𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗. it only takes a moment

FOR THREE DAYS, THEY HAD WORKED tirelessly, transforming the shattered remnants of the school into something resembling a fortress. 

Wendy had planned each step meticulously, her mind attuned to the smallest details — barricading hallways, clearing rooms, salvaging supplies — but execution had not come without cost.

Their progress, though impressive, bore the marks of their strained unity. The cracks in their dynamic deepened with each passing hour, each decision sowing resentment, mistrust, or reckless bravado.

Wendy had claimed the third floor by herself. The task had been grueling: she had spent hours moving through dimly lit corridors, her bow at the ready, clearing one room after another. The bodies piled up behind her, a grim testament to her persistence. By the time she reached the roof, her arms ached from wielding her weapon, and her legs trembled with exhaustion. The rooftop itself had been no respite — it became her canvas for an SOS.

Scavenging the art room for supplies earlier, Wendy had found cans of paint and brushes, and on the flat expanse of the roof, she had scrawled large, desperate letters in stark white: HELP US. The effort was immense; the wind tore at her hair and skin as she worked, and each stroke of the brush seemed to echo her growing fatigue. Yet she finished, standing back to survey the message visible from the sky, a silent cry for aid that no one might ever see.

From her vantage point, she saw the full scope of their confinement: the fenced perimeter of the school, littered with geeks. Their numbers were less daunting than on the first day, but still significant.

Wendy had taken it upon herself to thin their ranks.

She spent hours perched at the edge of the roof, her bow in hand, picking off the dead one by one. She'd mastered a quiet rhythm — draw, aim, release — watching as her arrows found their marks. When night fell and the others slept, she descended carefully to retrieve her spent arrows, moving silently among the corpses, her breaths shallow and quick.

It was dangerous work. A single mistake could mean death, but Wendy bore the risk alone.

It wasn't pride or stubbornness — it was necessity. The school's supplies were limited, and each arrow was precious. Her hands shook as she pulled the shafts from decayed flesh, her heartbeat loud in her ears. When she returned to their base on the second floor, she washed her hands in the art room sink, scrubbing until her skin was raw, as if that might cleanse her mind of what she'd touched.

Enzo's frustration, when it surfaced, cut deeper than she expected.

He accused her of avoiding the hardest tasks, of delegating the real work to him and Jade while she stayed behind.

To him, it seemed as though Wendy took the strategic role — the thinker, the planner — while they broke their bodies executing her vision. But Enzo didn't know about the nights Wendy spent outside, or the way her shoulders ached from hours of drawing her bow, or the blood on her hands from pulling arrows free.

Explaining herself felt beneath her, but the accusations left her raw.

The argument that followed was loud, sharp, and unrelenting. Enzo's voice carried through the hollow hallways, his words laced with anger and exhaustion. Wendy matched him blow for blow, her tone cutting, defensive, as she listed every task she had completed — tasks he hadn't seen, tasks she had chosen not to burden them with.

It wasn't just about fairness; it was about survival. Every ounce of effort she poured into this was for them. But Enzo didn't see it that way, and Wendy's words felt futile, swallowed by his bitterness.

Jade's growing boldness didn't help.

Her confidence, once tentative and inspiring, had morphed into recklessness. On the second day, she had wandered off from the group during a supply run, chasing the promise of something shiny in a classroom window. Wendy had found her cornered by two geeks, her knife in hand, a triumphant grin on her face as she dispatched them.

But the risk was too great.

They couldn't afford to lose her. Wendy had berated her, her words sharp and unyielding, but Jade had simply shrugged, her smile unbroken. "I handled it," she'd said, as if that absolved her of the danger she had invited.

It wasn't just her impulsiveness that grated on Wendy. Jade's newfound confidence emboldened her to challenge decisions, to question the plan. On the third night, as they huddled around a map of the school, Jade had pushed for a quicker assault on the athletic department, arguing that the bows in the archery room were worth the risk. Enzo had agreed, his voice aligning with hers in a rare moment of solidarity. But Wendy had shut them down, her voice firm, her gaze unwavering.

They needed more time, more planning. But the dissent hung in the air like a storm cloud, and Wendy felt its weight pressing on her shoulders.

Their disagreements frayed the edges of their fragile alliance, each clash eroding trust and camaraderie. Wendy felt it most acutely in the silence that followed the fights, in the way Enzo's gaze lingered on her with quiet judgment, in the way Jade's laughter seemed hollow when directed her way.

They were surviving, yes, but the cost of their survival was steep, and the cracks in their unity threatened to widen with each passing day.

By the morning of the fourth day, the school was theirs, but Wendy couldn't shake the feeling that they had lost something vital in the process.

She stared at the map on the table before her, the lines she had drawn now meaningless in the face of their fractured bond. Survival was never meant to be easy, but Wendy had imagined it differently, imagined a version of their struggle where trust outweighed resentment, where teamwork outweighed dissent.

The roof stretched out around them like a dark plateau, bordered by the jagged outlines of the cityscape beyond the school's fenced perimeter. The night was unusually clear, the sky above a dark sapphire canvas speckled with stars that flickered like fragile pinpricks of light. The air was cool, touched with the faint acrid scent of decay that lingered even this far up, carried by errant breezes from the streets below.

