses, driving him forward with a relentless urgency.

Around them, the sounds of the world seemed to blur, the screams, the cries, the distant wail of sirens all blending into a terrifying symphony that spurred Thomas on.

He could feel Carl's small hands gripping his shirt tightly, could hear the boy's breath coming in quick, shallow bursts against his neck. But there was no time to offer comfort, no time to reassure Carl that everything would be okay, because Thomas wasn't sure of that himself.

All that mattered was getting Carl to safety, getting him away from the nightmare that had descended on their peaceful afternoon. And so Thomas ran, his legs moving with a strength and determination that defied the terror that clawed at the edges of his mind, the weight of his cousin in his arms grounding him, giving him a singular purpose in the midst of chaos.

Thomas's hands trembled as he struggled to open the passenger door, his fingers barely managing to grasp the handle as fear coursed through his veins like ice.

Every nerve in his body was on high alert, his senses overwhelmed by the screams and chaos that surrounded them.

The world had become a blur of motion, a nightmare where the boundaries between reality and horror had dissolved. He could hear the gut-wrenching sounds of flesh being torn, the shrieks of those who hadn't been quick enough to escape, the distant echoes of a life that had only minutes ago seemed so normal.

With a shaky breath, he finally managed to pull the door open and gently but urgently pushed Carl into the passenger seat. Carl's small body curled up, his face buried in his hands as if trying to block out the terror that had swallowed their world whole. Thomas could see the boy shaking, his entire frame trembling with fear and confusion, his small fingers clutching his knees in a desperate attempt to find some semblance of safety.

Thomas's own hands wouldn't stop shaking as he fumbled with the keys, his movements clumsy and frantic. His mind was racing, a chaotic swirl of thoughts and fears that made it nearly impossible to think clearly. He had to get Carl out of here, had to get him away from the madness that was unfolding all around them, but his body seemed to be betraying him, his hands trembling so violently that he could barely fit the key into the ignition.

Finally, with a jolt, the car roared to life. The engine's sound was a harsh contrast to the muffled screams that filled the air, a sharp reminder of the urgency of their situation. Thomas's foot slammed on the gas, the car lurching forward with a force that nearly threw him against the seat.

He glanced at Carl, who was still hiding his face, rocking back and forth as if the motion could somehow protect him from the horrors outside.

Thomas placed a hand on Carl's back, the touch meant to be comforting, grounding, though he wasn't sure who he was trying to comfort more — Carl or himself. His other hand gripped the wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the skin stretched taut over bone as he tried to maintain control over the vehicle and over his own panic.

The road ahead was a chaotic mess of abandoned cars, people running in every direction, and those things — those monsters — that had once been human but were now nothing more than mindless, ravenous beasts.

He weaved through the traffic, his foot alternately pressing the gas and slamming the brake, narrowly avoiding collisions with the few civilians who hadn't yet been overtaken by the terror. The car swerved dangerously, tires screeching against the asphalt as he maneuvered through the mess, his eyes darting between the road and Carl, who was still curled up, whispering to himself that it was going to be okay, that the house wasn't far, that they just needed to get home.

Thomas could feel the sweat dripping down his face, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that it felt like it might burst. His breath came in shallow, rapid gasps, the air around him thick with the scent of fear and blood. He tapped his finger nervously against the steering wheel, a quick, repetitive motion that seemed to echo the frantic beat of his heart.

"What is happening?" he whispered to himself, the words barely audible over the chaos, a desperate question to a world that no longer made sense.

The streets were a nightmare, a twisted version of the familiar route home, now filled with terror and destruction.

The bright sun, which had once been so warm and comforting, now seemed harsh and unyielding, casting long shadows that only heightened the sense of dread that hung over them.

Thomas's eyes darted from side to side, searching for a clear path, for any sign of safety, but all he could see were the monsters, their bloodied mouths and vacant eyes, moving with a relentless hunger that made his stomach turn.

And then, without warning, one of them appeared out of nowhere, slamming into the front of the car with a force that shook the entire vehicle.

The impact was sudden and violent, a sickening crunch of metal and bone that reverberated through the car, the hood crumpling under the weight of the blow.

Thomas's breath caught in his throat, his body jerking forward as the car skidded to a halt, the windshield spider-webbing with cracks where the monster had collided with it.

Carl let out a small, choked sob, his body tensing under Thomas's hand as the car shuddered to a stop. Thomas's heart pounded in his ears, a deafening roar that drowned out everything else as he stared at the shattered windshield, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.

