THE PLEADING

The room fell into an uneasy silence as they waited for any sign of movement beyond the door. Each second dragged on like an eternity, amplifying the tension in the air.

"H-Hello? Is anyone there? Please let me in," came a desperate, pleading voice from the other side. It was a man's voice, trembling with fear.

"Tom, is that you?" asked Cara, the girl with glasses, her voice trembling as she recognized her friend.

"C-Cara? Yes, it's me. Please, open the door. I beg you," Tom pleaded, his voice breaking.

Nathan scowled, his suspicion cutting through the moment.

"Why would we open the door for you? You might be infected," he said coldly, his eyes narrowing.

A heavy pause followed.

"I-I'm not! I swear I'm not!" Tom insisted, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.

The hesitation and his shift in tone made everyone in the room exchange nervous glances. Suspicion settled in like a dark cloud.

"You're lying! You've been bitten!" shouted one of the students, their voice shrill with panic.

"No! It's just a scratch! I swear, I'm fine! Please!" Tom cried, his voice rising in desperation.

Cara's lips quivered as tears streamed down her face. The weight of realization crushed her. 'He's infected,' she thought, the words echoing in her mind like a death knell. The friend she had studied with, laughed with, was no longer the same person.

"I'm sorry, Tom," Cara sobbed, barely able to speak through her tears. "You can't come in."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Then, without warning, a heavy bang echoed through the room as Tom slammed into the door. Everyone flinched at the sound. The metallic surface rattled violently, and the noise reverberated in their ears.

The scratching started next. It wasn't the frantic kind, but slow and deliberate, like nails dragging across the door. The sound was chilling, and it quickly became unbearable. Some of the students covered their ears, their faces contorted with fear and discomfort.

"How could you, Cara?" Tom's voice broke through the scraping, filled with betrayal and anger. His tone shifted into something more menacing, something no longer human.

"I said I'm not infected!" he shrieked, the sound piercing and unearthly. It sent chills through everyone in the room, as though the sound itself could reach into their bones and twist them with fear.

Then came a loud thud, as though Tom's body had hit the ground. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by faint growls and shuffling footsteps receding down the hallway.

Cara's sobs grew louder, her cries muffled by her hands. The realization hit everyone simultaneously: Tom had turned. He was one of them now.

Clay shivered, his body trembling with adrenaline and dread. His mind raced as he struggled to comprehend what he'd just witnessed.

Is this the end? he wondered, his thoughts spiraling. Is this how it all ends? Are we all going to die here?

He clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms. I don't want to die… I can't die…

________

The hours dragged on, and as the sky outside darkened, the room sank into an oppressive silence. Distant screams and growls filtered through the walls, a grim reminder of the chaos that continued beyond their fragile sanctuary. Some students clung to each other, rocking back and forth, while others sat silently, staring into the void, their minds likely broken by the horrors they had witnessed.

Ms. Shirley sat near the window, her phone pressed to her ear. She muttered into it, her frustration growing as she failed to get a signal.

Albert approached her, his bat still in hand. "Still no signal?" he asked quietly.

Ms. Shirley shook her head and sighed, lowering the phone.

"Nothing. I've been trying for hours." She rubbed her temples, her exhaustion evident.

In the corner of the room, Clay sat against the wall, replaying the events of the day in his mind. The images were burned into his memory—the bloodied man with crazed eyes, the tearing of flesh, the mindless, animalistic violence. He could still hear the screams and smell the metallic tang of blood. It was like a nightmare he couldn't wake from.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry and scratchy. The thirst clawed at him, but when he reached for his bag, he realized it was still back at the old building. He sighed in frustration, resigned to endure his discomfort.

A soft voice broke through his thoughts. "Here, have some," whispered the girl with pigtails, holding out a bottle of water. Her face was pale, her eyes dull with fatigue, but she still managed a small, kind smile.

Clay hesitated before taking it.

"Thank you," he whispered back, drinking just enough to ease the dryness in his throat.

He handed the bottle back, careful to leave enough for her. "You'll need this," he added.

The girl nodded weakly but didn't drink. Her breaths came shallow and labored, sweat beading on her forehead. Clay frowned, concern flashing in his tired eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

She nodded, her smile faltering. "I'm fine," she mouthed, but her trembling hands said otherwise.

"Drink some water," he urged gently, but she shook her head, closing her eyes. Not wanting to push her, Clay leaned back against the wall, exhaustion overtaking him.

The hunger in the room became palpable. A couple nearby whispered to each other about their gnawing stomachs.

"I'm starving," the girl muttered.

"Me too, but there's nothing we can do. We just have to endure it," the boy replied quietly.

Clay's own hunger gnawed at him, worsened by the fact that he hadn't eaten lunch. His stomach growled, but he ignored it, focusing instead on his surroundings.

His gaze fell on Nathan and the two remaining goons. Nathan fiddled with his watch, his usual confidence replaced by aimless frustration. The other two stared blankly at the floor, their faces hollow and grief-stricken.

Clay's lips curled slightly. They're probably mourning their friends who got eaten, he thought coldly. But a small voice in his mind chastised him.

What's wrong with you? No one deserves that, not even them. He shook his head, trying to shake off the cruel thought.

He glanced back at the girl with pigtails

"Hey, are you really okay?" Clay whispered to her.

Her breathing had become more erratic, her body trembling. Sweat dripped from her forehead, and her eyes darted around anxiously.

She weakly smiled at him, nodding once more, but it was clear she was struggling. Clay frowned but didn't push. He leaned back against the wall, exhaustion pulling him under. His eyelids grew heavy, and despite the chaos around him, he let himself drift into a restless sleep.

Outside, the distant screams and growls continued, a grim lullaby to the end of the world.