A small campfire crackled in the center of their circle, its flames licking upward in shades of amber and gold, casting flickering shadows across their faces. They had built it from scavenged supplies — a haphazard collection of wooden chair legs and broken desks they'd carried up from the third floor. The firelight was warm, almost comforting, but it also illuminated the tension between them, stark and unavoidable.

Wendy sat closest to the fire, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her face was taut, her expression unreadable as she stared into the flames, watching the way they danced and devoured.

She had always found something mesmerizing about fire, how it could destroy and illuminate in equal measure, how it could provide warmth but also devour everything in its path if left unchecked. Tonight, though, the fire's glow felt oppressive, reflecting back the simmering frustration in her chest.

To her right, Enzo lounged against a rolled-up tarp they'd found in a janitor's closet, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His posture was casual, almost deliberately so, but the set of his jaw and the way his fingers picked at the fraying edge of the tarp betrayed his restlessness. His bow leaned against the wall behind him, and Wendy couldn't help but notice how he glanced at it every so often, as if reassured by its presence.

Jade sat cross-legged across from them, cradling her makeshift spear in her lap like a prized possession. The firelight softened her features, highlighting the newfound determination that had taken root in her since they began this mission. She was watching the fire too, her expression pensive but not unkind.

There was a quiet strength to her now, one that Wendy had to admit she admired, even if it sometimes made her reckless.

The silence between them was heavy, stretched taut by the weight of unspoken grievances and mounting disagreements. It was Wendy who finally broke it, her voice low but firm, cutting through the crackle of the fire.

"Tomorrow, we take the cafeteria," she said, the words as much a statement as a challenge.

Enzo exhaled sharply, a sound that was almost a laugh but carried no humor. He shifted, sitting up straighter, and looked at her with an expression that was equal parts incredulous and annoyed. "You're still on about the cafeteria?" he asked, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Wendy, come on. We've been over this. The gym is the smarter move."

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes sharp, the firelight reflecting in them like molten gold. "The cafeteria is the smarter move," she said, her voice edged with steel. "It's not just about food. It's about having a secure supply line, a central place where we can stockpile and organize. The gym doesn't give us that."

"The gym gives us weapons," Enzo shot back, his voice rising slightly. "You know, the things we'll need to defend ourselves when we're overrun because we prioritized snacks over survival."

"Snacks?" Wendy's voice sharpened, her body straightening as she glared at him. "You think this is about snacks? This is about ensuring we don't starve to death in two weeks because we wasted time chasing after a bench press and some dumbbells."

"Don't twist my words," he snapped, leaning forward now, his frustration spilling over. "You've been making every call like you're the only one who knows what's best. But you don't. You're not always right."

"I'm not always right?" Her voice rose, her arms unfolding from her knees as she leaned toward him, her anger flaring. "Who cleared the third floor by herself? Who spent hours on the roof setting up an S.O.S. signal while you were resting? Who's been taking out the geeks in the quad, one by one, so we don't get surrounded when we move to the other buildings?"

"And who decided all of that needed to be done alone?" he countered, his tone cutting. "Who made you the martyr of the group? Because I sure as hell didn't."

"Guys," Jade interjected, her voice soft but insistent, trying to cut through the rising tension. Neither of them acknowledged her.

"Don't you dare talk to me about taking it easy," Wendy continued, her voice trembling slightly now, not with fear but with the effort to keep her composure. "You have no idea how much I've done, how much I've sacrificed for us."

"Oh, give me a break," Enzo said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "You're not the only one who's sacrificed. Jade and I —"

"You and Jade?" Wendy cut him off, her tone incredulous. "So now you're a team? That's rich, considering how often you've been at each other's throats."

"Guys!" Jade said again, louder this time. She leaned forward, her hands gripping the edge of her weapon. "Stop it, okay? This isn't helping."

Wendy turned her glare on Jade, her frustration spilling over. "You're taking his side now?"

Jade hesitated, glancing between them, her expression torn. But then she straightened her shoulders, her gaze steady. "I think he has a point," she said carefully. "The gym might actually be the better move. We need to be better armed if we're going to take on the cafeteria. We can't just keep relying on luck."

The words hit Wendy like a physical blow, and for a moment, she could only stare at Jade, the betrayal sinking in. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, she turned back to the fire, her jaw tight, her hands clenched into fists.

The silence that followed was deafening, filled only with the crackle of the fire and the faint hum of the night. Wendy sat rigid, her mind racing with anger, frustration, and a deep, gnawing sense of isolation. She thought about the days they had spent together, the progress they had made, and the cracks that had started to show in their fragile alliance. It was as though the fire between them wasn't just literal but a symbol of the growing divide, burning hotter with every argument, every disagreement.

Finally, she exhaled, her breath shaky but resolute. "Fine," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "We'll go to the gym first. But if this gets us killed, don't say I didn't warn you."

She didn't look at them as she spoke, her gaze fixed on the flames, the heat warming her face even as the chill of betrayal seeped into her bones.

The argument left the air heavy and sour, weighing on Wendy like a physical burden. She sat stiffly by the fire for a moment longer, the light flickering over her tense features, but the energy within her coiled tighter and tighter until she couldn't bear it anymore.

Without a word, she rose abruptly, her movement startling in its suddenness, and made her way to the edge of the roof.

The rooftop stretched out in shadowed emptiness, the faint glow of the campfire behind her the only illumination save for the stars above.