The monster's face was pressed against the glass, its eyes glazed over with a sickly, milky film, its mouth twisted in a grotesque snarl as it pawed at the window, leaving smears of blood and gore in its wake.

Thomas's hand tightened on the wheel, his knuckles white as he fought the urge to scream, to give in to the overwhelming fear that threatened to consume him. The world outside was a hellscape, a twisted nightmare that he could barely comprehend, but he couldn't afford to lose it now. Not with Carl sitting next to him, not with the weight of his responsibility pressing down on him like a vice.

He forced himself to breathe, to focus, to push the panic down deep inside where it couldn't take hold. With trembling hands, he shifted the car back into gear, his movements jerky and unsteady as he tried to ignore the monster that was still clawing at the windshield, its bloodied hands leaving streaks of red on the glass. The car lurched forward, the engine groaning in protest as Thomas pressed the gas, weaving through the chaos once more.

He kept one hand on Carl's back, the touch a lifeline, a reminder that he wasn't alone in this, that he had to keep moving, had to keep fighting for the both of them.

The road ahead was still filled with obstacles, with the bodies of those who hadn't made it, with the monsters that had taken their place, but Thomas didn't let himself think about that. All he could do was focus on getting home, on getting Carl to safety, on surviving the nightmare that had taken hold of their world.

His heart raced as he swerved through the congested streets, the traffic jammed with cars attempting to escape the chaos that had erupted without warning. He could feel the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, making his movements sharp, almost frantic.

The city was falling apart around him, the familiar roads now choked with abandoned vehicles, debris, and the eerie presence of those who had once been human but were now something else entirely.

The car jolted as he narrowly avoided colliding with another vehicle, the tires screeching against the asphalt. Each time he came close to an accident, his breath would catch in his throat, and for a split second, his mind would go blank, paralyzed by fear.

But then, Carl's terrified face would flash before him, and he'd force himself to focus, to keep moving forward, despite the panic gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.

Finally, as he turned the corner onto Carl's street, a wave of relief washed over him at the sight of the house. He could see Lori and Shane standing out front, their figures small against the backdrop of the suburban neighborhood that had suddenly become a war zone.

Lori's head was in her hands, her shoulders hunched in despair, while Shane stood close by, one arm resting on her back in what appeared to be a comforting gesture. The sight of the car pulling up caused Lori to look up, her expression shifting from one of fear to relief. She noted the busted windshield with a worried glance, but any questions were swallowed by the urgency of the moment.

Carl bolted from the car as soon as it stopped, his small legs carrying him across the lawn as fast as they could. Lori caught him in her arms, pulling him close with a desperate kind of love, the kind that only a mother could muster in the face of such terror.

Thomas, still shaken, stepped out of the car, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him as if the ground itself might give way. Shane met his gaze, nodding in acknowledgment, but there was something in Shane's eyes that told Thomas this was only the beginning.

"We have to leave, now." Shane's voice was grave, his tone one that brooked no argument as he spoke to the group. There was no time to wait around; the world was collapsing, and they needed to find safety before it was too late.

Lori, still holding Carl close, nodded in agreement, though her eyes flickered with worry as she looked at Thomas.

But Thomas shook his head, the decision already made in his mind. He couldn't leave without making sure his own family was safe. The thought of his parents, his home, was a tether pulling him in the opposite direction, and no matter how much the urgency of Shane's words tried to pull him along, he couldn't ignore it.

Lori understood, her expression softening as she looked at him. She nodded, promising that they would wait for him, that they wouldn't leave without his family.

Shane looked less convinced, his mouth tightening into a thin line as he glanced between Lori and Thomas. "There isn't time for this," he argued, the danger was too immediate, too real. But Lori remained firm, her hand gripping Carl's shoulder as if grounding herself in the promise she'd made. And so, despite the tension hanging in the air, Shane finally relented, though his eyes still held a trace of impatience.

Thomas knelt down beside Carl, ruffling the boy's hair in a gesture that was as much for his own comfort as it was for Carl's. The boy looked up at him with wide eyes, still processing the terror that had erupted so suddenly, but there was a glimmer of trust there too, a belief that Thomas would return, that everything would somehow be okay.

Without another word, Thomas turned back to the car, his mind already shifting gears, focusing on what he needed to do next. As he slid behind the wheel once more, he glanced back at the house, watching as Lori, Carl, and Shane hurried inside, the door closing behind them with a finality that sent a shiver down his spine.