The edge was familiar terrain to Wendy, her perch on the sleepless nights. From here, she had spent hours taking down the geeks, one arrow at a time, her aim practiced and deliberate, her patience infinite.

She had learned the rhythms of their shuffling movements, the way they sometimes clustered aimlessly or dispersed in waves when a sound caught their attention. She knew the nuances of their gait, the jerky, unnatural motion that had once been human but was now a grotesque parody of life.

But tonight, as she stood at the edge and looked down, the usual calm focus she felt was absent. Instead, bitterness pooled in her chest, acidic and unrelenting. The quad below was a grim tableau, the geeks trapped inside the school's fenced-in grounds like cattle in a pen. They wandered aimlessly, their movements slow and disjointed. The faint groans they emitted rose sporadically into the night air, blending into the ambient noise of rustling leaves and distant wind.

Many of them still wore their school uniforms. The sight of plaid skirts and blazers, once symbols of discipline and routine, now twisted and stained with blood, made Wendy's stomach turn.

A few had been teachers — she could tell by the longer skirts or the ties, by the memory of their faces that sometimes flickered unbidden in her mind. She tried not to think of them as individuals anymore, tried to strip them of their humanity in her thoughts, but it was hard when she recognized them.

Mr. Lindman, who used to run detention. Mrs. Garcia, whose cheery bulletin boards had been the bane of Wendy's mornings. They weren't people anymore. They were obstacles. Threats. And yet, tonight, she found herself hesitating.

Normally, she would have been methodically taking them down by now, aiming for the soft spots in their skulls, counting her arrows like a miser counting coins. But tonight, the argument gnawed at her, sapping her motivation.

Why bother?

The thought was petty, she knew it, but it lingered anyway.

If Jade and Enzo didn't see the value in what she did, then why should she? If they were so convinced that her leadership was flawed, that her decisions were self-serving, maybe she should let them see what it was like without her.

Let the geeks multiply, let the pressure build until it was undeniable who had been holding everything together all along.

The bitterness spiraled inward, a storm feeding on itself, until a faint shuffle of movement behind her broke her reverie. She didn't have to turn to know who it was. The presence was familiar, tentative, like the soft padding of a shadow.

Jade.

Wendy almost rolled her eyes but stopped herself, clamping down on the impulse. Jade came to a stop beside her, close enough that Wendy could feel the faint heat of her body but far enough to leave space between them. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Wendy kept her gaze fixed downward, watching the geeks move in their mindless patterns below, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides.

Finally, Jade broke the silence, her voice low and hesitant. "I'm sorry."

Wendy didn't respond. The apology hung in the air, unanswered, as if absorbed by the night itself. She felt Jade shift beside her, heard the soft exhale of her sigh, but still, she didn't look over.

It was laughable, almost, the way they all turned to her for strength when it suited them but pushed back the moment they felt capable of standing on their own.

Since the beginning, back when their group had been more than just three, Wendy had been the one they leaned on. The one who made the hard decisions, who bore the brunt of their frustrations when things didn't go as planned. She had carried them — metaphorically, and sometimes even literally.

And now? Now that they had tasted their own strength, their own capability, they acted as if she had never been the reason they'd survived this long. Jade with her newfound boldness, Enzo with his growing confidence — they treated her like a relic of the past, something to be challenged or dismissed. It burned, that dismissal. It burned more than she wanted to admit.

"I get it, you're mad," Jade continued, her voice softer now, almost imploring. "But we're all trying, Wendy. We're all just... figuring it out."

Wendy finally turned her head, just enough to glance at Jade out of the corner of her eye. The firelight from behind them cast Jade's face in half-shadow, softening the lines of her jaw, making her look younger than she was. For a moment, Wendy saw the girl Jade had been before all this — the one who hesitated, who looked to others for reassurance. It was a strange contrast to the brash, impulsive version of Jade she was now.

But she said nothing. Instead, she turned her gaze back to the quad, to the slow, shuffling figures below. She watched as one of the geeks bumped into the fence, its arms grasping weakly at the chain links, its mouth opening and closing in a grotesque mimicry of hunger. The sight filled her with a strange mix of pity and disgust. It was almost too much to think about — the weight of it all, the responsibility that pressed down on her shoulders like a leaden cloak.

Jade stayed beside her, silent now, as if waiting for a response that Wendy wasn't sure she could give.

The air between them felt charged, tense with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Wendy wanted to say something cutting, something that would push Jade away and protect the fragile walls she'd built around herself. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, she just stood there, her body rigid, her eyes fixed on the restless figures below.

Jade leaned forward, mirroring Wendy's posture, her elbows resting on the edge of the roof as she stared at the same grim scene. Her sigh broke the silence, soft but heavy with something unsaid. "I hate when you do that," Jade said finally, her voice low and edged with frustration.

Wendy's brows furrowed slightly, though she didn't look over. Her eyes remained fixed on the quad, her expression carved from stone. She said nothing, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her irritation. Jade noticed, of course, but pressed on.

"You always put up a wall," Jade continued, her words picking up momentum now that she'd begun. Her tone was accusatory but tinged with something else — something softer, harder to name. "It's like, whenever something doesn't go perfectly, you just... shut us out. Like during practice when someone would miss, or we'd screw up, you'd just put on your headphones and act like we didn't exist."

Wendy didn't flinch, didn't even shift, but her jaw tightened ever so slightly. Her silence was a fortress, one she had spent years building, and she wasn't about to lower the drawbridge just because Jade had decided now was the time for truth-telling.

Jade exhaled sharply, the sound a mix of frustration and resignation. "It felt like you didn't like us," she said, her gaze still fixed downward. Her voice was quieter now, as if the admission cost her something. "Like you thought we were beneath you or something. I hated it."

For the first time, Wendy turned to her, her face shadowed but her expression clear. There was no anger there, no defensiveness — just a quiet sort of exhaustion. "I never disliked you guys," Wendy said, her voice measured and calm, though there was a slight tremor beneath it, like the vibration of a plucked string. "I just... didn't have any friends." Her gaze seemed distant now, fixed not on the geeks below but on something far beyond them, something unreachable.

Jade pursed her lips, her expression hardening for a moment before softening into something more complicated. "I didn't like you," she admitted, her voice quieter but no less firm. "Back then. I thought you didn't talk to us because you thought we weren't good enough. Because you were better than us."

Wendy's head tilted slightly, as if the words had struck her in a place she hadn't expected. But she didn't turn, didn't respond, letting Jade's words sink into the silence like stones into water.

"And honestly," Jade continued, her voice wavering now, "there were times I wished you weren't around. That the team would've been better off without you."

The admission hit like a sharp wind, cutting through the quiet of the rooftop. Wendy's grip on the roof's edge tightened, her fingers digging into the rough surface. Her shoulders stiffened, but still, she didn't respond. The fire crackled softly behind them, a faint reminder of the world they were trying to survive in, even as it felt like their own was crumbling.

Jade glanced over at Wendy, her expression unreadable. She hesitated, as if she wanted to say more but wasn't sure how to continue. "I thought you didn't care about us," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "But now I know I was wrong."

Wendy let out a slow, measured breath, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged truths. The geeks below shuffled aimlessly, their groans rising faintly into the night air, but neither of them paid them any mind.

Finally, Wendy spoke, her voice quieter now, tinged with something softer. "I didn't know how to talk to you guys," she admitted. "I didn't know how to talk to anyone, really. I thought... if I just stayed out of the way, I wouldn't screw anything up."

The first droplet kissed Wendy's cheek like an apology, soft and sudden, and she looked up to find that the night sky had betrayed them. What had once been clear and steady now churned with dark clouds, ominous and brooding. Before she could even process the shift, the heavens split open, and rain came rushing down, cold and relentless. It drenched the rooftop in an instant, washing away the heat of the day and soaking into their clothes as if trying to seep into their very bones.

Enzo was the first to react. With a shout that carried more joy than caution, he bolted upright from where he had been lounging by the dwindling fire. He scrambled to gather their empty bottles, unscrewing the caps with quick, eager hands. His movements were frantic, but his face bore an almost childlike delight as he tilted the bottles toward the sky, letting the rainwater trickle in. Then, abandoning practicality for a moment, he threw his arms wide, head tilted back, mouth open to catch the droplets. The water streaked down his face, mingling with soot and sweat, but he didn't seem to care. His laugh echoed against the thunder.

Jade followed suit, though without the same utilitarian flair. She simply stood, lifting her face to the sky with her eyes closed, a rare, genuine smile breaking through her usual guarded expression. The rain slicked her hair down, and it clung to her cheeks and neck, but she didn't wipe it away. Instead, she let the moment wash over her, the storm rinsing away the grime and tension of the past few days. She seemed freer in that moment, lighter, almost as if the rain had unlocked a version of herself that had been buried beneath layers of survival.

Wendy watched them both, her lips twitching as if to smile herself, but she stopped short. Something below had caught her eye.

She stepped closer to the edge of the roof, peering down into the quad where the geeks roamed. At first, they appeared the same as always — shuffling aimlessly, their jerky movements punctuated by the occasional stumble. But as the rain intensified, so did their agitation.

Wendy squinted, watching as several of the undead slipped on the wet pavement, their decayed limbs collapsing awkwardly beneath them. Others twisted and turned as if trying to orient themselves, their heads snapping in different directions. The sound of the rain, now deafening, seemed to disorient them further.

Some fell outright, their bodies hitting the ground with sickening thuds that even the rain couldn't muffle. Wendy winced as one particularly large geek toppled over, its neck twisting at an unnatural angle as it hit the concrete. Its limbs twitched briefly before going still. Others staggered into one another, their movements more erratic than usual, as if the storm had short-circuited whatever grim instincts kept them moving. The rain mixed with the faint stench of decay, diluting it but not enough to make it disappear entirely.

Wendy stared, transfixed, her mind whirring. The storm wasn't just a nuisance; it was something else entirely. She spoke without turning, her voice soft but steady. "You know how they follow us when they hear us?"

Enzo and Jade froze. They hadn't noticed her, too absorbed in the rare thrill of rain to notice her growing stillness. Enzo was the first to respond, his tone cautious. "Yeah?"

Wendy didn't wait for confirmation. Her voice grew louder, more certain as she continued. "They can't hear us now. The rain, the thunder — it's drowning out everything. And if their sense of hearing is dulled, then maybe their other senses are too. Maybe even smell."