The drive to his own home felt surreal, a journey through a landscape that had become unrecognizable. The sounds of anguish and chaos filled the air, the distant wails of those who hadn't been as lucky, mingling with the guttural growls of the monsters that now roamed the streets. Thomas weaved through the remnants of civilization, his car a fragile shield against the horror that pressed in on all sides.

His fingers drummed nervously against the wheel as he navigated through the debris, his mind racing with thoughts of his family. He could only hope that they were safe, that they hadn't been caught up in the madness that had overtaken the city.

Every shadow, every movement in the periphery of his vision, sent his heart pounding, the fear of what might come next gnawing at his resolve.

And yet, beneath the fear, there was a determination that kept him moving forward, that kept him focused on the task at hand.

He had to get to his family, had to bring them back to Lori's house where, despite Shane's concerns, there was a promise of safety. The chaos outside might be unrelenting, but Thomas held onto that promise like a lifeline, a beacon in the darkness that guided him through the nightmare.

The sight of his house, still standing amidst the chaos, brought Thomas a momentary sense of relief. His childhood home, with its familiar white siding and neatly trimmed lawn, looked almost untouched by the horrors that had taken over the city. But the illusion of safety was shattered as he pulled into the driveway, where his parents were already in frantic motion. His mother, usually so composed, was shouting at him from the garage, her voice edged with fear.

"Thank God! Where have you been, Thomas?" she yelled, her words cutting through the din of sirens and distant crashes. Her hands were full, clutching bags of essentials as she hurried to the car. The sight of her, usually the calm presence in their household, now panicked and frenzied, made Thomas feel a stab of guilt.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he stammered, his words tumbling out as he rushed to help.

His father was at his side in an instant, gripping his shoulder with a firm hand. The strength of that grip, usually a source of comfort, now only added to the urgency pressing down on Thomas. "We have to go now, son," his father said, his voice low but resolute. There was no time for explanations or reassurances.

The sounds of sirens wailed closer, the once distant crashing now near enough that Thomas could feel the vibrations underfoot. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of smoke rising in the distance, a dark plume against the afternoon sky, signaling that the fire was spreading, devouring everything in its path.

Thomas nodded, his mind scrambling to keep up with the situation. They moved quickly, each second feeling like an eternity as they dashed inside the house, grabbing what they could. The home, once a place of warmth and comfort, felt foreign and cold, the walls closing in around him as he moved from room to room, gathering essentials. The air was thick with tension, every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind outside seeming ominous.

The house was filled with memories, each room a repository of moments that had once felt permanent. Now, those memories were tainted by the fear gnawing at his insides.

He grabbed what he could: a photo album, some clothes, his father's old hunting knife. There wasn't time to be sentimental, but every item he picked up felt like a lifeline, something to cling to as the world outside collapsed.

They were ready to leave, the car packed with whatever they could fit in those precious few minutes. Thomas hurried out with his father, who was holding the door open, urging him to move faster. His mother was just behind them, her face flushed, a bag slung over her shoulder.

"Lori and Carl are waiting for us," Thomas said, his voice shaking. The words were as much for himself as for his parents, a reminder that there was still hope, still a plan. His parents nodded, their faces set with determination. They would go to Lori's house; they would be safe there, together.

But as his mother turned around, her back to the street, the world seemed to slow down, time stretching in the most horrifying way. She stopped, her eyes widening in shock. Thomas followed her gaze and saw their neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, stumbling toward them.

There was something wrong — terribly wrong.

Mr. Jenkins' clothes were soaked in blood, his skin pale and mottled, and his eyes... his eyes were wild, devoid of humanity.

Before anyone could react, Mr. Jenkins lunged at Thomas's mother. The next moments unfolded in a sickening blur. His mother screamed, a sound that pierced through Thomas's soul as Mr. Jenkins latched onto her, his teeth sinking into her face with a grotesque crunch. Blood sprayed from the wound, painting the driveway in crimson streaks.

Thomas's heart screamed at him to move, to do something, but his body betrayed him, locking him in place as if his limbs were encased in ice.

He could only watch, horrified, as his father shouted, rushing to his wife's aid. The scene was a nightmare come to life, the kind of horror that was too unreal to fully grasp. His father tackled Mr. Jenkins, trying desperately to pull him away, to save his wife from the monster their neighbor had become. But in the struggle, his father's arm got too close, and Mr. Jenkins bit down, his teeth tearing into flesh with the same ruthless hunger.

Thomas's world narrowed to that terrible scene, the sounds of his mother's screams, his father's grunts of pain, and the wet, tearing noises that seemed to echo in his head. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, begging him to move, to act, but he was paralyzed, rooted to the spot by an all-consuming terror.