She turned to look at them, her face illuminated briefly by another flash of lightning. Her expression was intense, her eyes narrowed in thought. The rain streamed down her face, plastering her hair to her forehead, but she didn't seem to notice.

Enzo's brow furrowed, his earlier joy evaporating as her words sank in. He lowered the water bottles, his arms falling to his sides. "You're not seriously suggesting we move now," he said, his voice laced with disbelief. "In this? You've completely lost it."

She scoffed, crossing her arms as she stepped away from the edge. "Let's go," she shot back. "If we time it right, if we use the thunder —"

"You're insane," Enzo interrupted, his voice rising. "We can't just rely on 'if.' If we screw up, we're dead. You're not thinking straight."

Wendy's jaw tightened, her shoulders squaring as she turned to face him fully. The rain dripped from her chin, but her glare was sharp enough to cut through the downpour. "I am thinking straight," she said, her tone icy. "You wanted the gym, remember? How do you think we're supposed to get there without being noticed? There's too many of them."

The rain roared against the rooftops, drummed against the soaked concrete, and cascaded in thick rivulets down Wendy's face, plastering her hair to her skull. She stood in front of them, her shoulders squared, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The fire they had sat around moments ago was gone, smothered by the downpour, its embers extinguished in a hiss of steam. But there was something smoldering in Wendy, a fire that not even the storm could put out. She was adamant, her voice steady despite the chaos around them.

"If anything happens," she said, her words cutting through the rain like the edge of a blade, "I'll scream and lead the geeks away."

Her figure was striking, almost cinematic, against the backdrop of the storm. The rain painted her in streaks of silver, each drop catching the dim light that managed to filter through the storm clouds. Her expression was unreadable, a mask of determination that hid whatever fears might have lingered beneath the surface.

Jade opened her mouth to protest, her own emotions bubbling up in defiance, but Enzo stopped her. His hand shot out, blocking her with a silent but firm gesture. His other hand, held palm out, was enough to halt any argument she might have made. Jade glared at him but obeyed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced back at Wendy, her frustration mingling with concern.

Wendy's voice carried on, low and deliberate. "If anything... I'll die alone. So let's go."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, carried only briefly before the rain swallowed them whole. She stood there, her gaze unwavering, her body motionless except for the occasional shiver that ran through her from the cold. She thought of Jade's earlier confession — those sharp, biting words that had struck deeper than Jade likely realized.

Wendy's voice, when she spoke again, was softer but no less resolute. "If anyone has to die, I'll die in their place."

It was a simple statement, one that she believed in the marrow of her bones. Her voice did not waver; her breath did not catch.

She had rehearsed this in her mind countless times, alone in the dark or standing on the roof looking down at the restless dead. She knew it as fact: her life was expendable if it meant keeping the others alive. It was the role she had taken, willingly or not, since the very beginning.

There was silence, a brief lull in the thunder as her words settled over them. Jade stared at her, a strange mix of emotions playing across her face — anger, guilt, maybe even admiration. But it was Enzo who broke the stillness. He nodded, his expression unreadable, the faintest hint of something resigned in his posture. When he spoke, his words were harsh but steady. "You'd better keep your word."

Wendy's jaw tightened at his tone, but she said nothing. She met his gaze for a moment, the rain dripping from her eyelashes, before turning away.

THE QUAD WAS A SEA OF MOVEMENT, the geeks more agitated than ever. They stumbled and slipped, their decayed bodies clumsy on the wet ground. The sound of their groans blended with the roar of the rain, creating a dissonant symphony that grated against Wendy's nerves.

She scanned the area, her eyes sharp despite the darkness. The rain had obscured much of the detail, but she could still make out the way the undead pressed against it in search of something they couldn't name.

She felt Jade and Enzo's presence behind her, a weight she could neither shake nor fully embrace. They were her team, her burden, her responsibility. And yet, in moments like this, they felt like strangers, their trust in her tenuous at best.

She crouched near the edge, her hand resting on the cold, wet concrete as she studied the scene. "We can do this," Wendy muttered to herself, though the words were swallowed by the storm. She straightened, turning back to face Jade and Enzo.

They were watching her, their expressions unreadable in the dim light. Wendy could see the tension in their postures, the way their shoulders hunched slightly, their hands twitching at their sides.

The rain was a constant torrent now, hammering against their skin, soaking them to the bone. Each droplet seemed to carry a weight of its own, dragging their bodies into a sluggish rhythm as they pressed forward.

Wendy took point, her head swiveling left, right, and center as she assessed the chaotic swarm of geeks that staggered in the rain-drenched darkness around the school entrance. They circled aimlessly, their hollow eyes vacant, their groans muted by the storm. The confusion of the undead gave the three survivors a small window of opportunity, but it was a narrow one — fraught with risk.

Wendy raised her arm, a silent signal for Jade and Enzo to follow. They hugged the wall of the school, its brick surface slick with rain, each step taken with the kind of caution that turned seconds into hours. The wall was their shield, the solid presence to their left offering a sliver of security. To their right, the open expanse of the quad stretched out like a minefield, littered with shambling bodies. They moved as shadows, the storm masking their presence as long as they remained silent, invisible threads binding them to one another through instinct alone.

The school's layout, once so familiar, had become alien in the months since it had been abandoned to decay and death. Every doorway was a potential trap, every corridor a labyrinth of horrors.