His father's cries grew weaker as he continued to fight, desperately trying to protect his wife, even as blood poured from his own wounds. The sight was unbearable, a twisted tableau of violence and desperation.

Thomas's mind raced, screaming at him to do something, anything, but he was frozen in place, a helpless witness to his parents' agony.

The seconds stretched into eternity, each one a heartbeat of horror as Thomas stood there, unable to save them, unable to even move. It was as if his body had betrayed him, leaving him powerless in the face of this monstrous reality. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the struggle ended. His parents collapsed to the ground, their bodies lifeless, the driveway stained with their blood.

Mr. Jenkins, now a grotesque caricature of the man they once knew, turned his bloodied face toward Thomas, his dead eyes locking onto him. But Thomas couldn't move, couldn't even scream, as the world around him seemed to shatter, the horror of what had just happened crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

His mind screamed at him to run, but his body remained paralyzed, caught in the grip of a fear so profound it seemed to have swallowed him whole.

The sounds of sirens, of crashing and screaming, faded into the background, leaving only the awful silence of the moment, the weight of his own helplessness pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

And in that terrible silence, Thomas could only stand there, his heart breaking, as the world he knew crumbled around him.

Suddenly, a force like a freight train hit him, slamming Thomas against the car with a violence that knocked the breath from his lungs.

The world that had been moving in slow motion snapped back to full speed, and he was yanked from his frozen state by a new horror — a body, heavy and reeking of decay, pressing him against the car door. He could feel its rotting hands clawing at him, its teeth snapping inches from his face, desperate to sink into his flesh.

Thomas screamed, the sound ripped from his throat without thought, pure instinct. His hands shot up to the creature's shoulders, trying to push it away, but it was like grappling with a nightmare — its strength fueled by something inhuman, something that defied all reason. The creature's breath was hot and rancid against his cheek, its mouth wide with an insatiable hunger.

Panic surged through him, a tidal wave of fear and adrenaline, but with it came a clarity he hadn't felt before.

It was as if his brain, finally fed up with his body's paralysis, seized control.

In that split second, his instincts kicked in, overriding the terror that had gripped him moments before. His body acted on its own, his leg raising in one swift, desperate motion. He kicked out with everything he had, his foot connecting with the creature's midsection.

The impact sent the monster staggering back, its grip on him loosening just enough for Thomas to wrench himself free.

He didn't think — there was no time for thinking. He scrambled for the car door, his hands shaking as he yanked it open and threw himself inside. The interior of the car felt like a fragile refuge, the thin metal and glass barely a barrier against the chaos outside.

He slammed the door shut, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and fumbled with the keys, his fingers slick with sweat. As the engine roared to life, he caught a glimpse of the street outside, and his heart twisted in his chest.

His mother — no longer his mother — was rising from the ground where she had fallen, her movements jerky and unnatural. The face that had once been filled with warmth and love was now a grotesque mask, her eyes sunken and gray, devoid of any recognition or humanity. Blood still poured from the gaping wound in her face, dripping down in dark rivulets, but she seemed oblivious to the pain.

The sight of her, transformed into one of those things, nearly broke him. But there was no time to grieve, no time to mourn the loss of the woman who had raised him. The only thing that mattered now was survival. His brain screamed at him to move, to drive, to get away before it was too late.

With a choked cry, Thomas slammed his foot on the gas pedal, the car lurching forward with a squeal of tires.

The world outside became a blur of movement and sound, the horrors of moments ago swallowed up by the need to escape. His heart pounded in his chest, every beat a painful reminder of the life he had just left behind.

As the car sped away, he could still see her in the rearview mirror, staggering after him, her arms outstretched as if reaching for her son.

He didn't look back. He couldn't. The last image of her, that twisted, monstrous version of his mother, seared itself into his mind, but he forced it down, burying it under the sheer will to survive. He drove with a single-minded focus, weaving through the chaotic streets, where people screamed and ran, chased by the dead.

The world he knew had ended, torn apart in the span of a few terrifying minutes, and all that was left was the drive, the road ahead, and the desperate hope that he could find safety, even as everything else crumbled to dust.

Thomas drove with a numbness that settled deep into his bones, his mind replaying the horrific events in a loop he couldn't shut off. The world outside the car windows seemed to blur, the once-familiar streets of his neighborhood now twisted into a hellscape of chaos. Those things — biters, monsters, whatever they were — roamed freely, their bodies moving with a terrible, jerking persistence that made his stomach turn. He barely registered the scenes of carnage around him as he sped toward Lori and Carl's house, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

The neighborhood, once so quiet and suburban, had become a war zone. Cars were abandoned in the middle of the road, some with their doors flung wide open, others still idling with no one inside. He weaved through the wreckage, narrowly avoiding collisions as he searched for a safe place to stop. The sounds of screams and the guttural growls of the biters filled the air, creating a symphony of horror that threatened to drown him in panic.

Finally, he found a stretch of road where the biters were sparse, their shambling forms scattered among the cars and bodies. He pulled over hastily, parking the car on the side of the road, and jumped out, his heart pounding in his chest as he sprinted toward Lori and Carl's house. His footsteps echoed in the eerie silence that had settled over the street, the only other sounds the distant moans of the dead.

As he approached the house, a cold dread gripped him. The front door was wide open, swaying slightly on its hinges. Thomas slowed to a walk, his breath catching in his throat as he looked around, searching for any sign of Lori's car.

But the driveway was empty, the space where her car should have been glaringly vacant. She was gone.

A sinking feeling settled in his gut, and Thomas hesitated at the threshold, his hand gripping the doorframe.

He stared at the empty driveway, the abandoned house, and felt a wave of despair crash over him.

Lori had promised she'd wait for him. She'd promised.

But now, she was gone, taking Carl and Shane with her, leaving him behind in a world that had gone mad.

The reality of his situation hit him like a ton of bricks, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He was alone. His parents were dead, ripped apart by their neighbor, their lives snuffed out in a matter of minutes.

And now, the only family he had left had abandoned him, leaving him to fend for himself in a world that had turned into a nightmare.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the street, and saw the biters starting to take notice of him, their hollow eyes locking onto his form as they began to stagger toward him.

Panic surged in his chest, and Thomas hurried inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound of the door closing echoed through the eerily quiet house, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. He pressed his back against the door, his breathing shallow and rapid as he tried to steady himself. The house felt strange, like a shell of the home he had visited so many times before. It was too quiet, too empty, as if the life had been sucked out of it along with the people who had lived here.

Thomas took a few tentative steps into the living room, his eyes sweeping over the familiar furniture, the framed photos on the walls were gone, the little touches that made this place a home. But now, it felt like a tomb, a place frozen in time, abandoned in a moment of panic and fear. He felt the weight of his loneliness press down on him, suffocating in its intensity.

He was completely, utterly alone.

His legs gave out, and he sank to the floor, his back against the wall as the full weight of his situation bore down on him. Everything he had known, everything he had taken for granted, was gone. His family was gone. Lori, Carl, and Shane were gone. He had no idea where they were, if they were even safe. And now, he was trapped in a house that wasn't his, surrounded by the dead, with no plan, no direction, and no hope.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he didn't bother to hold them back. They spilled down his cheeks, hot and bitter, as the enormity of his loss and the terrifying uncertainty of his future settled over him. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as the sobs wracked his body.

For the first time since this nightmare began, he allowed himself to grieve — for his parents, for the life he had lost, and for the terrifying new world he was now a part of.

The sounds of the biters outside grew louder, their moans a constant reminder of the danger that lurked just beyond the walls. But in that moment, Thomas couldn't bring himself to care. He was too lost in his grief, too overwhelmed by the crushing loneliness that had settled over him like a dark cloud.

The world had ended, and Thomas Grimes was alone.

GO MINSI as 𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐑𝐇𝐄𝐄

DYLAN O'BRIEN as 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒

SAVANNAH SMITH as 𝐉𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐘

ENZO VOGRINCIC  as  𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐒𝐀

━━ I ONLY OWN WENDY, THOMAS and anyone unfamiliar. i do not own anyone else.

━━ WENDY'S BEGINNING STORYLINE HEAVILY inspired by all of us are dead <3

━━ THE PRELUDE WAS LONG I KNOW but i will alternate in the chs from wendy to thomas. this was just ❨ obviously ❩ pre-apocalypse. ch1 will start at the beginning of season one.

━━ THIS STORY CONTAINS violence, explicit and suggestive language, mentions of death, and other mature themes. if you are disturbed by any of the topics said, i advise you to leave now and do not read any further. your health is more important that this book.

━━ DEDICATED TO MY LOVES eluxcastar amuors amaslostdays junebluesfever touslesm3m3s dearlorelai dairology whimsywitchess thelolastories untoldhauntings supergircls -slutantics Br3adb0tter  (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡

━━ DON'T BE A SILENT READER ! interact, comments and votes motivate me

━━━ 𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆!

PUBLISHED 11.28.24
FINISHED 00.00.00

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍
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