Wendy led them through the winding maze with precision, choosing the longer paths that hugged the walls, skirting clusters of geeks too thick to pass. Her thoughts churned with calculations, mapping out the route to the gym while balancing the gnawing doubt that lingered at the edge of her mind.

She couldn't afford to hesitate. Not now. Not when they were this close.

Their breaths came in shallow bursts, nearly inaudible beneath the cacophony of the rain. The trio crouched low behind a rusting lorry truck, its paint peeling in streaks of orange and brown. The vehicle was a temporary refuge, its bulk shielding them from view, but it offered no comfort. Wendy peeked around its corner, her sharp eyes scanning the path ahead.

The gym was still far off, its silhouette barely visible through the sheets of rain, but she could see the gaps in the shifting mob of geeks — a pattern they could exploit. It wasn't much, but it was a chance.

She crouched lower, her body coiled with tension, and leaned toward Jade, whispering their next move. The words were clipped, efficient, and her gaze remained fixed on the gym as if willing it closer. Jade nodded, her jaw set, her hands trembling only slightly as she clutched the hilt of her knife. They turned to Enzo, expecting his input, his agreement, but his attention had drifted.

Enzo's head tilted, his brow furrowing as he caught a sound just beyond the rain's roar — a low, guttural noise, unmistakable and close. His heart thudded in his chest as he lowered his gaze to the gap beneath the truck. The rain pooled there, reflecting fragmented images of the geeks' feet shuffling through the mud. He froze as two feet came into view, their movements deliberate, heading directly toward their hiding spot.

Normally, he might have reacted without hesitation. He'd circle the truck, take the geek out quietly, and return to the group before they even realized he was gone. But now, something anchored him in place.

His harsh words to Wendy from earlier churned in his mind, guilt entwined with frustration.

He hadn't meant them, not fully.

She was a good leader, better than he could ever hope to be, and that truth had always gnawed at him. He had admired her once, her strength, her certainty. But envy had twisted that admiration into something bitter, something that lashed out in the form of needless criticism. And yet, despite all of that, he trusted her now.

He trusted her with his life.

Slowly, Enzo rose from his crouch, his movements deliberate. His heart pounded as he stepped around the truck, placing himself between the geek and the others. The figure emerged from the gloom, its body stiff and jerking with unnatural movements. But as the rain streamed down its face, Enzo's breath caught in his throat, the world narrowing to a single, suffocating moment.

It wasn't just any geek. It was her.

His mother.

Time seemed to stop, the storm fading into a distant hum as his eyes locked onto the figure before him. The distorted features of decay and death blurred, reshaping into something impossibly familiar.

Her face, once a grotesque mask, softened in his mind, transforming into the visage of the woman he had known and loved. Her eyes, once glassy and empty, shimmered with warmth, their gaze as tender as he remembered. The rain slicked her hair, but he didn't see the damp, matted strands. He saw her curls, bouncing and delicate, framing her face like a halo.

Enzo's breath hitched, his chest tightening as the phantom of her voice reached his ears. She said his name, soft and loving, the way she had always said it when he was a child. It wasn't real — he knew that. It couldn't be real. But in that moment, reality didn't matter. The rain blurred the lines between past and present, between memory and nightmare. She was there, calling to him, and the world around him faded into nothingness.

He stood frozen, his body unresponsive to the primal instincts that screamed for him to act. His knife hung uselessly at his side, his fingers slack against the hilt. The geek's movements were erratic, its hands reaching toward him with jerky, disjointed motions.

But all he could see was her, her smile, her eyes, the way she used to hum to herself as she cooked dinner. The warmth of her presence washed over him, drowning out the cold rain that soaked his skin.

The storm raged on, the thunder cracking overhead, but Enzo heard none of it.

He was a boy again, standing in the doorway of their small kitchen, watching her dance to a tune only she could hear. Her laughter echoed in his ears, mixing with the phantom sound of her voice. His mother, so full of life, so vibrant, was here before him — transformed, yes, but still her. Still his.

His chest ached with the weight of it, the unbearable grief that surged to the surface after weeks of being buried beneath survival and necessity. The rain mixed with the tears that streamed down his face, indistinguishable from one another, as he stood rooted to the spot. His mind screamed for him to move, to fight, to survive, but his heart refused to let go. It clung to the illusion, to the hope that this one moment could somehow be real.

And then, as the thunder rolled across the sky, the geek lurched forward, its guttural groan breaking the fragile spell. The sound shattered the illusion, and the reality of the situation came rushing back with brutal clarity.

Wendy's sharp eyes caught the movement immediately — the geek's outstretched hand reaching for Enzo, its groans mixing with the hiss of rain against the pavement. She didn't think, didn't hesitate; her compound bow was up in an instant, the arrow loosed with practiced precision. But she aimed low, striking the creature's neck rather than its head. The geek stumbled, collapsing awkwardly to its side, but it wasn't down for long.

Wendy's chest tightened as she turned to Enzo. Why had he frozen? Why hadn't he acted? His weapon was still in his hand, but his fingers gripped it loosely, like he'd forgotten its purpose.

She could see his lips move, whispering something — words she couldn't hear over the storm. Her heart pounded, not just with fear for their lives but with the unease of watching someone she trusted falter in the face of danger.

The geek writhed on the ground, its limbs flailing as it dragged itself forward, undeterred by the arrow embedded in its neck. Its face was contorted, grotesque, but it reached for Wendy with a singular purpose, its rotted fingers clawing at the slick pavement as it closed the distance.

Wendy's body tensed, ready to act, but before she could, Jade was there. She moved with the ferocity of someone who had learned to survive the hard way, her boot slamming into the geek's face with a sickening crunch.

And then came Enzo's voice.

"Stop it!" he yelled, his tone raw and fractured. It wasn't a command so much as a plea, a desperate cry that cut through the rain. Wendy turned, her confusion deepening as she saw Enzo push forward, his movements uncharacteristically wild. He shoved Jade with a force that was startling in its intensity, sending her sprawling to the ground. Jade's spear skidded out of reach, and she let out a surprised gasp as she landed in the mud.

"Enzo!" Wendy shouted, her voice rising above the storm as she reached for him. But before she could, the geek began to rise again, its grotesque determination unbroken. Its head twisted toward her, and it lunged, its movements erratic but unrelenting. Wendy cursed under her breath, raising her bow once more. Her arms shook, the strain of the moment pressing down on her, but she steadied herself, drawing the arrow back.

She never got the chance to release it.

Enzo collided with her, his shoulder slamming into her side with enough force to send her sprawling. The arrow loosed itself in the chaos, whistling harmlessly through the rain before embedding itself in the geek's shoulder. Wendy hit the ground hard, her breath knocked out of her, and she looked up at Enzo, her eyes wide with shock and anger.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she tried to demand, but her voice was swallowed by the rain and the chaos.

And then she heard it.

"Mom," Enzo choked out, the word breaking apart in the air as if it physically hurt him to say it. He fell to his knees, his hands shaking as they hovered near the geek without touching it. "Mom," he said again, softer this time, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unshed tears.

Wendy's breath caught in her throat. Jade, still on the ground, pushed herself up enough to see what was happening, her expression shifting from confusion to sorrow as she pieced together the scene. They both watched, frozen in place, as Enzo unraveled before their eyes.

The geek moved again, its grotesque features illuminated by a flash of lightning. Its guttural snarls didn't resemble words, but Enzo didn't see the creature for what it was. He saw his mother, her face shifting in his mind to something softer, more human. Wendy could see it in his eyes — the way they glassed over, his expression caught somewhere between terror and longing. It was as if he were seeing not the monster but the memory of someone he had lost, someone who had once been his entire world.

Wendy and Jade exchanged a look, the kind of look shared by people who understood that words would fail them now. There was nothing they could say to bring Enzo back from wherever he had gone. They could only stand by as he fell apart, his grief and guilt bleeding out of him in the open for the first time.

But they didn't have time.

Wendy's ears caught the sound before she saw them. The rain distorted everything, but there was no mistaking the groans — dozens of them, growing louder, drawing closer.

Enzo's cries, his anguished shouts, had carried through the storm, a beacon for the horde. Wendy's heart dropped as she turned her head, scanning the area. Shadows moved in the distance, staggering shapes converging toward them with horrifying purpose.

"Enzo," Wendy said sharply, forcing her voice to cut through the storm. "Enzo, we have to go. Now."

He didn't respond. He knelt there, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking as the geek clawed at the ground in front of him.

"Enzo!" Jade shouted this time, scrambling to her feet and grabbing his arm. But he shrugged her off, his movements almost violent in their refusal.

Wendy felt her panic rising. The geeks were close now, their numbers overwhelming. The sound of their approach grew louder with each passing second, a symphony of death that threatened to drown them. She grabbed Enzo by the shoulders, shaking him hard, forcing him to look at her. His eyes were red, tears mixing with rain as he stared at her, lost.

"I can't," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I can't do it."

Wendy's grip tightened. "You don't have a choice," she hissed. "If you don't move, we're all dead."

The words seemed to reach him, if only partially. He blinked, his gaze flickering between Wendy and the geek that still clawed toward him. For a moment, it looked as if he might act, might rise to his feet and follow them. But then his eyes softened again, and he reached out, his hand trembling as it moved toward the geek's face.

Wendy didn't wait to see what he would do. She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet, her strength fueled by sheer adrenaline. "Jade, help me!" she shouted, and Jade was there, wrapping her arm around Enzo's waist and pulling him forward.

The three of them stumbled into motion, Wendy leading the way as the geeks closed in around them. The rain was their shield and their curse, masking their movements but making every step treacherous. The gym loomed ahead, tantalizingly close yet still too far. Wendy's mind raced as she calculated their path, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts.

Beside her, Enzo stumbled, his legs dragging as if his body were still tethered to the place where his mother had died. Jade gritted her teeth, practically dragging him along as she glanced over her shoulder. The geeks were nearly upon them, their grotesque forms emerging from the rain like nightmares brought to life.

Wendy reached the gym doors first, slamming her shoulder into them and praying they weren't locked. They gave way with a creak, and she turned, grabbing Enzo and Jade and pulling them inside. The three of them collapsed onto the floor, their breaths ragged as the sound of the horde grew louder outside.

Wendy didn't give them time to rest. She bolted the doors and turned to Enzo, her anger and fear bubbling over. But when she saw his face, the words caught in her throat. He was broken, his expression hollow, his tears still falling. Wendy closed her eyes, swallowing her frustration.

The sharp tang of sweat, rain, and fear filled the air as their ragged breaths echoed in the cavernous gym. Wendy crouched low, her ears straining against the relentless drumming of rain on the high metal roof. Enzo was beside her, his sobs subdued now, reduced to the occasional sniffle or quiet, broken sound.

She didn't look at him. She couldn't. Her focus was fixed on the heavy darkness that enveloped them, the kind of blackness that seemed alive, shifting and pressing in on all sides.

The gym was unnervingly quiet, save for their breathing.

Wendy's eyes darted around, searching for shapes, movement, anything — but the storm had swallowed everything in shadow. The windows were too high to let in light, and the only illumination came in fleeting bursts from the storm outside. The vastness of the space felt wrong, oppressive, as if the silence wasn't empty but waiting.

She tightened her grip on her bow, fingers slick with rain and sweat. Something was off. Her instincts screamed at her, every fiber of her being on edge. She leaned forward, squinting into the gloom, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

And then it came.

A crack of thunder split the air, reverberating through the gym like a gunshot, and lightning followed, illuminating the space in a brief, brilliant flash. The scene it revealed made Wendy's blood run cold.

They were everywhere.

The geeks, dozens of them, all clad in faded gym uniforms. Some wore tattered shirts with peeling logos of the school mascot, their colors muted and stained with age and decay. Others were shoeless, their bare feet dragging against the polished wooden floor that had long since lost its shine. Their lifeless eyes gleamed for an instant, reflecting the lightning like dull mirrors. They had been athletes once — basketball players, volleyball champions, runners. Now they stood, swayed, groaned, their postures unnervingly human yet devoid of life.

The lightning faded, plunging the gym back into darkness. But it didn't matter. The geeks had seen them too.

The groans began low, like a rumble from deep within the earth, growing louder and more chaotic as the geeks stirred. Feet scraped against the floor, the sound cutting through the silence like nails on a chalkboard. Wendy's breath hitched. There were so many. Too many.

She didn't hesitate. Her hand shot out, grabbing Enzo's arm with a grip strong enough to bruise. "Get up," she hissed, her voice sharp and urgent. He resisted, his body slack and uncooperative, and she swore under her breath. She yanked harder, ignoring his muffled protests.

Jade was beside her in an instant, grabbing Enzo's other arm. "Move!" she growled, her voice low and fierce. Together, they hauled him to his feet, their combined strength barely enough to support his weight as he stumbled.

But Enzo's resistance didn't stop. His voice cracked as he cried out, his words garbled and frantic. "Let go!" he choked, his tears fresh and hot again. "Let me go! You'll die!"

Wendy gritted her teeth, her patience shredding under the pressure of the moment. "I don't fucking care!" she snapped, her voice rough with desperation. She shifted her grip, adjusting so she could drag him more effectively, her shoulders burning with the effort.

The geeks' groans grew louder, closer. They were moving now, their shuffling steps echoing through the gym like a death march. Wendy could feel the walls closing in, the weight of the situation pressing down on her chest. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, but she pushed forward, adrenaline her only fuel.

The gym felt endless, the distance to safety stretching impossibly far. They kept close to the wall, using it as a shield on one side, but it offered little comfort. The geeks were closing in from every direction, their shapes flickering in and out of visibility with each flash of lightning.

Wendy's heart pounded, the sound nearly drowning out the groans. Her legs ached, her arms burned, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. Not now. "Keep moving," she muttered, half to herself, half to Enzo. Her voice was hoarse, the words barely audible over the storm.

Ahead, a door loomed in the dim light — a storage room. It wasn't much, but it was something. Wendy's heart leaped, hope surging in her chest. "There!" she barked, nodding toward it.

Jade saw it too. Together, they adjusted their grip on Enzo, dragging him faster now, their movements frantic and uneven. The geeks were closing in, their groans a deafening chorus that seemed to reverberate in Wendy's skull.

They reached the door just as the first geek lunged. Wendy reacted on instinct, twisting and kicking out with all her strength. Her shoes connected with its chest, sending it sprawling back into the others. The impact bought them seconds, maybe less, but it was enough.

Wendy threw her weight against the door, slamming it open with a force that made it bounce off the wall. She shoved Enzo and Jade inside, their bodies colliding with the shelves and supplies in the cramped space. The room was dark and suffocating, but it was better than the gym.

She followed, her movements swift and urgent, and yanked the door shut behind her. The latch clicked, but Wendy knew it wouldn't hold. She braced her body against it, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she tried to steady herself.

For a moment, the only sound was their breathing, harsh and uneven in the confined space. Enzo was slumped against a stack of mats, his face buried in his hands. Jade crouched beside him, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Wendy stayed by the door, her bow still clutched in her trembling hands, her eyes locked on the small crack of light at the bottom of the frame.

Outside, the geeks pressed against the door, their groans muffled but persistent. The thin barrier between them and death felt like it could give way at any moment.

Wendy closed her eyes, forcing herself to think, to plan, even as the weight of the moment threatened to crush her.

AUTHORS NOTE

THIS WAS SO INTENSE TO WRITE OH MY GODDD

shoutout to all of us are dead

and shout out to my long forgotten suhyeok fic that i had published for months but never finished

rest in peace !

some tension, a lot of angst, and just overall i think an overwhelming ch if i do say so myself.

but kinda loved it

don't worry, they'll leave the school,

eventually

much love,